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Operation Hero's Watch
Justine Davis


Reunited in peril… and united in love? When a stalker haunts Cassidy Grant, she turns to Jace Cahill to keep her safe. Soon Jace realises that his best friend’s little sister is all grown up.   But with danger lurking, can guard dog Cutter keep Cassidy safe… and nudge her and Jace toward the scariest proposition of all—a future together?







Reunited in peril...and united in love?

Justine Davis’s new Cutter’s Code thriller

When a stalker haunts Cassidy Grant’s every move, she turns to Jace Cahill to keep her safe. Pretty soon Jace realizes that his best friend’s little sister is all grown up. But with danger menacing, can the brilliant guard dog Cutter keep Cassidy safe...and nudge her and Jace toward the scariest proposition of all—a future together?


JUSTINE DAVIS lives on Puget Sound in Washington State, watching big ships and the occasional submarine go by and sharing the neighbourhood with assorted wildlife, including a pair of bald eagles, deer, a bear or two and a tailless raccoon. In the few hours when she’s not planning, plotting or writing her next book, her favourite things are photography, knitting her way through a huge yarn stash and driving her restored 1967 Corvette roadster—top down, of course.

Connect with Justine at her website, justinedavis.com (http://www.justinedavis.com) at Twitter.com/justine_d_davis (http://www.Twitter.com/justine_d_davis) or on Facebook at Facebook.com/justinedaredavis (http://www.Facebook.com/justinedaredavis)


Also by Justine Davis (#u5281a46f-a79a-591b-9a97-854d3b05137c)

Operation Midnight

Operation Reunion

Operation Blind Date

Operation Unleashed

Operation Power Play

Operation Homecoming

Operation Soldier Next Door

Operation Alpha

Operation Notorious

Colton’s Twin Secrets

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk).


Operation Hero’s Watch

Justine Davis






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


ISBN: 978-1-474-09384-2

OPERATION HERO’S WATCH

© 2019 Janice Davis Smith

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


ILKA

2009–2017


Contents

Cover (#ueb7b28f2-3b52-5e57-a29e-7ce1fdf53892)

Back Cover Text (#u35fb3bac-8eb0-5927-861b-4df4792925e3)

About the Author (#u9afd61e6-d12d-5fb3-a067-29667ebf1e2d)

Booklist (#ub1d92ba6-f48c-5585-8fe0-9333b910fa72)

Title Page (#ua8302ec2-3653-5f7c-910a-c6508085c4c7)

Copyright (#ud318fc34-6cac-5e2b-a474-9fb1eafe3d78)

Dedication (#uc08c6bc9-9ec6-5fbb-a081-1afb945393f3)

Chapter 1 (#u5ff4e79e-5e7d-5829-9b4b-2e379cc90f86)

Chapter 2 (#u4c635a13-d976-547b-bdd9-0e23892d6dc9)

Chapter 3 (#u8f022269-92e0-5231-a238-18fdad19f12e)

Chapter 4 (#u7d947f0f-163a-527d-b622-4d8ce43395b7)

Chapter 5 (#ubb97424a-6bb2-57b2-8dda-baeb853d8165)

Chapter 6 (#u55184eab-854f-551e-9b44-b2ca56d7114d)

Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 16 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 17 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 18 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 19 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 20 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 21 (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)




Chapter 1 (#u5281a46f-a79a-591b-9a97-854d3b05137c)


You’ve gotten soft.

Jace Cahill muttered it to himself, since he was alone in his misery. He’d gotten used to the dry and warm—okay, hot—climate of Southern California, and this blustery day in the northwest, driving rain down the back of his neck no matter which way he faced, was getting to him.

Of course, the fact that he’d traveled over a thousand miles by bus, hitchhiking and now walking might have something to do with it. He shifted the backpack that was getting heavier with every step. He was heading in the right direction, and he knew he was in Washington State, on the west side of Puget Sound, but that was about it. As another swirling gust sent a blast of rain into his face, he thought grimly that with his luck, he’d end up marching straight into Canada.

At least then somebody’d stop you and tell you where the hell you are.

And all this to keep a damned promise he’d made years—hell, a decade—ago. He’d done it without thought. Or at least without enough thought. Cory Grant had been his friend, and it was a promise he surely would never be called upon to keep.

And yet here he was—

He heard the sound of tires on wet asphalt. He turned, spotted an older, somewhat dinged-looking silver coupe approaching. He threw out his thumb, but without much hope, and kept walking as it passed him.

His head came up then, and he frowned. That was the strangest sound he’d ever heard a car make.

The car stopped. And then it began to back up. Straight, steady, not even a wobble. But as it got to a few feet away he heard that sound again. And he suddenly realized it wasn’t the car at all, but the dog inside he was hearing. A dog who was barking like crazy, loud, sharp and insistent.

The car came to a stop in front of him. He could see the dog now, through the back window. Dark fur, alert ears and uncanny eyes that were fixed on him. And the teeth. Yeah, the teeth. Although the tail was wagging slightly. It was a different color than his head and shoulders, a sort of reddish brown. But it definitely was wagging. That was good, wasn’t it? His spirits rose at the thought of getting out of the storm as much as giving his weary legs a rest.

The driver’s door opened, and the barking was instantly louder. A man got out, turned and looked at him over the top of the vehicle. He was tall, lean and looked solidly muscled, but it was the eyes that were the most intimidating. Those were a pair of eyes that had seen too much, and too much of it bad.

“You want a ride, get in,” the man said over the dog’s continuing vocalizing.

Jace hesitated. But then the dog upped the pitch a notch, and suddenly the man looked like nothing more than a harassed dog owner.

“Please,” he said with a roll of his eyes as water streamed down his face. “Get in so he’ll shut up.”

Jace wasn’t sure why the guy thought him getting in would quiet the animal, but the heartfelt plea changed the whole tenor of the thing, and his wariness faded. He reached for the passenger door handle.

The moment he pulled it open the dog went quiet.

“Thank God,” the driver muttered and got back in, more than a little wet himself now. When Jace closed his door, the sound of the rain was instantly muted, and with the cessation of the wind blowing it into every conceivable place Jace let out a sigh of relief.

“Thanks,” he said.

“Thank you,” the man said drily, glancing toward the dog, who now had his head poked in between the front seats. “Happy now, mutt?”

The dog gave a wag of that plumed tail. He had on a collar, Jace noticed, with a blue tag shaped like a boat. The name Cutter was stamped on it, which made him wonder if he was named after the kind of boat. This guy didn’t look like an active service member, but he looked too young to be retired. Then again, those eyes...

“He do that often?” Jace asked. “Go ballistic on passing hitchhikers?”

“First time I know of. Buckle up.”

Jace did so. Then he twisted in the seat to really look at the dog. Who was staring at him. Not just looking, staring. The animal let out a low whine. He sounded, Jace thought, almost worried. And then the dog looked at the driver. Gave a short, sharp little bark. The man’s head snapped around to meet the dog’s gaze. Then he glanced at Jace, then shifted back to the dog. The dog had never looked away.

The man groaned audibly. “Really, dog?”

The dog moved then. Reached out with one leg to paw at Jace’s arm. But he kept looking at the man Jace presumed was his owner. If one ever really owned an animal like this.

“Great,” the man muttered. “You do realize I’m the only one around right now, right?”

Jace wondered what he was supposed to say to that, but then realized the man had been talking once more to the dog. The dog, who let out an odd little whuff of sound that sounded crazily like, “So?”

The man sighed. Pulled the car over to the side of the road, which made Jace even warier; given the lack of traffic, they could have sat there for an hour before another car came by.

Then he turned in the driver’s seat to hold out a hand to Jace. “Rafe Crawford. And this pain in the...neck is Cutter.”

“I gathered,” Jace said, shaking the offered hand, noting the strength that was obvious but not expressed with any declarative squeeze. This guy had nothing to prove. “The tag.”

“Yeah.”

He waited, and belatedly Jace realized what for. “Uh... Jace Cahill.”

The man named Rafe nodded. “So,” he said, sounding like a man resigned to an inevitability he wasn’t looking forward to, “are you heading to or from?”

“To or from...what?”

“Whatever your problem is.”

* * *

The first thing Cassidy Grant saw when she opened the door was the dog. He was a pretty thing, thick black fur over his head and shoulders changing to a reddish brown over his back and hindquarters. Thick, warm and rich looking. But she barely noticed that, for the animal was staring at her intently with dark, amber-flecked eyes. Not malevolently, just...staring. Sitting very politely, but staring.

“Hi, Cassie.”

The quiet words, in a low, rough-edged voice, snapped her gaze upward to the man who had stepped up to stand beside the dog. Her breath caught. Only then did she see how thoroughly she had convinced herself he wouldn’t show. And he didn’t look like the boy from down the street she remembered; his hair was just as dark but longer, his clothes a little ragged and his face unshaven. He was carrying a backpack that looked a bit worse for wear, as was the heavy jacket.

But she couldn’t mistake those vivid blue eyes, or that jaw, or that mouth. And even if she could, there was the little scar below his left eye. The scar she had given him the day he’d caught her jumping off the roof when she was eight. Nearly twenty years ago now.

“Jace.”

“Sorry it took me so long.”

She tried to shake off her shock. He seemed to notice—but then, hadn’t he always?—and frowned. “I...didn’t expect you at all.”

The frown deepened. “But you called.”

“You didn’t answer.”

“I...gave that phone to my mom. She played me your message.”

His mom? Cassidy remembered the tiny, sweet woman from when they had lived down the street. Before they’d broken her foolish heart by moving away.

“How is your mom?” she asked, feeling suddenly derailed by the niceties of civility.

“Fine, now,” he said, and there was satisfaction in his tone.

Now? She hadn’t been? She was about to ask when the dog nudged her. “You brought your dog? He’s beautiful.”

“He’s not mine. He just... I’ll explain that later.” Then, like the Jace she remembered, he cut to the heart of it. “What’s wrong? You...weren’t real clear on the voice mail. And when I tried to call back—”

“I... My phone died.” Which was true. What she didn’t say—yet—was that she’d let it die, after turning off any locating function she could think of, because her mind was full of ideas about how the GPS and other things she didn’t even know about would lead right to her. Silly, but...

“What is it? Your message... You sounded scared.”

“I was.”

She saw him take in a deep breath before he asked for a third time, although softly now, “What’s wrong, Cassie?”

That did it. He was the only one she’d ever allowed the nickname. She’d liked when he’d used it, because it was something only between the two of them. Even her family didn’t use it. It was Jace’s alone, and that had made it, in her teenage brain, something...intimate. But now it smashed through her walls, and for a moment the fear surfaced.

Jace reacted instantly. He reached out to steady her. As he always had. Even the dog noticed; she heard the soft whine. And the animal was pressing against her knees. Between them she felt oddly steadied, as if an earthquake had stopped.

“I brought help,” Jace said.

“Is he a guard dog?”

“Do you need one?” His voice was suddenly sharper.

“I...feel like it.”

“Then you’ve got one. Three, actually.”

“Three?”

He looked behind him. And for the first time she realized the dog wasn’t his only company. A man came out of the trees on the north side of the house. A stranger. Tall, lean, dark haired and intimidating in a way she couldn’t quite put words to. He was walking past the older silver coupe parked in the driveway behind her own SUV. Walking with a very slight limp Cassidy didn’t think she’d even have noticed had she not been at the perfect angle.

“Jace, I don’t—”

“He works for a place that specializes in helping people with trouble. At least let’s talk, all right?”

It was ridiculous. True, she’d called on an impulse she’d regretted, but she had called him. And to her amazement, here he was. So now she was resisting even letting him in the door?

The dog whined again, and she looked down at him. Those dark, gold-flecked eyes were fastened on her. He nudged her, as if asking for attention. Automatically she reached down to pet him. The feel of the silky dark fur on his head was oddly soothing. He kept looking at her, as if trying to tell her it would be all right.

She nearly laughed at herself, putting human thoughts in a dog’s head. She’d known some clever dogs who had a knack for reading human emotion, but that was a bit much. Still, it steadied her to the point where she realized that she was leaving the person she’d called for help literally standing out in the cold.

“I’m sorry,” she said as the other man reached the porch, “come in. I’ll put coffee on—it’s cold out there.”

The moment they stepped inside and she got a closer look at the man who had been driving the car, she almost wished she hadn’t. Those eyes weren’t just intimidating, she guessed they could be terrifying.

“No one around,” the man said, “except a guy next house over, chasing a cat.”

“Mr. Snider,” Cassidy said, then processed the rest of what he’d said. That while she and Jace were talking, he’d been...what? Checking out the neighbors?

He works for a place that specializes in helping people with trouble.

She would not, she decided immediately, want to go up against this man. And the idea of having him on her side was admittedly heartening. But it was silly to think, for if he was a pro, then he was going to think just like the police—that either she was imagining things or the threat wasn’t real. Not that they’d said that, they’d been very polite, even gentle, but in truth she had nothing to give them in the way of proof.

She gestured them, including the dog, who seemed to understand, into the living room, then walked toward the kitchen. She wanted to run, but they could still see her and she didn’t want it to be quite that obvious that she was nervous, still wishing she’d never made that call. It was only that she’d decided Jace wouldn’t show up and then he had, she told herself. It was the unexpectedness of it.

When she came back with coffee, she was still edgy, but better. She took a seat on the couch, safely at the other end from Jace. The man Jace had introduced as Rafe sat in one of the armchairs, the dog sitting politely but alertly at his feet.

“He’s very well behaved,” she said, aware even as she said it that she was avoiding the reason for them being here.

“He’s got good company manners,” the man said. “You should have seen him at his owner’s—my boss—wedding, in his bow tie.”

She laughed, and suddenly the tension eased. She saw a glint in the man’s eyes that told her that had been the purpose. Perhaps he really did specialize in helping people, for despite his intimidating looks, he’d eased her strain.

“Cassie?” She looked back at Jace when he spoke, again using that name she’d only ever allowed him. “You really are scared. What’s wrong?”

She took a deep breath. If he’d actually come in response to her panicked call, she had to at least explain, didn’t she?

Begin with what she thought they should know first.

“The police don’t think anything’s wrong. Because I have no proof.”

“Proof of...?” Rafe then, prompting when she didn’t go on.

Finally, she said it in a rush. “I have a stalker.”




Chapter 2 (#u5281a46f-a79a-591b-9a97-854d3b05137c)


Once Cassie had started, the words seemed to rush out of her. “I know, who’d stalk me, I’m not the type.”

Jace had had a moment to really look at her now, and he thought she was very wrong about that; his best friend’s younger sister had grown up quite nicely in the years since he’d last seen her. She’d been sixteen to his eighteen then. The eyes that had been a sort of vague color then were an amazing mix of green and gold and darker flecks, a combination that he supposed would be called hazel. Her hair was the same medium brown, but with lighter streaks that spoke of days in the sun even here, where it was usually only a summer visitor. Her nose still had that slight upward tilt, but her mouth was fuller. So were the curves—

Damn.

Cory’s laughing words, spoken more than once, came back to him. She’s the brain of the family—I got the looks.

That might have been true then; quiet little Cassidy Grant had been a bookish girl who likely would have faded completely into the background for him had it not been for one thing; she had ever and always been able to make him laugh. That brain Cory had always joked about was indeed present, and part of it was a knack for retorts to her brother’s teasing that left Jace roaring both at what she’d said and the look on Cory’s face.

She’s the brain of the family—I got the looks.

And if the world ever finds a useful purpose for long eyelashes and dimples, they’ll beat a path to your door.

Poor Cory never could figure out if she was complimenting or insulting him. Jace had just grinned at her and said he hoped she never got that mad at him.

I wouldn’t. I couldn’t.

It came back to him, the way she’d looked at him so earnestly. And how Cory had later rolled his eyes and said, “Are you really that dense? She’s crushing on you.”

He shook off the memories. “Looked in a mirror lately?” he asked her.

Cassie blinked. Drew back slightly. Slowly, she smiled. “That was very nicely done. Thank you.”

“Wasn’t nice. Just true. But that aside,” he said with a glance at Rafe, “do looks really have much to do with the way a stalker’s brain works, who he fixates on?”

“Not always,” Rafe said. “It might start that way, looks or fame, but often it’s something else that sends them down that path. Almost always driven by the delusion that there’s a connection between him or her and the victim. A personal one. And that if they only knew it, they of course would want to be together. Or they do know it but are being forced to deny it by other, outside forces.”

Cassie looked at the man curiously. “Were you a cop before you worked for...whoever you work for?”

“No. Just learned a lot along the way with Foxworth.”

“Foxworth?”

Jace grimaced. “I’ll leave that one to you,” he said to the other man. “But I’d suggest leaving the dog out of it. She’s pretty empirically minded.”

Rafe glanced at Cutter, then back at Cassie. “So am I. Accepting Cutter is...what he is was a tough go. But I also know he’s never been wrong.”

“Wrong?”

“When he brings someone to us.”

Cassie gave Jace a sideways look. With a sigh, he told her the story of their rainy encounter. But when it came to explaining Foxworth, he left it to the man who was taking it all with an utterly straight face. And he left out the part where he knew darned well Rafe had checked him out before they’d headed back out into the rain; that phone call he’d made was too pointedly out of his earshot. He pretty much knew what the guy would find, so he didn’t worry about it.

“So,” Cassie said slowly when they’d finished, “you work for this Foxworth Foundation, helping people in the right turn lost causes into wins, for nothing, and then your boss marries the woman who owns this dog, and you discover he’s got a nose for finding those people? Is that about it?”

Rafe grinned at that, and it changed his entire countenance. “Best summation I’ve heard. I’ll have to remember it, because I’m not the best at explaining it.”

Cassie looked inordinately pleased, and Jace was irritated that that irritated him.

Irritated squared, which makes it even bigger than irritated twice over.

Cassie’s long-ago explanation, which had been about her being angry at both her brother and him over...something, echoed in his head.

“And,” Rafe added, “everybody else is off for the holiday, so you’re stuck with me.” Jace saw him reach down and scratch behind the dog’s right ear. “And this guy, who’s worth about three of any of us.”

“Who decides who’s in the right?” Cassie asked, and Jace’s gaze shot back to her; he had asked exactly that himself. Rafe gave her the same answer.

“That’s the best part. We do. Nobody decides for us.”

“About this stalker,” Jace said, dragging them back to the subject. “You said you didn’t have a description.”

“No,” she said, “but I swear, someone’s been following me.”

She looked at Rafe, as if doubtful he’d believe her. As if he’d read her thought, he said quietly, “And watching you?”

Her breath caught audibly. “Yes. How did you know?”

“Saw some sign under the trees out there.”

Jace’s jaw clenched as Cassie paled. “He’s been hiding in my trees?”

“Someone’s been in there. Enough to leave a sign. What can you tell me about him? It is a him?”

“Yes. I don’t know who, have no idea why, or even what he looks like, but...”

“Is that because he hasn’t gotten close enough, or because he’s masking himself somehow?” Rafe asked.

“Both,” she said. “I mean, he does stay back, but he wears hoodies with the hood up, or knit hats with a scarf wrapped around his neck and face like it was thirty below. Oh, and gloves. The thin, stretchy kind.”

“Interesting,” Rafe observed. “A bit overkill.”

“Maybe he’s not from here,” Jace said. “I grew up here, never thought forties were cold, but people in California would be dragging out ski wear.”

Rafe nodded. “Could be.”

Cassie looked at Jace. “You were in California?”

He nodded. “That’s what took me so long. I—”

He stopped abruptly. He had just noticed the photograph on the shelf behind her. A family photograph, taken on a sunny summer day on the beach at the lighthouse a few miles away. He remembered going with them that day, vividly. And he remembered this picture. Mrs. Grant had asked someone walking by to take it, and Jace had edged out of the way.

And where do you think you’re going, Jace? Get over here!

He remembered gaping at Cassie’s mother in disbelief. And then her father had come over and grabbed his arm to pull him into the shot. He stared at it now, saw the two loving parents, Cory next to his mother, Cassie next to her father, and...him. In between both adults, with both their arms around his shoulders. As if he were theirs. As if he, of the three kids, was the one who needed them most.

He found himself blinking rapidly. Because that had been nothing less than the truth.

* * *

That’s what took me so long.

Cassie felt a twinge of guilt at her earlier assumptions, that he wasn’t coming at all. She should have known. This was Jace, after all. Not her brother, who didn’t quite seem to understand what a promise was. Like his promise that this or that batch of trouble was the last one, when in fact he’d skated on the edge of trouble most of his life. Not her brother, who couldn’t even be bothered to return her phone calls.

Call Jace. He’ll come. He promised.

Cory had said it with a shrug, as if the world knew that Jace’s word was golden. And apparently, it still was. Because he’d simply come when she’d made that near-panicked phone call the night she’d seen that shadow lurking outside her bedroom window.

And then she noticed Jace was staring past her. The lighthouse photo? Was that what was making him look so...so...

Thankfully, Rafe brought them back to the matter at hand.

“The police didn’t think that was enough description?”

She grimaced as she refocused. “More that it could match any one of a dozen people on the street at any given time. Tourists come through here on their way to the national park, and a lot of them are bundled up, like Jace said.”

“But you’re sure he’s following you?” Rafe asked.

Maybe it really was all in her head. Why on earth would anyone fixate on her, after all? She wasn’t famous, she certainly wasn’t rich; the shop was barely getting by. And she wasn’t drop-dead gorgeous; she hadn’t broken up with anyone recently—hadn’t dated anyone in a sadly long time—nor had she had any angry encounters with anyone, male or female. No new people or angry customers at work, where she generally kept to her office in back of the florist shop except when she had to cover the counter or made deliveries to help out. No passing contacts with people while shopping or picking up her morning coffee. The answer to every question the police had asked was no, including if she had any idea why someone might be following her.

“I know it sounds crazy, there’s no reason for anyone—”

“Sometimes all it takes is an attractive woman alone,” Jace said. Cassidy’s head snapped around. She stared at him. “What?” he asked, looking utterly blank.

She reined in her pulse, laughing at herself for the silly jump it had taken. That’s all it takes, Jace saying you’re attractive? Didn’t you outgrow that long ago?

Not, she thought, that any woman’s pulse wouldn’t jump. He was still Jace, after all. Sexy cute, with those bright blue eyes and that kind of wild dark hair that always looked a bit windblown.

Do you even own a comb?

That’s what fingers are for.

She nearly blushed at the years-old memory. He’d answered her question with a glint in his eye she’d been too young at the time to understand, and it wasn’t until much later that she’d realized he hadn’t necessarily been talking about his own fingers. She’d finally gotten it the day she’d seen him outside the gym, with Kim Clark running her fingers through that thick hair. The rather predatory social leader, the kind who sniffed audibly at studious types like herself, had set her sights on Jace the day after he’d won his first judo competition.

To his credit, Jace hadn’t fallen for it.

She’s a user, Cassie. She never even glanced at me before. Besides, she doesn’t get me.

But she did. Where most people found his quirky way of seeing things puzzling, she found it fascinating. She always had.

She found him fascinating. She always had.

“Cassie?”

She realized she was still staring at him. “Sorry. Memory bomb went off.”

He looked startled, and then he was grinning. That devastating, flashing grin that didn’t just light up his face, but the whole room he was in.

“I can’t believe you remember that.”

I remember everything about you. But “It’s still the best description ever” was all she said. Then she shifted her gaze—reluctantly—to Rafe. He was watching them rather assessingly.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to be rude,” she said quickly.

“You have history,” he said simply.

Oh, yes. And I just got smacked with the fact that for me, it’s not history at all.




Chapter 3 (#u5281a46f-a79a-591b-9a97-854d3b05137c)


“How long has this been going on?” Rafe asked her.

Jace felt oddly relieved that he was bringing the conversation back to the matter at hand. He wasn’t sure why—he’d known there would be memories involved, simply because Rafe had been right, they had history.

“Almost three weeks,” Cassie answered, then quickly amended, “That I’m aware of. It could be longer. I might not have noticed right away.”

“Where?” Rafe asked. “Work, home?”

“Both. At least, I think it’s the same guy. I haven’t really seen him here, only his shadow. At night.”

Jace frowned. “His shadow?”

“He—assuming it was him—was outside my bedroom window.”

Jace swore under his breath.

“That’s...when I called you. I got scared that night.”

“I would think so.”

“Where did you first notice the guy?” Rafe asked.

“Outside the shop. He was just hanging around. And he looked...”

“Sketchy? Edgy?” Jace asked.

“More...watchful. Like he was waiting for something. But he wasn’t looking at the street or sidewalk, he was looking at the shop.”

“And what did you think he was there for?” Rafe asked.

“No idea,” she said.

“But what did you think?” he asked again, gently.

Cassie looked puzzled. “Usual stuff, I guess. He was waiting for someone—we had a couple of customers inside. Or he wanted to come in and hadn’t worked up to it yet.” She smiled. “Some guys have an amazingly hard time deciding to buy flowers for someone.”

“I buy them for my mom,” Jace protested.

Cassie blinked. Looked as if something had clicked in her mind, but she only said, “That wasn’t aimed at you.”

“Oh. Sorry.” He grinned rather crookedly. “Must have been from being around you guys growing up. I never thought flowers were scary.”

“I know,” she said, and this time her voice was soft, her smile fond. “I remember you used to ask my mother what they all were called. And the lilies were your favorite.”

Now he was embarrassed. “Yeah,” he said. “I liked how they looked so delicate, but if you didn’t take care they’d mark you forever with that orange stuff.”

“Attack of the Tiger Lilies.”

He had to laugh as she quoted the old title he’d made up as a kid for a horror film starring the tiger lilies simply because he liked the name.

And yet again Rafe had to steer them back to the matter at hand.

“What else did you think or wonder about him that first day?” When she hesitated, Rafe leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Sometimes your brain processes things faster than your conscious mind is aware of. So you have a thought that seems out of the blue, or baseless, when in fact there was an entire thought process that brought you to it.”

“I’m not sure what you mean,” Cassidy said.

“He means—I think,” Jace added with a glance at Rafe, “like when you see a bluebird. You think you instantly know it’s a bluebird, but really it’s a process. First you see that something’s there, then recognize that it’s a bird, then that it’s blue, and then that it’s not a blue jay, and voilà, you arrive at bluebird. But you’re not conscious of all those steps.”

She was smiling by the time he was halfway through. And Rafe, thankfully, was nodding, so he’d been right.

“Okay, I get it. But—” she gave Rafe a doubtful glance “—I’m not sure how it applies here.”

“When he kept hanging around, did your thoughts about what he might be up to get worse?”

“Oh. Yes,” she said with a small laugh. “I started wondering if he was working up the nerve to steal something, or rob us.” As if she’d heard her own words, her eyes widened. “Do you think that’s what it was? That he was...what, casing our shop? That would be pointless—we really don’t have much cash on hand. Most people use credit or debit cards.”

“Assuming the shop’s cash is what he was after,” Rafe said.

“But what else?”

“Did he make you nervous?” Jace asked. “In a...personal way?”

“You mean did I feel like it was me specifically he was watching? Not then. Not until I started feeling watched around here, at home.”

“What made you think it was the same man?”

Cassie let out an audible breath. “That’s what the police asked. And since I’ve never really seen him when he’s been here, I still don’t have an answer other than odds.”

Jace knew she meant the odds that in a small town like this there would be two men hanging around the two places she frequented most. He agreed, but he wasn’t sure the clearly experienced and likely more suspicious Rafe would. But the man was simply nodding, looking thoughtful.

“Too coincidental,” Jace said.

“Yes.” Cassie sounded relieved that he understood.

“I need to ask you some questions,” Rafe said. “And some of them might seem not pertinent, maybe even impertinent.”

Cassie drew back slightly, looking at the man. “Not a word I’d dare to apply to you.”

Rafe smiled, just slightly, and Jace had the thought that it wasn’t exactly a pleased smile. And Cutter shifted suddenly, from his polite, alert posture to leaning slightly against Rafe’s knee. The man’s hand went to the dog’s head, to scratch behind his right ear, and it had the feel of an automatic gesture, done so often it didn’t require thought any longer.

It was almost like the dog had also sensed that smile hadn’t been a happy one and had moved to comfort. He remembered how his childhood dog, Max, had always seemed to know when he was sad or upset and had come to comfort him.

And remember what that cost him.

He shoved away the memory as Rafe spoke again.

“I’m sure you’ve already thought of the obvious,” Rafe said, “but I have to ask anyway. And if I ask what seems like the same thing again but in a different way, don’t feel hounded. Sometimes just a different way of phrasing can trigger different thoughts and ideas.”

Jace listened as the man asked a string of questions. Some he could have answered himself, and he nodded when she did so exactly as he would have expected. Cassie would never get into an argument at work—she was the peacemaker, probably learned from years of trying to broker peace between her brother and their parents. She had a knack for seeing things from another point of view and acknowledging it without ever conceding her own. And she had worked in the flower shop since she was a teenager, so she knew her stuff. Not to mention, knowing her, she worked harder than anybody else.

Unhappy customers? No one that stayed unhappy.

You don’t have to agree. Sometimes all people need to know is that you hear them, understand where they’re coming from. That was Cassie’s philosophy, and always had been. Nobody could stay mad at her for long.

Traffic accidents? No, Cassie was very careful.

Upset neighbors? He nearly laughed at that one. Unless she had very much changed, Cassidy Grant was who you came to if you needed a favor—your dog walked, your cat fed, your kid watched at the last minute; if she could, she’d do it.

True, he hadn’t had contact with her in years, but that was who Cassie was at her very core, and he doubted she had changed much.

Boyfriend?

Jace went still. He should have realized that one was coming. Felt silly when he realized he was holding his breath, waiting for her to answer.

“No.”

No explanation, just a flat no. He could breathe again. And he’d analyze what the hell that meant later.

“Exes?” Rafe asked.

She glanced at Jace. A quick flick of a look, but he was certain he’d seen it.

“Not...recently.”

“How long ago?”

She answered neutrally, “Nearly two years.”

Two years? How had a woman like Cassie gone two years without having guys beating down her door?

“Long time,” he said, his voice coming out a bit gruff. She only shrugged.

“How were the partings?” Rafe asked. Belatedly, Jace realized this could be exactly what they were here about.

“Agreed upon, if not amicable,” she said, her voice still betraying no emotion at all. Odd, he thought, she’d always had trouble hiding her emotions before. He found he wasn’t particularly happy that she’d learned.

“How far from amicable?” Rafe continued pressing.

“Not very. And what wasn’t was on my part.”

There it was, finally, a trace of...something. Pain? Hurt? He felt suddenly guilt that he was glad of it, but he couldn’t deny this cool demeanor was bothering him. Cassie had always been quiet, but never cool. Even back then he’d often suspected she was quiet because inside she was very much not cool.

And sometimes those hazel eyes had been dark with emotion, absolutely stormy. Cory had asked him once how he always seemed to know when she was in a mood. “It’s right there in her eyes,” he’d answered, surprised that it wasn’t obvious to everyone.

“I’ll need names,” Rafe said. At her edgy look he added easily, “Process of elimination.”

“Oh.”

“Who was the most recent?”

“Steve Larsen. He’s a teacher at the middle school.”

“How’d it end?”

“He went back to his ex-wife.” She gave a half shrug. “I understood. They have two young children. They remarried, and I’m happy for him.”

“Who was before that?”

“Tim Sparks.”

Jace gaped at her. “You dated the jock?”

Cassie shifted her gaze to his face. “Says the judo champion of the entire school district?”

“Yeah, but Tim, he was...”

“Yes, he was. But he’s grown up a lot since he used to strut around campus. Having your girlfriend die in a car accident will do that to you.”

He blinked. An image of the girl, the classic cheerleader type who had been the perfect match for the football captain, formed in his head. They’d been the cliché couple, each a star with their own posse, and together the superstars of their little world. “Carly’s...dead?”

She nodded. “Right after their graduation. You’d know that if you ever bothered to keep in touch.”

“Been a little busy,” he said, stung.

“Hmm.”

He lapsed into silence as Rafe continued to ask her questions. He only half listened, because he was trying to picture quiet, clever Cassidy with the outgoing, unserious Tim. But maybe the guy had found her quiet calm soothing after what had happened. When she said he’d gone on to become a successful attorney, he thought maybe that was a clue.

Rafe stopped to make some notes, and Jace blurted out, “Was he driving?”

As usual, Cassie had no trouble following, even though it had been a few minutes since she’d told him.

“No. But it was his car.”

“So he felt responsible.”

She was looking at him rather intently. “No. That would be something you would do.”

He blinked. Her tone had been so neutral he couldn’t tell if it had been compliment or accusation. Knowing Cassie, probably both.

Cutter was suddenly on his feet. He was looking from Cassie to him, then back, his expression oddly puzzled.

Don’t try to figure her out, dog. She goes way too deep.

The animal walked over to her, rested his chin on her knee. She looked bemused but pleased and put a hand on the dark head. He watched her face as she looked down at the dog. Saw the slow smile dawn, wondered if she was feeling what he had felt the first time he had stroked Cutter’s head in the same way. Wondered what it was about the animal, what knack he had.

Wondered when Cassidy Grant had gone from quietly cute to utterly beautiful. And the thought of her in genuine danger made his stomach knot.

“I have a question,” he said abruptly. “About the elephant not in the room.”

Her head came up.

“Where the hell is your brother?”




Chapter 4 (#u5281a46f-a79a-591b-9a97-854d3b05137c)


Cassidy managed not to recoil at the anger in Jace’s tone, but it was a close thing. “Hell if I know,” she retorted.

Jace looked surprised. That she’d echoed his curse? Or that it was about her brother, whom, for all her teasing, she had adored?

A lot has changed since you were here.

It wasn’t that she didn’t still love Cory, but... And then, belatedly, something else occurred to her. “Don’t you know where he is?”

Jace made a face that matched her sour tone. “I haven’t talked to him in...” He trailed off, then finished with a rueful expression after he apparently figured out just how long it had been. “Four years.”

She frowned. “But you two were best friends.”

“Yeah. Funny how that ended once he knew I couldn’t lend him money anymore.”

He looked as if he regretted saying it, so she hastened to say, “I get it. I didn’t hear much from him after the bank of Cassidy closed up, either.”

He frowned. “Are you...in financial trouble? With the shop, and I thought your folks had a little life insurance—”

“Not in trouble, just...tight. The shop’s breaking even, but no more. I cut Cory off after he blew through his half of the insurance money in a few months. It wasn’t that much, only fifty thousand, but...” She waited for the look, the one some people gave her, accusatory. How could she cut off her own brother if he needed help?

Instead he just said softly, “Good for you.” She blinked, surprised. “I know what he likely blew it on,” he explained.

She felt a jab of relief that she wouldn’t have to explain. “Is that why you stopped loaning him money, too?”

“No. I—” He cut himself off, gave a sharp shake of his head. “Never mind. Irrelevant.”

She supposed it wasn’t relevant, but she couldn’t help wondering what had made him say it like that. With such an edge.

“Are we sure of that?”

The inquiry sounded mild compared to Jace’s edge, but Cassidy doubted anything coming from the man who had been sitting so silently yet still was such a presence in the room should be taken lightly.

“What do you mean, Mr. Crawford?”

“Rafe, please. I already feel old enough just getting up in the morning.”

He said it so wryly she couldn’t help but smile. “All right, then, Rafe,” she said. “Are you saying my brother might be connected to this?”

It seemed an impossibility to her, but she kept her tone neutral. She’d learned a lot about self-control when it came to her brother.

“That depends,” the man said, shifting his steady gaze to Jace, “on what exactly he was spending that money on.”

“Not drugs,” Jace said, with a quick glance at Cassidy. “He was never into that, or alcohol. But he was...always looking for the easy way. The big thing that was going to make him really rich.”

“There are many people who would consider having fifty grand in the bank pretty rich,” Rafe said.

Cassidy saw Jace’s head snap around as he stared at the other man rather too pointedly to just be a response to him speaking. “Yes,” he said. “There are.”

There had been something in those words, too, something harsh and...personal? Whatever it was, she didn’t like it. Jace had had enough of that in his life, with his strict, overbearing father. The man had made her feel impossibly inadequate the few times she’d been around him, and Cory had told her tales that had made her shudder, so she could only imagine how he’d made Jace feel.

“I don’t think my brother could be involved in this. I haven’t spoken to him in several weeks, and I haven’t seen him in four months,” she said now. She glanced at Jace. “I did try to call him a few times before I called you. He never called back.”

“Sounds par for the course for him.”

She sighed. “It didn’t used to be.”

“A lot of things didn’t used to be.”

Again that edge had crept into his voice. And this time he was facing her, and she saw him fight it down.

“He’s the one who left me your number and told me...to call you if I couldn’t reach him and needed help. Because you—”

She cut herself off, realizing they were into territory she wasn’t sure she wanted to discuss in front of a complete stranger, even one who was here to help.

“Made him a promise,” Jace finished softly.

“Yes.”

“And that promise,” the man she’d been worried about talking in front of said, “is why Foxworth is involved. Helping good people keep honest promises is high on the list of things we do.”

It seemed impossible to her that such a thing existed, yet here they were, this intimidating man who looked as if he’d have no problem handling any trouble that came at him, and the dog who somehow made him less frightening.

“Speaking of lists,” he added, “I’ll need one, of everyone you see on a regular basis. The personal names first, then business. Include when you last saw or spoke to them, and the circumstances. Don’t try to narrow it down, or leave anyone off that you think is unlikely or impossible. Let us do that.”

“Us?” She glanced at Jace, who hadn’t been in her life for nearly ten years. Never mind that he’d often been in her mind.

“I meant Foxworth,” Rafe said. “We’ve got resources.”

She frowned. “And you’re going to use them to, what? Poke around in the lives of everyone I know?”

“I promise you, they will never know.”

She still didn’t like the idea. “I don’t think so.”

For a brief moment, he didn’t answer. He looked just rueful enough that her entire impression of him changed. In that moment he looked like a man in unknown waters. It echoed in his voice when he said, “I made a big assumption, Ms. Grant, and I shouldn’t have.”

“What big assumption?”

He nodded. “That you wanted our help. I’m not usually the front man for Foxworth, or I wouldn’t have forgotten a crucial step.”

“What are you, usually?”

Surprise flickered in his eyes, but only for an instant. “If I answered that, you might say no when you need to say yes.”

She wasn’t sure what to make of that but guessed he meant that if there was dirty work to be done, he did it. She wasn’t really certain what that would be, but if they got involved in things like this, what else might they deal with? For a moment she questioned whether she did indeed want the help being offered.

The dog at her knee shifted, drawing her gaze. Dark, amber-flecked eyes looked up into hers, and she felt suddenly steadier. And certain that it was all right. How odd.

She looked back at Rafe, who didn’t speak again, didn’t try to persuade her, just let her process. She studied him for a moment longer, then said quietly, “I think whatever the situation, I would want you on my side and not against me.”

Rafe smiled. It was not, she thought, a happy smile.

“Told you she was smart,” Jace said.

Cassidy’s gaze shifted to him as she wondered what else he’d told the man. And she caught him watching her with the oddest expression on his face.

“You still have the scar,” she said, rather inanely. Of course he still had it.

He lifted a hand as if instinctively, to touch the mark below his eye. “My favorite souvenir.”

She felt a faint heat rising in her cheeks. “Something to remind you of a silly girl you had to rescue?”

“You were never silly. And I never needed the scar for that.”

His voice was so soft, so gentle, yet with that rough edge he’d gained somewhere in the last ten years. His words set up a chain reaction of memories, hopes that she’d thought successfully quashed for good. She was afraid the pink in her face would turn to full red if she didn’t look away. So she quickly did, only to find Rafe Crawford watching them both thoughtfully.

But thankfully the man said nothing except, “That list? And a schedule, too. Where you usually are when, and what days might vary and why.”

That, at least she could see the reason for. And so, wondering on several fronts what she’d gotten herself into, she went to the kitchen drawer where she kept stray notepads and began to write.




Chapter 5 (#u5281a46f-a79a-591b-9a97-854d3b05137c)


“You could have mentioned she was more to you than your friend’s sister,” Rafe said casually, quietly.

Jace felt a jolt at the words and with a touch of panic tried to gauge if Cassie could have heard him over there in the kitchen. She never faltered in her writing, so he guessed not. Then he looked back at Rafe and realized this was a man who would know exactly how far his voice would or would not carry.

“She’s not,” he said. At least, she wasn’t. “I mean, I liked her, enough to tease her a lot. Like she was my sister, too. Cory said she...kind of had a crush on me. You know, the kind of thing that happens with teenage girls.”

“She’s not a teenage girl now.”

Jace glanced at her. “No kidding. I never thought she’d grow up like...that.”

“Nothing sisterly about her now.”

Jace swallowed tightly. “No. No, not a thing.”

“Except that promise.”

His gaze shot back to Rafe’s face. “Yeah. That promise.”

He’d made that promise to Cory, to take care of his sister if ever he couldn’t. To look out for her, help her if she needed it.

“Doesn’t sound like her brother’s the type to keep them.”

“Depends how much it costs him.” The rather cynical observation was out before he thought. His mouth tightened ruefully. What was it about this guy—and that blessed dog—that made him say things he normally would never say? Especially to someone he’d just met?

“Some would say that lets you off the hook.”

Jace’s brow furrowed. “Why? I made the promise, not Cory.”

The slightest of smiles flitted across the other man’s face. “And that you make that distinction is why I’m here. You’re the kind of person Foxworth helps. Cory, not so much.”

Jace was saved from responding by Cassie’s return. She handed Rafe the list of names. “You swear they won’t ever know?”

“As long as they’re not involved in whatever this is, they won’t have a clue,” Rafe promised. Somehow Jace thought the guy would deliver on that.

“And if they are?” she asked, warily. “If someone on this list—” she sounded extremely doubtful “—turns out to be my stalker, what then?”

“That’s up to you,” Rafe answered.

“Me? Not...the police?”

Rafe gave a one-shouldered shrug. “We work with the police, often. They like us because we share what we can, sometimes things they don’t know. If it becomes a police matter, we cooperate. And if it turns into something big for them, we don’t want the credit. But we’re not bound by their rules, which sometimes cripple them. And we work for you.”

Cassie still looked uncertain. Jace couldn’t really blame her; he’d seen the Foxworth setup, had watched as Rafe had started certain wheels in motion, and he still couldn’t quite believe it all.

“Think of it like this,” Rafe suggested. “Imagine finding out it’s a friend with a misguided but innocent reason. That would make you feel differently than if it’s some unbalanced stranger with a fixation.”

“Oh.” She grimaced. “Yes. I see what you mean.”

“If it is that...stranger,” Jace began.

“Then we’ll deal,” Rafe said. “I’ll get the process of elimination started with our tech guy. But there’s one more thing. We all need to be clear on what the goal is here.”

“Keep Cassie safe,” Jace said instantly.

“Catch him,” Cassie said simultaneously.

Startled, Jace stared at her. “Cassie,” he began.

She looked at Rafe as if for support. “The one accomplishes the other, right?”

“Yes,” Rafe agreed, “but I’d say Jace’s goal has to come first. Your safety is paramount.”

“Exactly,” Jace agreed. And he was suddenly relieved that they had this man on their side, to accomplish just that. But then Rafe spoke again and blasted all other thoughts out of his head.

“So Jace should stay here with you. Just seeing you’re not alone should slow this guy down.”

Cassie frowned. Which made Jace frown and refocus. Was the idea of him under her roof that distasteful? Did she—

“But won’t that just make him wait?” she asked, snapping him back to reality, where it seemed the idea of him under her roof didn’t matter at all. And he wasn’t sure that didn’t bother him even more.

Feeling suddenly contrary, Jace said, “If I stay long enough, he’ll move on, won’t he?”

“Depends on his goal,” Rafe said. Then, sounding almost weary, he added, “Some fixations can withstand both time and logic.”

Cassie studied the other man for a moment. Then, quietly, she said, “You’ve dealt with this kind of thing before, then.”

“Yes. Foxworth has dealt with several stalking cases.”

“I mean you, personally.”

Again the shrug. “Three.”

“And how did they end up?” Jace asked.

“One misunderstanding. One in jail.” He stopped.

“And the third?” Cassie prompted.

Jace watched Rafe meet her gaze. “Dead.”

If the Foxworth man had thought she would crumple, he’d misjudged her. Jace hadn’t. He knew Cassidy Grant was made of sterner stuff than that. Still, he stayed silent, curious to see how she responded.

“Since I doubt you’re the type to indiscriminately kill, I presume it was necessary.”

Rafe’s voice was barely above a whisper. “There are some who would say I’m exactly that type.”

Jace had the sudden feeling this was about something else entirely. And that if this man had killed, as he’d said, it was not something he did lightly. And he would carry the responsibility of it forever. Jace was certain of it in the same way he was certain that his father was the most irresponsible man on the planet, if indeed he still was on it.

For the first time since he’d taken a position at Cassie’s side, the dog moved. He padded silently over to the man with the haunted eyes and nudged his hand. And again without a look, with the appearance of a habit long ingrained, Rafe put his hand on the dog’s head.

“Thanks, buddy,” he murmured. “I’m okay.”

Jace glanced at Cassie, who was watching the pair intently.

“All right,” she said suddenly. “What else do you need me to do?”

“Go about your business. Jace, stay close.”

“And you?” Jace asked.

“I’ll be around. Never far.”

“I only have one guest room, but there’s a foldout couch in—”

She stopped as Rafe shook his head. “I need to be outside. Able to move.”

“But at night—” Cassie began to protest.

“At night most of all.”

Jace was hit with a sudden certainty that under cover of night, this man could be one of the deadliest predators that walked.

“It’s November. It’s cold at night,” Cassie protested.

Rafe smiled at her. “I’ll survive.”

“And it won’t be the first time, will it?” Jace asked, already knowing the answer.

“Nor likely the last,” Rafe said, meeting his gaze. Then, in the tone of someone used to thinking in such ways, he said, “He’ll be checking you out, assessing.”

Jace nodded. “How should I play it? Tough or wimp?”

Rafe grinned, and Jace felt oddly as if he’d won some sort of award. “In between, I think. Let him wonder. Who you are, and how capable you are.” He gave Cassie a glance that looked apologetic. “We can’t be absolutely certain he doesn’t at least know your brother, so I don’t think that pretense would work.”

“Bodyguard?” Jace asked.

“That implies training and will make him more cautious,” Rafe said. He glanced from him to Cassie. “Boyfriend, I think, if you can pull it off.”

Jace groaned inwardly. Then he nearly frowned, because he didn’t understand why he’d reacted on such a gut level to what was a logical solution.

“But if he’s been watching me, won’t he know I don’t have one?” Cassie asked, apparently unruffled by the idea.

“You’re sure it’s only been three weeks?” Rafe asked.

“I think so. But like I said, I might not have realized it right away.”

“I’m guessing you picked up on it pretty quickly. Say, maybe three days of seeing him repeatedly at the most. So we’ll go with three weeks.”

“Which means?” Jace asked.

“He wasn’t around when we got here today. He could be watching from a distance, but if he is, he won’t be sure what’s going on. For all he knows, I just picked your boyfriend up at the airport after a trip somewhere that started just about when he started watching you.”

“So we’re having a joyous reunion,” Jace said. He kept his voice carefully even, but he heard a tiny sound from Cassie, as if she’d only just realized what this was going to involve. “Together every minute because I’ve been gone.”

“Something like that, yes,” Rafe agreed.

“I don’t know...” Cassie began before Jace turned to her.

“You can do it, Cassie.” He managed a wry grin. “Just look at me like you did when you were sixteen.”

He saw her stiffen, draw herself up. Ah, there was the Cassie he remembered, quiet but strong.

“Oh, I wasn’t worried about that.” Her tone was as light as her posture was determined. “I can make cow eyes at you just like I used to. I was more worried about you, pretending to look at me like that.”

“I’ll manage.”

And he would. All too easily.

He was just going to have to be careful it didn’t become real.

* * *

Cassidy was feeling a little like a spoiled child. She’d been scared, had wanted help, had called for help and now that it was here, she was unhappy about it.

I just never expected he would move in, and we’d have to pretend to be...lovers.

The very thought made her shiver and reminded her too sharply of the days and nights when she had pined after Jace with all the longing of an infatuated teenage heart. And that moment when he’d said he bought flowers for his mom, and she’d felt a jab of cheer that he hadn’t mentioned a girlfriend.

She distracted herself by studying the cell phone Rafe had given her, a twin to the one he’d given Jace, after she’d explained why she’d been afraid to use hers.

“He may not be savvy enough to hack your phone, but it can’t hurt. But we need communications,” he’d said and gone out to his car and opened the trunk. When he came back, he’d had the two phones. “They’re Foxworth,” he’d explained as he showed them how they worked. “And as unhackable as a phone can be. They also function as a direct connection, so if anything happens I need to know, or if you’re in trouble, you’ve got one-button contact.”

Somehow this man saying it made it seem more real than even that night when the shadow outside her bedroom window had so terrified her.

They’d then spent another hour going over things she never would have even thought might be connected. The business, finances, other relatives, even any lingering threads from her parents’ deaths.

“I’ve got some things to check,” Rafe finally said. He looked at Jace. “You’ve got first watch. Stay with her, keep that phone handy and don’t hesitate to use it. I’ll call you when I take over, then you can get some rest.”

“What about you?” Cassidy asked.

“Don’t worry about me,” Rafe said and headed for the back door she’d shown him earlier. Cassidy wondered who did worry about him. “I’m going to check around outside first. Cutter, with me.”

The dog spun on his hind legs and was at Rafe’s side in a single leap. Gone was the quiet, gentle, soothing animal she’d seen so far; this was a working dog now, and the difference was startling. Dog and man made an impressive team, and yet again the word that occurred to her was intimidating.

And then they were gone, so quietly she wasn’t certain at first that they hadn’t just stayed on the back deck.

“Wow,” she said, a little taken aback. “You really called in the cavalry.”

“Ex, maybe,” Jace agreed. “But I told you, he found me. Well, the dog did.”

She smiled at that. “Not sure what I think of that dog. He’s almost spooky, the way he seems to sense things.”

“Rafe says he still surprises them all the time. At home he patrols the neighborhood twice a day, and last month he stole the cell phone of a neighbor so she’d come after him, because she had a problem Foxworth could help her with.”

Cassidy blinked. “And just how did he know that?”

“No idea.”

“Have you looked them up?”

“No.” His mouth twisted again. “No phone, remember? But we stopped at their office on the way here. Pretty impressive setup. They’ve even got a helicopter, and apparently a small plane at the local airfield.”

“Fancy place?”

“No, not at all. Kind of hidden in the trees, not even a sign. Rafe says they work mostly by word of mouth. And lately, the dog.” She laughed. Jace shrugged. “Yeah. Sounds crazy, but here I am.”

A sudden warmth filled her. Yes, he was. She’d called, and he’d come. Just like he’d promised. “You’re still a good guy, Jace Robinson.”

He’d been looking at the new phone, but now his head came up sharply. “Not Robinson. Not anymore.”

Cassidy blinked. “What?”

“I don’t use...his name anymore.”

For a moment she just stared at him, unsure what, if anything, she should say to that. She’d always known he and his father didn’t get along and suspected from some things both her parents and Cory had said that he wasn’t a pleasant guy. And then Jace had started taking judo lessons with Cory, and she’d wondered again if there was more to it than just a guy’s fascination with martial arts. But then he’d started winning competitions, and he rarely mentioned his father anyway, so she’d kind of forgotten.

“Okay,” she finally said, knowing she sounded rather lame but unable to think of anything else to say.

“That’s it? ‘Okay’?” He looked at her steadily, as if daring her to question him.

She kept her voice even. “I assume you had good reason. From what little I knew of your father, I think I understand.”

He let out a breath, relaxing a little, and she wondered what others had assumed. That he was some career criminal looking for a new start, or some victim of media overreach looking for anonymity?

“I had it legally changed when my mom went back to her maiden name, Cahill.”

“So you’re Jace Cahill now?”

He nodded.

“Sounds good together,” she said, meaning it. She left it at that. “By whatever name, thank you for coming. I feel a little silly now. It sounds so crazy when I say it to someone else—” She stopped when he held up a hand.

“I’m sure most stalking victims think it sounds crazy until they find out it’s true. And better you take steps and it turns out not to be anything than not and it does. Or something.” He gave her that crooked smile that had always sent her pulse racing. It still did, and she looked down, a little embarrassed that after all this time he could have this effect on her.

She supposed she shouldn’t be. He had the same bright blue eyes and that same sweetly crooked smile. His body was still tall and lean, and he still had that way of shoving one hand in his jeans pocket that made her hyperaware of the lean maleness of his hips. The fact that he looked older now, a bit older even than she knew he was, only made him more attractive. True, he looked a bit careworn, his hair longer and a bit shaggy, his jeans frayed and faded, his jacket torn on one side, his boots worn and with what looked like a strip of duct tape across one toe. Then again, people paid lots of money for just that look in a futile effort to appear cool.

But that kind of guy didn’t travel over a thousand miles to keep a silly promise to look out for his friend’s younger sister.

“Let’s get you settled in,” she said, making an effort at sounding brisk and efficient, and succeeding somewhat. “Are you hungry?”

“Starved,” he admitted with a rueful twist of his mouth.

“Then aren’t you lucky I made spaghetti sauce yesterday,” she said lightly.

As if on cue his stomach growled. And it made his protest that she didn’t have to do that sound like exactly what it was, a token.

“You came all this way to help me, the least I can do is feed you.” She led him down the hall. He glanced at a doorway as they passed—Cory’s old room. “It’s still Cory’s,” she said, “not that he uses it anymore. He just stores a lot of junk in there. I can’t get him to clean it out.”

“I still remember those bunk beds your dad built. I always thought that was so cool. Not just the beds, but that he built them himself.”

He had always liked them, she remembered. And she remembered his reaction when he’d first looked at the footboards her father had carved. Hey, wings! Cory had looked at him blankly, even her father had seemed puzzled, but she had seen what he meant—the angle of the design did look like seagull wings.

“He was a very handy guy,” she said softly.

“I’m sorry,” Jace said. “I didn’t mean to bring up painful memories.”

“They’re not painful,” she assured him quickly. “I love that people remember him like that. Most people don’t talk about them, and it feels like they’ve forgotten they ever existed.”

They’d reached the door to the guest room. “I moved into the master,” she said. “After a year or so. It seemed silly not to, if I was going to keep the place.”

Funny, when she’d decided to move back into this house after her parents had been killed in that accident, she’d thought she would find it too big, too full of memories for her to ever relax. And yet she’d found it strangely comforting.

“Only makes sense,” he said. “And you’ve made it yours.”

“I’ve tried.” She had redone many things, added her own touch.

“Besides, it’s not like being somewhere else is going to stop the memories. They’re in you. Places just trigger them.”

She stared at him. “Yes. Exactly.”

It wasn’t that she was surprised; Jace had always had depth to him. One of those memories he’d just mentioned flashed into her mind, of her sixteen-year-old self saying to her mother how much more mature—that was a popular word to her then—he seemed than Cory.

“He is,” her mother had said, a touch of sadness in her voice. “His father is...a difficult man.”

She had wondered for an instant if the sadness was for Jace or that Cory wasn’t as mature. Decided it had to be for Jace, because she was sure Cory would eventually catch up. She’d been wrong about that, but at the time she’d been certain.

“But his mom’s so sweet,” she’d said.

“Yes. Which makes it even more difficult.”

She hadn’t understood then. But when her father had come home with the news that Jace and his mother had moved away because his father had left them, she thought she did.

“Can I ask you something?” she said when they were in the guest room, he’d dropped his worn pack on the bed and she’d shown him where clean towels were.

“You can always ask,” he said.

Doesn’t mean I’ll answer. She heard what he didn’t say but went ahead. “When your mom moved away, you were... eighteen.” He nodded, giving her a curious look. “I was just wondering...you had that job at the lumberyard, and your friends here...” She trailed off awkwardly.

“You mean why did I go with her?”

“Yes.”

He leaned against the small dresser, crossing his ankles and his arms. Defensively? she wondered. “Thinking I was a mama’s boy who couldn’t be away from her?”

Yes, definitely defensively. “I never thought that. Ever.”

He let out an audible breath. “She needed help. I couldn’t just walk away.”

“Especially after your father did.”

His gaze narrowed. “You know that, then.”

She smiled apologetically. “I’m afraid the whole neighborhood did.”

He grimaced. “I figured.”

“We all knew your dad was...”

“An assh—”

He cut himself off. She found herself wondering if he’d done it to avoid being foul in front of her, or if he really didn’t like calling his father crude names, even if they fit. Either way, it only made her more certain Jace Rob—Cahill was exactly the guy she remembered. The good guy she remembered.

Unfortunately, she thought as she left him to get settled, that also meant he was still the guy she’d had her first-ever serious crush on. The guy whose thick-lashed eyes had stirred her to sighs, and whose lean, broad-shouldered body had caused feelings in her she hadn’t even recognized. The guy all others since had had to measure up to, and usually failed.

And from what she’d seen—and felt—so far, that hadn’t changed a bit.




Chapter 6 (#u5281a46f-a79a-591b-9a97-854d3b05137c)


Jace listened to her footsteps as she went back down the hall. He was feeling a little off balance, here in this house where he’d spent many hours as a kid. It had been a revelation to him then, that not all parents fought constantly, that in some homes, children were appreciated and encouraged by their father, not a nuisance to be rid of as often as possible.

I didn’t mean to break it, Mr. Grant, really. Please...

His own heartfelt plea as he stood over the shards of the flower pot he’d inadvertently shattered with the baseball he and Cory had been tossing. Cory had told him to burn it in and he had, but Cory had panicked at the last second and dodged away.

He remembered cringing when Cory’s father had crouched before him.

I know you didn’t, Jace. It’s all right. It was an accident. Come on in, have some lunch.

He remembered the shock that had filled him at that moment, that not only was Mr. Grant not going to scream curses at him, but that he was still welcome in his house. Remembered even more the look in the man’s eyes, the look he hated and only later had come to recognize as pity.

A wave of weariness swept over him, and he sat on the edge of the bed. It had been a long haul just to get here, and he was afraid Rafe might have been a bit optimistic about him being able to stay awake until he took over. He wondered what the guy was doing, suspected it had something to do with that industrial-strength laptop he’d seen in the car that looked like it could withstand a direct hit from a hand grenade.

The urge to lie down, just for a moment, nearly swamped him. But he was afraid if he did he would be asleep before he hit the pillow.

You’ve got first watch.

Damn, that made it sound so real. He’d known Cassie was scared, but it hadn’t really seemed possible that she was in real danger until Rafe had said that. He was taking this very seriously, and given his demeanor and that look in his eyes, Jace guessed he knew what he was talking about.

He stood up abruptly before that pillow could lure him in. He opened his pack and started pulling out what was there. He’d packed light, so there wasn’t much, and what there was needed washing after the long trek. Maybe he could do that here, if Cassie didn’t mind.

It hit him then, and his head came up. He looked around the room. The walls were a neutral cream, with splashes of green and blue—the throw pillow on the chair, the vase on the dresser and the geometric pattern of the comforter on the bed. But in his mind’s eye it was a pale green, with white shelves on that wall, full of books almost to the ceiling. And that silly, droopy stuffed dog on the top shelf. He’d always thought of him as standing guard over her precious books.

Belatedly what she had meant when she’d talked of moving into the master bedroom registered. This had been Cassie’s room. He’d only seen it a couple of times, and that had been from down the hall at Cory’s room, when the door happened to be open. And once when he’d come out and caught her peeking out into the hallway, as if to see if anyone was around. When she’d seen him, she’d gasped and darted back inside and closed the door.

That was the first time he’d thought maybe Cory was right about Cassie having a crush on him.

It felt odd—maybe downright weird—to be in this room now. True, it was totally different now, down to the color, but it still nagged at him.

He caught a whiff of some luscious scent that his stomach quickly registered as food and a second later his mind labeled spaghetti sauce. It wiped all else from his mind, and he headed down the hall.

Cassie was putting a foil-wrapped bundle in the oven. She glanced at him. “You mind garlic?”

“Only if there’s not enough,” he said, sucking in a deep breath of the great smells.

She laughed and shut the oven door. “In about fifteen, then.”

“Great. Thank you.”

She just smiled at him, and he felt an odd sort of tumble inside.

“While I was stirring, I looked up Foxworth,” she said. “It seems they’re quite something.”

She nodded toward the tablet that lay on the counter. He picked it up and looked at the website she had open. It was slick, streamlined, and had all the basics. Contact info for the five locations Rafe had mentioned, although no addresses. A short bio of the namesakes of the Foundation, Rafe’s boss’s parents. Some effusively grateful testimonials, clearly written by people who had been at the end of their rope.

And not much more. In fact, it seemed to him that if you didn’t already know what they did, you’d never know what they did.

“It doesn’t really say what they do,” she said, echoing his thought.

“Rafe said they work mostly by word of mouth. And the dog.” She laughed again. He looked at her. “It’s good to hear you laugh.”

“I wasn’t,” she said ruefully, “until you got here. But I feel much better now.”

“Worth the trip, then,” he said, ignoring the fact that he wasn’t at all sure he was going to be able to help. But he was fairly sure Rafe knew what he was doing, so maybe he had helped, indirectly. Or the dog had.

“That’s so sad, about the guy’s parents dying in that terrorist attack.”

“What inspired the whole thing, Rafe said. They turned it into something good. Kind of like you keeping the family business going.”

She sighed. “Not what I’d pictured myself doing, but I couldn’t just let it go.”

He remembered what she’d told him with heartfelt earnestness when she’d been about fourteen. “You wanted to travel the country, see all the places you’d read about.”

She looked startled. “You remember that?”

“Sure.” I understood. I wanted to be anywhere but here.

Then, it had only been the desire to escape. But now running off with Cassidy Grant took on an entirely different meaning.

Whoa. He almost took a step back. This sudden awareness of her, as not his best friend’s little sister, but of the woman she was now, had him completely off-kilter.

“I guess we don’t always get what we want,” she said, and she gave him a sideways glance.

He had the strangest feeling she was talking about him, or at least the kid she’d once had a crush on. Then he told himself he was only thinking that because of the crazy direction his own thoughts had veered into.

“Could I borrow your washing machine?” he asked, rather abruptly, trying to snap his weird train of thought.

“Of course. If you need something to wear while you wash your things, Cory has some stuff in the closet in his room.” She wrinkled her nose. “If you can get to it past all the other stuff in there.”

“I climbed two-thirds of Mount Rainier once. I’ll manage.”

She stared at him. “You did?”

He nodded. “When I was sixteen. Made it to Camp Muir at ten thousand feet.”

“Wait, I remember Cory talking about that. It was a school trip, wasn’t it? I can’t remember why he didn’t go.”

“He did, he just didn’t make the upper climb.”

He didn’t mention that they’d had to qualify to go beyond the easier reaches, and Cory had skipped the training classes. Jace hadn’t missed one, because it got him out of the house and away from his father on the weekends.

“I wanted to do that, but I was too young,” she said with a sigh.

“You would have, too.” He meant it. Even then she had had that kind of spirit and the drive that her brother lacked.

He went back to the bedroom to empty dirty clothes out of his backpack. He was nearly done when he heard a noise from outside. His first thought was Rafe, but he dismissed it immediately; the guy never made noise, and he’d be willing to bet—if he ever bet—that Cutter didn’t, either. He could hear Cassie in the kitchen, and he knew the door there was locked. And the noise he’d heard had come from the side nearest this room.

He edged over to the window, trying to see outside without moving the curtain. He waited, listening intently. Heard it again—the faintest of scrapes, like something over concrete. Not close to the house, but no farther than the fence, he guessed.

His mind raced. He could go out into the dark and try to catch whoever—or possibly whatever—it was. Or he could flip on the outside lights and let him know he’d been heard.

Keep Cassie safe.

Catch him.

Their simultaneous answers echoed in his head. And his decision still held; keeping Cassie safe was paramount.

He dropped everything on the bed, spun and headed for the bedroom door. Cassie looked up, startled, as he belted through the dining room to the back door. He hit the light switch with one hand and unlocked and yanked open the door with the other. He was outside before a second ticked down.

The backyard and patio were empty. Looked exactly as they had before. He wondered if his imagination had been playing tricks on him. But he did a careful walk around anyway.

“Jace?” Cassie’s voice sounded worried as she called out from the back door.

“Go back in. I’ll be there in a minute.”

She hesitated, and he hoped she wasn’t going to argue, not this moment. Because he’d just spotted something. “Hurry,” she said and went back inside.

Breathing again, he walked toward the corner of the house where Cassie’s old room was. Everything looked fine. Except for that one oddity he’d spotted: a branch of the small maple tree next to the fence, now bare of the fall-bright leaves it had likely had just a couple of weeks ago, was now caught at an unnatural angle over the top of the fence.

The light from the patio cast everything into stark relief, making the shadows seem even darker. Nothing else looked amiss. He searched the ground around the tree and saw nothing unexpected. He crossed the last couple of feet to the fence, reached up to grasp the top and hoisted himself up for a look over.

He hadn’t been imagining it. Because out in the alley, up against the fence, was a stack of wooden pallets. Pallets he’d noticed earlier behind her neighbor’s garage. Now placed on top of each other in exactly the spot where he’d heard the noise. And right where somebody trying to see or even climb over that fence might get tangled up with that maple branch.

Cassie hadn’t been imagining things, either. And that sent his stomach into a plummeting free fall.

It was real.

* * *

They were nearly through the meal that Jace thought was the best thing he’d had in weeks. Cassie had eaten, but not much, and he thought she was much more rattled by the proof he’d found that her suspicions were true than she was letting show. And he couldn’t think of anything to say to her that was reassuring. “You were right but we’ll catch him” didn’t seem quite right.

The cell phone Rafe had given him let out a buzz. It was clearly different from a normal ring, so he picked it up and pressed the red intercom button.

“I’ve got it outside now,” the man said without preamble. “Get some sleep.”

Jace glanced at the time readout on the oven across from him. It was 9:00 p.m. now, so he did some quick math. “When should I relieve you? One?”

“I’m good for tonight. You need to stick with her in daylight hours.”

Quickly, Jace told him what he’d heard and found by the fence. “Explains why Cutter was revved up when we got back here,” Rafe said.

“Any sign of anything else?” he asked, assuming he probably knew the answer or Rafe would have led with that.

“Not current. But somebody’s been around. Cutter verified my guess it was recent.”

His breath caught in his throat again. Yes, this was all definitely real.

“Right. All right. I’ll be up before first light.”

“Not saying much up here.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Jace felt foolish, now that he remembered sunrise here this time of year was about seven thirty. “I forgot. Five, then. What I’m used to.”

When he put down the phone, he found Cassie watching him.

“You’re used to getting up at 5:00 a.m.? What happened to the guy who liked to stay up late and sleep in?”

She said it lightly, but it still stung. The memory of staying up late because they were the only hours he had without his father bit at him. “Reality,” he snapped.

He saw his sharp tone register, and he sighed inwardly. He was about to mutter a “sorry” when she smiled rather ruefully. “Bites all of us eventually, I think.”

“Yeah.” It was then he saw the chance to say something that had been nagging at him for years. He hesitated, not wanting to bring back unpleasant memories, but then he realized they were probably never far away anyway, for Cassie. “I really was sorry about your folks. I felt terrible that I couldn’t get here for the funeral. They were always so good to me.”

“They liked you. A lot.”

And he had liked them. Her father had become his model of what a parent should be, since his own had been such a disaster. And so he’d in fact felt like utter crap not being able to get here. At the time he couldn’t afford a plane ticket, or the time away from work. Hell, he still couldn’t afford it, hence the bus ride and hitchhiking.

Back then he’d been in a lousy mood for days, until his quiet, gentle mother had sat him down and demanded to know what was wrong. He was bad-tempered enough at that point to tell her and then instantly regretted it when she’d nearly cried.

You’re doing this for me, and—

I’m doing it because one male in this family should be responsible, damn it.

“Sometime,” Cassie said softly, yanking him out of the painful memory, “will you tell me what happened?”

He looked at her, at the same time aware of the house he was standing in, that nice, well-tended, spacious place like the one down the street he’d spent his first years in. Compared it to the tiny, old and very shabby apartments he and his mother had lived in until just this last summer when he’d finally moved her into a nice place.

“Not likely,” he muttered.

This time she didn’t smile. “I see.” She looked hurt.

Nice work, Cahill. You’ve been in her house maybe three hours, and you’ve already hurt her feelings. Twice.

He hadn’t intended that. But then, he seemed to have the knack to upset women, so maybe he should have expected it.

Then again, given his weird reaction to her, maybe some distance was a good idea. She’d become the hottest thing he’d been close to in a long time, but he was here to help her, not lust after her.

They finished the meal in a silence that wasn’t quite strained but certainly wasn’t the pleasant way they’d started, even with the discovery he’d made outside hanging over them. He helped her clean up after, during which the only conversation was about the task at hand.

In a very businesslike manner she showed him the laundry room and told him to have at it. Still regretting having hurt her feelings, while facing the fact that he was in no way ready to talk about what his life had become since they’d left town, he ventured into Cory’s old room.

She hadn’t been kidding—there was stuff piled everywhere, and some of it made him step carefully. But he managed to dig a pair of sweatpants out of a bottom drawer. They would do while he was washing his own stuff, he thought.

He took a shower, quick and merely warm because he didn’t know what the hot water situation was. Then he pulled on the sweats. He was a little taller than Cory, but also leaner, so that made up for the length. They were a bit loose, so he tightened the drawstring a little, then grabbed up his clothes from the floor. He walked back to the guest room—Cassie’s old room—added the ones from the pack to his pile and dumped them all in the washing machine. They’d all been washed so often he didn’t worry about anything fading; they were already there.

When the machine was going, he turned to leave the compact but workable laundry space. And nearly ran into Cassie, who was standing in the doorway.

She was staring at him. And blushing.

Instinctively he glanced down, thinking he hadn’t pulled that drawstring tight enough. But while they were riding a little low, the essentials were still covered. And it wasn’t like Cassie hadn’t seen his bare chest before. True, it had been years ago, but still...

“I just thought...without a phone...you might need this. I moved it out of that room to the living room when that one died, but it can go back for now.” Only then did he realize she was holding a small electric alarm clock. “It doesn’t take up much room on the nightstand. I know you’re more of a play-it-by-ear kind of guy, but—”

“Not anymore,” he said, thinking it sounded almost like she was nervous. She didn’t usually jabber, and that’s what that flood of words sounded like. “Thanks.”

He took the clock. Odd, that little jolt as their fingers touched. It had been raining far too much for any static electricity to be lingering. But she pulled her hand back as if she’d felt it, too. He was still pondering it as he walked into the guest room, plugged the clock in, set the time and put it on the nightstand.

Yes, his days of dealing with time casually were long over.

* * *

Cassidy leaned against her closed bedroom door, breathing easily for maybe the first time since Jace had appeared on her doorstep. She wanted to close her eyes, but she didn’t dare, because she knew perfectly well if she did all she would see was that image of him, half-naked, Cory’s sweats slung low on his hips. That broad, strong chest, the flat, ribbed abdomen, the lean hips...he looked like an escapee from a fitness magazine.

Apparently even as a kid she’d had good taste, because he was still the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. And she didn’t need to close her eyes, apparently, because it was playing back in her mind as vividly as if she were still standing there, gaping at him.

So much for breathing easy.

If she kept this up, he was going to be very sorry he’d come to help. And she’d best remember that was the only reason he was here—because she’d made that panicked phone call. If he’d wanted to come on his own, he’d always known where she was. Jace was here to keep a promise he’d made, probably never expecting it to be called in. It would be very shabby of her to start drooling on him.

She heard a dog bark and for a second wondered if it was Cutter. But she instantly discarded the thought; that yippy sound had never issued from that dog’s throat. More likely it was Mrs. Alston’s little terrier, down at the end of the block toward the thick grove of trees they’d played in as kids, where the old cabin was.

Next door to Jace’s old house.

And there she was, right back at the subject she was trying so very hard to avoid.

She bustled about, getting ready for bed with much more concentration than the task required, or than she normally gave it. She had the rueful thought that her life could never be normal with Jace just down the hall.

It was a long night, without much sleep accomplished. And she was up even before Jace, who, true to his word, was up at five. She knew, because she heard the faint creak of the floorboard just inside the door of that bedroom, a creak she knew all too well from when it had been her room and she’d tried to sneak out without her parents knowing.

When she was dressed, she went out and put coffee on. She was going to need it. A lot of it. A glance down the hall had told her the light was on in the guest room—she determinedly thought of it that way, not as her room, and spared a moment to be thankful she’d replaced her old, rather girly white bedroom set with something more neutral, since the idea of Jace sleeping in what had once been her bed was far too unsettling, no matter that she hadn’t slept in it in years, and God, even her thoughts were rambling now...

Thankfully, when Jace came out, he was fully dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved henley shirt. They both looked a bit worse for wear, but they were now freshly washed. She thought again of how people paid a lot of money to buy jeans that looked exactly like those, worn and broken in. But she’d be willing to bet Jace’s were that way genuinely, that he’d earned every hole and fray.




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