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As I watched a speck of dust float in the air, a knock at the door made me jerk. The weight of existing pushed me down, but I forced myself to rise and see who’d come to interrupt my day of empty reflection. Five years, gone. I scanned the framed pictures covering the back wall of my living room with unfocused eyes. Turning my listless head, I gazed at the black screen of the large, unused television. I was empty inside, and had been for about a year. At one point in my life, personal time was lost in books, movies, and bad TV—anything to escape the enormity of my lonely future. Dry air scratched my throat as I sighed for the hundredth time. Empty seconds ticked by, void of emotion. Meaningless. In previous years, on the anniversary of the beginning of my personal hell, my day was filled with tears and drama. I’d locked myself away to lament the hand life had dealt me. This year, for the first time, I was numb. The numbness was a boon—having no emotions sure beat the pain. My revolver was in its hiding place near my front door, so I grabbed it and tucked it into the holster always at my back. I didn’t even dress in the morning without putting on my holsters. Nobody would snatch me out of my home without a fight. Not until I got answers, anyway. Once I knew the truth, I might not bother fighting. Maybe I’d be able to let go and have peace at last. Through the peephole, a man—hot enough to melt gold—waited for me to answer the door in worn slacks, a nice shirt, and a striped tie. Salesman. I rolled my eyes. I didn’t have the patience for a fucking sales pitch. Not today of all days. Cracking the door open, I didn’t bother removing the chain while I kept one hand on the reassuring grip of my gun. The crisp fall air tickled my cheeks as I peeked through the crack in the door. “Can I help you?” My voice was polite, fake. My body gave a small surge of hormones as a sea foam gaze met my own. At that moment, I couldn’t see any of the other features on his face. I was too focused on the rarity of his eye color. Those eyes could’ve been on the face of a troll, and I wouldn’t have noticed. His irises, outlined by a thin ring of forest green, caused a small blush to warm my cheeks. I shook my head as if it would clear my thoughts. I’d begun to think my sex drive had disappeared with my husband years ago. Huh. Maybe I wasn’t void of emotion after all. With that thought, my husband’s face drifted through my mind, and guilt consumed me. Until life coughed up some answers for me, I would only be dead inside. How could I enjoy anything when my family was still missing? “Ma’am, my name is Darrell Abbott.” He flipped up an FBI badge. His voice was a deep bass, and though his words were professional, his timbre said nothing but sex. “I was assigned your cold case and would like to speak to you about your husband, Michael Effler. Is it a good time for us to talk?” The hair on my neck prickled as I studied his badge. It resembled the other FBI badges I’d seen over the years, but something about him set off warning bells in my mind. Oh, well. Maybe he’d be a distraction. I double-checked to make sure my holster was unbuttoned, closed the door, and removed the chain. Re-opening the door, I wordlessly stepped aside so he could come in. I pointed to a recliner so Agent Abbott could sit. I took a deep breath through the small sting in my chest. I was used to the pain, but no one had sat in that chair for five years. In the plethora of conversations with the police and FBI, I’d never allowed anyone there. Why did I motion for this man to sit in my husband’s favorite spot after all that time? I perched on the end of my large sectional sofa, as far away as I could sit and still remain in the room. Staring past the agent, I showed him very little interest, even though I was finally feeling something besides numbness. His wide shoulders strained the expensive material of his button-up shirt. He was built like my husband, which caused more pain to hit my heart as memories flashed before my eyes. Michael had been tall, towering over my own five-eight frame. Broad and muscular, he’d made me, then-plump, feel dainty and petite. Agent Abbott cleared his throat and pulled at his tie as he studied my living room. His gaze rested on the various pictures my family had collected over the years. Art related to literary and pop culture icons covered the wall behind me. The agent sat in front of a wall filled with family pictures. Sometime in my second year of hell, I’d printed every picture we ever took and framed them. Determined to never forget a single memory, I covered the house in pictures my son colored, fan posters and art, or treasured photos. “Ms. Effler, can you start at the beginning and tell me what you remember from the day your family disappeared?” Agent Abbott cleared his throat again and stared at me expectantly as he held a small voice recorder with long, thick fingers. Eventually, I moved my gaze from his hand to his face. I’d avoided looking directly at him and allowed myself to study his features. His eyes stood out from a tanned face with a strong jawline. Rich mahogany hair, a good month past time for a cut, fell to right above his ears. I noted a five o’clock shadow, which added to his rugged appeal. “Agent Abbott, right? Darrell Abbott?” I narrowed my eyes at his mesmerizing face and my mind filled with rage. He’d exhausted my patience. “Yes, ma’am.” He nodded, smiling, oblivious to my growing rage. I adjusted my position so I could grab my gun, one hand behind me, against the couch. “If you’d cracked my case file you’d know that my husband was an avid listener of metal music. I don’t know what kind of teenage demon-hunter show you think you’re in, coming here with a bogus FBI ID and a fake name, but Darrell Abbott was the real name of Dimebag Darrell, one of my husband’s favorite guitarists.” I swung my gun out from behind me and pointed it at his face. “Explain yourself, Agent Darrell Abbott.” “Riley, please. I mean you no harm. I’m here to help.” His vivid eyes widened, pleading with me, and I was hit with an overwhelming desire to trust him. At the same time, a splitting headache formed. It started with a jolt between my eyebrows and then my entire head throbbed to the beat of my heart. “Stand up slowly, whatever-your-name-is. If you make any sudden movements, I will shoot you.” I stood, my head pounding. The faux agent rose, hands still in the air as the hair all over my body stood on end. I tried to watch every part of his body simultaneously. He spoke with a low, even voice, trying to calm me. “I’m going to turn away from you and walk to the door. I’m sorry I’ve upset you, and I want you to know I came here today with the best of intentions.” I held the gun steady in my hand as he turned and moved toward the front door. A shadow passed in front of my living room window, drawing my gaze. In an instant, somehow, the agent was in front of me, and my gun was in his hand. I gasped in surprise. It was a fraction of a damn second! How’d he move so fast? On the one-year anniversary of “the day,” I decided I was tired of fear. My husband and I already owned various guns, and while I was a pretty good shot, I’d begun to go to the shooting range daily to practice. Money was no longer a concern without any family to spend it on, so I’d figured I might as well blow it on bullets. I’d considered putting one of those bullets in my head, but there were too many unanswered questions. I couldn’t leave this life until I knew what happened to my family. I’d also started taking self-defense classes, rapidly moving into private lessons. I’d trained with the best self-defense instructors in the area. I was good. Good enough that when a large man was unexpectedly in my bubble, I reacted. I felt his nose crunch as I slammed into it with the meat of my palm. His head twitched a bit, but he didn’t move his body, nor did he try to defend himself. What the hell? I drew back to hit him in the throat but was stopped by a jab of searing pain in my head. Whimpering, I dropped onto the couch. A thousand needles poked at my head. At even more of a disadvantage, I tried to kick him in the crotch, but he grabbed my foot in an iron grip. He didn’t squeeze, but I was sure that he could easily crush my foot if he did. “Please, Riley, calm down. Listen to my voice and try to breathe. I’m not here to hurt you. Defensive measures aren’t necessary with me.” I realized as he spoke that my breathing was labored, and I was sure my eyes were wild. I twisted my foot out of his hand, vulnerable. “Please, really look at me, Riley. Look at my eyes, and you’ll be able to see I’m being honest.” Like I’d actually be able to read lies in his eyes. That only happened in books and on angsty teenage vampire shows. I considered his unusual eyes, and though he did seem genuine, I wouldn’t be basing my next move on perceived sincerity. “Step away from me, and I’ll think about calming down.” If I can get to one of the guns hidden in here, I won’t hesitate to shoot this time. The man had to be some sort of special ops if he was able to move across the room with such speed. He backed away, keeping himself between me and the front door. I was happy he was going in that direction—I needed a bit of room to reach the gun in the holster sewn to the side of the couch. Trying to ignore the constant pains in my head, I pulled my legs up on the couch, hoping to convey that I was settling in. “You have me up against a wall. So talk.” I placed my arm on the side of the couch, as close as I could get to the gun without reaching for it. I’d already seen that he could move fast, so I needed to be faster. Unfortunately, it was all I could do not to grab my pounding head. He spoke, his voice passionate and caring. The words caused me to freeze and the tone shook me. “Riley. I have the answers you need. I’ve watched over you for the past nine years. I came here because I must help you.” I opened my mouth to argue and the volume of his voice rose. “I need to help you, to know you. You’re in danger, and I can’t stand watching from the sidelines anymore.” What sidelines? “My name is Anthony, and I know where your family is.” He rushed his words as if to prevent me from interrupting. My long-numb mind exploded. Thoughts raced so fast I saw my brain shatter in colors. The rush of emotions exacerbated my headache. I cried out in pain and reaching for my gun was forgotten. I couldn’t think about my family, my desolate past, or the danger I was in. There was only pain. Convinced I was having an aneurysm, I tried to stand, but my legs buckled under me. “Call 911,” I gasped. My vision blurred, and I knew I was losing consciousness. I couldn’t stop my body from splaying out on the floor—my muscles weren’t listening to my brain. Anthony’s panicked yell sounded like it came from several rooms away. In the moment before my vision went black, it occurred to me that he spoke in the present tense. He hadn’t said ‘was.’ He’d said ‘is.’ They’re alive. Five Years Ago Though my boys were not fans of my favorite TV show, they’d be excited, knowing how much I loved it. I struggled to hold my keys and coffee in one hand and my cell phone in the other as I carried the painting of a blue telephone box into the house. “Boys? Michael? David? Where are you guys?” I dumped everything but my coffee onto the bookshelf by the front door of our small, silent home. “Danny, baby? Come see Mommy. You guys better not be napping this late! Daniel will be awake all night and I’ve got a long shift tomorrow.” Bounding upstairs, I checked the bedrooms and found the second story empty and far too tidy. My breathing accelerated, mother’s intuition kicking in. Something was wrong. Clothes, books, and shoes should’ve been strewn everywhere. I walked into the boys’ room and over to their open closet. My stomach filled with dread as I stared at the empty hangers and shelves. I stared at the space in confusion. My mind wouldn’t process an empty closet. I turned and opened one of the drawers in the chest of drawers we used as a toy chest. Empty drawer after empty drawer. In a blind panic, I ran to the bedroom I shared with Michael and jerked open the closet door. The left half of the closet was empty. Running to the other closet, I discovered Michael’s collection of rare toys was gone. I turned to study the rest of the bedroom, noting the comic boxes were gone as were the free weights usually kept in front of the half-empty bookcase. Breathing became difficult as I panicked. I called the police as I tore down the stairs, searching for any sign of where they might’ve gone. The operator answered as I opened the door to the coat closet in the living room, where we stored the family’s bulky winter coats. Only my coats were there. They looked lonely. “911, what’s your emergency?” A smooth baritone voice answered my call. “My husband and children are gone! It’s all gone! Please help me. I don’t know what to do.” I stood in the middle of the living room in hysterics, too panicked to cry. How could they have been gone? How could everything they owned disappear in the span of my ten-hour shift? “Ma’am, do you see any evidence of a break-in or anything else that would cause you to think anyone has been injured or kidnapped?” Nothing was broken or disturbed. All the oxygen exited my body. It was clear. Michael had taken the children and left me. Except that was impossible. “It appears that my husband has taken the children, but he wouldn’t. He has no reason. We’re happy! He wouldn’t leave. Please, please send someone!” By the time I finished, my voice was shrill, and I was on the verge of screaming. “Yes, ma’am, I’ll get an officer over as soon as possible.” I gave the operator my address and hung up. Unable to stay inside the half-empty house, I waited on the front porch, aching to hug my babies. I longed to lean against my rock and protector, my soul-mate. As I waited on the police, the pain began. And for five long years, it didn’t stop. The events of my afternoon flooded my mind when I woke from a dreamless sleep. My memories were clear; I remembered Agent Abbott—Anthony—and our entire interaction. His insistence that he knew the whereabouts of my family gave me wild hope. I played our interactions over and over in my mind. He must’ve carried me to bed. How often does this guy work out to be so strong? I’m no damn pixie. Headache gone, I leaped from the bed and ran down the stairs, searching for Anthony. The house was silent and dark. I had no idea how long I’d been asleep. It was bright daylight when Anthony knocked on my door, that much I knew, but in my disheveled frame of mind I couldn’t remember what the time was. For all I knew, it could’ve been before noon or almost twilight. A ding came from the living room. I ran to check my phone, but there were no messages—it was a stupid game notification. It’s already eleven? My search of the house was fruitless. He was gone. Boneless, I sank down onto the same couch I’d cowered on earlier. Alive—they’re alive. My mind split open, ripping away the numbness to let the emotional pain out like a knife cutting open a pathway to my tortured memories. The faces of my children flashed in my mind. Every day for five years, I paced the rooms and halls of my home, memorizing the pictures on the walls. Every day I recited precious stories of my husband and children so that my memories would stay fresh. But I didn’t speak of my children to anyone, except the people working on their case. For five years, I’d refused to say their names out loud. I kept them inside, in my mind and in my heart. My attention moved to a picture of both of my boys, taken the day we brought our youngest home from the hospital. “David,” I whispered, “are you still taking care of your little brother? Do you still call him Dannel?” Daniel would be six and David would be eleven. For the millionth time, I wondered what they’d gone through, and if they’d suffered. I rose, trying to recapture the numbness before the pain broke me. Those kinds of questions always lead to pain. I was desperate to find numb again. How could I know if Anthony was telling the truth? His disappearance made his claims even less credible. It took me several minutes to compose myself. Shuffling into the kitchen for a bottle of water, I grabbed it out of the fridge, but didn’t drink. Instead, I ogled the clear liquid, wishing it was alcohol. Opening the cabinet above the refrigerator, I looked up at the bottle of whiskey. We always kept the liquor there, well out of the reach of the curious David. About a week before my world went black, I’d purchased the bottle. I wanted to drink the entire bottle and make the pain disappear. My numbness was gone, and the pain was back as if the horrible events happened yesterday. The weeks after their disappearances were horrible. I couldn’t come up with a single reason why Michael would leave with the children. Horrible scenarios plagued my thoughts, leaving me anxious and nauseous. After extensive questioning of me and anyone connected to our family, the police called in the FBI. They agreed it would be out of character for Michael to leave with the kids of his own volition. They also agreed that he would’ve needed help. Help to vanish without a trace—and to be able to take their things. I was left with the baby books and memory boxes and the hard drive with pictures stored on it. Both Michael and I lost our parents before we met each other; mine in a car crash, his to cancer and a heart attack. There was no family to help him and our friends wouldn’t have. The investigators found no links on his computers or phone. They combed the house for forensic evidence. Nothing came up. There was no evidence of foul play, and the only DNA they found was ours. With no clues, our only option was a reward hotline. I cashed out our meager retirement plan to put up the ten-thousand-dollar reward, but each tip turned out to be someone angling to get the money. After a year, they canceled the reward and told me they assumed his actions were intentional. They turned my family, my heart, my reason for living, into a cold case. They said they were forced to assume Michael had indeed taken the children. I closed the door on the whiskey and trudged upstairs to change into workout clothes. My solace was my gym. The dapper Anthony might return and give me answers, but it was more likely that I’d never see him again. Might as well continue my monotonous life. I changed and bolted out of the house before I changed my mind and guzzled the whiskey instead. With my family gone, I’d taken a three-month leave of absence from my management position at a local coffee shop. The position was ideal because I’d always liked to work with the public, plus the shop was close to home and offered decent pay and hours. When I couldn’t face another day of sitting beside my phone, begging it to ring, I returned to work. But still, I’d go home at night and lie awake, staring at my phone. Sleep would elude me for days at a time, which would cause me to get sick and take more time off work. Thankfully, the owners were always patient with me. Once I began my self-defense training, I learned pushing my body to the brink of exhaustion was the only way I could manage to rest. I’d sleep all night with just an occasional nightmare. I’d worked my way through every available self-defense class, traveling farther and farther away from home to find a challenge. A former Marine started to do private training at a gym near me. He was willing to continue my training beyond the generic classes I’d already taken. He encouraged me to explore martial arts and spend more time building up my strength and endurance. The exertion tired my body and my mind; I lost weight, settling into a size twelve again, some days even a ten. Elias, my trainer turned friend, had said my body was likely meant to be curvy, since I’d done intense workouts for four years and stopped losing weight. I was happy with my body and hoped that I’d be able to show it to Michael one day. He loved me no matter my appearance, but he’d be happy for my health. Lacing up my running shoes, I put earbuds in to stream some of Michael’s favorite music and jogged the mile to my twenty-four-hour gym. Heading straight for the punching bag in the corner, I jogged in place to keep my heart rate up as I wrapped my hands. The bag swung to and fro as I punched and kicked out my anger and frustration. My body moved to the rhythm of the heavy guitar riffs and drum beats of Black Sabbath. I pulled my fist back to hit the bag again and found my right bicep locked in a strong grip. I turned and lashed out at whoever was behind me. Elias jumped out of the range of my fists and emotional turmoil. My shoulders sagged once I knew I was safe, that it was just Eli, and my rage and pent-up ire left me at once, exhaustion taking its place. “What are you doing here so late?” He pulled out my earbuds. “Do you need to spar and wear yourself out?” “Not tonight.” I yawned. “I’m tired. It’s been a long and emotional day.” I turned to the small refrigerator in the corner to grab another bottle of water. This time, the thought of replacing water with whiskey didn’t tempt me. “Riley, what happened? I knew today would be hard for you, but you normally hole up in that shrine of a home for the day. Did something change?” He touched my arm and peered down into my eyes. I debated what to tell him, if anything. He’d become a close friend and confidante. I couldn’t stand to speak to any of the friends Michael and I had shared before his disappearance. They had eyes full of pity. I didn’t want their pity, or their sorrys, or their wishes they could help. I simply wanted my family. Elias didn’t give me pity—he gave me defense. He gave me the confidence that I’d be able to keep myself safe in a world that would rip my children from me. He pushed me to work harder and train longer, and I owed him a large part of my sanity, such as it was. “Honestly, I think you’d have me committed if I told you how my day went.” I laughed humorlessly as I walked over to the weight bench and sat down. Crazy or not, I knew I needed to run my day by someone, and I trusted him more than I trusted anyone alive. “Sit down, E. It’s a strange story.” I told him the details of my day. I even included how easy it was for Anthony to disarm me. His face displayed shock throughout the entirety of my story, and when I finished with, “and then I woke up,” his jaw dropped. “Riley, doll, you can’t go back to that house.” I tried to interrupt, but he put his hand on my mouth. “No arguments. He neutralized you in seconds, leaving you utterly defenseless. And then you blacked out—most likely due to emotional stress—but we need to have you checked out. And then you’re staying with me. I won’t let you argue this.” I sighed and studied his face. Elias was another exceptionally attractive man, but for years, he was purely my friend. Any other possibility had never entered my mind. After the surge of hormones I experienced today while dealing with Anthony, I found myself considering Elias in a completely different light. I imagined myself allowing a modicum of attraction into my life. A smidgen of desire. He kept his blond hair cut close, still a Marine at heart, even though he’d been honorably discharged before I’d met him. Warm eyes, the color of milk chocolate, were framed by thick lashes any woman would kill for. He often joked that his eyes were shit brown, but his self-deprecating humor was lost on me. His eye color was stunning. Raised in the southern U.S., his family was from Greece. I didn’t believe him until I searched for blond Greek men online. Apparently, there was an abundance of blond hair in Greece. Who knew? His speech was void of accent, at least to my ears so used to hearing a Tennessee twang. Until he told me he was born and raised in Knoxville, I would’ve never guessed he was Southern. “All right.” I sighed. “Thank you for believing my story and for once again being what I need.” I leaned against his thick arm and put my head on his shoulder. “Take me to the ER and waste most of our night. Let them pronounce me in perfect health. Then will you at least take me home to pack a bag and grab some of my guns?” “Riley, I’ve got plenty of guns. You know that.” He chuckled and gave my hand a squeeze. I rolled my eyes and got to my feet. “Yes, but they’re not my guns.” He slung an arm around my shoulders. “Okay, let’s go get you checked out.” We rode to the local university hospital in his massive Ford truck. There was something about men and trucks in the South, and Elias wasn’t immune to the pull of a super-duty. I didn’t mind his truck obsession because it was a smooth ride. By the time we reached the emergency room door, I was lulled to the brink of sleep. “Eli, I want to sleep. Take me home,” I groused as he opened my passenger door. “Not a chance.” I glared at him until he reached across and unbuckled my seat belt. His chest brushed against mine, and I sucked in my stomach as I tried to stamp out the spark of arousal. Don’t stress it. It’s been an insane day and your hormones have been all over the place. It was an instinctual reaction. It doesn’t mean you’re disloyal to Michael. Elias stared at me with one eyebrow cocked as I gave myself a mental pep talk. “Can we go in now?” I gave him an exaggerated huff. “Let’s get this over with.” 2 Our emergency room visit passed without much drama, all things considered. They drew my blood and took my vitals. The longest wait was after the CAT scan—the results took an hour. It was one of those hours that you think it’s been at least a half hour, but only three minutes have passed. The enormity of my day overwhelmed me, and I spent the hour dozing as tears leaked from my eyes. Elias sat beside my bed with one hand on my ankle. The simple touch of another human was comforting, but I battled a guilt monster for wanting it. The doctor pronounced me stressed and sent us home. “I told you so.” Chuckling, I climbed into the truck. Elias rolled his eyes and pulled out of the parking lot, heading toward my house to get my overnight bag and guns. “About your visitor earlier—do you think there’s any chance he was telling the truth?” I watched the passing landscape as we sped home, battling with myself, trying to decide if Anthony could have any relevant information. “I don’t know. I’m going to call the local FBI office in the morning and see if they’ve ever heard of him or his alias. Although, I highly doubt they’ll have any idea who he really is.” He was probably some freak that heard about my case on some documentary. It had been featured on a few websites and occasionally brought out the crazies. Elias peeked at me from the corner of his eye. “In the morning.” Eli’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel. His words rubbed me the wrong way. Surely the FBI would at least want to know it happened. “I suppose you’re right, but what else can I do? I feel even more lost than I did two days ago.” I rubbed my eyes. “How am I going to figure out who this guy is and what his true motives are?” The brakes on the fancy truck squeaked as we pulled into my driveway and parked. He spent some time staring out the driver’s window, contemplating my situation while I took the opportunity to study his profile. My newfound interest in him flitted around my stomach, both exciting and confusing me. Was it okay to be attracted to someone when on the verge of possibly finding my long-lost husband? What kind of person did that make me? A horrible person, Riley. You are a horrible, horrible person. You’re going to hell wearing gasoline-soaked panties. Apparently, my libido disagreed with that assessment because I felt a tingle of potent desire. My head smacked against the headrest and I groaned in frustration. Elias laughed and grabbed my knee, not helping my tingles in the slightest. “Riley, come on now. Let’s get your bag and I’ll settle you in the guest room at my place. You’ll be safe, and you can rest.” As I shoved the truck door open, the dull throb of a headache began again. It was becoming an annoyance. “Eli, my head is starting to hurt again. Maybe there’s some allergen in the air around this place that’s causing me to have a headache as a reaction.” I sniffed the air, my nose pointed up as I turned in a circle. “Smell anything? I don’t.” Eli stopped on the porch and watched me twirl in a circle behind him. “Give me your keys, you goof. I’ll check the place out before you come in.” He reached into his boot and withdrew a small pistol. “Here, stand inside the door, stay alert, and use this.” He handed me the gun gingerly, as if afraid I didn’t know what to do with it. “Just don’t shoot me!” He slipped into the quiet house. Unwilling to wait in the doorway, I crept in behind him. He was already deep inside, and I didn’t like not knowing where he was. “Eli!” I shout-whispered. He appeared at my elbow like a ninja. He didn’t bother whispering. “Riley. Sometimes you’re a badass, but you’re awful at sneaking.” He clapped me on the shoulder before walking soundlessly up the dark staircase. I waited patiently at the bottom of the stairs like a good little badass. He eventually bounded down the stairs, no longer trying to be quiet. “What the hell took so long, Eli? Did you make friends with my shower curtain or something?” Elias scrutinized me. I snapped my fingers in his face. “I’m going upstairs to get my stuff, Weirdo. Grab the guns out of the hiding spot behind the mirror, would you?” I waved vaguely toward the closet behind the front door. “There’s a duffel in the coat closet.” I paused on the stairs to make sure he knew where to find it. He should’ve, he helped me install the mirror case. It was cool—we carved out a hole in the wall behind a large mirror. There was a hidden latch attached to the side of the mirror frame. I pretended I was a spy every time I opened it. Michael would’ve loved it. I grabbed a large bag out of my bathroom closet and shoved pajamas and workout clothes into it. The next two days, Sunday and Monday, were my normal off days. I made a mental checklist. Toothbrush, hairbrush, deodorant. Don’t need makeup around Eli. I’ll not be acting on any urges. I won’t even take a razor with me, so I’ll be even less tempted to further complicate my already ridiculous life. Stubble and sex don’t mix. Eli was waiting with my shoulder and bra holster, as well as a light jacket to wear over them. I was more confident when armed to the teeth. The ankle holster seemed like overkill, so I skipped it, and I was already wearing the one at my waist. Another dull throb of pain slashed from temple to temple as I closed and locked the front door behind us. Elias touched my elbow. “Give me the bags. I’m still a Southern gentleman, even for the independent Riley Effler.” “You’re lucky my head hurts, Elias. I don’t have the energy to argue.” Elias stopped in his tracks. “Did it hurt when you were inside?” “Oddly enough, no.” What in the world was going on with my crazy brain? “Let’s get you out of here. I think you may be right about the allergen thing, since you were okay inside. Maybe it hurt the other day because Anthony walked through a certain grass or flower before he came inside. Who knows?” Elias rushed me by putting a hand at the small of my back. It was somewhere between the realms of gentlemanly and chauvinistic, and it hit me like delicious lightning. Calm your tits. He’s not for you. “I want you to stay at least until you have to return to work. Maybe it’ll rain and wash away whatever is aggravating you,” Elias murmured as he opened the truck door for me. “Thank you. I appreciate it more than you realize, but I want you to know that I’m only agreeing because you have absolutely nothing else in your life to entertain you.” Elias threw his head back and laughed. “I’m serious! I know exactly what you’ll do tomorrow if I’m gone. Two hours in the gym and the rest of the day playing some video game or another.” He smirked before walking around the truck and hopping in the driver’s side. “Well, we aren’t lazing around tomorrow. I’m taking you to the mountains.” I gave him wide eyes. I didn’t know if I was up for all that. “I’m scared. I’m tired. I’m feeling a fresh wave of missing Michael, and the boys…” I faded off, remembering my breakdown. “I actually said their names tonight.” “That’s fantastic! How long has it been since you said their names out loud?” Elias grabbed my knee again, causing me to jump and shiver. We pulled out onto the road, headed for his house. “I stopped around six months after they disappeared. I’d open my mouth, and their names just wouldn’t come out.” I leaned forward and put my head on my knees, a feat I wasn’t able to do a couple of years before. The constant desire to work myself into exhaustion helped get rid of my gut, and I’d become much more flexible. “I broke down after Anthony left today, and I talked to them. It was almost like they could hear me. I think I’m starting to think of them as angels.” Tears started running down my cheeks again, absorbing into my jeans. “How many times in one day can I cry? I’m going to get dehydrated.” I tried to joke to relieve the tension. Eli moved his hand from my knee to the curve of my neck. He squeezed and kneaded my shoulders. His hands were so large he was able to rub both sides of my neck—in a truck traveling thirty miles an hour down the road—and make it feel like I was getting a professional massage. I began to feel uncomfortable with the touching. Guilt ruined my ability to enjoy myself even a little bit. I sat up so Eli would remove his hand. “I want to sleep. That’s all I can think about.” We turned into his driveway. “Whatever you want.” The truck idled while Elias waited for his garage door to open. As soon as we stopped inside the garage, I jumped out with my bags. I needed space and lots of it. “I’m going to make myself at home, E!” I called as I ran for the door to the kitchen. I’d been in his house countless times over the years. Eli had a home gym, and we’d used it until we’d found a twenty-four-hour gym. I was almost as comfortable in Elias’s house as I was in my own. I grabbed a wine glass and a bottle of white from the fridge and ran upstairs to the massive guest bathroom. I was supremely jealous of his house. Michael and I never made enough money to move out of the rental house. I soaked in the borderline opulence of Eli’s house, and couldn’t help but think that I’d happily live in a hovel if I could have my family with me. The enormous tub filled with bubbly water while I filled my glass. Wine doesn’t count. It’s not like whiskey. I’ll have a glass or two to make me a little fuzzy so I sleep without nightmares. I could justify the alcohol if it meant no nightmares. The thought of waking Eli up with one of my screaming night terrors made me groan. My aching, tired muscles relaxed as I sank into the too-hot water. Michael had always teased me about the temperature of my baths. I’d been known to scald my skin before he turned the water heater temperature down when we brought David home from the hospital. He’d been so careful with the kids. The house was baby proofed within a week of telling him the news of our first pregnancy. I imagined that day—thanks to the need to do my daily ritual of dredging up memories of my family—but every time I imagined Michael’s face, it was cut off and Anthony floated into my mind. His unusual eye color haunted me. I tried to mentally shake him off, only to have the feel of Elias’s hand on my knee intrude on my cherished memory of Michael. “Damn it to fucking hell!” I jerked up out of the bath and grabbed the wine bottle. I eyeballed the wine glass. “Fuck it.” Setting the glass on the edge of the tub, I tipped the bottle up and greedily chugged. Make it go away. I wanted peace. I chugged until I needed to breathe, then sipped as the water cooled around me. I splashed and hummed, letting the buzz take effect. The bottle emptied far too easily, and my body was covered in goosebumps. My nipples looked like tiny pink mountains on my breasts. I giggled and poked them. Sighing, I placed the empty wine bottle on the side of the tub so I could stand up. Unfortunately, I forgot the wine glass was already there, and it hit the bathroom floor with a crash. A string of curse words came out of my mouth, at a rather loud volume while I struggled to haul myself out of the tub. “Riley! What the hell is going on in there?” The sound of a fist banging on the bathroom door filled the room. Uh-oh, busted. “Nothing.” I giggled. “I’m okay!” I stepped wobbly out of the tub and immediately stepped on a piece of glass. “OW! Ow, ow, ow!” The banging at the door stopped as I plopped down on the closed toilet seat to attempt to pick the glass out of my bleeding foot. I finally located the elusive little shard when the doorknob rattled, and Elias burst into the bathroom. I froze, staring at him, clad in plaid pajama bottoms. The flat ridges and planes of his stomach mesmerized me. “Riley, what the hell?” Eli stared pointedly at my foot. I managed to tear my eyes away from his stomach to realize I was stark naked. One foot was propped up, and my goodies were on blazing display. I laughed without shame. “Well, Eli, it appears I’m naked, and I’ve cut my foot.” The glass slipped from my foot, and I pressed a soapy cloth from the tub to the cut. “I’m okay, you can leave.” “Okay isn’t the word I would use to describe you at the moment.” Eli’s jaw was rigid, and his eyes were dark. His stomach muscles were taut. Fuck, fuck, fuck. “Elias. Will you please go get a broom? I’ll clean this up and go to bed.” And pretend I’m not attracted to you. He didn’t answer. Instead, he walked over and picked me up like I weighed less than a bag of flour. “Elias Tipton! Put me down! I’m going to hurt you!” I didn’t squirm, afraid of being dropped or of his hands slipping from their relatively innocent positions. As much as my hoo-ha wanted those hands to move on down to the playground, I couldn’t handle it yet. “Riley, how much wine did you drink?” he asked in a husky voice. “Um, one glass?” “Are you asking me or telling me?” “Well, if we’re being technical, I only filled the glass up once.” I gave him my best sad puppy dog face. “But, I might’ve drunk the rest of the wine straight from the bottle.” I lowered my lashes in mock shame. “I’m sorry I broke your glass.” I had just laid my forehead on his shoulder when he dumped me onto a soft bed. I sprawled, ass up, across the comforter, momentarily forgetting I was stark naked. Rolling over, I peered at Elias. I didn’t trust myself enough anymore to know what I wanted from him. His eyes raked over my naked body. Insecurities plagued me, reminding me I was exposed. I pictured the slight sag in my breasts from nursing two babies. Then my mind was filled with the silvery stretch marks that still lined my stomach. There was a little pooch above my belly button that only surgery would remove, and I wasn’t interested in surgery for such a small flaw. With Michael, I never thought twice about it. He loved my body with its imperfections because it gave him his sons. When his eyes rested on my toes, I sat up and curled my knees into my chest. I couldn’t form a coherent thought. My body was aroused beyond belief, and my mind was in a self-conscious panic. Elias turned and stalked from the room, slamming the door behind him. I fell over onto my right side, still curled up into a ball. I faced the window, but from my angle I could only see the dark sky. My tears lulled me to sleep as I gazed at the stars. For the first time in five years, my last thoughts were not of my children or husband. I thought of Elias, and I cried. “Riley, I need you to hear me. Let your sleeping mind listen to me and remember nothing tomorrow. You can’t trust Elias. He knows where your family is, and he helped make them disappear. He’s been watching you for years. I can help you. We’ll meet soon, and I’ll explain everything. When you see me you’ll understand. Sleep, beautiful girl, and trust me when the time comes. Let me help you.” “Wake up, Riley! Come on, wake up!” My eyes snapped open to find Elias inches from my face. “Thank the gods, Riley. I was about to hit you.” “What the fuck are you doing, Eli? Why are you shaking me?” In an attempt to get some breathing room, I put my hands on his warm, hard chest and pushed. “You were having a nightmare, and thanks to the wine I couldn’t wake you. You screamed enough to wake the whole neighborhood.” He leaned over and pulled a blanket from the end of the bed. I was surprised when he covered my still-naked form with the blanket. “I never knew you were so comfortable in your bare skin.” My blush started at my hairline and spread to my toes. “Maybe a little too much wine—you know I rarely drink.” I was mortified. “It’s fine. Do you want me to stay in here with you? You really scared me.” I nodded. “I think that might be nice, but…never mind.” Michael was the last man to sleep in the same room with me, the same bed. “I know I may have sent you mixed signals, what with the boob and twat flaunting, but I don’t mean for you to—” “I didn’t mean that either. Let me be your friend. Let me be here in case you need me.” Elias stood up to pull the covers from the bed, and I noticed he was down to his boxer briefs. I knew how he felt when he found me drunk and naked in the bathroom—the boxer briefs left nothing to the imagination. My traitorous vagina was dancing a jig as he pulled the blankets over us both. I rolled over, because otherwise I would’ve reached over and grabbed that sexy, sweet man by the dick. Gasoline panties. Gasoline panties! Get your shit together. “Can I, I mean, would it be okay if I held you?” He was nervous. “We’ve known each other for a long time, and I…I just want to help take some of your pain away. I care about you.” I stiffened under the covers, but I didn’t deny his request. He shifted closer and his body heat enveloped me. Lying on top of the covers for the short time I was able to sleep had left my skin icy. I watched through the window as the first pink rays of morning peeked over the horizon. The long night was almost over. As Elias pulled me close, my body was a foghorn in the dawn, screaming, “Riley is naked! Riley is naked!” And, oh my god, I could feel his dick pressed against my ass through his underwear. Not quite hard, but definitely large enough to make my nipples stand up and salute. He slipped his arm around my ribs, dangerously close to the bottom of my breasts. “Sleep, Riley,” he said in a soothing voice. “You’re safe. I’ll always protect you.” The wine still in my system combined with the heat of Eli’s body soothed me, and I slipped off into a blissfully dreamless sleep. Why are my eyes on fire? Even through my closed lids, I could see the cursed sunlight, turning the insides of my eyelids bright pink. My throat was scratchy and dry, and my head was pounding again. I blamed the wine—it forced me to drink it. I groaned, then immediately regretted the unnecessary noise. Elias’s body had molded around mine while we slept, and his hand was thrown over my hip. I peeked under the blanket to see how close his fingers were to brushing against the place my renegade body desperately wanted them to brush. He was so close, and yet not close enough. My emotions were a ping pong ball, bouncing here and there. I wanted to roll over on top of Elias and I also wanted to run screaming for the door. I opted for the less painful route and tried to slip out from under his hand so I could close the curtains. Whatever my body wanted to do with Elias, my eyes were burning like a vampire at dawn. Eli had other plans. His hand gripped my hip, keeping me in place. He groaned in his sleep and pressed his pelvis harder against my ass. I sucked in a tremulous breath and enjoyed the sensation of having a mouthwatering man wrapped around me. Then I slapped his hand on my hip as hard as I could. “What the hell?” Eli sat straight up, surprised by my wake-up call. I rolled over, prepared to defend my action, but his face softened as he took in my shocked expression. “Good morning to you too,” I said with venom. Elias raised one eyebrow and drifted his eyes down, lingering on my lips. He inched his gaze down my chin, then neck, to rest on my chest. Please let my boobs be covered up. I opened an eye and saw the edge of one nipple peeking out. Shit. I jerked the sheet up. “What’s going on between us?” he asked. My mouth flew open, and my jaw unhinged. “I can’t, Elias. I can’t. My body is screaming at me that I can, but I can’t.” His head dropped to the pillow. “I understand. But you know it would be completely acceptable for you to let go, right? You can move on. It’s been five years. You’re allowed to live.” I rolled out of bed and held my chin high, fighting my shame, as I stalked naked out of the bedroom. Leaning against the wall in the hallway, I inspected the spot the glass cut me the night before. There was a small dump truck bandage on it. I shook my head at the thought of my dorky best friend. Best friend? What the hell? I guess he is. I’d spent so much time training with him that I’d grown to know and love his big, goofy ass. The bathroom sparkled again and smelled like lemons. The broken wine glass was gone, and my overnight bag sat on the toilet. I brushed my teeth and downed two glasses of water out of the tap to rehydrate. After a quick shower, I dressed in my workout clothes and made my way downstairs. Eli stood at the stove, shirtless, frying bacon. “I could smell that from the shower,” I said. “You’re going to spoil me, and I won’t want to go home. I love bacon! But, Eli, dear, didn’t anyone tell you bacon grease burns when you cook bare-chested?” I grinned awkwardly, trying to cut the tension between us. I supposed it was sexual tension, but I didn’t know what to do about it, except ignore it. “Can I help with breakfast?” “No.” I gave him an exaggerated sigh. “Well, then I’ll get us some orange juice.” I filled two glasses and sat on an island stool to wait for my breakfast to be ready. Racking my brain did no good. I couldn’t think of anything to say to make us feel natural around each other again. The doorbell rang, and I jumped up in relief, hoping I’d get the chance to shoot someone. “I’ll get it!” Elias jumped in front of me, slinging bacon grease from the spatula across the kitchen. “NO! You watch the bacon. I, uh, don’t want you walking on that foot.” Bemused, I gawked at his retreating body, before grabbing some disinfectant wipes and wiping the grease off the kitchen wall. I paused when I heard voices. “This has gone on long enough, Elias. It’s time to end this farce.” A familiar, masculine voice floated into the kitchen. “You’ll ruin everything if you barge in there.” That was definitely Elias’s voice. Unable to contain my curiosity, I peered down the hallway Elias had disappeared into. I met the green frothy depths of Anthony’s eyes, and ice filled my veins. I twirled around and bolted through the kitchen and up the stairs, desperately trying to get to my guns. My panic helped me move faster. I couldn’t even feel the sting of the cut on my foot as I pounded up the soft, carpeted stairs. I skidded into the bathroom and realized that only the bag with my clothes was there. I ducked out, beginning to panic in earnest, and my back hit a wall of muscular chest. Hands wrapped around my biceps. I shook as fight-or-flight filled every muscle in my body. My instinct was flight. Slowly, my frozen body was turned to face my betrayer. I shoved my best friend to no avail. I knew I wasn’t strong enough on my best day to budge the beast of a man, but I shoved him again and again and again. The blatant sorrow written on his face was the only reason he let me continue. “You said I was safe!” Sobbing screams ripped out of my mouth. Being a girl is incredibly unfair sometimes, especially when extreme anger means tears and sobbing. There wasn’t a damn thing I could do to stop it. “You held me! You made me feel things. Things I haven’t felt in so long, things I shouldn’t feel!” I pounded on his chest with useless fists. I was too upset to even attempt to make my hits effective. “I have to get away from you.” I turned and grabbed my bag. “Where are my guns?” I asked in a low, severe voice. “I put them in my safe,” Elias replied. “You’ll have every one of them back before we walk out of this house. I’m not taking you out there empty-handed.” My breath left me in a rush. I couldn’t get to a gun. I was defenseless again. Without a weapon, I was useless against Elias and Anthony, who could be anywhere in the house. I swore when I began training that I’d never be vulnerable. I still know how to kick ass. “Riley, you are safe,” Anthony called from downstairs. His voice grated on my nerves, and my head pounded again. “Fuck off, Anthony!” I screamed. Elias, still blocking the hallway, flinched. “You can fuck off too. You can fuck right the fuck off!” Elias closed his eyes for a second, my words cutting him. I ducked under his outstretched arms and ran down the hall, heading for the front stairs. I hoped that Anthony was still in the kitchen, and I’d be able to slip outside before he could catch me. Twisting my bag around me, I carried it crossbody so I’d be able to run.

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