 
Don't Stop Me

COPYRIGHT © Lorhainne Ekelund, 2017. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Contact Information: Lorhainne@LorhainneEckhart.com

ISBN: 978-1-928085-46-1

# Don't Stop Me

### The McCabe Brothers

## Lorhainne Eckhart

#### www.LorhainneEckhart.com

### Contents

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Don't Stop Me

The McCabe Brothers

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

What's coming next

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# Don't Stop Me

### The McCabe Brothers (Vic) Book 1

**_Fifteen years ago, Vic McCabe was headed down a one-way road to destruction with the love of his life. But then the unthinkable happened, a mistake that changed their lives forever._**

Successful billionaire contractor Vic McCabe is a man every woman wants, but he gives his heart to no one. However, one day a reporter shows up, asking questions about a past he's buried, a mistake he made fifteen years ago that could destroy his future and that of the woman he's tried to forget.

After evidence surfaces, dredging up details of the night that changed his life forever, Vic is forced to seek out the only woman he's ever loved—the woman who has sworn to hate him forever.

# The McCabe Brothers

**Now a USA Today bestseller**

* * *

Join the five McCabe siblings on their journeys to the dark and dangerous side of love! An intense, exhilarating collection of romantic thrillers you won't want to miss.

### The McCabe Brothers, a spinoff of the big family romance series The Friessens from a Readers' Favorite award—winning author and "queen of the family saga" (Aherman)

> **_— "Eckhart has a new series that is definitely worth the read. The queen of the family saga started this series with a spin off of her wildly successful Friessen series."From a Readers' Favorite award—winning author and "queen of the family saga" (Aherman)_**

**The McCabe Brothers**

Don't Stop Me (Vic)

Don't Catch Me (Chase)

Don't Run From Me (Aaron)

Don't Hide From Me (Luc)

Don't Leave Me (Claudia)

**Don't Stop Me**

**_Fifteen years ago, Vic McCabe was headed down a one-way road to destruction with the love of his life. But then the unthinkable happened, a mistake that changed their lives forever._**

Successful billionaire contractor Vic McCabe is a man every woman wants, but he gives his heart to no one. However, one day a reporter shows up, asking questions about a past he's buried, a mistake he made fifteen years ago that could destroy his future and that of the woman he's tried to forget.

After evidence surfaces, dredging up details of the night that changed his life forever, Vic is forced to seek out the only woman he's ever loved—the woman who has sworn to hate him forever.

**Don't Catch Me (Chase)**

**He stopped a robbery. Now he has to do the right thing.**

* * *

Having left his life in politics, lawyer Chase McCabe is on his way to meet his brothers and sort out family matters when he stops for gas and walks in on a robbery in progress. However, he discovers the culprit is just a kid, and her situation may not be as clear as he thought. Authorities have written the girl off, and his need to fix everyone's problems sets in, putting him on a collision course with a mysterious woman with secrets of her own and entangling him in a precarious relationship that ties him to a place he was just passing through.

**Don't Run From Me (Aaron)**

**A compelling emotional tale about the undeniable power of second chances.**

* * *

Fresh out of the fighting circuit and to those that didn't know him, **_Bad Boy Aaron McCabe_** seemed as if he had it all. Except what everyone doesn't know is the nightmares that haunt him about a tragedy he's never recovered from losing the only woman he ever loved.

* * *

But soon Aaron is caught up in a complex web of secrets, second chances and a gripping twist with two mysterious women that entangles him in a relationship he never believed he was ready for.

**Don't Hide From Me (Luc)**

**Sometimes what we can't see is standing right in front of us all along.**

* * *

Luc McCabe is a man on the edge. Not only has he given up on his ideal happily ever after, which includes a man who'll love him and children of his own. He's leaving behind his old life that has been only about endings.

* * *

What Luc doesn't realize is sometimes love happens unexpectedly.

**Don't Leave Me (Claudia)**

**One moment in time could change her future forever.**

From _New York Times_ and _USA Today_ bestselling author Lorhainne Eckhart comes a riveting and edgy romance about a young love driven to the breaking point.

* * *

Even though Claudia is part of the McCabe family, with four older brothers she barely knows, she has a dark side no one in their right mind would mess with, and she still sees herself as alone. That is until one night, when she witnesses an unspeakable crime that blurs the lines of morality. Her first instinct is to run, but when a mysterious handsome man enters her life, promising to keep her safe, she's caught up in a web of secrets, not knowing who to trust. When her brothers unite, will they expose the truth or destroy any hope Claudia has of finding love?

**_The McCabe Brothers Collection is Now a USA Today Bestseller!_**

* * *

**Join the five McCabe siblings on their journeys to the dark and dangerous side of love! An intense, exhilarating collection of romantic thrillers you won't want to miss.**

* * *

Grab THE MCCABE BROTHERS THE COMPLETE COLLECTION at a special reduced price.

# Chapter 1

There were times memories would come out of nowhere and hold him still for a moment as if he were a hostage. If he were ever to tell anyone about his fears, about the events he still couldn't believe he'd survived unscathed...well, he knew no one would believe him. He would never share his past, his secrets. They were his—his pain, his hurt, his mistakes. Vic McCabe didn't share with anyone.

He took a moment, brushing back the thin gauze of the curtain and staring into the darkness, seeing only the glow of the street lights in the distance and hearing the rain, which had picked up in intensity. It was late, and every sane person was tucked in for the night, sleeping soundly, maybe dreaming of something that wouldn't give him nightmares and have him sitting up in the dead of night, sweating. No, those people most likely had wives, kids down the hall, and maybe a cat and a dog, a minivan and a small compact. Their biggest worry was whether they could afford to take the kids to Disneyland or skiing in Tahoe for spring break.

It would be an easy life, simple, something Vic could never imagine living.

There was nothing about Vic that fit the mold of comfortable, simple, or easy. He wasn't made that way. He'd been carved out of the gutter. He wasn't a nice man, and he knew well he should have come with a warning label.

He heard a rustle behind him: the sheets, crisp white cotton, clean and fresh. They would need laundered again now.

"How long have you been awake?" she asked.

He didn't turn around. He didn't have to to picture her running her hands through her long dark hair, sweeping it back from her face. He could hear it, sense it.

"Are you coming back to bed?" There it was in her voice. It was always the same, and again he didn't have to turn to know she'd most likely sat up, pulled up her legs, feeling the awkwardness of the moment.

"I'll call a car for you," he said, but the fact was that he had already sent a text and could see the headlights in the distance down his driveway. The black town car was from the executive service he used when he traveled.

"So that's it?" she said.

He could feel the muscles tighten in his back as he rested his arm on the window frame with the bite of the cool night air on his naked skin. It was welcome in his discomfort.

He heard the rustle again and this time turned only when the bedside lamp flickered on. She was lovely, slim and curvy as she pulled on her underwear and awkwardly stepped around the bed to find her dress on the floor. It was purple and white, sleeveless, but it did nothing for him now as he watched her hurry, slipping her feet into black pumps. Her hair was dark and full, the way he liked it, a tangled mess, and her cheeks were round and her lips lush. Her face had already blended into all the nameless faces of the women he'd bedded and tossed away. Her eyes were the wrong shade of brown.

She was staring at him now, watching him with dark smudges under her eyes from the mascara she'd caked on, the shadow on her lids that had fooled him for a moment, an image of someone else. It was always the same, the appreciation for his body, the marks on his back and the tattoo he shared with no one, always the same. He knew women loved his body, every solid hard part of him, but then, he worked at it with running, weights, and hitting the bag in his gym at dawn before he started each day.

It was the same thing each time, the same way. He was now walking across the hardwood floor, reaching for the black robe he had tossed over one of two blue easy chairs. He slid it on and belted it just as the woman's expression became set and distant. Yes, he'd hidden himself from her, and he reached for her jacket, also tossed on the floor, and held it up. She stared up at him for a second and then accepted his help, shoving her arms into the sleeves as he settled it over her shoulders. He stepped back, careful not to touch her again.

"Just give the driver your address and he'll take you home," he said as she stood there again in front of him, close, with the same familiar expectation. She was waiting for a kiss, some gentlemanly gesture after he'd fucked her, but the problem was that he wasn't a gentleman. He was everything bad, everything a mother should warn her daughter to stay away from.

"Can I give you my number?" she asked with dimming hope in her eyes, which he couldn't allow to remain. He had to crush it and slam the door firmly closed so there would be no question in her mind.

"Don't bother," he said.

She took a step to the door and paused for a second. "So you really did mean no names."

Yeah, he really did, and he'd also been clear that he'd never see her again.

# Chapter 2

"Your bid has been accepted in Tacoma, and after all permits are in place, construction could start as early as May," Natalie, Vic's assistant, said. "In Phoenix, we still haven't heard back from city licensing. The Salem building is completed, and your team has started pouring the foundation for the next two buildings. Your foreman from the first project left you two messages this morning about a conflict with the building inspector, and Naveen called again to tell you he really needs to speak with you regarding some uninsured expenses. From what I understand from the way he went on and on, there are some areas of dire concern."

Vic didn't look up. This was the same message he got every morning from Naveen, his accountant, who was all about the numbers. He knew exactly what the uninsured expenses were: hundreds of thousands in medical for one of his employees, Steven Bennett. Vic looked after his people, though, no matter the cost. No one would ever be able to convince him otherwise.

He kept his back to Natalie as he stared at the recent structural report from his engineers. It wasn't as though he second guessed the people he hired or the work he contracted out. He just needed to know who was doing what, and he always double checked the work. If he didn't understand some detail, he researched and figured it out. He had to have a hands-on approach because giving anyone his blind trust was something he couldn't do. Not ever again.

As he continued to read, he saw no noticeable red flags in the PDF report. Vic closed the file on his laptop and then slid around in his chair, taking in the blank expression on Natalie's round face. She was plump, five feet tall, wearing the same style of clothes she wore every day: a floral skirt that draped past her knees and a blue blouse today, plain and neat, nothing flashy. But then, he hadn't hired her to look at her. He wanted someone who was good, efficient, who offered no distraction. Distraction was something he saved for the nights he needed something or someone. His work, his business, was where he never allowed his darker side to appear, the side of him that used and took from women to satisfy his needs. That was an invisible barrier he'd established long ago.

Natalie was still watching him, her expression neutral. Her brown eyes were tempered, waiting him out.

"Is that all?" he asked. Yes, he could be a prick, and he often instilled fear and uncertainty in those who worked for him, but that was the only way he knew to be, considering he'd never allowed anyone to get close enough to him to read him, let alone understand him. That was a kind of power he'd never entrust to anyone. It had happened once, and it was a mistake of his own doing that had made him into who he was.

"No, there's also a woman here to see you," Natalie said.

He wondered whether he'd flinched, if his face showed anything of the question racing through his mind. "And who is this woman?" he asked.

Natalie gave nothing away, and maybe that was why he liked her so much. She was his wall to the outside world, keeping everyone and anyone away. "Tish Campbell. She's the same lady who showed up here yesterday and the day before."

Why was he drawing a blank?

Natalie was gripping a tablet and tapped the screen as if referring to something. "Same woman who keeps stopping by. She asks for you. I say you're not available and ask if she has an appointment. She says no. I ask her who she's with, and she says it's private," she said with a hint of attitude on the last bit. Natalie was not a woman to show curiosity and pry, but he could tell that whoever this Tish Campbell was, she was beginning to irritate even the pit bull he'd hired to keep people away from him. "What would you like me to tell her? Or should I call security and have her escorted out?" Natalie put her fist on one of her wide hips. Her lips firmed as she waited for his decision. He also knew she'd carry it out without second guessing him, another one of her positive traits.

"How many times has she come by?" He vaguely remembered now, but then, there was always someone trying to get to him.

"Fourteen," she said dryly as Vic glanced up, leaning back in his chair, for a second feeling something that resembled alarm. He didn't like it. "Would you like me to call security now?" She was toying with him, giving him a glimpse of her odd sense of humor.

"Send her in," he said, not giving anything away to even the one woman he knew would have his back.

She didn't frown, didn't even show surprise in his decision, considering he never allowed anyone to walk through the doors of his office unexpected. Natalie only stared at him as if he'd just exposed another layer of his personality, and she quietly took it in, inclined her head, and started to the door. Then she paused a second, her hand on the knob.

"Oh, and what about Naveen when he calls again?" She waited, and Vic knew he was going to have to make time today for his accountant or the man would keep calling.

"I'll handle it," he said before Natalie pulled open the door and walked out to the large reception area. He could hear her say something, and he waited until a tall, slender woman with dark hair and a face that wouldn't get lost in a crowd stepped into the room. He wondered whether he breathed out his relief when he didn't recognize her.

Natalie pulled the door closed, and Tish seemed startled for a second by the click as she stood in dark pants, heels, and a dark blazer pulled over a black shirt. He said nothing, not trying to hide how his gaze tracked every intimate curve she had. It was inappropriate, and maybe that was why he did it. She had a great body, attractive, a woman easy on the eyes, and he knew he deserved to be slapped for the way he stared so blatantly. But then, she was the uninvited guest.

What surprised him was that she didn't seem unnerved or self-conscious. Instead, she stood there, staring right back at him with the same expression he knew was on his face. Wow!

"So, Tish Campbell, what can I do for you?" he finally said to break the standoff.

Instead of smiling, instead of stepping closer to him or even taking one of the two chairs in front of his desk, which he hadn't offered, she remained where she was. In fact, she lifted her chin. As a slow smile touched her full lips, two dimples broke out, and her eyes were big, bold, deep brown, hinting at some mixed heritage. They sparked with something that said this lady had spunk.

"Vic McCabe?" she asked, and her boldness had him realizing his error in meeting with her. He was also considering firing his trusted assistant. He said nothing, as this time she took a step toward him.

"Thought this would be easy. I've heard you're intimidating, but standing here now in front of you, I know that's an understatement." She didn't smile, and as she seemed to gather herself, he was positive she was putting effort into standing a little straighter. "I wanted to get your comment on an incident in Phoenix, a woman named Badra, and an article that was printed about you having terrorist connections."

All Vic could do as he stared at Tish, who was staring at him as if she held his balls in a vise and was deciding whether to cause him considerable pain or just toy with him, was tell himself to breathe.

# Chapter 3

Tish had popped a piece of gum in her mouth the moment the frumpy secretary announced that she'd just won the lottery and would be granted access to the elusive Vic McCabe. She'd had to contain herself, fighting the urge to jump up and down in excitement, because her persistence had always won her the lead, the access, the scoop, the story. As her editor had told her, it was because she didn't give up. She was like a dog with a bone and always had been, her stubbornness a quality her parents had pointed out.

She was here on a lead. Vic McCabe had money and power, a businessman who'd swooped into Salem from California and was taking over. Her story had originally been about the attractive high-powered executives of Oregon, but something had her digging a little deeper, looking for something that would shatter their positive images and uncover dark truths. Every successful person had something to hide.

Tish waited as Vic, not moving from his chair, watched her in a way that reminded her so much of a cat stalking prey. She had to suppress a shudder, but she was afraid to look away and shut her eyes. She knew with this man, that would be a mistake. Her hands were sweating as she watched Vic, looking for any clue he was rattled, but the man was a rock, not giving anything away. Damn, this wasn't going to be easy.

"Who are you with?" he finally said, his voice deep, strong, and cutting.

She cleared her throat. Crap, how could she be the one on edge? " _Oregon Press_ ," she said proudly, for a moment wondering whether it sounded forced, as if it gave her some credentials.

"And you're, what?" He gestured as if starting the sentence for her. "You're here because..."

Okay, he was giving her nothing. This wasn't even going to be challenging. It was beyond pulling teeth. "I'm here because I had a tip about you, Mr. McCabe. It's not often a man like you sweeps into the state and establishes a business, outbidding other contractors in the area, not one as big as you in California and now moving into Washington and Arizona, with plans to set up shop in New Mexico, too. With the trouble you had...."

She was waiting for him to jump in and say something, clear his name and deny it. They always started to sweat and usually gave something away about now, sometimes something she hadn't even been looking at. That was what everyone did when she came knocking, but Vic seemed so calm. From those eyes, the way they watched her, she knew he didn't get rattled, and maybe he was someone who shouldn't be toyed with. She swallowed again.

"I'm just a businessman, Ms. Campbell. Not sure what you're after. Who's your source? A tip, you say?" He leaned forward and then stood. He was tall and ripped, wearing black jeans and a black T-shirt. He stepped around the desk, coming closer, and she just watched him, her breathing shallow, her heart pounding. He seemed so calm, so in control.

"I can't reveal my source." She'd found the story in the _Phoenix Tribune_ , and after leaving a dozen messages with the Phoenix PD, she'd finally received a call from a burner cell phone with no name, just a tip that Vic had been responsible for a botched terrorist attempt and had somehow walked away.

Then he smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes, which had become cold, watching her, taking in every part of her. She realized her mistake as he reached for his phone and pressed a button. "She's a reporter" was all he said before hanging up. What an odd thing to say.

"I would be very careful if I were you," he said just as the door opened. "False rumors have a way of becoming fact very quickly, and I'm not a man to be messed with."

She stepped to the side, taking in two men in blue jeans, both tall and built. She noted the company insignia, McCabe Contracting. One of them placed himself between her and Vic, who hadn't moved other than to cross his arms as he continued to stare at her. She had to fight the urge to pull at her jacket, as the man made her feel he could see through everything she had on, as if she were standing naked in front of him.

"Please escort this reporter off the property," he said. "Let everyone know that if she's seen here again, they're to call the police and have her arrested for trespassing."

"Look, I'm not going away," Tish said. "I'll do this story with or without your comment, and I guarantee you it would be better if you shared your side."

A hand touched her arm. "Let's go," one of the men said.

She pulled away. "Don't touch me," she snapped, but there was no hesitation as she was ushered out of the office. In the moment before the door closed, she took in Vic, who watched her like a caged animal who had been set free, and he was now coming for her, the one who had captured him.

She shivered, for the first time realizing that with Vic McCabe, she was swimming with a hungry shark.

# Chapter 4

Vic lifted the crystal decanter and poured a finger of scotch, fifteen-year-old single malt from a small village in Scotland. This bottle was the best he'd ever had, giving just the right amount of burn to shake up his senses and help him sift through the events of the day.

He hadn't fired Natalie, although she'd worried he might. He had to admit that he hadn't done his homework on the reporter. From now on, anyone who showed up without an appointment and without having been checked by his security team wasn't getting past her. He'd gotten sloppy, and that was something Vic McCabe never did.

Natalie was his gatekeeper, and he hadn't realized how much he depended on her until that day. It unsettled him. Relying on anyone was a weakness he'd sworn he would never display again. His past had taught him never to rely on anyone for anything.

"Badra..." Just saying her name had him aching, and the strength that kept him grounded evaporated in that moment, all because Tish Campbell had dared say a name she wasn't worthy to repeat. Where was she?

"Mr. McCabe, dinner is ready, sir," his housekeeper said. "Would you like to eat in the dining room, or should I bring a tray in here?"

He knew his housekeeper well enough to know she would stand and wait all day until he answered. He wasn't hungry, and he should have told her not to bother. "In my office," he said. "I'll eat there." He turned to face Nora Anderson, an older woman, in her fifties, who ran his house and took care of everything for him. She lived in a suite in back and wore the same outfit every day: black pants, a white shirt, and a black vest over top. She was the first woman he'd ever met who had trained as a butler, and she ran his house like a dream.

"Very good, sir. Will you be needing anything else?" she asked, so professional and drama free. He liked that, needed that.

"That's all, Nora. Take the rest of the night off. I can clean up after myself."

Then she was gone, and Vic took in the big living room, the dark polished wood, the open stone fireplace, and the oil painting of a mother and child mounted over the mantel. She was lovely, and there was such love there. It was something he longed for but had never had. Maybe that was why he loved it so much. An elusive woman, a love for a child. It was interesting and such a fairy tale.

Then there was Badra. Vic strode across the entryway, looking up to the stairs, the second level and the third, which he had yet to do anything with. He could see it all as he walked through an archway into what had once been a parlor or a library, one with large windows, a second fireplace, and a smaller brown sectional in front of his large desk, on which sat a plate with a warming cover. He lifted the top and took in the lamb chops, sautéed carrots, and greens. He was about to put the lid back on, but he knew that if he didn't eat something, his housekeeper would worry he hadn't liked it. It was the only womanly thing about her that she couldn't shake. So he pulled up his mesh chair, tapped the keyboard of his desktop until the screen came on, and sliced into the lamb chop. He took a bite, tasting the herbs and rosemary, a hint of mint. It was perfect, tasty, yet he still had no appetite.

As he chewed, he typed in "Badra" and "Phoenix" and waited for her name to pop up. There it was, but it wasn't Badra or him that he saw in that article from all those years ago; it was her parents. There was nothing else.

That day over fifteen years ago had been one of the best and worst of his life. It was the day he'd lost everything, including Badra, who had meant everything to him. "What happened to you?" he said. After all these years, Badra wasn't just a memory. She was a part of him. She had promised to love him forever, yet she now hated him and had left him, and he had to let her go.

# Chapter 5

"Mr. McCabe, have you heard anything I'm saying?" Naveen swiveled in his office chair, lifting a paper file from the stack and adding it to the already open file on Steven Bennett, the young man Vic had hired as a favor to his old friend Neil Friessen. "The medical bills, the bills from the care facility, the physio, the specialists, they all exceed the employee medical insurance the company provides. The therapy bills alone that are coming in from this specialist..." He was lifting up several sheets of paper, appearing more and more worked up as the seconds ticked on. "They're not covered, not on the list of recommended service providers."

"Look, Steven has a young wife and a new baby, and a shitty thing happened. He's getting back on his feet, and there's no way he should have to settle for a second-rate physiotherapist when he can have the best. Just pay them, all of them, and any others that come in for Steven. However you want to write it off is up to you, but I told you before that I want Steven looked after. I have the money." He didn't miss the frustrated look on Naveen's face. The man was so old school in a lot of ways but so very good at what he did. His East Indian heritage really stood out in moments like this. Naveen's office was small and cluttered: an accountant's dream, Vic's nightmare.

"Remember, Naveen, Steven doesn't know. Make sure this stays between us." He took in the annoyance on his accountant's round face, the way he slouched over the desk in his crisp white shirt and brown tie. His black hair was neatly combed back, he never smiled, and he was soft and paunchy from too much deep-fried food. Vic had noticed the man had a weakness for it.

"Yeah, yeah." Naveen waved him off, but Vic already knew he would never share anything about the business. He'd been with Vic from the beginning, when his tax return had become too big for him alone. Naveen had then been a struggling accountant in a storefront mall, working for a tax company, pumping through hundreds of personal taxes at crunch time in the spring, his talent being wasted.

Vic walked down the hall. On the second floor, there were four offices, a waiting area, and a large cafeteria for the workers. Everyone employed at McCabe Contracting was currently in the field, including Steven Bennett, who was still recovering from brain trauma, having been beaten nearly to death one night while out getting ice cream for his pregnant wife. Steven was young, he was strong, and he'd fought back from a coma no one had believed he'd ever wake from. There was something in that young man's drive and will to live that inspired Vic to be a better person, so he'd made sure there would always be a place for Steven with his company.

"There you are," Vic said, taking in Steven. The boy was tall, lanky, still using a cane, waiting outside Vic's office. "How are you feeling today?"

"Good, happy to be back," he said, and Vic noticed how his left hand was folded in his lap as if he were hiding it. It was the one that fought to do very basic things, including holding a set of pliers. "Just wondering what I'll be doing."

"You'll be helping me," Vic said, still wondering how much to dump on this young man, who seemed at times like twenty-one going on forty.

"I'm just worried you'll one day realize you made a mistake and let me go," Steven said. "I'm not like I used to be."

Vic noticed the way he leaned on his cane as he walked. He looked tired today. "You feeling okay?"

Steven made a face as if to shake off his comment. "Of course. Just sometimes..." He rested his hand on the back of a chair and lowered himself into it, taking in the desk and glancing to the side a moment as if thinking some heavy thoughts.

"Give yourself a break, Steven. How's physio going?"

Steven still wasn't looking at him.

"Steven?"

"They said I may only get my hand back to seventy percent. Not sure how I'm supposed to do wiring or any of my job. I need both hands to work."

Ah, so that was it. Vic wondered whether Steven had any idea of the walking miracle he was. "You get to hold your baby, your wife," he said as he leaned back into his chair, hearing the swoosh of the leather. "You're getting around, walking. Seventy percent is good, and I told you before that it's you who's the asset."

"How am I an asset? I was hired to finish my electrical apprenticeship. I was almost done, and now I don't know how it's going to be possible."

Even Vic could tell Steven was being unusually pessimistic today. Had to be a bad night or something. "Why don't you tell me what has you doubting yourself? I told you before that I want you on my team. Sometimes life throws a curveball and has you changing direction. Right now, you can't do the hands-on labor, electrical work, but what you can do is check the work that has been done already."

It had just come to him, and he noticed Steven frowning even more. Now he was thinking.

"But that's Al's job," Steven said. He was quick. It was true that Vic had yet to talk to Al Brown, his foreman, who oversaw all the electrical work and a crew of fifty.

"It still is, but I need more eyes. You'll report to Al and me. I'm expanding operations, and when that happens, quite often people can be spread too thin. I can't have that, so this is where I need you. It just takes one mistake going unchecked to cause me licensing problems in other states, so right now you're going to be one of my gatekeepers to make sure there are no flaws." He wondered whether Steven was going to come up with any other reasons why he couldn't do the job.

"You sure? I don't want you to give me something just for the sake of it."

"Look at me, Steven. Do you really think I'm the type of man who'd create something just to keep you busy?"

"I guess not." Steven was shaking his head just as Natalie peeked in and tapped on the door.

"Sorry to interrupt," she said. "Steven, Katy called and left a message for you. Your physiotherapist has bumped up your appointment for this afternoon, and she asked you to give her a call."

There was something in his expression—awkwardness, embarrassment. Vic wasn't sure what it was.

"Steven, go to your physio," he said. "That comes first. When you're done, you can head over to the site."

Vic watched Steven leave and speak briefly with Natalie on his way out. She was about to close the door when Vic said, "Natalie, just a minute. I need you to do something for me."

"Sure, of course." She stepped into the office and closed the door behind her.

Vic reached for a pen and scribbled on a piece of paper. "I need you to do a search on this name." He slid it across the desk, and Natalie took it in and gave him a curious look.

"Badra Walker...and what am I looking for?"

He said nothing, as he could feel his heart kick up a beat. His secretary frowned. "Call that PI I hired and tell him I'm looking for anything and everything: location, address, phone number," he said. _And where the hell she disappeared to._

# Chapter 6

Badra had last been seen at Creekside Coffeehouse in Bellevue, Washington, according to the brief report Vic had been texted from Tom, the private detective he hired for all manner of company business. The light-haired detective reminded him at times of a beach bum, and he dressed the part, with longish hair that dangled in his face. The man worked on his own schedule, but he was effective. Vic had used him many times in the past to find out everything he could about people and head off whatever problems were coming his way before they could become a train wreck.

He had to take a second and think how many years it had been since he had last seen her. Had she changed? Had she aged, or did she look any different? She'd been so young, slim, with long, sleek dark hair and eyes filled with so much mischief and personality—and those dimples. He'd loved everything about her.

His phone beeped twice with two messages from Tish Campbell, one a voicemail and one a text that if he didn't call her back, she was running with the story she had. In other words, she'd print bullshit that was far from the truth but enough to cause a pinch in his cash flow and an aggravation in his business, bringing up questions he didn't want to answer and shoving a spotlight so far up his ass he'd have to go to ground for a time.

"Fuck," he muttered as he took one last look at the office complex, which was almost completed. He watched as his foreman pulled away and noted security locking the gate. He touched the handle on his black Dodge Charger and slid behind the wheel, the leather crackling. He shut his eyes a second to think, then tapped his fingers on the steering wheel.

This was about setting the record straight, and he would, too, right after he talked with Badra. Maybe she had some idea that this was now all coming up. They'd been just kids, doing stupid kid stuff, when a single moment in time blew everything up in their faces, altering their futures. What happened had nearly crushed him.

He turned the key as his phoned buzzed again, and he switched over to the Bluetooth, seeing it was Natalie calling. "Why are you still at work?" he said as he pulled away. "Go home. That's an order."

"I got a message from the private investigation firm. The guy who handles things for you, Tom, well, he has to tend to some family emergency or something, so his partner is going to handle things in his place, but that won't be until tomorrow." There was tapping in the background, and Vic took in the traffic ahead before taking a right onto the freeway.

"Anything else?" he asked.

"No. Do you want me to do anything else here? I can do some inquiries on the name for you? Make some calls?"

He stared at the screen in the dash for a second. Even though he couldn't see Natalie, he felt the sting from his alarm bells ringing. She never overstepped, but right now she was crossing over into his personal life, and he didn't like it one bit.

"No, you're done. Go home." He disconnected the phone and took a breath, knowing he'd been rude. She had to know she was lucky he hadn't fired her. She knew not to push, so why was she doing so now?

Vic was tired, and it took him a second after pulling through the stone gate at the foot of his property to register the small blue SUV parked by the door. He jammed his foot on the brake and swore again under his breath. Who was here? His head went to one of the women he'd brought home, but he'd made it clear to each of them that there would be nothing more, ever, and that they were never to come back.

Maybe that was why he gunned the pedal and the gas, pulling up beside the SUV a little too fast. He slammed the brakes, hearing the tires squeal, smelling the burning rubber. He shoved it in park and was out of the vehicle, expecting someone to be standing there, but it was just an empty car, a few years old.

"Hello?" he called out as he walked around the truck, not seeing anyone. He was up the steps and opening his front door, walking inside, and he heard voices coming from his living room. As soon as he turned the corner, he felt his stomach bottom out.

Tish was sitting on his cream sectional, a mug of coffee in her hand, her legs crossed. Nora was standing there in front of her. He stepped into the room and said not a word as both women turned his way.

"Mr. McCabe, I let in—"

"Tish Campbell, a reporter," he snapped.

Nora's eyes widened in shock, and she glanced back to Tish, whose face appeared to flush. "You said you were his sister! I'm so sorry, sir. I'd never have allowed a reporter in." She was stuttering, and he'd never seen her this flustered.

"It's fine, Nora. Ms. Campbell is persistent. I'll handle it from here," he said. Nora seemed to want to add something, but instead she gave him a brisk nod and left the room. Another employee he'd have to deal with. Maybe he was being a fool again, trusting the people he allowed in his life.

He took in Tish Campbell again as she rested the coffee mug on his large square coffee table. She did it so slowly, and he noted the way she seemed to be figuring out what way to spin this. He found himself taking another step into the room and across to the bar behind her. He needed a drink, something to steady his nerves. She finally stood and faced him, the sectional between them, as he lifted a decanter and a simple short glass and poured a splash of scotch.

"I'm sorry to have lied to your maid."

"Housekeeper," he said before she could say anything else.

"I see. Mr. McCabe, as I said—"

"How did you find me?" He didn't miss the startled look on the reporter's face. Maybe she hadn't expected him to question her. "My house, where I live?" he added when she said nothing.

"I did a search, and—"

"I'm not listed anywhere," he said. This house wasn't even in his name. It was rented to a shell corporation. He'd made sure of that.

"Let's just say I'm really good at what I do," she tossed back at him with some attitude.

He had to smile, because he knew when he was being lied to. "Not buying it, but let's dispense with all this back and forth. What do you want from me?"

"I told you already. I'm running a story and would like your quote. Since you've ignored my calls and texts, I thought I would show you the story that'll run tomorrow morning and see if you'd still like to stay quiet." She reached into a bag over her shoulder and pulled out two sheets of paper. There was hesitation for a second before she stepped over to him and held out the papers.

He stared at the headline, _Billionaire contractor with ties to terrorism?_ The article also had a recent photo of him and his current Salem project. He knew doors would close, contracts would dry up, all because as a stupid kid, he'd stolen the wrong car.

# Chapter 7

"These are lies. How did you come up with this tale? You say there's a source, who?" he asked, setting his glass on the bar top, his eyes flashing with a fire she knew he carefully hid. "Don't give me this crap about your First Amendment right."

"I received a call, and I cannot reveal my source," Tish said—a source who'd been adamant she needed to dig more into Vic McCabe, Badra Walker, and everything they'd set in motion that fateful day. That was after Tish had started looking for any dirt she could find on the man. She just hadn't expected these doubts and his unwillingness to set the record straight. People always lied, had stories and tried to push their own versions, but not Vic McCabe. No, he was outright pissed at her.

He made a rude noise, a rough chuckle, and glanced away. She realized he was considering something. What, she had no idea. Then he wiped his face with his hand, and she could hear the scratch of whiskers. He needed to shave—but damn, was he attractive.

"You think I'm a terrorist, really? You think I would be so stupid as to risk everything I have, everything I've built, for what? Please help me out, because I'm confused about what you believe my motive is."

Well, that had her. Could she say he hated his country, its leaders, their religion? Maybe he was part of something or some cause, or maybe he was filled with hate for everyone and everything. How many terrorists stood out? They fit into society, assuming the roles of middle-class Americans—except Vic McCabe. He was anything but middle class, and he didn't fit the profile of a righteous zealot.

"Well then maybe you can explain to me why there's a news report from fifteen years ago about your link to a family suspected of terrorism, about local authorities stumbling upon a threat on national soil."

Vic was shaking his head, and any emotion he had shown a moment earlier was now gone. "Your information isn't correct, Tish. There was no terrorist attempt. What you have are misleading reports that don't tell the entire story. You should know about that, after all. How many times have you done a story but left out key information because it would lessen the impact? You want that big bang so you can screw the people you hurt in the process."

That wasn't entirely correct. Tish did her best to make sure she told the complete story, although she knew some of her colleagues printed only the more damning tales, leaving out bits and pieces that allowed different interpretations. "Not something I do," she said.

His brow quirked. "Really? I have a hard time believing that. Are you honestly going to tell me that you would print the truth with all its unsensational details? Pretty sure it wouldn't get past your editor's desk, and even less sure it would sell papers. You and I both know if it bleeds, it leads, and news people aren't beyond creating a few lies and choosing to leave parts out to make a better story. When was the last time you actually read a lead story about something good?"

What could she say to that? A story was something she had to pitch and sell to her editor. Everyone was vying for the top spot, and do-good stories or stories where the reporter actually lessened the impact and told all sides would never get printed.

"Don't bother trying to deny it," Vic said. "So you're here why, to get the truth?" He was shaking his head again. "I think you're not, because the truth isn't something your readers want, or your editor. You have a plan, an outline for how you want your story to read."

"That's not true." She had to interrupt him because he was making her sound as if she were a world-class bitch, dishonest and scum sucking. She wasn't. "I'm here giving you a chance to answer all the accusations. You were carrying a toxic substance that had the potential—"

He was shaking his head again. "I was a stupid kid who stole a car."

The truth was that the car was one of thirty-three he'd stolen in total, and his second of the night, but Vic wasn't going to tell Tish that. He continued: "I had stopped at a fancy hotel in Phoenix, and as I was checking out, I watched eight cops and a team of security cross the lobby." He'd been high and had just wanted to bang his girlfriend for a few hours. Seeing those cops, he'd thought someone had done something really bad. __ "Then they came up to me, tossed me down on the floor, cuffed me, and dragged me through the crowded lobby and out the door."

Cameras had flashed in his face, and the parking lot had been a blaze of flashing lights, with cop cars everywhere and tape cordoning off the entire lot and what looked like a three-block radius. "I'm thinking _What the fuck is going on?_ when I'm dragged to the stolen car, which has the trunk and doors open and a team of forensics going through every inch of it. Then I'm shoved to the ground again, face down, with cops yelling at me, and it wasn't lost on me that this was totally wack, because it was just a stolen car, and it looked like the entire Phoenix police force was out for that.

"It was then I realized something was really wrong. They're screaming at me about what I'm carrying, and one of the gloved forensics had a Ziploc bag of white powder. I'm thinking dope, cocaine or something, but it ain't mine. It was in the trunk of the car."

He'd nearly shit himself. Copping to car theft was one thing, as his prints would have been everywhere, but he'd never seen that bag. "I wasn't going to go down for drugs. My prints wouldn't have been on there," he told Tish. He'd never bothered to search the car. It was never something he'd done. He just grabbed the cars and dropped them at a shop across the Nevada border, where they stripped them down. He'd been all attitude until that moment, when he'd become panicked, screaming out that they weren't his drugs.

"Then one of the forensic guys, the one holding the bag, I realized he was all gowned up with gloves, everything, a mask, and one of the cops said something about anthrax."

It had been the bald stocky cop with the bad attitude, who spat as he yelled. He'd kicked Vic twice when he was face down, licking the pavement. His brain hadn't grasped the word the first few times, and he wondered what the hell they were talking about. "Then my phone rang, and up popped a picture of my friend as she called." His cell had been stuffed in his back pocket, and the cop had grabbed his junk before yanking out his phone. "She was so pretty and dark skinned, and when the cop saw her face and her name on my screen and answered, I watched every cop's expression change. You know what she said?"

Tish seemed mesmerized by his story. The details must have matched some of what she'd read, some of what her source had told her, but not everything.

"Was this Badra?"

Vic didn't nod, just took a breath. "She said, 'Where are you? You need to hurry or we'll never make the plane.'"

Then all hell had broken loose. And that instant in time froze and was forever marked on his soul. He realized in horror what had just happened: racial profiling.

# Chapter 8

The sun was coming up, and Vic took in the gas tank of his Charger. He needed gas and coffee. He spotted a roadside station up ahead and signaled to get off the highway. Maybe a moment to stretch, too, would help him figure out what he was going to do.

It didn't take him long to refuel and grab a cup of charred gas station coffee that tasted like yesterday's leftovers that had simply been reheated. He made a face as he put it back in the cup holder when his phone buzzed. He was going to let it go to voicemail before he noted the private investigation firm's name on the screen.

"Vic McCabe," he answered.

"Mr. McCabe, this is Rusty Barlow. I'm Tom's partner and just wanted to give you a call and let you know I've done some checking on that missing person you're looking for." The man's deep twang sounded like he'd recently stepped across the border from Wyoming or some Midwestern county. He took a deep raspy breath as if he were having trouble getting air.

"And?" Vic waited. It wasn't so much that Badra was missing, it was that she didn't want to be found. How could he blame her, though?

"Tom located her at a coffee place in Bellevue, Creekside Coffeehouse."

He could hear papers rustling in the background, and he had to fight the urge to yell at the man to hurry up and get to it. "She works there?"

"No, no, she runs it. Has for the last four years. I can text you the address."

Vic had to grit his teeth as he listened to more papers rustling. He pictured a desk in disarray. By the sounds of it, Rusty was old school in one too many ways. "I have the address already," Vic said. "Anything else you have?"

"What, you mean about her, whether she's married, has a family? If you can tell me what you're specifically looking for, I can track it down for you."

"No, don't bother. Have Tom give me a shout when he's back." Vic disconnected before the other man could say anything else. Just then, he saw the sign for Bellevue in the distance.

Bellevue was a lot of concrete and buildings, with some greenery. He had the address for the coffeehouse plugged into his GPS and found it in the downtown core. It wasn't a busy town, considering he had no trouble finding parking as he pulled in front of Creekside and parked. The coffeehouse itself seemed busy, though, as he stepped out of his car and onto the sidewalk. He pulled open the door of the cafe, taking in the size, small, with about a dozen tables and a few easy chairs. A large chalkboard sign listed beverages, from lattes to hot chocolate and everything in between. There were a few lunch items and daily specials, and the glassed-in display at the front had two rows of trays of baked goods.

Two patrons were at the counter waiting to place their order, and one waitress carried two plates to a table. Another woman with short light hair, chunky and of average height, was behind the counter.

"Can I help you, sir?" she said after the other two patrons had stepped away. She was wearing a red and white apron. An espresso machine was being operated by a younger man behind the counter, and he also spotted two women in back out of the corner of his eye.

"Yes, I'll have a double espresso with room for water, please. Can you tell me if Badra is here?"

The woman looked up from the cash register with an odd expression. "Who?"

Maybe the PI had gotten his wires crossed, given him the name of the wrong coffeehouse. "The manager," he said. "Who manages this place?"

"Oh, that's Fiona," she said.

Vic pulled out a twenty from his wallet and waited for change.

"Here's your change. Your coffee will be ready in just a minute. Did you want to speak with Fiona? She's just in back." The woman was being helpful, but evidently he'd just driven all night to the wrong place, and he couldn't help the frustration that hit him, probably putting a scowl on his face. Time to hire new investigators. He hated this kind of screw-up.

He lifted his hand and started to say, "No..." Then he saw her, and he couldn't make out whatever the girl replied.

**How** could he forget that face, her expression, the soulful lost eyes of the girl who'd stolen his heart and then blamed him for destroying her life and her family?

# Chapter 9

He was sitting at a table by the window, his back to the wall, a coffee cup in front of him, and he was waiting for her to join him. She stepped out of the small corner bathroom, realizing she couldn't hide out in there forever, considering it was the only bathroom and the knob had been rattled twice already from someone trying to get in. All she could do was scream in her head as she relived a horror she'd spent the past fifteen years trying to forget. Why was he here, and what did he want from her?

She smiled at some customers without seeing their faces as she stepped around a table, seeing the young man she had loved, who had dragged her into his trouble, and the man he was now. He was still handsome, extremely good looking, and he took up more than a bit of space. It wasn't just his size; even though he was tall and had filled out from a slender young boy to a mature, fit man, he seemed quieter, too, calmer and more dangerous.

She swallowed and shoved her shaking hands into her apron pockets, her sneakers quiet. She wore a cap-sleeved blouse, and though the day was cool, she was sweating under her arms and on her back. Even her forehead, she knew, had beads of sweat. She stopped at the table, taking in Vic. His eyes never left her for a moment, tracking her every step all the way over to him. Maybe that was why she was such a mess now.

She swallowed again. "How did you find me?" she asked, wondering if her voice sounded as weak to Vic as it did to her own ears.

He extended his hand to the empty chair across from him. "Can you sit for a minute?" His voice was the same but deeper, too. He'd grown up, but then, so had she.

She put all her attention into her hand as it touched the chair back, and she sat down and scooted the chair forward, taking in the noise and chatter in the cafe as she folded her hands together in front of her on the table.

Then he smiled at her, and there was softness there. "You look good," he said. "You cut your hair."

She reached back almost on instinct and pulled at the short ends of her cropped hair. She had also added auburn foils to give it a different shade of dark, changing her appearance as best she could. "A while ago," she said. She had done it with a pair of kitchen sheers the day after she ran away fifteen years earlier.

"It looks good. You look good."

She forced a smile to her face, remembering that magic pull she'd had to Vic all those years ago. She'd have done anything for him. She'd done everything he asked of her.

"You too," she added to be polite.

"Fiona, the food order has just arrived and they need someone to sign for it," said Barbara, the plump waitress who manned the front service counter. She leveled an appreciative glance Vic's way and then back to Fiona. She could almost read the woman's mind, maybe wanting to question her later on why mister tall dark and handsome, who had asked for another woman by name, was here sitting with her as if he knew her. Or maybe she wanted an introduction. Neither was going to happen.

"Sign for it for me," Fiona said. "Just make sure everything is there this time. He shorted us on the bread last week and only brought half the avocados. Make sure he waits while you compare what he delivered to the order on paper."

"Okay, sure, but what about the front counter?"

"Have Denise take over until I finish up," she added in a tone she knew was dismissive, but she didn't want Barbara lingering or poking around the table, trying to eavesdrop.

"Sure," Barbara said and this time hurried away. Fiona tracked her as she stepped around the counter and said something to slender, mousy Denise, and the entire time she knew Vic had never stopped watching her.

It took everything in her to gather the courage she needed to turn back to Vic. She forced another smile, as her fingers were locked together so tight she could feel the muscles bunch in her shoulders.

"You changed your name?" he asked, and she had to fight the urge to turn around and see whether anyone was listening. It was that paranoia that had dogged her the first five years, but the last ten she'd settled into a comfortable life. Yet here was Vic, dragging up everything she'd wanted to keep dead and buried and all the memories that went along with it.

"Not formally," she said. No, anything official would have brought up red flags and questions from people she didn't want butting into her business. Her tax return still had her real name, unavoidable and minor. She hid it from everyone.

He nodded, narrowed his eyes as if thinking, and then opened his mouth to say something. "Can you take a walk with me?" he asked, then just waited her out, watching her. She didn't know why he would ask that. The younger Vic would have prodded, encouraged. This Vic seemed to use so few words.

"I really need to get back to work."

"It's important, and I'd rather not talk here."

Maybe it was the way he was watching her with sincerity that had her alarms ringing. She wasn't sure why, but a thick lump was sticking in her throat, forcing her to swallow past it. "Sure," she said. "Just let me grab my coat."

# Chapter 10

He waited outside, leaning against his car, watching as Badra, or rather Fiona, as she was going by now, said something to the mousy brown lady with glasses behind the counter. Whatever she said, the woman was nodding, and Fiona shoved her arms into a rather plain all-weather jacket. It was dull brown, nothing that would stand out, but so much about her screamed that she was making herself into somebody else. It wasn't just the name or the short hair or the fact that she had dyed it a brighter shade than its original jet black; it was in nothing specific but everything about her.

The door opened and she stepped out, looking both right and then left as she crossed over to him. "Okay, where to?" she said as she looked up the street again.

Vic pushed away from his car, and he noted her glance to him and her expression. "It's mine," he said, not sure why he needed to clarify. She said nothing, just nodded and then fell in beside him as he started walking.

Her hands were in her pockets, and the top of her head barely topped his shoulders. "How long have you lived up here?" he asked, wondering whether there was someone special in her life. Was she married? Did she have a family of her own?

"About eight years," she said. "What are you doing here, Vic? What do you want from me?" She looked up at him as they stopped at the corner, waiting for the light to turn.

"I had a reporter stop by and see me, and she was asking some questions about you." He noted the alarm on her face, the fear in her eyes. It was a spark of panic as she glanced over her shoulder and appeared to startle. The walk light flashed on, and he slipped his hand up to her shoulder. "Come on, let's cross."

He got her across the street, and they kept walking, but he could tell she was now upset, spooked.

"What did this reporter want?"

"She was doing a story on me and said she had come across something. Someone tipped her off about what happened in Phoenix."

She stepped around him, in front of him, and pressed her hand to his chest to stop him. "What? Why now, after all these years?"

"Come on, let's keep walking." He actually reached for her hand, which she pulled away and then fisted. He wondered how long she'd go on hating him. "The story was about my contracts, my business." He knew she was watching him, not with curiosity but with accusation, as if she wanted to ask him, _What the fuck have you gotten yourself into now?_ "It's nothing like whatever you're thinking," he said.

"I doubt very much you have any idea what's going through my head. Vic, when we were young, I loved you so much, and probably because you were walking trouble. It was always trouble. You were steeped so deep in it, it was a part of you, and maybe that was why I was so attracted to you, but there's one thing about that kind of trouble: It can and will destroy you."

So she spared him little feeling. He expected that, just not quite this way. "I'm successful, all legit, with businesses in several states. It's most likely someone trying to hurt my business and put a stop to my expanding into Oregon," he said. He'd stepped on a lot of toes, and he didn't know why he hadn't thought of it before now. It could be some jilted contractor, someone he had outbid who was now trying his best to hurt him in business, to try to gain the upper hand. He ran his hand across his chin as they walked past an empty lot, a boarded-up building with fencing around it.

"So whatever business you're in has now touched me again. Seriously, Vic, why after all these years can't you just leave me alone?" She sounded so sad.

He went to touch her, as they had both stopped and were facing each other, but he thought better of it as he dropped it to his side. "The last thing I ever wanted to do was hurt you, and that was why I came to find you, because of this reporter's digging, because of the story she wants to print. I'm not going to let her, I promise you."

She stepped backwards and swayed, pressing her hands to her face, groaning. "And how are you going to stop her? I just want to be left alone. I never asked for this, and I thought all of it was behind me forever. For the first time in years, I've been able to relax and stop looking over my shoulder and worrying and wondering. I don't want to go back to that. I have a business. That place is mine, and no one here knows the trouble I came from, what happened, and I don't ever want them to."

"You changed your name, you have a new life, and you don't want anyone digging up where you are, but, Badra—"

"Don't call me that. That's not my name. I'm not that stupid girl anymore. My name is Fiona."

Of course she wasn't. She was doing her best to hide and not attract any attention. "Fiona...it doesn't suit you." He just studied her for a second, taking in her hands, her fingers. He noticed no ring, but that could mean nothing. "Do you have a family, kids, a husband?" Would they know, or had she buried her secret, her past, from everyone?

She looked away, her lips tight, and shook her head. "No one."

He was sad for her, but relieved more. "You need to understand that if I can find you, this reporter will, too."

# Chapter 11

She should hate him.

The only thing Vic had ever attracted was trouble. He'd destroyed her life, and she'd spent the past fifteen years running and hiding. But here he was outside her cafe again, standing on the sidewalk with his cell phone to his ear, talking to someone named Tom. Who the hell was Tom? That was all she could think as she locked up the back door.

Her employees were gone, but with their suspicions and interest in this tall dark stranger and most likely her own odd behavior, it was just a matter of time before Barbara or one of the other girls inquired about Vic and asked questions she didn't want to answer. At least tonight she wouldn't be faced with that burden. She'd cross that bridge when the time came, if it came.

A tap on the glass startled her, and she strode to the front door to find Vic waiting. She unlocked the door to let him in and locked it behind him, double checking again that the closed sign was set out. She needed a plan, and she needed Vic to leave. There was so much bad about him that she couldn't allow herself to ever get sucked into it again.

"I spoke with my investigator," Vic said. "He's checking into who was behind this lead, bringing up that night. It's most likely to hurt me, but I'm not sure why they're trying to hurt you. It makes no sense bringing you into it."

It had made no sense before, either, except for the color of her skin and the fact that her name was Badra and her mother was Muslim. She'd seen the hate in those cops' eyes even though they knew nothing about her.

"This world we live in makes no sense," she said, though she thought she'd shaken her hate for a world of bigots long ago. Obviously, she was still having issues. She had to stifle a giggle.

"What's so funny?" Vic really looked confused.

"Nothing, that's the problem, but sometimes it hurts too much to do anything other than laugh, because this world and the shit that happens is so ridiculous. When is everyone going to finally get it that we're all people, we're all the same, and stop looking for something that sets us apart?" Her hand was shaking, her stomach was knotted. She thought she was going to be sick.

"I should have looked for you long ago, but I knew you hated me, and I couldn't stand the thought of seeing you looking at me that way. It was my fault. I was to blame for all of it."

"Oh, stop it." She had to turn away, because he wasn't entirely to blame. She could see that now, though she hadn't then.

"Badra, I want you to come back with me to Salem. I can keep you safe—"

She whirled around. She couldn't go anywhere with him. She was good here, and she needed to be home soon before her phone rang and John wondered where she was. "No, you need to take care of this problem with this reporter. Whatever she wants with you, make sure it stays away from me, and keep my name out of it."

He was nodding, agreeing, so quiet.

She should ask him about his business and why Salem, but she was afraid to know more. She'd learned it was better to know nothing than to have answers she didn't want to share.

Then he stepped forward and reached out, touching her cheek. At his touch, she had to fight the urge to stay where she was and lean in. It took everything she had to make herself step back, force her foot back again. He dropped his hand.

"Goodbye, Vic McCabe," she said, waiting for him to leave.

"I'm sorry, Badra."

She had to shut her eyes. He couldn't call her that, not anymore, not here. She opened them as he pulled a card from his inside coat pocket and held it between his fingers, holding it out to her. She crossed her arms and squeezed her fists into the cotton of her jacket.

He had to know she wasn't going to take it. He finally stepped around her and set the card on the counter. "It's my private number, my house, my cell. Call me anytime if you need anything."

Then she waited in that spot as she watched the only man she'd ever loved, and hated more, walk away from her and out of her life again.

# Chapter 12

Tish was sitting at her desk. A divider separated her from the community columnist on the other side, who was yakking to someone on the phone, and others were in the background talking, phones ringing with all kinds of activity. Tish was ignoring all of it, instead focused on the glassed-in office of her editor, who was sitting behind his desk, his white dress shirt rolled up to his elbows, his auburn wavy hair covering his ears. He had on glasses and was reading her story, the amended version she'd finished the night before.

She was sweating.

Maybe Vic was right. She knew deep down that something about her original story would be good and salacious, a must read that would get their small paper notice, would get her noticed. It would be picked up by the wire and reprinted in the big papers. But not her new story. Her source had left out the details Vic had shared the night before. Of course, her source, who had called in on a burner cell and had no name, had yet to call her back to answer her questions on this new version of events.

It took her a second to realize that her editor was waving at her. She pushed her chair back and strode on two-inch wedge heels to his office, and she pushed up the white sleeves of her knit sweater before she opened his door.

"You had a chance to read it," she said as she stepped in, closing the door.

Wayne, her ultra-conservative older boss, could have been a catch if he only worked out his third divorce. He was a man whose life revolved around this paper, not his wife or kids.

"Not quite the story you were after or pitched. I'm not sure I'm understanding what this is." He closed up his laptop after tapping a few keys.

"I spoke with Vic McCabe and got his side. I've put a call in to the authorities in Phoenix to see if someone there will corroborate the events. My source, too—"

He was waving his hand. "No, no, you were faxed a copy of a story from Phoenix about how Vic McCabe turned a city upside down in one night."

"Wayne, it was fifteen years ago, and the facts may not have been accurate." No, she realized everything had been related by the cops, all based on their suspicions. After she cornered Vic in his home, he could have thrown her out, but he hadn't, and some of the things he'd said bothered her still.

"You don't know if he's lying to cover his ass," Wayne said.

"Maybe so, but I need time to verify the facts. The Phoenix story was damning and painted a picture of him that could destroy him and his business. I didn't think we were in the business of printing half truths."

He gave her a look that let her know she was close to being fired. "We're in the news business," he said. "Print the damn story how you wrote it. The facts are, and correct me if I'm wrong, that McCabe had a car and the Phoenix police were called in on a tip that he was carrying a dangerous substance, anthrax. They searched the vehicle and found a bag of white powder. McCabe was dating a Muslim from a Muslim family, and there was every indication that he was going to release anthrax in the general population—and the two were supposed to be getting on a plane."

"Those are only half truths, and the Phoenix police had been misinformed. The information they received was proven false." She couldn't get over the story Vic had told, understanding now how the police department was quick to overreact and even less willing to acknowledge their error.

"Do you have information that shows it was false?"

"Well, of course it was. He's not in jail or stuffed in some secret maximum-security facility, hidden away by the government. He's out on the street, making a living, running his business. And he wasn't dating a Muslim; her mother was, but the girl wasn't. Her father was English. The entire night was an overreach. The media spin was..." Tragic, if what Vic had said was true. She took in the impatience on her editor's face. "Not yet," she finally said. "I'm just waiting to hear back."

He was shaking his head, and she knew why. She'd pushed for the lead spot. She'd been the one to scream about the wrongdoing, grabbing a hold of the story, ready to nail Vic McCabe to the stake, until she met with him, until the night before, when she'd finally heard his side and realized there was an even bigger problem. What exactly was the truth?

"How long?" he finally said with a look that let her know he was short on patience.

"Two days. Just give me two days." Then she'd have a different story.

Wayne's chair squeaked as he leaned forward and pointed at her. "Then I'm running the story. Now get out of my office," he said.

Tish breathed a little easier, hurrying back to her desk as she heard him on the phone, the sound of his voice echoing through the office. She picked up her phone and listened once again, but she still had no messages.

# Chapter 13

Vic was two hours into his drive back to Salem when his cell phone rang. He took in the caller and the number. "Vic McCabe," he said, although he knew it was that damn reporter who'd started this entire mess.

"Mr. McCabe, it's Tish Campbell from the _Oregon_ —"

"I know who it is." He cut her off, wanting her to get to the point and hopefully tell him she'd buried the story and convinced her editor it couldn't be printed. "What do you want?"

"I rewrote the story with the details you told me last night, except my editor likes the first story better. He's given me only two days to verify the details, and then he's going to run with the first."

He could feel his adrenaline kick up as his fingers curled around the steering wheel, squeezing as if it were Tish's neck. "Why did you rewrite the story? I didn't tell you what I did last night for you to go and do a fucking rewrite. Enough lives were destroyed that night because of some overzealous cops and a bad tip. I told you what happened so you would pull the story and drop it."

"But I can't do that, Mr. McCabe. If what you told me is true, then others need to know what really happened. This can't continue to happen on U.S. soil. This is America, and we're better than this."

Was she kidding? Being so far away from Salem with hours still to drive began to feel like his biggest obstacle yet. "We've moved on, Ms. Campbell. The world doesn't need to know, because the world has bigger problems, and this is yesterday's news. Everyone has forgotten, and those who still remember are so few it doesn't really matter. Just leave it alone," he added with a little more force.

"How can you say that? Someone gave a false tip. Your girlfriend had every cop in the city on top of her. Law enforcement agencies dragged you both away, questioned you, interrogated you and her...and then what happened to her parents? How many hours later did they just let you go? You were held without bail, no Miranda, no lawyer, and how many bruises did you walk away with? What about her, about Badra?"

He didn't want to go back to that night and the next day. "It was only a day, and they obviously figured out their mistake. I was let go." Once the lab finally tested the Ziploc bag of white powder after he had screamed for hours that it wasn't his, they discovered it was neither anthrax nor cocaine. It was a bag of flour.

"A story was printed..."

He knew the story, which had been printed before he was released, when the shit was still in the wind, but thankfully that was all that had happened before he quietly slipped out of the state and back home to Nevada, where his father and brothers lived. He never mentioned what had happened to any of them. He knew his father wouldn't read the paper, and the local news thankfully never picked it up. Vic knew Tish was still waiting in the background for him to say something.

"It was fifteen years ago, Ms. Campbell. I'm the one who got off easy." He lowered his voice. It was Badra who had paid the ultimate price. Her parents had been killed when the Feds surrounded their house and broke in the front door, ready to shoot first and ask questions later.

"But what about the girl? What about Badra?"

Why wouldn't she let it go? He was shaking his head even though the reporter couldn't see him.

"Leave her be. She's the one whose life was ripped apart. Just leave her be," he said, his voice softening. "Please, Tish," he added, and it wasn't lost on him that this was the first time he'd asked a woman for anything.

# Chapter 14

Fiona unlocked the door of her two-bedroom apartment in a four-story walk-up and was instantly hit by the smell of garlic and oregano. "Hello, I'm home! Something sure smells good," she called out as she locked the door and slid the chain. She tossed her keys on the table, seeing the mail piled and taking in the books open and scattered over the coffee table.

"Hey, Mom. You're late! Thought you'd be home an hour ago." John walked out of the kitchen, holding a wooden spoon and wearing one of the red and white aprons from the cafe. It looked odd on him, considering he towered at almost six feet. His broad shoulders were filling out, and so was his chest, but then, at fourteen, he was maturing faster than the other boys his age.

"Sorry, I should have called," she said. "Something came up that I had to take care of. What are you making? Because it sure smells fantastic."

"Grandma's lasagna," he said. "I just need to layer it and then put it in the oven."

He meant the grandma Fiona had created one day, changing her heritage from Muslim to Italian. It wasn't a stretch, considering her coloring, and it was something that would welcome her to a community instead of painting her as an outcast. The story had evolved: She was from a small Italian family from Chicago, and everyone had been killed in a car accident. She'd been the only one to survive because she had been working a part-time job. It had been simple, easy. She had laid to rest Badra Walker years ago, and Fiona Marino had been born.

"How did I ever get so lucky to have my kid cook dinner, and not just any dinner?" She shrugged out of her coat and tossed it over the back of the easy chair as she noticed the TV was on with some comedy rerun. She was about to say something, and maybe he knew, because he pulled a face.

"Look, I like the background noise. It helps me study and cook," he added.

She also knew he had the TV or music or something on whenever he was doing anything, including brushing his teeth, but there was no way she'd say a word tonight about it. It didn't matter.

He made another face. "Is something wrong?"

She was staring and doing a piss-poor job hiding the fact that she was still reeling from Vic having walked back into her life that day. "No, sorry, just an odd day." She touched her head and forced a smile as her son did an odd quirk of his lip when he was giving her attitude. This time it nearly had her wheezing as her breath was sucked out of her, because it was just like his father.

"Seriously, Mom, you're looking at me a little weird." He turned away then and walked back into the kitchen, and she had to shut her eyes and give herself a mental kick in the ass. He wasn't his father, although he was looking more and more like him every day.

She followed her son into the kitchen and had to fight the horror of the mess. He'd used what looked like every pot and pan, and tomato sauce was spilled onto the stove, floor, and counter. Dishes were piled in the sink, and there were containers and cans on the table. "Whatever happened to clean as you go?" she said as she started lifting dishes out of the sink.

"The cook doesn't clean! Besides, I have homework and a project that has to be done by Friday."

She started filling the sink as her son talked about his day at school. He was an A student all the way, and she'd never once had to stand over him and crack the whip. Something inside him was driven to succeed, and being top of his class was something he's never had to work very hard at.

"So can I?" he asked and was staring at her again.

Of course her mind had been tripping out again, and she hadn't heard a word he said. "Sorry, what?"

"You weren't listening again," he said with attitude as he shoved the lasagna into the oven and set the timer. "Some of the guys are planning on hanging out this weekend, going to a movie and maybe for pizza after. Was wondering if I can go?"

She wanted to scream no and lock the door, because her son was now at an age where he wanted to go out with his friends, and teens didn't always make great choices. "Any parents going with you?"

The look he gave her bordered on horror.

"Sorry, but seriously, you're so young, and..." She had to stop herself when she realized what she was doing. John wasn't her, and he wasn't his father, looking for trouble. John had a great head on his shoulders, and he had a plan for his future: He would study physics in university, and from there he said it would unfold.

He untied the apron and tossed it on the table, about to storm off.

"Hey, just wait, and don't give me that attitude or the answer will be no," she said.

"You mean I can go?" The shock in his voice had her forcing a smile that made her feel as if her face would crack.

"Of course you can. Just let me know what movie you're going to see and where you're going for pizza, and I can pick you up after," she added.

"I can take the bus," he said with a frown.

"Or I can drive you," she pushed, hoping he wouldn't argue this point.

"Mom, you're going to have to ease up a bit and let me go. You hover too much."

"And you're too smart for your own good," she snapped.

He flashed her that damn smile, his father's smile.

"I am. I'm going to call the guys, let them know." Then he was gone down the hall, closing his bedroom door, and all she could do as she stared at the pile of dirty dishes he'd left was hope Vic never came back, because she'd made a promise to herself years ago that he would never, ever meet his son.

# Chapter 15

The cafe was buzzing with people, and the morning crowd who'd hurried in for their coffee and muffins had now given way to the people needing a midday caffeine hit and a quick lunch they could grab and go.

"I have two more orders for the yam and bean burrito, but we're out of rice, and I used the last of the sauce for that last wrap. What do you want me to do?" Barbara asked as she poked her head into Fiona's office again. It was the fourth time today, as if she were doing everything she could to engage in small talk. Fiona often chatted with the girls, but not today, and she was having none of this interest the girls had been leveling her way from the moment they'd arrived that morning, all of them behind the counter, whispering about the mysterious dark-haired man who'd shown up yesterday to see her.

"Cross it off the chalk board and tell the customers we're sold out. Have them pick something else, same as you always do." Seriously, this was ridiculous, and she wondered whether Barbara picked up on her sarcasm. She was still smiling, leaning against the door jamb, so apparently not.

"Sounds like a great plan. Hey...you never said how you know mister tall dark and handsome."

So there it was, the subtle hints gone. She was now taking the direct approach of prying into Fiona's business. She wondered if she glared. She could feel the shiver inside from how glacial her expression had to be, but Barbara was still smiling in a teasing sort of way. She was going to keep pushing until she gave her something or told her to drop it, but when had that ever worked with any of the women she hired?

"Someone I used to know," she said, and she wanted to kick herself when she saw the way Barbara's brows quirked. Instead of sating her curiosity, she'd spiked it. _Idiot!_

"Like an old boyfriend? Because I gotta tell you, the way he was looking at you, there were some pretty hot vibes he was tossing your way." She actually waggled her brows and stepped further into the office, and Fiona had to suppress a growl.

"Barbara, the customer. Go tell them now, for the love of God," she snapped and jabbed her hand out, and Barbara smiled and said "Oops!" before hurrying away.

"What in all hell is wrong with you? Bad, bad," she said to herself as she dropped her face into her hands and groaned.

There was another tap on the doorframe, and she pulled her hands away from her face, ready to shout at Barbara. "What the..." She had to stop herself mid-shout when she saw John in the doorway, watching her in a curious way.

"You okay, Mom?"

She slouched back in her chair as her son stepped into the small boxlike office. "Yeah, sorry, what's up?" she finally spit out as she tried to reel back the feeling that she was losing it and her neatly organized life was collapsing around her. She didn't like messy. She liked to know where everything was and didn't like surprises of any kind popping out of nowhere. Right now she felt as if everything had been pulled out and tossed everywhere for her to trip on.

"I need some money, and I forgot to get you to sign this permission slip for our field trip next week." He was holding out a piece of paper, and she was blanking on what it was. "It's for a fun day, bowling and then burgers after," he finally added when she didn't say anything.

She scribbled her signature and handed the paper back.

"Sorry, it was due today. I forgot to give it to you," he said and was still standing there. "Money, Mom. I have to pay for it, too." He bounced on his toes, one hand shoved in his red and white hoodie pocket. His hair was sticking up on one side, and she had to wonder if he'd even tried to brush it.

She could say something or let it go. "Your hair's a mess. Tell me please that you at least looked at a brush this morning." Nope, she couldn't help herself. It was the mother in her.

"Ran my fingers through it. It's fine," he added with that teasing smile that always melted her heart.

"Hmm," Fiona mumbled before pulling open the bottom metal drawer, which squeaked. She reached in, touching the business card she had tossed inside the night before, the one from Vic. She had to breathe and clear her throat before lifting out her wallet. "How much?" She was going through the bills.

"Fiona."

She knew that voice, and it took a second to connect with her brain before the alarm jolted her. She lifted her gaze as she took in Vic McCabe standing in her open doorway. She jumped up, her chair rocking back and banging against the wall. The crash didn't seem to startle Vic, but her son jumped.

"Mom, geez," John said. Vic just watched her.

Her wallet landed on the floor. "Shit," she said, then realized she'd said it out loud.

"Vic McCabe," he said as he held out his hand to her son, and she noticed his frown.

"John." Her son shook his hand, and Fiona darted around the desk, stumbling on her wallet on the floor before catching her footing.

"You need to go right now," she said to her son, putting her hands on his shoulders to hurry him out.

"Yeah, whoa, wait, the money! I need the money." He laughed at her, probably because she was acting like a kook.

"Right, money." She tapped her back pocket and then spotted her wallet on the floor. She reached down and grabbed it and pulled out a twenty.

"It's twenty-eight dollars," he said, and she pulled out a second twenty and shoved both in his hand.

"Here, now go." She shoved him, and he was still laughing.

"I'll bring back the change," he added, and of course that wasn't going to work. She needed him to leave the cafe before things went any further sideways.

"Keep it," she said.

"Okay, okay, thanks, Mom," he said. "Nice to meet you," he called out over his shoulder, and as Fiona slowly turned back to Vic, she wasn't entirely sure what she was looking at in his expression.

"I didn't know you had a son," he finally said, but she could tell he was considering something.

"Mm-hmm," she replied. "So what are you doing here?" And who had let him back in? Maybe he knew what she was thinking, considering she was feeling totally blindsided.

"That light-haired girl out front said you were in your office. She told me to go on back."

Fiona took a breath and envisioned all the ways she planned to fire Barbara's ass today. She stood in front of her desk and found herself looking around without turning her head.

"You okay? You seem a little shaken."

"No, I'm fine. You didn't tell me why you're back here. You left yesterday, and I thought I made it clear not to come back."

He didn't nod, but his lips firmed a bit as he just held her in his gaze. "I came back here because we have a problem, and I didn't want to talk about this over the phone with you."

"What problem? There is no problem. You have a problem, you fix it, you leave me out of it."

"I will." He stepped further into the office.

"So you'll go now and leave me alone," she added, and he didn't say a word. Whatever it was he was considering, she had no idea.

"I asked you yesterday if you had a family, and you said no. Why did you lie?"

He wasn't going to let it go. She started back around her desk, giving him her back as she touched her chair, staring at her fingers. "I didn't want you in my life, Vic. Yes, I'm with someone." She wouldn't look his way.

"John's father?" he said, and Fiona looked up at him, seeing him cross his arms and glance toward the doorway.

"You should go now, Vic. I have a life," she said. Namely, she had his son, and she wanted him to leave so he wouldn't put it together.

"You said that yesterday, too." He shoved both hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. His face had a heavy dark shadow from having skipped a day of shaving.

"And I meant it, Vic. You think I moved up here and did everything I could to hide who I was just because? I didn't want to see you again. There's too much there, too much hurt, too much everything." She lowered her voice, wanting no one to hear her.

Vic had an uncanny way of looking at her. It made her feel as if he could see through everything she was wearing, as if she were standing naked in front of him. He'd always had that, but it was so much more now.

"You didn't answer me," he said.

"I didn't realize there was a question." Of course she had. She was evading.

He stepped closer, and he was so damn tall. He took up more space in this tiny office than she was comfortable with. There was no room to escape. She wondered whether she touched her throat, as the walls were beginning to close in. "You have a family?" he said. "A husband, children."

She nodded but said nothing to correct him.

"You're married?"

She looked to her desk and considered lying. Maybe then he'd go away. "No, John's father isn't in the picture."

"Sorry, you have just the one child?"

"Yes." Enough about John. "What do you want from me, Vic? What do I have to do so you'll go away and leave me be?"

"The reporter is digging, and she wants to set the record straight for you, for your parents and what happened to them. She's a dog with a bone. I asked her to stop and leave it alone, to bury the story. I'm working on other channels, but I'm dealing with unpredictable—"

No, no, no, this couldn't be happening. "It was so long ago. It's over... Stop dredging up the past. It's done. There's no making any of it right. What do you want from me? Tell her to go away! I'm of no importance."

"Badra, I'm just trying to protect you. Let me do that much for you. I just don't want you blindsided and hurt again."

"Who's Badra?"

When she turned to the voice she knew so well, Fiona didn't miss the question in her son's eyes, and she knew in that moment he'd heard too much of her discussion with Vic.

# Chapter 16

"Who's Badra?"

John was behind him. This was the first time someone had come up like that without him hearing. Fiona appeared so pale he thought she was going to faint. He'd been careless, speaking so openly.

"John, I, uh..." She stopped talking and didn't look his way, but Vic was watching her son closely. "What are you doing back here?" she finally spit out as if she'd gathered herself, but anyone could tell how flustered she was.

"I got change from Barbara." He was holding out a few dollars in his hand. "You didn't answer me, Mom. Why did he call you Badra?"

Fiona opened her mouth to speak, and Vic could see all the ways she was struggling to come up with some answer. Her secrets were clearly something she hadn't shared with her son, and he wondered how much he knew.

"And why is a reporter wanting to do a story on you?" John said. "To make what right?"

This time she shut her eyes and lowered her face, slowly tapping her forehead. "I'm sorry, John. It was just something that happened when I was young. It was before you were born. It was nothing."

It was everything, and it had altered everything for both of them, turning their lives upside down. Vic had landed on his feet, made something of himself. Badra had run away to hide, and she was still hiding.

"How can it be nothing, Mom? You're upset." John stepped into the office, setting the bills on the desk before looking back at Vic. "Have you known my mom long?"

_Forever, it seems._ "Yes."

"Did you know my father?"

He didn't have to look over to Fiona to see how upset she was. This was a situation she had controlled, but she had a lot of secrets. "I don't believe so," he said, seeing something in Fiona's reaction.

"Enough questions, John. You need to go back to school. We'll talk tonight." Fiona actually stepped forward and somehow had her son ushered out of the office. She waited a second in the doorway, her hand resting on her chest, before she stepped back and shut the door.

"John doesn't know his father?" Vic said.

Fiona wouldn't look at him as she set her hands on her hips and walked back to her desk and leaned against it, her hands resting on the top. Her expression was so guarded. "No. Enough about my son. I have a life here, Vic. Please don't stir things up."

"You never told your son about your family and what happened?" Of course she hadn't. He realized she was holding on to every secret herself. It had to be so lonely.

She shook her head. "No, he doesn't need to know."

"So what did you tell him about your family? He doesn't know your name? Who is his father, Badra?" Every time he called her by that name, he could see the hurt, as if he were driving a knife into her.

"Please, Vic, stop asking so many questions. I've buried my past, I'm not Badra anymore. My name is Fiona. The last thing I want is for anyone to start asking questions."

Of course he understood that, but at the same time he couldn't help noticing she was evading a lot. "Tell me about John's father. How old is the boy?"

She was so still, and she wouldn't look at him.

"Fourteen, thirteen? He looks older, almost fifteen, but that was when I knew you," he said.

She still wasn't looking at him, and her jaw was so tense, stubborn. She just didn't want to talk. "Why are you so interested in my son? Just leave it alone. Please go," she said softly, and it was in that moment, as he recalled the image of her son, his dark hair, his features, that he started to wonder a lot of things.

He took a step toward her and another until he was right in front of her, and she had to look up at him. That was when he saw it. John was his son.

# Chapter 17

Vic had left.

That should have had Fiona breathing a little easier, but it didn't, because in that moment, that second when he'd asked her if John was his, she knew he'd finally figured it out. It was what she'd feared all along. Though she hadn't said a word, she knew it from the look on Vic's face as he stepped back. He knew John was his.

She didn't have a clue now what he was planning. Would he show up again, or would he honor her and finally leave her in peace, leave her son in peace?

She hoped he would. She knew he wouldn't.

Vic as a boy had never been one to roll over and walk away, and the man who'd walked back into her life just the day before seemed even less inclined to do so.

She took her time closing up, keeping to herself, and she decided to give Barbara a pass on her prying, too, mainly because everything else in her life was spiraling out of control. She couldn't take on one more thing.

She stepped out the back door of the cafe and was looking at the ground, trying to figure out what to say to John, when someone said, "Fiona."

She jumped and dropped her keys. "You scared me."

Vic was leaning against her four-door Volvo. It was metallic blue, ten years old but in mint shape.

She bent over and picked up the keys. "You're stalking me now," she snapped, far past caring how it sounded.

"Why did you hide him from me?" He didn't move as she walked toward her car, and she took in how serious he looked. He was a hard man to read, but right now he appeared unforgiving. It wasn't her who had wronged him, though. Right?

She unlocked her car, and it beeped. "I didn't hide him. I hid myself, and John's part of me." She reached for her door handle, and Vic's hand shot out and pressed against the door so she couldn't open it.

"You hid him. You should have told me you were pregnant."

Was he serious? "Tell you? After what you did to me, my family?" She still had nightmares every time she saw the police, wondering if they'd detain her, question her, or God forbid figure out she was that girl from Phoenix. She'd never forget how she had been held, questioned, never once read her Miranda rights, and that was after they'd come crashing through the door of the hotel room where she'd been waiting for Vic.

"Stop it, Badra! I never told them about your parents. I never had the police storm your parents' house. I could do nothing but sit there on my ass, chained to a table in a concrete box, knowing they had you in the next room, helpless, not knowing what they were saying or doing to you, wondering what I had gotten us into. It was a fucked-up mess, and yes, I stole the damn car, I was a car thief, but whoever called the police wasn't looking to pin me for theft. By the time they'd set all the wheels in motion, the agencies were hitting the panic button. It was no surprise that when they figured out their mistake, they didn't give me a second look."

She was staring at him and then swung her purse, throwing it. It hit the door of her cafe as she jammed her hands in her hair, wanting to squeeze away the memory of how those cops and the other asshole Feds had said they were on their way to her parents' house to drag them in, too. She remembered the horror of being accused of terrorism, being asked what was in the bag, the powder, being questioned about whether she had any contacts in the Middle East. What was she planning? Where was she planning the attack? She hadn't known what the hell they were talking about.

"I didn't know what happened. I remember sitting there, so scared I'd pissed my pants. I was crying. They had somehow linked me to some big terrorist plot because of a Ziploc bag of white powder in the trunk of a car. Only I didn't know what they were talking about. I was begging, and then one of them said they were dragging my parents in, and what were they going to find in our home when they tore it apart? They said it would be better for me, for my parents, to tell them what we were planning.

"I thought they would hurt me more than they had and I'd be tossed in some dark hole and no one would ever know I was gone. They could make it happen. I realized then that I was no one. I was terrified. I didn't know who did it or why, but they said my parents resisted, my father pulled a gun, that it was self defense and they were shot, but it was a lie. My mom and dad were nothing. Mom was a housewife, and Dad was just a store manager. They didn't even own a gun!"

There was so much between them, so much hurt, that just standing there with Vic was ripping at her heart.

"Did you know you were pregnant when I last saw you?"

She remembered it like yesterday: standing in her parents' house, in the middle of the destruction, the house torn apart, after the police had let her go. The cops had said not a word about anything, just opened the door, uncuffed her from the table, said she could go, and let her walk out of the station. She never looked back. "They never told me why. They never said they were sorry. They ransacked the house, there was blood from where my parents died—where they were gunned down. No, I didn't know I was pregnant. I was barely holding it together." _Trying to make sense of something that made no sense at all._

"But you never tried to contact me. I have a son," he said again, sounding accusing this time.

"No, I didn't want you in my life," she said. "You were a car thief, not a father."

He just watched her, giving nothing away. "Maybe I had that coming, but it was a long time ago, and I'm here now. I'm not the same person. He's my son, and he has a right to know. I have a right to know him."

She couldn't believe he was saying that, and she wondered whether the horror showed on her face. "No! Just get in your car and leave. Go back to where you came from." She turned away and went to where her purse had landed on the pavement, items scattered everywhere. She shoved everything back in and turned back around, but he was still there, blocking her door with his body. It was then she noticed his car parked, too, blocking hers so she couldn't leave anyway. "You're not going to leave, are you?"

"No. Not now. I want to meet him, talk to him."

Oh, this couldn't be happening. "That's not possible. I never told him about you." She'd told John his father had died before he was born, and he'd never known about him. It was a lie, but she never wanted him one day needing to seek him out.

"Well, you have two choices, Badra. You tell him about me, or I will."

She went to hit him, but he was so quick that he grabbed her arm before she could lift her hand up, before she could connect with his face. His grip was strong.

"Let me go!" She tried to pull away, realizing her mistake too late. He held tight as her body remembered his touch. "Please," she said, and he released his hold but didn't step back. "Give me time. I can't tell him now," she said, turning her face to Vic. "He'll hate me for lying to him. Let him finish this year at school, a few more months, and then..."

Vic was already shaking his head. "No, he needs to know now. I've lost a lot of years. You've kept him a secret too long. He has a right to know me. I have a right to know my own son."

"Okay, a few weeks, then."

"No, no more stalling." He opened her car door. "I'll follow you," he said, and he held the door until she slid behind the wheel. Then he leaned down close to her. "And just so you know, I already know where you live."

# Chapter 18

It was respectable and plain, the small apartment block. As Vic followed Fiona up the stairs, he took in the brown walls, the faded rusty carpet on the stairs.

"Vic, please." She stopped outside the door on the second floor, her keys in hand, and faced him.

Of course she was scared. He should be furious, given the fact that he had a son and he knew nothing of him. The girl he'd loved had basically hidden him.

"It's been just me and John for so long. There's so much you don't know." She wasn't looking at him again, and even though he was angry with her, he could see how hard it had been, as well.

"You need to tell me, but it isn't just you and John. He's my son, and I have no intention of just up and walking away."

The door opened. "Mom?" John was standing there with a whole lot of questions, but as he looked up at Vic, there was something else in his expression. "I thought I heard you."

"You remember Vic?"

"Of course I do." He was such a nice kid, not the surly troubled thug Vic had been as a teen.

He followed her in and closed the door, taking in the small space, which was homey and warm. It had a sofa and matching chairs, a square sofa table and a flat-screen TV. A round table for four was in an open dining room. There were pictures on the wall and shelves of books.

Fiona rested her purse and keys on a side table, and he could see her face and all the emotion she was fighting to hide in the hall mirror.

"Does Vic have something to do with what you were going to tell me?" John said.

Vic found himself trying to pick out similarities in John, his expression, his stance.

Fiona took her time shedding her coat and folding it, then resting it over the back of the sofa. She put all her focus into what she was doing as if she were stalling.

"Mom?" he asked, impatient, as he stepped toward her. It was something Vic could see himself doing. He waited.

"Do you remember the things I told you about your father?" she started as she stepped around her son and over to the window, which was large and open and had a window seat with a colorful long cushion.

"Yeah, you said he died before I was born, an accident."

She nodded and then lowered herself to the seat, refusing to look Vic's way.

John tensed. Even Vic could see how this was messing with him as he waited for something unexpected to come his way. The kid had no idea what he was about to hear. It was too much for most adults. A kid his age, Vic wondered how he'd take it.

"Your mom had her reasons for saying what she did." Vic leaned against the back of the sofa, resting his hands on the top of the soft cushion.

"What reasons? What's going on?" John turned from Fiona to Vic.

"Your father is not dead," she said as she slowly turned sorrowful eyes to her son. John was so stiff that the shock seemed to double him over.

"What! Why would you lie? Who is my father?" he shouted, fisting his hands, and Fiona appeared so sad as a tear slid down her cheek.

"I didn't know what else to do at the time, and then it just became easier."

"How could you, Mom? Answer me! Who is my father? Where is he?" John was in her face, and Vic found himself standing, wanting to move him back.

"John, listen to me. I didn't do it to hurt you. Your father was never going to come into your life, be a part of our life. I didn't want you searching him out." She was on her feet now, trying to reason with her son, but Vic recognized a kid who was done listening, who was all attitude and was about to say or do something really stupid.

"Hey, stop this," he said. "It's not solving anything. John, your father is here now."

The boy turned to him and was quiet.

"I'm your father," he said, and as he looked over to Fiona, he saw a hurt he hadn't ever wanted to see on her face again.

# Chapter 19

Explaining to her son that Vic was his father was the hardest thing Fiona had ever had to do, even considering all she'd been through just to find some measure of peace for herself and her son. John was hers, and he was the only good thing to have happened to her after she'd walked through hell, after her life had been ripped apart all because of the color of her skin and who her mother was. It was hard being judged.

"Your mom had her reasons for not saying something, but I'm here now." Vic was standing in the opening of the dining and living room. It was an open-concept design like many apartments, and it had been home to her and John for the past five years.

"Did you know about me? Did you not want me? Where do you live? What do you do?" His questions for Vic were flying out of his mouth, and at one point she thought Vic laughed, but Fiona had turned away and was staring out the window, seeing people on the streets below, walking, driving past—a world continuing with its own problems.

"No, John, I didn't know about you, or I can tell you things would have turned out differently."

Fiona slid around, taking in Vic as he faced John. With the two of them together, anyone could see he was his father's son.

"Right now I live in Salem. I own my own business. I'm a contractor."

She hadn't known where he was or what he did. It surprised her.

"Can I come visit?" John said.

She was on her feet and stepping forward. "No, John, you have school, and visiting Vic right now won't work." She couldn't allow this to keep going on.

Vic only gave her a slight turn of his head. She knew he was aware of what she was doing, but this was too much. "Fiona?" His voice was low, but she could hear the warning clear. However, she wasn't going to allow him to walk in and just take over. He couldn't have her son.

"John, I need to speak with Vic alone. Could you give us a moment?" she said, but John for the first time appeared as if he had no intention of listening.

"No, Mom, I'm not leaving. I still have questions, like why you lied. And that name you called Mom...Badra?" He was too smart for his own good.

"I had my reasons." Her jaw ached, and she was so mad at Vic, who wasn't saying or doing anything to help her out.

"You need to tell him, Badra, before it comes out, all of it."

The last thing she wanted for her son was to have his world ripped apart, suddenly being forced to be someone he wasn't. She stubbornly shook her head and rested her hand on her hip, running her other over her hair, feeling the dampness under her arms from the scrutiny she was under.

"Mom, why does he keep calling you Badra? What is going on?"

"Really, Vic?" she said. "Should I? Because that story doesn't paint you too favorably. You were responsible for ripping my world apart and altering everything. You want him to know what a two-bit thug you were as a car thief and me a starry-eyed girl who was sweet talked into the back seat of your car? I loved the danger because it was a far change from the sheltered, bored, conservative life I had, with my ten o'clock curfew and parents who had to know my every move. You were exciting, and..." She wanted to cry, thinking back to how she had loved everything about Vic McCabe: his kisses, his fast talking, his trouble, his danger. She'd loved him, and he'd destroyed her. "I followed you, did anything for you, and I see now what a stupid fool I was."

John appeared so confused, searching her out, seeing her in a way she'd never wanted him to look at her.

"My name was Badra Walker," she finally said. "My mother was Muslim, my father an Englishman."

"But your family was Italian," John said. You said you were Italian. You told me they were killed in a car accident. You're not Italian? Was that a lie, too? What is the truth?"

She knew Vic was watching her, maybe wondering why she'd created that story.

What could she say? Italian was safer than Muslim. "Yes, it was," she said. "I'm sorry."

This was such a mess.

"You stole cars... Were you in jail?" John asked Vic, but his expression was one of interest instead of condemnation.

"I was a stupid young man, but I was lucky, and I turned my life around and made something of myself. Got a scholarship to Harvard and worked my ass off, which is something else we need to talk about and one of the reasons I'm here," Vic said, and Fiona found herself holding her breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop. "There's a reporter who wants to do a story on me, and it includes your mom. I think it would be best if you both came and stayed with me until this mess is sorted out."

Yeah, this was worse. "Vic, no," she said. "We're not coming with you. My life is here. John has school."

"But I have security and can control all this from Salem. I can't keep coming up here, and I don't know what's going to come from that story—if she buries it or if that editor prints it. Having it blow up in your face with me down in Salem is far from ideal. No, I need to be a step ahead, and I can't do that leaving you two here and knowing something could happen."

"What could happen? Are we in danger?" For the first time, John sounded scared. "What did you two do? What happened?"

"He needs to know," Vic said to her softly, but she realized he was trying to take the decision out of her hands. He was assuming his role, and she knew he'd never walk away from John or let her push him out of his son's life. Vic had always been a fighter, and it terrified her now that he'd likely fight her for her child.

"You can't have my son, Vic. We'll be fine here."

"Maybe, but you know all too well what happened to your parents. There was an overreach, and I could do nothing to protect you that time. This time, I swear to you, no one is touching John or you. I mean to be ready. You can't stay here." He stepped closer to her but then stepped back, maybe because she knew he was going to touch her. He lowered his hand.

"I'm really confused here. What did you do?" John was looking to her and then Vic for answers. It was a wonder he was still talking to her. "Mom, you're scaring me. Why would we be in danger? Why do we need protection? What did you do?" John's eyes widened.

"I was suspected of terrorism," she said, and her son's jaw dropped. For the first time today, John had nothing to say.

# Chapter 20

Tish had two screens on her home desktop, and she had both stories up: the story she'd written and the one from the _Phoenix Tribune_ fifteen years ago with the headline _Terrorism attack foiled by local police_. It painted the cops as heroes, but the reality of the story was the opposite.

She'd left five messages for the reporter who'd written the story, the last one an hour ago, stressing the urgency of the matter. She also knew this reporter had long since retired to a mountain cabin in the Adirondacks and was divorced with three grown children, all married. He wasn't calling her back, and she had one day to try to get some answers.

Her inbox dinged, and she sat up when she saw it was from that reporter, Sam Laughlin.

"Yes!" She pumped her hand in the air. "Finally."

She hit a quick reply, sending her number and asking him to talk over Skype. She waited, linking her fingers together when her Skype box popped up on the computer, ringing. She answered, and an older man with a round face and white beard appeared on the screen.

"Sam, I'm Tish Campbell. Thanks for calling," she said.

He nodded and with a deep voice said, "I saw your messages, and I have to tell you I almost didn't respond, but I realized you weren't going to give up. Persistent, aren't you?" He laughed a bit, one of those lighthearted things people did when they were making small talk.

"My editor and parents often say the same thing. Listen, I wanted to talk to you about a story you wrote fifteen years ago."

He furrowed his brow as if thinking, but she knew he had to have some idea. "I know the one. Saw your emails. There are some stories you forget, but that wasn't one of them."

"I have to admit that I came across your story while doing research for a piece on Vic McCabe." She had also put out calls, namely to the Phoenix PD, who hadn't called her back, but it was only then that she'd received calls from a burner cell phone. She still had so many questions.

"Oh dear, of all the stories I've written, that's one I wish I'd never done, but being a reporter, you want that big story. I had a friend on the force who slipped me the tip, and everything just snowballed from there."

"What is the truth? What really happened? I spoke with Vic McCabe, and he's telling me a different story, one with a lot of bureaucratic mistakes."

The man gave nothing away but seemed to be considering something. "It was the right thing at the time. How it was handled was the only way it could have been. You have to know it was after the attacks in New York, the Twin Towers and all that horror. We were all nervous and thinking the worst, that it would be just one more attack against a bunch of innocents."

She waited for him to say more. She knew it had been a different time, but so much had happened between then and now that she wondered if they wouldn't react the same way. Most likely, she was sure.

"They got a call that anthrax was being transported in the trunk of a stolen car. The plate, make, and model were provided, and a city-wide manhunt was launched. The car was spotted within hours in the lot of the Phoenix Hilton. I'm sure you know the rest, as I wrote in my story. The young man was located, the car searched, and forensics and the Feds were called in to close down the area. The young man had a Muslim girlfriend, and the police said they had information that they were planning on crossing state lines and boarding a plane. Assumptions were made on how the anthrax would come into play, who the target was, and then the Feds tracked the parents of the girl, paid them a visit, and tragically they were shot in the process of the arrest. There were reports that they resisted, put up a fight, and one officer said he thought the father had a gun."

He was shaking his head. That was everything Sam had written in his story and the same details she had highlighted in hers.

"But it wasn't anthrax?" she said.

Sam was shaking his head. "No. When the lab actually identified the contents, they discovered it was flour, just simple all-purpose flour. They didn't know who'd phoned in the tip. The owner of the car was a retired English teacher who was out of the country and didn't know the car had even been stolen, and the young man they had held without bail and interrogated for endless hours, and the Muslim girl, too, were released. The entire department and the Feds wanted to quietly sweep it under the carpet and needed it to go away."

Her stomach ached as she listened to what had happened. It was the same story Vic had told her, minus the part about the English teacher. Maybe he hadn't known that part. "And you didn't print a retraction?" She couldn't believe the lives that had been destroyed. "And Badra and her parents?"

He appeared confused for a second. "Who?"

"The girl. That was her name, Badra Walker."

He was nodding. "Right, sorry. No, it was one of those things that stick with you. It happens where we don't get it right and it's 'Oops, sorry,' but this was different. I'll tell you I spent a lot of years wishing I'd never gotten that call, never printed that story, but I was eager to get it out before any other news outlet got the scoop, so the morning paper printed it. The mistake was discovered not long after, and we never talked about it.

"We were just happy the situation went away, and we never heard from the boy or the girl. My editor refused a retraction. I was just as happy, as I didn't want my name on it. What reporter wants to put their name on something that says they got it all wrong and now two people are dead? Not me, not my paper, and not my editor."

"How did you sleep at night?" She wouldn't have been able to if it had been her.

"Not well. Still don't, sometimes, as I think back on the part I had in it, but why are you so focused on dredging this all up?"

"Because the young man in your story is Vic McCabe, kind of a bigshot contractor out here, with a lot of money and power. He swooped into Salem from California and is turning this town upside down, and I was doing a feature on him when I found your article."

"The trouble with the net is that so much there is far from the truth. Don't write the story," he said, and he actually leaned closer to the screen, his image bigger.

She wanted to say that she wished she hadn't and that it hadn't been published yet. "I sold my editor on it. I'm trying to print the truth about what happened."

He was shaking his head again. "People don't want the truth, not that truth. Do those folks a favor: Leave them be. There's a lot of red faces, a lot of hurt. That family, those kids lost their parents. That's one story that doesn't need to be told."

Tish was confused for a second. "It was just Badra Walker who lost her parents. Vic McCabe, there was no mention of his."

"No, she had a brother," Sam said.

"Vic never mentioned a brother, and neither did the original story. Why not?"

"Don't know why they would have," he said. "I didn't add in the brother because I didn't know about him at the time. Look, there isn't much more I can tell you except that whatever you do, this isn't the kind of thing anyone wants to see rehashed. There are those people who'll think those two kids must have done something."

She took in his expression. It was cross and irritated, filled with heartache, most likely because of what had happened. "I don't know if I can get my editor to drop it," she said. "He wants something," she added, but Sam wasn't going to help her figure it out. "Anyway, Sam, thank you for getting back to me."

After Sam said goodnight, Tish sat there for a few minutes longer. All she could think about was why no one had mentioned Badra's brother.

# Chapter 21

"Natalie, I'll be back tonight," Vic said. He planned to be, anyway, after having been forced to grab a room in a three-star hotel the night before. Fiona had refused to leave her place, and John was now furious at her for all her lies. He could understand both sides, though, her need to protect him and his need to know.

"What should I tell the inspector you were supposed to meet first thing this morning? He's backlogged for weeks, and Al said rescheduling again will put you way past the deadline."

He didn't have to see Natalie to know she was feeling some of the stress, as were Al Brown, the employees, and probably everyone else who depended on him, considering he was the one who made the final decisions on everything. "Have Al meet with the inspector," he said. "Call Steven, too, and ask him to tag along."

Sending a proxy wasn't something he normally did, considering inspectors could put a hold on a project if everything didn't tie up neatly, and sometimes these meetings called for him to think on his feet. He could do it, but he wasn't sure Al could. "And one more thing," he said. "Reschedule everything else I have today. Handle what you can. What you can't, send me a text and I'll deal with it here."

He tossed the phone on the rumpled queen bed, which had seen better days, taking in the basic hotel room. Then he dropped the damp towel he'd looped around his hips from a quick shower and pulled on yesterday's clothes. He'd picked up a toothbrush and paste from the front desk the night before, and he brushed his teeth, taking a look at the two-day shadow of whiskers staring him back in the mirror. He ran his fingers through his short damp hair before his cell phone started ringing.

He picked it up from where he'd tossed it on the bed and saw a number he didn't recognize, and he debated letting it go to voicemail. "Vic McCabe," he finally said.

"Vic, there's a reporter here by the name of Tish Campbell. She's out front in my cafe, and she asked for Badra."

He'd have known Fiona's voice anywhere. What he hadn't expected was the emotion he heard in it. "I'll be right there. I'm just checking out of my hotel. I'm about ten minutes away."

"Okay, but..." Her voice was low as if she was trying not to be overheard. She hesitated, and in the background a door closed.

"What is it?" he asked, grabbing his coat, his keys. He looked around the room to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything before he walked out to the elevator.

"My staff are starting to wonder. First you, now this reporter. You're messing with my life here."

Of course her workers would be wondering. Too much about her was coming out. He wanted to wring that damn reporter's neck for giving him the run around. It was bullshit. "I'm on my way," he said. "I'll handle it." He'd been clear that Tish was to leave Fiona alone, but maybe not clear enough.

He pocketed his phone as he stepped into the elevator and jabbed the button for the lobby, then waited as it descended four floors. He stepped out, then stopped at the front desk and rested the key card on the counter to check out.

"Just email the receipt," he called back to the clerk as he walked out the front door and to his car, parked in the lot. The sun was just coming up. It was too early to deal with this kind of shit, so he pulled out his cell phone and dialed as he slid behind the wheel and started the car. She answered on the second ring.

"Mr. McCabe, I guess I should have expected you to call," Tish said, and he could hear background noise from the coffeehouse. He pulled onto the main road.

"What are you doing there? I told you to bury the story and now you're poking around, trying to do what?"

"I'm just doing my job, and after speaking with the reporter who printed the original story last night, I realized this story has to be told. I mean, how many others has this happened to, the overreach by the authorities, the lives destroyed, and they're not being held accountable?"

She was serious. He pressed the gas, speeding up after he turned the corner, seeing the cafe and an open spot in front. "I'm pulling up in front right now. Meet me outside," he said before disconnecting and angling his car in the parking spot. The door to the cafe opened as soon as he stepped out, but it wasn't the reporter; it was Fiona, pulling on her brown jacket. She was wearing a turtleneck underneath, blue jeans, and a face that said she'd slept little the night before.

Tish followed, carrying a coffee to go, wearing a black wool coat, her long dark hair pulled back in a ponytail.

"Vic, do something," Fiona said. "The girls are now asking questions about who Badra is." She was in his face, her hands jammed in his pockets, and he didn't have to glance up to see the interest from passersby and two sets of eyes staring out the front window from her employees.

He rested his hand on Fiona's shoulder. "Let's take a drive," he said, knowing the only way to handle this now was to get this away from Fiona's business and off the street. He went around to the passenger door and opened it. "Tish, come on. Let's go."

Fiona slid in the passenger side, and he closed the door and opened the back for Tish, but she looked behind herself and hesitated.

"I'll follow in my car," she said, and he watched her walk down to a silver older-model Saab.

Vic slid behind the wheel and started the car. "She's going to follow. Is John at school?"

Her lips were drawn tight, and she gave a stiff nod. "Yeah, he is. Why is she here, Vic? I asked you to take care of this, and now your shit has landed on my doorstep. Why can't you leave me alone?"

"You know what? Let's talk about this upstairs. I told you I want you and John to come back to Salem with me, just for now, so I can handle this and you two are..." He was going to say "safe," but there was nothing safe about this situation. He pulled into Fiona's lot at the back of her apartment building. He glanced back in his rear-view mirror and saw Tish behind him.

"Good God, Vic, seriously? She's going to know where I live now. What's going to stop her from showing up, and God forbid John is here and opens the door?"

He pulled into a spot and unbuckled his seatbelt, seeing the worry written all over her face. "I guarantee you she already knows where you live, and there's no one here. You want to talk without being overheard? This is it." He pulled his key from the ignition when he saw Tish step from her car and lock the door. "Come on."

"Where are we?" Tish asked as she stopped in front of Vic's black Charger, taking in Fiona, who closed the passenger door and dug in her purse for her keys.

"Fiona's, but I'm pretty sure you already knew that," Vic said as he stood beside Fiona, wanting to touch her but afraid she'd flinch or push him away. There was so much between them rolled up in so much hurt and passed time, but it seemed almost like yesterday.

The reporter only smiled, and Fiona made a rude noise and started to the door without a word.

"After you." Vic gestured and followed behind Tish and Fiona into the building and up the stairs, hearing a television blasting from the first-floor apartment they passed.

"I somehow didn't picture you living in a place like this," Tish said as she stopped behind Fiona, who slipped a key in the lock. The icy glare Fiona gave her had Vic wondering what she'd say. There was no fondness here.

"What?" Tish said and then looked back at Vic as if Fiona were the one with a problem.

He just shook his head as he closed the door behind them, taking in the quiet and Fiona's back as she continued walking into the kitchen. He wasn't sure what she was doing but heard water running. "Why are you here, Tish?" he said. "Why are you pushing this story so hard? You were writing a story on me, so put the focus back on me and off what happened so long ago."

She pulled out her phone and pressed something, and he realized she was actually recording.

"Turn that off," he said and took in her frown. For a moment, he realized she was considering refusing. "Turn it off now, or you leave here and no one's talking to you." He wanted to add the threat that she could suddenly find herself in troubling circumstances, that doors could close and her cash flow could suddenly become pinched, that he'd make damn sure her resources dried up so she wouldn't publish another story again and no paper would hire her. That would take some work, but he could cause enough grief that even the paper wouldn't want to stand by her. But he didn't say one word.

Fiona was now back in the room, and he could see she'd heard. "Did she record me?" Fiona snapped. He realized she was holding a carafe. "I was going to make coffee." She rested it on the table and wiped her hands together.

"It's off," Tish said as she pressed something on her phone. "Why did you change your name?" She was taking in the room and focusing on a photo of Fiona and John taken a few years earlier at some amusement park. Fiona was standing stiffly and didn't seem to notice as she pulled off her coat and rested it over the back of the sofa. He could see her anxiety.

"After what happened, do you really have to ask that? It was necessary for people not to know me to not see me as the enemy. Fiona is safe. It's just an ordinary name. I didn't want to stand out."

It made a lot of sense. Who wouldn't understand the need for safety and hiding?

"Fiona Marino, but you didn't change it legally. Tax records still have your real name," Tish added, and Vic wondered how much digging she'd done. He didn't like it.

"So that's how you found me," Fiona said. She walked around the reporter, behind Vic, and over to the window. She looked out and then turned again.

"It wasn't hard," Tish said. "I'd still like to hear your side of what happened. I mean, I can't imagine what you went through, being assumed a terrorist because of the color of your skin, your religion, your name."

"But that's the thing. I wasn't Muslim. My mother was, my father wasn't. I'm an American and never considered myself anything else. Aren't we all people with the same rights? I foolishly believed that until..." She turned away, and Vic knew she didn't need to say anymore. Until she'd called him, until her photo and name had appeared on the screen of his cell phone. Camera phones and caller ID had been new features back then, but they had been her family's destruction.

"What is it you want, Tish, to not print this story?" Vic finally asked, knowing Fiona was doing her best to hold it together. The chapter of her life she'd done her best to bury was being dug up and thrown back in her face in a way that wasn't right.

"The reporter I spoke with last night, Sam Laughlin, who printed the original story, said you had a brother, Fiona," Tish said. "Vic, why would you not have mentioned him?"

"Why would I? One, it's none of your business, and her brother had nothing to do with this story. The story was about me, and now you're shifting your interest to Fiona, who has put her life back together and tried her best to move past something that should happen to no one. Here you are, looking to dredge it all back up, and what..." He looked back to Fiona, who still had her back to him and the reporter. She turned to him but didn't look at him. There was something she knew that he didn't, but what, he wasn't sure.

"This story is so much more than that, Vic," Tish said. "Badra?" She was gesturing wildly, excitedly, and Fiona now had her face in her hands.

"I asked you not to call me that. My name is Fiona."

"Sorry, Fiona. Please, this is something people need to know. This is the kind of human interest story that could help change the minds of Americans, of others in the world, so they see that—"

"That what? I'm no different than them? No, what your story will do is put a target on me and my life and put questions in people's minds that weren't there before. Some will sympathize, but many will say, well, she had to have done something. Her family must have ties to something bad. There will be the assumption and the looks, and then there will be the fact that I hid and changed my name. The story I created about being from a Chicago Italian family, about a car accident that killed them, will have people focusing on the lie and then saying that if I lied about that, what else did I lie about?" Fiona walked up to the reporter, and Vic could tell she was quickly losing her hold on the situation, but she was right about all of it.

"And my business," she said. "How long do you think it will be before patrons go elsewhere? Oh, sure, they'll flock in like lookie-loos after the story to get a closer look at the suspected terrorist who isn't who she says she is, but then employees will quit, and business will dry up. It will be like I'm reliving all that racial profiling all over again just so you can...what? Get your scoop, your big story, make a name for yourself? And to hell with me, to hell with..." She stopped, and Vic stared at her. She pursed her lips, knowing she'd almost spit out John's name. "Please go," she said, crossing her arms and turning away.

"Look, it won't be that bad. I promise you," Tish said.

"Stop it," Vic said. "Seriously, listen to yourself. You're as bad as the reporter who printed the first story. Do you hear yourself? It won't be that bad, and you promise, seriously? When her life is torn apart again, how much do you want to bet you'd also say 'Oh well!' and wipe your hands of it, moving on to another story, another scoop, someone else's life you can fuck up in the name of news and your idea of entertainment value?"

"That's not fair. I'm not like that. I really do care about what happened and think someone should be held accountable for this tragedy. A family was ripped apart. Lives were destroyed. If you share your story, you may be able to stop it from happening to someone else," she added, appearing genuinely hurt. "I think if you two actually think about it, this story could do a lot of good."

"Leave now, and don't come back to my cafe," Fiona said. "Do not come back here again."

What surprised Vic was that Tish had an expression that for a second seemed almost like understanding. He had to be wrong, though, as she stared over to him before gathering her purse, tucking her phone inside, and walking to the door. Her hand was on the knob as she turned her head, slowly this time, taking him in before resting her gaze on Fiona. "I'm so very sorry about what happened to you. It should never have happened. People should have done their homework, should have checked a lot of things, but have you ever asked yourself who it was who made the call to the police and set this entire shit storm in motion to begin with?"

Vic said nothing as he watched the reporter walk out. As the door closed, Fiona's expression told him she knew the answer to what Vic had always wondered.

# Chapter 22

The black suitcase she'd bought years ago, still brand new, was open on her sleigh bed, which was neatly made, with a white duvet cover and pink flower hand-stitched quilt folded at the bottom. Her room wasn't huge, but it was comfortable, with a cuddler chair and ottoman in the corner and a small table beside it, where she'd sit and read when time allowed.

She lifted shirts, underwear, and socks from her dresser, taking in the dark circles under her eyes reflected back to her in the mirror. A tap on the door had Vic appearing, and she looked through the mirror to him, not turning around but taking him in. He was now so much more in control of who he was: calmer, quieter, but with a power that terrified the living shit out of her. This was a Vic she didn't know.

"You ready?" He took in her room and the stuffed suitcase on the bed.

She closed her drawer and turned around, dropping in one last armful of shirts and undergarments. "Almost. I still don't think this is a good idea. This is my home."

After the reporter left, Vic had ordered her to pack clothes, hers and John's, saying they were coming to Salem with him until he could get a handle on the situation. She'd argued and tried to stand her ground—after all, he couldn't force her—but he'd said the one thing that could turn her blood to ice. What if something happened to John because of the story? It could be him dragged away by cops next because of some mistaken impression.

"You want to rehash this?" He took another step inside her room, his hand resting on the foot of her bed. With the way he seemed to take over the room, she realized she wasn't immune to him even after everything that had happened. What was wrong with her? Her memories came out of nowhere as if it were yesterday: what it had been like with him then, a young man she'd given herself to, wild and insatiable. She couldn't deny that she'd loved screwing him just as much.

She said nothing as she walked back to her dresser and pulled out more jeans and pajamas and stuffed her suitcase until it would barely close. It gave her distraction and space, a moment to think of her family, her parents dead, her brother gone—ties she had long since severed.

He sighed and pulled her from her thoughts. Looking over, she could see he hadn't moved, maybe because she hadn't answered him. She was done arguing. She realized he had made his mind up, and there would be no reasoning with him. He was so in her face, so much more stubborn and strong willed than she remembered. It was unsettling.

"When this is over, Vic, John and I are coming back here." Would she try to forget he existed, go back to how things were? _As if._

This time he didn't say anything as he lifted her suitcase from the bed and carried it to the front door, where John's suitcase was already packed and waiting. "I want to ask you something," he said.

"Ask what?" She was tense again, but then, she realized not a moment had gone by since Vic McCabe walked back into her life that she hadn't been tense.

"What the reporter said before leaving about who called the cops and provided the false information that started all of this. Your face..." He stopped, and she knew what he meant. It was something she'd also rehashed over and over, trying to make sense of it.

"I don't know, Vic."

"But you have some idea." He lifted his hand, and of course her gaze went right there, taking in the size, remembering how they felt sliding over her skin and touching her in places only he ever had.

"I don't know anything," she said, but it wasn't true. She had told her brother what Vic had done and about the car he'd taken. He was supposed to cover for her with their parents, but he'd been furious that she was with Vic, living a life of danger that got her adrenaline pumping. But he'd never have put her in danger, her or their parents.

Her phone was ringing, and she reached into her purse, which was sitting on the coffee table. She saw the coffeehouse name on the screen. "Hello?"

"Fiona, it's Barbara. Is everything okay? You said you'd be back, and it's been hours, and..."

Barbara and the other girls probably had a ton of questions, most likely all thanks to Barbara herself, who was always talking about everything and everyone and could only mind everyone else's business. It couldn't have helped that she'd left with Tish and Vic, whom she knew for a fact her employees were all drooling over.

"I was about to call you," Fiona replied. "I need you to hold down the fort for a few days. I had an emergency come up and have to take care of some things."

"What things?"

She wanted to bang the phone against her head but knew Vic was watching her. She could feel his interest, and she didn't want him poking anywhere in her business. "Listen, can you handle the cafe for me, close up and open and make sure everything is running smoothly?"

"Of course I can. Listen, is everything okay? Because you've never taken time away, and I can't help noticing mister good looking is still here and that you left with him."

Her car was still at the cafe, too, but she had no intention of answering any of this. "Barbara, please, I don't have time for this. If you can't handle things, let me know and I'll ask one of the other girls."

Her reaction was instant. "Of course I can look after things."

Fiona wanted to roll her eyes, knowing Barbara wouldn't take kindly to being second or having to suddenly report to one of the other ladies, whom she considered junior employees. "That's great. Listen, call if there's an emergency, but the only thing expected is the bread order tomorrow, so everything shouldn't be a problem. Tell the others I'll be away, and if there's an emergency, you can get a hold of me on my cell." She had walked in a circle and didn't miss the way Vic was watching her from the door, his leather coat pulled back as his hand rested on his hip.

"Okay, well, you take care" was all Barbara said, and Fiona didn't waste any time getting off the phone. She took in her living room, neat and tidy, and she realized she'd never spent a night away from here. She wasn't entirely sure how she felt about that.

"Any problems?" Vic asked, and Fiona had to look up, wondering what he meant. "With the cafe?" he added.

"No, just a little too much interest in what's going on in my personal life, with you here and now the reporter. She introduced herself with a card to Barbara, so everyone knows, and my dull life has suddenly become something the girls will likely share with everyone as they all speculate about what it is I've gotten myself into."

Vic didn't smile. Instead, his expression took on something she couldn't make out. "Let's go. Did you call the school to tell them we're picking up John?"

Okay, so he wasn't interested in the chitchat and gossip of a bunch of women. Great, neither was she, except when she was the main focus. "I did," she said as he pulled open the door, and she lifted her coat and purse and went to take a suitcase.

"I got them. Just get the door," he said before he lifted both suitcases and carried them down the stairs as if they weighed nothing.

Neither of them said a word as he tucked both bags in the trunk and Fiona settled into the passenger seat, taking in a man she had known very well at one time. She realized Vic wasn't the same impulsive, energetic young man she'd fallen in love with.

As he slid behind the wheel and pulled away from her building, she feared that it was just a matter of time before everything she'd built for herself and John would be destroyed, because with a man like Vic McCabe, she never could have a happy ending.

# Chapter 23

Fiona had slept for half the trip after trading spots with John, slipping into the backseat, and leaning her head against the window. For the first few hours after he'd been pulled from class and taken the front passenger seat, John had questioned both Vic and Fiona about where they were going. What surprised Vic was how much John seemed okay with a trip to Salem and staying with Vic for a few days. To him, it was all fun and excitement because he was going to have time to get to know a dad he hadn't known existed.

John chatted nonstop, talking about his friends, his classes, and the fact that he wanted a PlayStation 4. Vic had to remind himself that this good-looking kid was his son, and he'd missed the most important years of his life. That was when the dark feelings toward Fiona that he couldn't seem to pacify would sweep over him and have him squeezing the wheel tighter.

By the time he pulled down his street, it was getting dark, and John's eyes widened. Fiona had woken, too. Even though she said not a word, he could feel her interest and sense her unease.

"Wow, these are impressive houses. Do you live down here?" John asked, and Fiona's head turned as the large houses turned into estates.

"See those stone gates on the right?" Vic said.

"Yeah."

"That's mine." He turned down the driveway and listened to the leather rustle behind him.

"Wow, this is huge. Are you rich?"

He wanted to laugh at his son as he parked in front of the stone steps and took in the massive double doors.

"John." Fiona spoke up for the first time in hours, and he took in her expression, which seemed a little unsettled. "That's not polite."

"It's fine, Fiona. I am rich," Vic said as he stepped out, and John and Fiona both followed. He opened the trunk and lifted out one of the suitcases. Fiona went to take one, but he said, "No, I've got it. John, grab your bag and carry it in."

"Sure."

John was eager, he got that, but Fiona still appeared unsettled as she pulled at the strap of her purse. Vic opened the door into the house and rested a suitcase in the huge entry. There were footsteps, and Nora appeared.

"Mr. McCabe, you're home," she said.

"Nora, this is Fiona and John. They'll be staying for a while. Could you ready two guest rooms?"

"Of course, sir. I'll take the bags up. Did you eat, sir? I could put dinner together for you and your guests."

They had to be hungry, considering they'd only stopped once for coffee. John had grabbed a sandwich and coke, but Fiona'd had nothing. "Dinner sounds good." He looked over to Fiona and John, who were both quiet, taking in the features of his house. There was awe and discomfort from Fiona, but John seemed beyond excited. Nora went to take a suitcase.

"Leave the bags," Vic said. "I'll carry them up later. Fiona, John, come in."

John was already in the living room. "Wow, Mom, look at this place."

"This is big," Fiona said, still wearing her coat, her arms crossed. "So what exactly do you do?" She was frowning, and for a moment he was sure she was hinting at something illegal.

"General contractor. Started out in California, expanded my business into Oregon last year, and have a contract up in Tacoma for some commercial buildings. I've done well," he finally added, because Fiona was the first woman he knew who hadn't been impressed with all this grandeur and the fact that he had money. She firmed her lips and looked around.

"Why don't you take off your coat?" He slipped off his own leather jacket, opened a large front closet, and hung it up, then held out his hand to Fiona. She seemed to hesitate a moment before slipping off her coat and holding it out to Vic.

"Mom, come on. You should see the size of this room."

Vic followed Fiona into the living room and went over to the bar. John was perched on one of the bar stools and spun around.

"This is cool. How big is this house? Are there secret rooms?"

"Huge," Vic said. "Too many rooms for me to count. You can have a look around if you want."

"Yeah?" He was off the stool, his eyes wide. Vic remembered that age, and he wanted to share in some of his son's excitement.

"Vic, I'm not sure that's a good idea," Fiona said as she stood there stiffly, still seeming uncomfortable.

"It's fine. Go, John. Explore and look around, but don't get lost."

John didn't wait for his mom to stop him or say no one more time, and Fiona ended up watching her son take off out of the room, his footsteps on the stairs.

"You're looking a little uncomfortable," Vic said. "How about a drink, scotch, anything?" He poured himself a scotch, and she rested her hands on the bar.

"I shouldn't. How about a glass of water?"

"You've had a stressful day. How about a glass of wine, red, white?" he asked and noted she was considering.

"White, please..." She scooted up on the stool.

"White it is." He pulled a bottle of sauvignon blanc from the wine fridge behind the bar and opened it, then poured some in a glass and slid it across the smooth, polished bar.

"Thank you," she said as she lifted it, then closed her eyes. She breathed it in and took a swallow. "Hmm, this is good," she added, and her distance and politeness weren't lost on him. "So who's the woman?"

It took Vic a minute to realize she was talking about Nora. "My housekeeper, Nora Anderson. She runs everything here, cooks. Just let her know if you need anything and she'll get it for you."

Fiona ran her fingers through her hair and feathered it back, pulling her lip between her teeth and pressing down.

"Fiona, I want you to relax here and make yourself at home, you and John."

"Well, that's the thing, Vic. We're not at home." She rested her glass on the bar and lifted her hand, gesturing to the room. "This isn't me or John, and we're only here for a few days. You made your point, and in a moment of weakness I agreed to come here, but now I'm thinking this wasn't such a good idea." She slipped off the stool, and Vic walked around the bar, taking in her plain gray scoop-neck shirt, her casual jeans that couldn't hide her amazing figure.

"Let's not rehash this, Fiona. It was necessary for you two to come here and stay until I can get this story sorted out and handled. In case of blowback of any kind, this time my resources will protect you and John. John is my son. We have a lot of things to work through, to discuss, about his welfare and where we go from here."

He was holding his glass, and he didn't miss how Fiona went from uncomfortable in his home to simmering with a fire he knew made up part of the girl he'd loved. She had personality, and she wouldn't just roll over and let him have his way on everything.

"There's nothing to discuss. John is my son. I've decided everything. We have a life in Bellevue, and we're going back there. Vic, you can go on with whatever it is you do here, but hear me: John and I will go home, and there's nothing you can do to stop that."

He just watched her and said nothing, taking in how hard she tried to hide her feelings.

"Let's get something clear right now. John is my son, and it doesn't matter what happened, but you will not stop me from having my son in my life. You've made your feelings clear, but you hid my son from me. Don't try to stop me, because you won't like my response. I'll make damn sure my son is part of my life whether you choose to be or not, Fiona. I can be reasonable unless you fight me. Don't fight me. You won't win."

She stepped back as if he'd slapped her, and he regretted what he'd said the moment it was out of his mouth. He hadn't meant to do this now. He'd wanted a few days to ease her into a life here, a few days for her to get to know him and build a connection with him, to reacquaint himself with a woman he'd loved so deeply that it had left him unable to give anything to anyone else.

"Mr. McCabe," Nora said, standing in the entryway, her hands in front of her. "I've readied two of the guest rooms on the east side, and dinner is heating up and will be ready in about twenty minutes."

He wondered whether she'd heard. Possibly, but she never let on. "Thank you, Nora. I'll take the bags up and find John. He's exploring the house. We'll eat in the kitchen tonight."

"Very good, sir," Nora said before she left.

"Fiona, let's just take tonight to relax, and we'll talk more about this tomorrow. I'll carry the suitcases up and show you your room."

She followed quietly, but it wasn't lost on him that there was nothing meek or quiet about her. She'd never been one to sit back and relax before, and from the drive and determination he'd seen in her over the past few days, he knew she was just biding her time—for what? He didn't know, but Vic knew she was thinking, considering, and holding on to everything he'd said. There was a lot of anger and hurt there, he supposed. She was hard to read, and it unsettled him not to know what she was thinking.

She followed him up to the second floor, which looked down onto the large main floor, so much like a three-story atrium, with rooms on each side. He took in Fiona's wide eyes as she looked up to the third floor and then down. "It's just you who lives here?" she said.

"Yes. Nora has a suite in back, but yes, this is all mine." He stopped at the second door, knowing the rooms Nora had picked because they were the only two fully furnished with beds. "This will be John's room." He set John's bag on the floor. He'd been in this room only once or twice, but it had a large queen bed with a light headboard, a large dresser, a corner mirror, and an easy chair with a stool.

"Hmm, big," she said.

He watched as she pushed open the en suite, knowing it had a shower and bath, but then, this house had every luxury and then some.

"Your room is next door," Vic said as he started out of the bedroom, taking Fiona's suitcase into a room twice the size of John's, with a king bed, a sitting area, and a fireplace. He rested the suitcase on the bed so she wouldn't have to lift it. "You have your own bathroom." He opened the door and noticed fresh towels hung there. It had a soaker bathtub and a separate shower.

She just stood there, looking around.

"You can unpack and get cleaned up before dinner," he said, taking her in as she wandered over to the window, pulled back the sheers, and looked out.

"Thank you. This is nice."

They were back to polite again. She may have turned her head to him, but she wasn't looking at him.

"Fiona, I don't want this to come between us. No matter what happens, for John's sake we need to have peace between us."

"Peace? How does that work, Vic, after you basically stated a few moments ago that I need to just roll over and let you have your way and not dare to fight you, or what, you'll make things difficult for me?"

Before he could say something to clear the air, he heard John on the stairs, calling out, sounding so happy.

"Up here, John," he said, looking out to see him halfway up to the third floor. When he turned back, the bathroom door was closed and he heard the water turn on, letting him know how pissed off she was and that she was done talking.

Okay, he'd give her some space and a few days, and maybe then she'd come around to his way of thinking. If she didn't...well, then he'd have to consider other options, but there was one thing Vic knew: His son was home, and he had no intention of allowing him to set one foot out this door or go back to Bellevue—and Fiona, he'd just have to figure out some way of reaching her.

# Chapter 24

Fiona awoke with a start, and it took her a moment to realize she wasn't at home in her apartment. No, she was sleeping on a luxurious pillowtop that seemed to wrap her up in comfort. The guestroom in the light of day was half the size of her entire apartment in a house that had to be at least ten thousand square feet, three stories, with rooms and wings she was convinced she'd be forever lost in. It was a turn-of-the-century home that was absolutely stunning. What in the world was Vic McCabe doing living in something so extravagant?

She was definitely out of her element.

She slid out of bed and wandered into the spacious en suite, then turned on the shower and climbed in, the steam filling the bathroom as she shampooed and conditioned her hair and scrubbed herself clean. She stood under the warm spray a few minutes longer before climbing out and reaching for a plush gray towel, then drying off and wrapping it around her hair. She pulled on the white robe hanging on the back of the door and stepped out of the bathroom, into the light-filled bedroom. Her gaze fell on her suitcase, which was lying on the floor beside the dresser exactly where she'd put it the night before. Instead of unpacking, she'd opted to leave her clothes inside, though she'd taken time to see that the drawers were empty.

She was being stubborn. She could admit that much to herself. "No use getting too comfortable, Fiona," she reminded herself again. She did consider how much easier it would be if she unpacked instead of having to rummage through her suitcase to find every piece of clothing, though. She found clean underwear, socks, jeans, and a cream sweater, and she dressed and ran a brush through her hair, then quickly brushed her teeth, suddenly feeling so much out of her depth and needing to check on John.

Fiona was sock footed as she stepped out of her room and stopped at John's, taking in his open door and his bed, which was a mess. "John?" she said. She didn't see his suitcase, and she realized his bathroom door was open. He must already have been up. She walked over to his dresser, unable to resist opening a drawer, and was hit with disappointment when she saw his clothes stuffed inside. She tapped the dark wood of the dresser before stepping out of his room, and she took in the hallway and the quiet of the house, then started down the stairs, running her hand down the bannister, taking in the fine wood grain.

"Oh, Miss Fiona, did you sleep well?"

She took in Nora, in dark pants with a black vest over a white shirt. Her hair was pinned up with threads of gray here and there. "Yes, thank you. Have you seen John?" _And Vic._

"He's in the library on Mr. McCabe's computer. Can I fix you some breakfast, coffee?" She was so friendly and professional.

"Coffee, I would love a cup. I can get it, though, in the kitchen?" She gestured straight ahead and then couldn't remember where it was as she looked around at the rooms, the wood paneling and the artwork on the walls.

"Was just heading there myself," Nora said. "Coffee is always on. Mr. McCabe likes to help himself when he's home, so I keep a fresh pot brewing."

Nora walked with purpose as Fiona followed her down a hallway with a deep green carpet and more artwork on the walls, oil paintings that were dark and masculine, something she'd never pictured Vic would have any taste for. He was a mystery, not the same young man she remembered. Time had changed them both.

She followed Nora into the large kitchen, the same one in which she'd sat with Vic and John the night before at one of four counter stools, where she'd eaten a delicious stew. The kitchen now was spotless, neat and tidy, as if everything had a place.

"There is cream or milk, and sugar?" Nora gestured to a carafe with mugs resting beside it as she opened the fridge.

"Black is fine for me." Fiona lifted a deep red mug and poured.

"Can I fix you some eggs, toast?" Nora was lifting eggs from the fridge.

"No thank you. The coffee is all I need right now. Listen, is Vic here?" She wasn't sure where he'd be in this house, or maybe he'd left, and she worried for a second that he'd have done so without telling her.

"He's in the gym," Nora said.

"Gym?" She wasn't sure she'd heard right, and she stopped mid-pour.

"Yes, he likes to work out before he goes to the site, before he starts his day. Come, I'll show you where it is. It's at the back of the house."

Fiona grabbed her coffee and followed Nora down another hallway. She could hear what sounded like a squeak and fists hitting a punching bag. Then she saw him in a large room with a high ceiling, pounding a heavy bag that dangled from a chain. He was wearing black shorts, cross trainers, and no shirt. _Good Lord_ was all she could think as she took in his body. Then she realized that Nora was gone, and Vic had stopped punching the bag and was staring straight at her, his lids heavy.

The darkness that she sensed was so much a part of him seemed to settle in the room, and he said nothing as she took in all of him. His chest was even more ripped than she'd thought. It was a man's chest with dark hair, and she felt her face warm as her gaze lowered over his shorts and to his legs, which were long and strong. She remembered how they'd felt between hers.

"How did you sleep?" He unfastened his gloves and tossed them on a bench behind him.

It wasn't lost on her, the polite question. Why was it that was the first thing everyone thought they should ask? She didn't answer as she stepped into the room, and he reached for a towel and wiped his face as he turned away from her. She took in the marks on his back, scars that hadn't been there before.

"Fine, you?" She had to clear her throat, wondering what he'd experienced all these years without her. Then he was facing her again, and this time his dark eyes lit with a teasing she hadn't seen before. He didn't answer. "John's on your computer, I was told." She clasped her mug of coffee, squeezing and feeling the heat.

"He's doing some homework. I set him up there. Did you eat, ask Nora to make you some breakfast?"

Fiona felt the distance between them. There was something about this house and the power she realized he now had that unsettled her. This was his place, his domain, and he was now talking homework with her son. She didn't like it.

"What happened to your back?" she said. She hadn't planned on asking, but he was so different now, changed from the young man she'd given herself to.

He tossed the towel in a basket and leaned down, and she caught the glimpse of a tattoo, a flame or something, low on his hip. He pulled a shirt over his head and turned around. Was he going to ignore her?

"You don't like to answer questions, I noticed," she said. "You seem to pick and choose what you'll say, and you say nothing at all when you don't want to. You've changed. You still haven't answered me." She stepped further into the gym, taking in a treadmill, weights, and other equipment, and one entire wall with floor-to-ceiling windows and open French doors. The yard outside was large, with green grass, gardens, and trees. A breeze fluttered in.

"Accident. Went through a window," he said and turned away.

"I'm sorry."

"Why?" He walked over to the door and pulled it closed. That was something else she noticed he did: He was always moving, doing something, distracting himself so he wouldn't give too much away.

"It's what you say to be polite, isn't it? Why is this so hard?" She took a swallow of coffee, and Vic was still on the other side of the room, saying nothing. "Is this what I'm in for, you picking and choosing what to answer? I don't like it, Vic. It's very disrespectful. I don't deserve this."

This time his expression was hard and unchanging. She didn't understand what he was doing, and she realized it scared her. She rested her mug on a side table, wiped her hands, and started back to the door.

"I'm having a hard time trying to figure out what you deserve. I asked myself why you'd keep John from me. You hid him."

She'd protected him, and now she feared Vic would threaten all of that.

She still had her back to him when she felt him behind her. His hand touched her shoulder, his fingers resting so lightly that she had to shut her eyes to suppress a shiver, not from fear or cold but the fact that she didn't want to like his touch. She stiffened and told herself this wasn't okay, but he didn't pull his hand away—and she was grateful.

"So who's not answering who now?" His face was so close, his warm breath brushing over her ear. His lips were so close she had to shut her eyes. She couldn't turn around and could feel every part of him against her even though they weren't touching. He was in her space, and it was so intimate a place to be.

"Vic, don't. This can't happen," she said, feeling his touch still. Then there was nothing as he stepped away.

She turned around as the air chilled, taking in the two steps he'd moved back. He was standing so close that she could have rested her hand on him, but there was too much that had happened, too many lives destroyed for there to be anything between them. Maybe he knew, as she couldn't hide how unaffected she was. She shut her eyes and turned away again, but this time she felt his hand slide over her stomach and pull her back against him, and her hands fell over his. Instead of pushing away, she couldn't stop her body from wanting what he had to offer.

# Chapter 25

Fiona had never been able to hide how he affected her. He knew her body so well still, and Vic realized she could hide nothing from him. He didn't know what had made him take that step and tease her the way he had. Maybe it was the fact that he was angry and hurt for all the years he'd been denied that had him pulling her back to him, holding her as he pressed his hand over the flat of her stomach and then ran his fingers under the curve of her breast. Her head leaned back against his shoulder, her breathing ragged as she seemed to fight her own need for his touch. He didn't think as he turned her and had her backed against the wall just inside the door, his face inches from hers, his hard body pressing into her softness as he lifted her, pressing against her so she could feel every inch of him.

Yeah, she couldn't fight him. He could feel her body trembling, could see the vein in her neck pulsing as her heartbeat kicked up. "You want me," he said. "You can't hide that."

Her eyes opened, showing the passion, the fire as her hands flattened against his chest and for a moment just rested there. He started to lower his head to taste her again, wondering whether that one taste would drive him to madness as it had done when he was an impetuous young man.

Then she pushed hard, turning her head to the side. "Put me down," she said, and all the steel and hardness he'd heard from her that first day he saw her just a few days ago was back.

"Badra, you're still inside there." He stepped back, allowing her to slide down and feel him in the most intimate places as he dared to slide his hands over her ass, her back, as if he had every right. Her breath caught, and she tried to hide it.

"Don't call me that. You can't. I'm not her. You need to let her go." She slipped past him, her hand flitting up to her throat. It was shaking.

"Why do you want to write her off? She's an amazing, fun girl. You can be her again. It's safe now."

She turned to him, her face showing everything. "How can you say that?" She leaned in so aggressively. This was a sore point, one he wasn't sure she'd get past. "You remember what happened when they assumed that because of my name, my face, I was someone I wasn't? It was a wakeup call, Vic. I will never be her again and live through that kind of scrutiny because of the color of my skin, my name, and who my mother was. No, Vic, you'll never convince me. I named my son John because it's an ordinary white man's name. I won't have him ever having to endure what I did. He's John Marino from an Italian family. He can't be anything else." She was shaking her head, and he could see how much all of this scared her.

"He's not a Marino, he's a McCabe. He can take my name."

She was looking away again, thinking, and he wondered whether she'd fight him on this, too.

"I'm working on something so you can be who you are. You don't need to hide, Fiona." He wanted to be the one to wipe away that shadow of heartache that seemed to be branded so deep inside her that it was holding her back from enjoying everything life had to offer, everything he had to offer. He blinked to wipe that thought away. He'd hidden that part of himself for so long.

For a moment, neither of them said anything until she walked away.

"Where are you going?" he called out, frustrated at her dismissal of him.

She didn't answer him as she hurried down the hall, and he should have just let her go, but he was done with her pushing him away, walking away, so he was right behind her. When she reached the stairs, she glanced back at him. Her eyes widened, and she started running, fighting him as she raced up the stairs. He was behind her, and a madness hit him. He couldn't remember ever having been this crazy, this out of control.

She must have known he was there, running after her. She stumbled on the landing of the second floor but found her footing again and ran to her room. She was yelling at him with so much heat and hurt and passion, but he was stuck in a haze, done with her running and hiding. Then he had her, his arm around her waist, lifting her as he kept going past her room to the end, where his master suite was, through his bedroom door with her kicking back at him, hitting his hand with her fist.

"Let me go!" she shouted as he kicked his door closed and dropped her, holding his hands out wide. She was breathing hard, and so was he as she faced him.

He stepped toward her, backing her to his bed, where he pushed her down and touched his lips to hers, kissing her and tasting her. She fisted her hands and slammed them against his shoulder as he deepened the kiss, and her fingers pulled at his shirt, fisting in the material, pulling him to her. It was wild and rough. Her arms went around his neck as he tugged down her jeans and tore away her underwear, then broke the kiss long enough to loop her legs over his shoulders. He freed himself from his shorts and thrust into her hard, and she couldn't keep quiet. She squealed as he pulled out and into her again and again, his arms beside her head, his hands holding her still.

The fire in her eyes blazed. "Vic!" she cried out as she arched her shoulders, her head back as he moved faster, nothing soft and easy or loving. It was rough and hard, a taking, as if he needed to mark her. As he came apart inside her and she made those soft mewing noises he remembered, he rested his forehead to hers. He stayed inside her until he was positive he could breathe.

# Chapter 26

Fiona was in Vic's bed with the sheet drawn to her waist, lying on her stomach, and he was running his thumb over her lower back, tracing circles softly. She hadn't been able to speak after he'd fucked her so roughly, bordering on animalistic. It wasn't just him who had wanted it; she hadn't been able to fight her body from needing to feel him inside her.

After he'd pulled out, after he'd ripped off his clothes and the rest of hers, he'd moved her further onto the bed, where he'd rested on his back and moved her over him so she could settle down on him. She had taken every hard inch of him inside her, allowing her head to fall back, her eyes closed as she rode him, and neither had said a word. What could she say, that her words meant nothing and she couldn't fight the attraction between them any longer? He was so bad for her. He'd almost destroyed her, and here she was, lying naked in his bed after allowing him to love her and mark her, though she'd sworn it could never happen again.

"You okay?" he finally said, and she had to shut her eyes, because that was the one thing she wasn't. He was still touching her, tracing circles lower over her ass as if he had every right to touch her there. Damn her body for wanting his touch.

"This shouldn't have happened." _Though I wanted it to._

"But it did. Are you going to tell me you didn't want this? Because I know you did."

She had to shut her eyes again because he was calling her out. He was good at that, it seemed. She turned, facing him, seeing him in the bright light of day. He was so dark: his looks, his hair, his face and the whiskers there. His lips were full and tasted better than she remembered.

"Damn you for making me want you again. You're dangerous, and I don't know what this is, Vic." She rolled over and sat up. His hand fell away, and she pulled her knees up, wrapped her arms around them, and rested her cheek there as she took in the only man she'd loved. The hate for him that she'd lived with for so long seemed so different now, so changed.

"We have a history and a son. That's what this is," he said as he turned away and left the bed. So much about him was different: the scars on his back, the tattoo of a phoenix rising from the flames, which was low on his hip in a spot too intimate for anyone to see.

He was by the window, and he didn't care that he didn't have anything on. He was comfortable with who he was, but there was so much more.

"When did you get the tattoo?" She could see the muscles bunch in his back, but he didn't turn around. He rested his arm on the window sill, looking out.

"Years ago, in Hong Kong." That was all he said, and she wondered why he'd chosen such a thing.

"You made something of yourself." He was wealthy, and she was starting to understand the power she'd sensed from him before. "You have secrets, so much of what you've done."

He turned his head to her. "So do you, Fiona."

At least he'd said it. Maybe he was starting to understand. She nodded, wondering where he'd been, how he'd climbed out of the path he'd been on, a car thief turning his life around into something respectable, powerful.

"I don't know what to do with this, Vic. What happened here between us?" She could go back to Bellevue. She could go back to her life, but she realized now there was a piece of her that Vic had always had. Did he have any idea? She supposed not. She hoped not. "You ever wonder what would have happened if I'd listened to my brother, just gotten out of the car and gone home? I have, a thousand times at least. I've wondered, if I had just gone home and let my brother pick me up as he pleaded, let you be on your own, you'd have been across the state line, that car would be gone, and none of this would have happened."

It was that would-have, could-have, should-have that she'd tried her best not to relive, and she reminded herself that Vic would likely have been in jail in that case, doing time as a car thief.

Vic moved to the bed and was standing over her as she glanced up to him, and she didn't miss his expression. It was filled with such anger. What had she said?

"You never told me you talked to your brother."

Hadn't she told him? Of course she had, before they checked into that hotel, both of them high from the joint they'd smoked, and she hadn't been able to keep her hands off him. It had been the best night of sex she'd had with Vic, not her first time, but she was sure now it was when John had been conceived. He was still staring down at her as if something was wrong.

"What is it?" she asked as she sat up, and he had his knee on the bed now, his arm reaching over her, his hand resting on the bed beside her hip.

"You never told me you talked to Ari. You told him where we were, what we were doing?"

Why was he so upset now? "What are you doing?" She pressed her hands to her head, brushing her hair back. "Of course I told him. He wanted to come and get me."

"Did he know where you were?"

"Of course. I told him I was at the hotel. He knew you stole cars. I shouldn't have gone with you, but you could talk me into anything then. I did anything for you. Ari told me not to stay with you, and I should have listened." Her chest ached for a moment at the thought of the brother she hadn't heard from since she'd lost her parents. In blame, he'd lashed out at her.

Vic pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. She couldn't figure out what was wrong. "Did you tell your brother about the car I stole?"

She had to think back, remembering how angry Ari had been and how defiant she was. "Why would it matter now?"

There was a moment as Vic turned his head away, his jaw tensed. When he looked back at her, she had a sick feeling in her stomach.

"Because whoever called the cops knew about the car I stole," he said. "They knew the owner was out of the country. I always wondered who it was. The Ziploc bag of powder in the trunk...the whole thing was wacked."

Maybe it was shock that hit her. She was positive her ears were ringing. She wanted to believe he was wrong. "That's crazy. Ari would never put me in that kind of jeopardy, and Mom and Dad...he'd never hurt them." She wanted to cry. There was no way her brother could have done that, but Vic was shaking his head.

"Think about it. The only reason you were dragged into it was that you called me. The cop grabbed my phone and saw your photo on the screen, and it was because of what you said. Do you remember?"

Of course she did. It was what had set off the cops, made them think the worst attack that had happened could happen again. _We're going to miss the plane._

"It wasn't Ari. You're wrong, Vic," she said, but she still remembered the day she'd walked out of her parents' destroyed house, the words her brother had tossed in her face: _It's all your fault._

_Please, no, don't let it be him_ was all she could think as she rested her cheek against Vic's chest and allowed him to hold her a little tighter.

# Chapter 27

"Are you sure it was him?" Vic said from behind his desk in his home office. His private investigator, Tom, was seated in a deep brown wing chair on the other side. His long surfer hair had recently been cut to something more conservative and above his ears.

"We've had a tail on him, waited until he left, and I went through his home, his office. He called the reporter. He had notes on all your business deals, your success. Notes on Badra, too, and John. He had photos of all of you as if he's been watching you for years. I did track down the private investigator he used—past tense. Maybe that was why he finally called the reporter. It's creepy."

Vic was still having a hard time getting his head around the fact that Ari, Fiona's brother, had been keeping tabs on them. Even worse, he had been Tish's source, although he didn't believe she knew that. "So we don't know for sure it was him who tipped off the police all those years ago in Phoenix?"

Tom shook his head. "Can't confirm that, but it fits if you think about it. He gets rid of you and gets his sister back. She just had the bad luck of calling you when the shit hit the fan. He didn't account for that, I'd say. I'm assuming again, but I'm good at what I do, so it's most likely accurate."

Vic had to frown at Tom's easy way, but he was right: He was very good at what he did.

Tom continued: "It appears from the file I found, the photos, that he was not happy with either you or the lady."

Vic only nodded. He didn't need Tom to do any more digging. He already knew it was Ari. Fiona's brother had never liked him, and the pieces were now falling into place. He realized the arrogant young man had tried to destroy Vic, but he ended up destroying his own family instead.

"So he owns a bar in Long Beach, gambling debts..."

And he blamed Vic and his sister for something he had done.

"He's one step from losing everything. Do you want me to keep tailing him?"

"Yeah, just keep tabs on what he's up to." A man with that much hate was dangerous.

"How are you planning to rein him in? Can't see someone like that just letting things go," Tom added, but Vic had no intention of sharing his plans. He'd already bought up Ari's markers and his mortgage, and he'd put things in motion to take everything from a man who had ruined so many lives. "And what about the reporter, the story?" Tom linked his fingers together, rested his hands over his knees.

"It's buried," he said as he closed up the email in his inbox, the one from his lawyer confirming the sale of the _Oregon Press_ to him. He stood up and walked around his desk, a cue for Tom that they were done. "Thanks for coming by," he said before shaking the man's hand and watching as he walked out of his office. Vic could hear him say something to someone as footsteps echoed on the hardwood.

"Hey, Vic," John said as he burst into the office, dressed in blue jeans and a navy T-shirt. "Mom said we're staying, that you enrolled me in a private school here." He had a big smile on his face, and Vic took in Fiona, who was in the doorway. She appeared relaxed, and the smile that touched her lips was one he'd waited a lifetime to see.

He held out his hand as she crossed the room to him and slid her hand into his. "Yeah, talked your mom into staying. We have a lot to work through, years to catch up on, and you're both home where you belong. We're a family," he said to Fiona before he leaned down and pressed his forehead to hers and a kiss to her lips.

"And the business with the story?" she said as she looked up to him. The shyness in her expression had his heart melting a little more.

"Taken care of, just like I said." He reached out and slid his other arm around John. "So let's say we have Nora whip us up a celebratory lunch," he said, and he walked out of his office with his family, one he'd never expected to have.

# Chapter 28

### The Elusive McCabes

"I'm going home," Fiona tossed out over her shoulder as the water ran down her back.

"We've already decided this," Vic said. "You are home."

His heart squeezed. He couldn't stop himself from pushing even though he knew Fiona was not a woman who could be pushed. He continued, though, running the soap over her back in the shower they were sharing.

"Vic, I had a moment of weakness. I still have a business in Bellevue, and while it may not be on your scale, it's something I've worked hard for, it took me years to build it, and it's mine." She rinsed off in the water and then stepped around him, patting her hand on his stomach before stepping out the glass door of the huge shower that made up part of his en suite.

He fisted his hand and then had to let it go. Fiona was so unbending, and he couldn't figure out why she couldn't just be happy here with him. He had so much, and he wanted to provide for her and John. He turned off the shower and stepped out, seeing Fiona with a white bath towel wrapped around her and tucked over her breasts. She was wiping the steam from the mirror with her hand.

"John is starting that private school tomorrow and you're going to just up and leave?" he said, but as soon as he did so he could see how Fiona stilled.

"John can finish out the year at home. I'm sure the private school is great, but he has friends in Bellevue, and he knows his teachers..." She had turned around and was resting against the edge of the sink, looking down. What was going through her head?

He was at a loss for words. She wasn't someone he could order around and tell what to do. She was far from an ordinary woman.

She said nothing as she pushed away from the counter and walked into his bedroom, where he'd asked his housekeeper to move her clothes. He reached for a towel and ran it over his head as he followed her out, the tile warm on his feet. He wrapped a towel around his hips and could feel water beading down his back.

He just stood there, watching as she pulled on clean underwear, a bra, a peach shirt, and jeans. She sat with her back to him on the edge of the bed, which was rumpled from him having just spent the last hour making love to her. He was rediscovering every nuance of her body, and he could say now that he knew so many things about what made Fiona so distinct, so damn interesting. He was at a loss now to explain how she could have gone from so hot to so cold and indifferent. Was something up?

"Are you going to stand there and stare at me all night?" She lifted her head as she pulled on socks, but she didn't turn to look at him.

"Let me get this straight. You've suddenly decided you're not living here. You plan to just leave with John. And us, what is this?" No woman had ever turned him upside down like Fiona had, and she was mixed with so much of Badra that he wondered whether she even knew that the girl she'd tried to bury was still in there. He knew her so well, but all those missing years had changed a piece of her. He wondered whether he'd ever be able to reach her again.

She was still on the bed, sitting with her back to him, and he could see how she was reacting to him just watching her. What was she holding on to? Something, he was sure of that much now. Had something changed in the hour since he'd buried himself inside her, allowing himself to feel her? He knew damn well that she wasn't immune to him. She wasn't that practiced. That was the only time she couldn't pretend with him.

He waited and expected her to turn to him. That was what women did, but he should have known Fiona wasn't like any other woman. He'd be waiting a long time before she slid into that predictable mold. Forced to cave, dammit, he took a step to the bed, seeing her tense again and then slide around as he came to stand in front of her. He was tired of her back and wanted to see what she was hiding. Her expression showed everything.

"Fiona, what is this? Don't you think I deserve more from you? I hardly think you're the type of woman who changes her mind every five minutes."

"What would you know? Seriously, if we're being honest with each other, a lot of years have passed since we were together, and a lot has happened, molding us into different people. You don't know me, though you may think you do." She stood up, and her expression was odd. She held on to every thought and feeling, sharing with no one.

"I know you've had to hide who you are. You have no close friends because you would have had to share a little about yourself, and you're terrified. You've been hiding for so long that you don't even realize how you've isolated yourself. You don't trust people. I can see the tug of war happening inside here." He touched her head, and her eyes widened. She looked away even though he'd seen her moment of panic. Didn't she realize her mistake?

"You think you're so smart, that you can read me?" she said. "Well, read this. I'm not someone to blindly go along with anything or anyone. My joyriding days are over. I'm not going to kick all my good sense out the door or rely on you or anyone or tell myself that you might know better, that I can just sit back and let you make decisions for me, for John. I'm not a fool, Vic. I was then, all those years ago, and maybe for a moment I allowed myself to get caught up in being with you..." She stopped talking. With her, it was like one step forward and two back.

"I don't understand, Fiona. You're saying you don't trust me? I did just what I said. I buried the story and you and John are safe. John is my son. We're a family."

She stepped around him, and it wasn't lost on him how careful she was not to touch him when even moments ago in the shower her hands had run freely over him, feeling, enjoying, taking. He knew when someone was evading him.

"Fiona." He reached out and touched her arm, holding her so she couldn't take another step away, and her eyes went sharply to his hand as she stiffened. He lifted his hand away and held both up. "What's going through that head of yours? There are some things you can't lie about."

The way she responded to him, her body leaning closer to him... She did so more and more every time they were together. It was something she couldn't hide. She couldn't stop her body from needing his touch.

"We're not a family. You've protected my secret, and I'm grateful to you, but we'll be okay." When she looked over to him, he could see she was trying to convince herself of this. Damn, she was stubborn. What the hell?

"So you're expecting to just walk out of here, to go back to Bellevue and run your shop. John will return to the school there, and I'm supposed to, what, fuck right off out of your life?" He shrugged, resting his hand on his hip, touching the towel.

"Now you're being an ass. I'm not standing here justifying—"

He ripped off the towel and tossed it on the bed, and she was now looking anywhere except at him as the color rose in her cheeks. "I want you," he said. "I've never begged for any woman ever, and me wanting you and wanting to have a life with you isn't something I'm doing lightly. We have a past and a future."

"Tell me, Vic, how many women do you have in your life right now that are your future?" She was looking right at him, confident and pissed. Seriously, what the hell?

"No one, just you."

Something was off. She strode to the bedside table, digging into each step. She yanked it open and lifted out a lacy black thong, holding it up and out as if she despised it. "Then tell me who this belongs to."

As he took in the expression on her face, her eyes sparking with a fire he'd come to love in her, he didn't have a clue what to say.

# Chapter 29

Instead of answering her, Vic seemed to close down as he turned away, reached for a black robe tossed over a side chair, and shrugged it on. It wasn't until he'd belted the robe and seemed to roll his shoulders, taking a step to her, that she realized he was considering what to say, and her heart sank a little more.

She was still holding the lacy black thong, wondering how a woman could wear such a thing, and she finally dropped it onto the bed, wanting her hands off some stranger's intimates. "So you're not going to answer me?" She gritted her teeth until her jaw ached. Why was she so angry?

He looked over to her, and he wasn't acting embarrassed or awkward, but then she didn't think Vic McCabe could ever behave in such a way. He was so deliberate in everything he did and said, and of course now she wanted to slug him.

"I see what this is." He actually smiled and gestured toward the thong. "You think there's someone else." He was still walking toward her, and he stopped only to reach down, take the underwear, and then walk over and dump it in the trash. "Then let me put your mind at ease: There's no one."

He said it so matter of factly, as if this would be the end of it, as if he simply expected Fiona to drop it and everything would be just fine.

"I'm sorry, I find a woman's thong under your bed and I'm supposed to just let it go because you say so? No!" she said, still bothered at having found it under the bed in the first place—not that she'd gone looking for it. It was ridiculous, really. She'd been on her knees, gathering up the clothes they'd tossed on the floor before landing in bed the night before. It was something she didn't want the housekeeper, Nora, doing. It was too personal, and she couldn't have explained the feeling to anyone. "Who was she?"

It was so instant, the fire that filled his expression. She knew he had a temper from before, and now it was so much a part of him that she wondered how many people he'd scared with it. He was naturally intimidating, but this made him seem like someone she'd be a fool to mess with, except she wasn't buying it. As he stood there, not saying a word, his entire expression was screaming for her to drop it.

So she stood there and crossed her arms. "I've seen this tactic you use. It won't work on me. I asked you who she is."

"She's no one." He looked away.

"Of course she isn't. She left her intimates here, and probably not long ago, because from what I've seen of Nora, this isn't something that would go unnoticed. There's no dust under your bed."

"What the fuck does dust have to do with anything?"

Didn't he get it? His room was clean, spotless. The underwear would have been picked up when the floor was cleaned. "You have a housekeeper on top of things, unless it's..." She couldn't picture Nora in a thong. "Nora?"

Vic gave her a look as if she'd lost her mind. "Seriously, you now think I'm banging my housekeeper?"

Of course, as she took in Vic and thought of Nora, it didn't fit. "No, I guess not, but I'm serious, Vic. You say there's no one, but evidence doesn't lie."

"You're not going to drop this, are you?" he said, stepping into his huge walk-in closet and dropping his housecoat. He stepped into black briefs before pulling on jeans that made his ass look even better—and naked, the man was a work of art. Then it dawned on her.

"You don't know her name? Seriously?"

He wasn't looking at her, but she could see his face and the expression he couldn't hide.

"I told you she was no one." He had his back to her, and she took in the scars there from when he'd gone through a plate glass window, or so he'd said. She wanted more, and his body was telling her a story. There was so much she didn't know about this elusive McCabe and the secrets he was holding on to.

"To herself she isn't," Fiona said. "I can tell you that."

He was holding white socks now and sitting on a padded bench at the foot of the bed. "They knew the rules."

"Rules, what rules?" This was sounding strange, and she wasn't sure she wanted to know what he was mixed up in.

"I'm not involved with another woman, but fucking one and never seeing her again isn't being involved, it's just sex. Is that what you want to know, that I picked up a woman, screwed her, never asked her name, and she didn't know mine? No commitment, nothing personal."

It was so cold. She'd never heard him speak so impersonally of someone, as if this woman didn't matter—or women, was it? "So you slept with her..."

"I fucked her, them. I slept with you. There's a difference," he added as if making a valid point, but to her it wasn't.

"Them. How many?" Good Lord, did this man have a harem?

He was shaking his head, and the exasperation in his expression wasn't lost on her. He wanted this conversation to end. "So this whole thing of you wanting to go home is because of some woman's...underwear?"

"It's about sharing everything about yourself. I seemed to fall into this false sense that everything was going to be sunshine and butterflies. Jesus, what the hell was I thinking? You were trouble when I was young. Now..."

His expression was unforgiving, and she regretted what she'd said the moment it was out of her mouth. "Really, I'm what? Say it!" he snapped.

"I'm sorry. That wasn't fair." She shut her eyes a second just to ground herself. When she opened them, he was still there, watching, waiting, and he had no intention of making this easy. "Yes, it's because I realized there's someone else."

He was shaking his head, his back to her again, reaching for the damp towel on the bed. He ran it over his wet hair and tossed it in a hamper over by the bathroom, and she took in his naked back, the scars. She needed to know so much.

"You hide yourself," she said.

He opened a drawer and pulled out a navy shirt. "So do you. You think I have a corner on keeping myself hidden? You're still doing it. You were ready to run out the door."

"No, I'm going home." She had to interrupt him, because he didn't get the fact that she had a business that was being looked after by staff she couldn't depend on forever. She had things to do, she had a home and a whole life, and John had a life, too. She had to remind herself this escape into Vic's world was a fairy tale, that it couldn't be real.

"There's no one in my life but you. Those women meant nothing. What, you don't believe me?" He was holding his shirt, standing in front of her as he rested his hand under her jaw and lifted. He had the most amazing deep brown eyes. His dark hair was damp and curling at the ends, and she couldn't stop her hands from resting on his chest, running over his pecs, feeling his reaction for her. His hand rested over hers.

"Fiona?" He traced his finger over her jaw and around her cheek to her own damp hair, which she'd yet to brush.

"I do believe you, but it pisses me off," she said. "I mean, how many women have you had here?"

He lifted his gaze to the ceiling and groaned.

"Seriously, you don't know?" she said.

"I told you it was just sex, nothing more. I'm a guy. I didn't count." He wasn't answering, and she wondered if he had any idea how bad that was. To women, it was never just sex. "Are you going to let it go?" he finally asked as he squeezed the shirt and tossed it on the bed, and she ran her hands over his shoulders. She loved touching him. It did something to her that made her feel like a woman, one who was wanted.

"Are you still seeing any of them?"

"No. I never saw them to begin with. I told you it's only you." Some men would lie about something like this, but not Vic. He really didn't care about them. It was in his voice, the coldness, as if he didn't even see them as people. It was troubling, and it should have bothered her, but she knew he was telling the truth, and that meant more.

She rose up on her tiptoes as his hands slid over her ass, pulling her to him, touching her lips to his. "What about the scars on your back?" she said as she pulled away, her arms looped over his shoulders.

This time he rested his hands over her hips and set her down, moving away from her as he reached for his shirt and pulled it on. He wasn't looking at her anymore. "Told you it was an accident. Went through a window. Nothing more."

The way he'd suddenly dismissed her and put distance between them, covering up those tiny marks, was troubling. There was a lot more to the story, and it was something Vic wasn't comfortable sharing.

# Chapter 30

The private school wasn't some fancy building. It was an older former public elementary school that the state had sold off, and it had been transformed into the Hartford Center. With a tuition of sixty grand a year, it was nothing to sneeze at, but for Vic that was a drop in the bucket.

He pulled into an empty spot in the full parking lot and took in a very quiet John in the back. Fiona was staring straight ahead, saying nothing. "Well, we're here. Let's go in, take a look."

No one said anything, but John was frowning, staring out the window at all the kids being dropped off by all manner of cars and trucks. Every one of the kids was wearing a dark blue blazer, the girls in skirts, the boys in dress pants.

"They're wearing uniforms." John was still staring out the window, and Fiona had no expression on her face at all.

"It'll be fine. Besides, I'm sure you'll look great. You'll never have to figure out what you want to wear." He opened his door and then realized neither Fiona nor John was moving. "Seriously, you two, come on."

They both climbed out, and Vic watched as mother and son seemed to take in the preppy kids gathering in groups as they walked into the school.

"This is the best school in the state," Vic said. "Just give it a chance." He'd paid a hefty donation to ensure they created a spot for John mid-semester.

They found their way to the office, where the headmistress, Carole Montgomery, greeted them. She was a shorter woman with over-styled light hair, a big smile, and a ton of makeup.

"First-day jitters are normal," she said as she looked over to John and then gestured into the office. "Come on in." She was wearing a navy pantsuit and heels that clicked on the floor.

John followed with hands shoved in blue jeans pockets, and Fiona gave Vic an odd look. "Give it a chance," he whispered. "I swear this school comes highly recommended." He pressed his hand to Fiona's back and followed her in.

"Sorry, I only have two chairs. I can grab another one," Carole said.

"I'll stand. It's fine," Vic said, waiting as Fiona and John took both chairs in front of the desk. He leaned against the wall beside them.

"So everything is set for John to start. We're just waiting on the school records from Bellevue. John, here is your student packet." The name on the packet was John McCabe.

"My son's last name is Marino," Fiona said, and John leaned back in the chair, saying nothing.

"Fiona," Vic said. This was his son, and he'd have his name. He just hadn't talked to her about it.

Carole appeared confused, "Oh, did I misunderstand? I somehow wrote down 'McCabe.'" She was looking from him to Fiona.

"Leave it as McCabe," Vic said. "It's a minor detail that will be corrected soon." He noticed that Fiona flinched. Then there was a knock on the door.

"Come in," Carole called out. "That'll be Mr. Burnstyne. He's the school counsellor and is going to help you get settled in your classes today."

Vic took in the man: average height, light brown hair, conservative and polished. "You must be John." The man was friendly as he shook John's hand. "Why don't you come with me and I'll help you get settled, introduce you to the teachers, talk about the classes we offer?"

"Sure," John said, and Fiona was now standing, appearing uncomfortable.

"We'll pick you up after school," Vic said to John before he could leave with the teacher, and then he leaned in so no one could hear. "I meant to talk to you about the last name. We'll talk tonight?"

"No big deal," John said. "I think it's kind of cool." He gave Vic a big smile and then followed the teacher out, and Vic couldn't get over what a great kid he had. Fiona was staring daggers his way.

"I guess I didn't realize the name thing. So sorry," Carole added. "We do have a few parents here with different last names and some kids with hyphenated names. It's a new era." She was smiling brightly, and Vic wasn't sure where she stood, for or against. She was standing up now and taking in Fiona and Vic. Maybe she had questions. Vic wasn't interested in her treading anywhere in their personal business, though.

"Thank you, Carole, for getting John settled in," he said, then reached over and shook her hand.

"Oh no, thank you for coming in and for your donation. It was nice to meet your wife and son."

Instead of letting it go, Fiona interrupted. "It's Fiona Marino, and John's father and I aren't married."

Great, the fake name that wasn't going to show up anywhere. He slid his hand over her hip, pulling her back to him and giving it a squeeze. Maybe she knew what he was getting at. He hoped she did. He needed her to stop talking.

"It's just a formality that will be rectified very soon." The moment he said it, Carole's face lit up and Fiona stiffened beside him.

"Oh my, congratulations," Carole said. "When's the wedding? John must be thrilled."

"That's—"

"Soon, and it was a pleasure to meet you," Vic said, cutting off Fiona. He'd learned as of late this need of hers to set the record straight, which was way out of his comfort zone. He needed a minute to understand what in all hell he'd been thinking to bring up marriage.

"Ready?" He opened the door, his hand on Fiona's back still, touching her as if he had every right and leading her out of the school.

Before he got Fiona into his car, she slapped his hand away and wheeled around on him, her eyes blazing. "Just what the hell were you thinking in there, telling her we're getting married, jumping us all the way from A to Z when there's so much unsettled between us—and changing John's last name?"

Vic wasn't an impulsive man, but as she just stood in silence and the emotions settled in between them like a storm stirring in the distance, he realized he was rushing here. "I loved you so much when we were young, and I trusted you with everything I had in me. When the shit hit the fan and you lost everything...it was like you gutted me with a knife when you blamed me, when you left me and you hated me. I hated and blamed myself for what happened, too, for all these years, but I realized when I found you again that all that hate and love and everything in between us is there still. Every one of those women I bedded and tossed away resembled you. It was you I was looking for, you. I wanted to hurt you for hurting me." He heard her hiss, and he had her pinned against the car.

"So you want to marry me for what reason, because I hurt you, ran out on you? Or is it just John? I don't understand. John doesn't need us to be married. He's not some little kid who needs that kind of reassurance from mommy and daddy. We've done just fine, and he's an amazing kid with his head screwed on right."

"I want to marry you, Fiona, because out of all of this and this craziness that brought us back together, I realized I can't love anyone else. I want more. I want John to have my name, and you, and I'm done carrying all the blame for what happened. I'm moving on, and I need you to as well." He needed her to understand that her brother was the one who had set everything in motion that night fifteen years ago. And she would, soon, after he was convinced she wouldn't up and run.

# Chapter 31

Fiona hadn't looked Vic's way even though she knew with everything in her that he was watching her from behind the dark shades he'd shoved on after he slid behind the wheel. They were almost back to his house, and she was freaking out at the fact that he'd brought up the one thing she'd have wanted him to fifteen years ago: marriage. She was pulling at her throat as if air were in short supply. The fact was that Vic was very good at keeping her boring, predictable life completely shaken up.

"It drives some people crazy when I say nothing for so long," Vic said. "It's a waiting game, because people start to panic in silence. It brings uncertainty, unease. It's natural to start rambling, talking about anything to fill the silence. I rather like it."

It was such an odd thing for him to say, and it had her turning her head to him.

He smiled as if he knew something she didn't. "You don't give a shit, though. Took me a bit to get that. It's kind of like tit for tat, and I realized you're not like others. You won't fill the silence. You'll just walk away."

He was right, she would, because she didn't have time for that kind of bullshit. Walking away was easier, too, as she didn't like talking to anyone unless she had to. Saying less was always better.

"Why are you trying to hold on to me so tight?" she said.

He didn't seem surprised by her question, as she watched him glance out his side window, turn left, and speed up a bit. She recognized the street, all the estates, the trees in full bloom and his massive home just ahead.

"You spook easily," he said, glancing her way and then back to the road.

"What? I do not."

What an odd thing to say. He was smiling again, and she found it lightened the mood. She liked his smile. It made him seem...approachable, which was odd. "You do," he said. "It's in every part of you: your expression, your eyes. That deep brown pulls in and gets bigger, bolder. I wonder if it's so natural a reaction you're not even aware you do it."

What could she say to that? She had panicked that morning when he dragged her into the shower because he had touched a part of her that was still filled with so much hurt. She didn't want it open or out there for anyone to see. The underwear had been her excuse because it was believable, even to her.

"I want to take you to bed when we get back to the house. I want to strip you down, taste every part of you, and bury myself in you while you scream out my name, and then again, slowly, breaking away all those walls you've put up to keep everyone away."

She had to shut her eyes and fight the image he'd put in her head. She was warm now, and he wasn't playing fair.

"Don't think I didn't notice that freak-out of yours," he said. "I just couldn't figure out why, but when I have you under me, caught up in just feeling, that's when you can't think everything to death and hide anything from me. It's when you allow yourself for a moment to be where you want to be. It's that vulnerability that shows the real you."

"Stop." Her voice was breathless as if he'd kissed her and touched her already. "You have work. I have to take care of my business. I need..."

"You need to stay here and come to an understanding with me, work things through. Thirty days, Fiona."

"What?" She turned to him as he pulled down his driveway, where a silver BMW was parked. He was frowning and suddenly so serious as he parked and then pulled off his shades. He tucked them in the sun visor and unclipping his seat belt. Her hand was on the door handle, but he reached over and settled his hand on her thigh, which of course had her body heating up again, wanting him.

"You give me thirty days here. No running, no creating excuses or reasons to leave."

"And?" she said, because this was beginning to sound like some bargaining tool.

"If after thirty days you can't live with me, you can't love me, then I'll let you go, but I'm not kidding—an honest try, no holding back and no running."

It wasn't lost on her how small she was in his presence. He seemed to take over everything, every room, and she could see how he'd gotten to where he was. He wasn't a man to just roll over.

"You'll let me leave, no more chasing me down or showing up at my café—and John?" Somehow she didn't think it would be that easy. She'd seen the love he had for John as if it had always been there, father and son.

He glanced out the window, straight ahead and thinking. "He's my son, Fiona. Him I won't let walk away. I want him to have my name. He deserves it."

So there it was. She could leave after thirty days, but Vic wasn't going to let John go. "What you're saying is you still expect to have everything," she said.

The way he watched her was so cold and distant. "No, Fiona, everything is you and John." He opened his door and stepped out, and Fiona climbed out her own side. As Vic came around, touched the top of her door, and closed it behind her, she knew he was still waiting for an answer, but how could she give this man the answer he was looking for? He had scared the shit out of her because of how he made her feel, and giving him his thirty days could end up destroying her.

"Can I think about it?" she said, feeling his hand on her back.

"Yes, but I want your answer tonight," he said.

When he opened the front door, she took in a tall, very attractive younger man with deep blue eyes, wavy blond hair, and the body of a linebacker in a suit and tie. He was just standing in the grand foyer, blocked by Nora.

"Vic, tell your pit bull here who I am!" The man was loud, and it wasn't lost on Fiona that Nora had her arms crossed as if she intended to keep this very attractive man sitting in the front entrance from getting past her.

"Chase?" Vic said, then pulled him into one of those manly hugs guys do, slapping his shoulder. "Nora, this is my brother, Chase. Sorry if he gave you a hard time."

"None, sir," Nora asked, looking back and forth between the two. "Will you be needing anything?"

"No, that's all."

Fiona watched as Nora walked away, and then there was a hand on her waist. Vic was beside her, pulling her against him. "Chase, this is Fiona. Fiona, Chase, my brother—or one of them," he added. "Come in."

His hand fell away from Fiona, and she watched as Vic walked into the living room with this man who bore no resemblance to him. A brother? She'd had no idea he had one. Now who had secrets?

# Chapter 32

Fiona, instead of joining him in the living room, had made an excuse and disappeared upstairs. He'd seen her spooked expression, and he wasn't sure if it was the thirty-day commitment or Chase. It could have been either or something completely different.

A tray with coffee appeared with Nora even though he hadn't asked, but she knew his wants well and made his life easier.

"Wow, can't get over this place," Chase said. "It's huge, not something I ever pictured you having." He loosened his tie, rolled his shoulders, and flashed a smile to Nora, who didn't smile back before leaving. He made a face to Vic. "I don't think she likes me."

He could imagine, after what that reporter had done, talking her way in by saying she was his sister. Nora most likely hadn't been convinced by Chase's claim, considering he didn't look like Vic at all.

Vic glanced to the empty doorway. "So what are you doing here?" He hadn't seen Chase in...how long? Massachusetts the previous year, or had it been the year before that, for dinner and drinks?

"Figured three years was too long not to see my big brother." Chase poured himself a coffee, added cream and a heaping spoonful of sugar, and then stirred it and tapped the spoon on the edge of the mug. He was stalling. It had been three years, seriously?

Chase blew on his hot coffee and brushed back his dark navy suit jacket. Expensive, probably tailored by some eastern designer. Vic poured his own coffee, taking it black, and watched as his brother took in the art above the fireplace and said nothing as he seemed to study it.

"So you decided to drive across the country and see me, no call, no heads up?" He knew that his brother, although not by blood, was as driven as he was.

"Dad's in trouble again," he said, and Vic wanted to roll his eyes. Jerry McCabe was always in for something, down on his luck or owing someone. It was the story of his life and why Vic had walked away. He had his own shit to deal with.

"Dad's always in trouble. Always has been, always will be. Not my problem," he said, and it sounded cold even to his own ears.

"Really, Vic? That's cruel even for you."

"Chase, you've always been a sucker for Dad's down and out stories. Every time he made a trip across the border to Nevada, he'd stop and play the slots with his paycheck, and then the rest of us were suddenly paying for everything." That was the reason Vic had stolen his first car, to pay back the bookie his dad had owed money to.

"He hasn't gambled in years. It's not that kind of trouble. He pulled it together after he lost the house. Hitting rock bottom kind of does that to a person."

"You always had a soft spot for him. It seems he could talk you into his side of things," Vic said. He was still angry at his father, who'd asked only once what Vic had done to pay his debt. He'd lied, said the bookie had been kind and let it go. His dad had said nothing because they both knew that wasn't the truth.

"Not true," Chase said. "I just saw what a big heart he had, wanting to help everyone. He couldn't help himself."

What was it about Chase? His brother could have convinced him the devil was a misunderstood child. Maybe that was why he was so good at what he did: a congressman's aide, a powerful name in Washington. He knew it, he'd heard the talk.

"So what's he done this time?" He shouldn't have asked, because asking would get him dragged into problems he didn't want any part of. He had a life with Fiona and John that he was still trying to sort out. This was something he had no intention of adding to his plate.

"It isn't so much what he did. It's Mom."

Vic nearly choked. Shelley McCabe had walked out on Jerry and Vic when he was seventeen. Chase had been twelve, and Luc and Aaron had been ten and eleven. Every one of them had mourned her abandonment in different ways.

Maybe Chase had some idea what Vic was going to say, as he angled his head with an expression that told him to get serious, shut up, and listen. "Which is another reason I'm here. Didn't think you'd hear me out over the phone."

"You're right about that." He wasn't too interested in what Shelley had to say even though it had been all he'd thought about for years, wondering if it had been him or his brothers, if she'd finally had enough of raising four boys who weren't hers even though that was all she'd said she wanted.

"Just hear me out. Everything isn't as black and white as you believe. Mom and Dad had their issues."

"No, Mom walked out the door one day after cramming her clothes in her suitcase after that last fight with dad over what happened to the savings account to bring it to zero."

Chase was shaking his head. "And you still blame her for leaving us, too."

He put his mug down on the side table and rested his hands on his hips. "And you don't?"

Chase made a face. "Well, yeah, at the time I was pretty pissed at her. She basically left us to raise Dad. Suddenly we went from two parents who barely got along to having to manage Dad, but I got over it a long time ago like we're supposed to as adults. I'm letting bygones be bygones and forgiving her because I'm not interested in being angry. For fuck's sake, Vic, they're family."

This was the part of Chase he hated, the part that tried to counsel him and tell him how he was supposed to feel. "Good for you for being a bigger man than me, but I have no intention of stepping into any part of this mess. Why the hell is Dad even talking to Mom?"

"I know. Can you believe it?" He gestured dramatically. "I actually had to call Dad back after I took a minute to get my head around it, like what the fuck, Dad? That was after I learned they've been seeing each other again."

"What?" Why was this the first he was hearing of it? Oh yeah, maybe it was because he didn't speak with his dad, and he barely connected with his siblings, who each seemed to have a corner of the world. "Wait, are you saying Dad and Mom are back together?"

Chase was shaking his head. "No, not back together, not yet."

"So I guess I don't understand where the problem is. She just showed up on his doorstep?" Where the hell had she been all these years?

"I don't know everything."

"Sure you do. You always do."

Chase smiled. "Okay, got me there. It seems he ran into her one day downtown. He asked her for coffee, she stayed for dinner, and two months later, here we are."

"I presume you're going to get to the part where Dad is in trouble before the sun goes down tonight."

Chase smiled, and his eyes flashed in that way of his that told Vic he was getting ready to drop a big old bomb that would have everyone on the edges of their seats. "It seems Mom has decided she wants Dad back, which isn't the problem, as Dad is already two feet in and down that path. The problem is that when mom showed up with her suitcase in hand, she wasn't alone. She has a daughter, and we apparently have a sister."

# Chapter 33

Fiona was in Vic's office, behind his desk, answering emails after placing a food order for the cafe and delegating to her staff tasks she'd normally have handled. It wasn't that they weren't capable of handling all the day-to-day work; it was the fact that Fiona was having to hand over a piece of something that was all hers, something that had given her so much purpose.

"There you are." Vic strode into his office, the expression on his face unreadable.

"Sorry, I, uh..." She closed up her email account before looking up to him, again swamped by the feeling that she had to hide everything. "I didn't know you had a brother."

He frowned. "You knew I had a family, a dad." A family he'd never talked about.

"So that's your brother. He doesn't look like you," she said and leaned back in his extremely comfortable chair. The leather surrounded her like a pillow, a far cry from the vinyl chair in her tiny office at the back of the Bellevue cafe.

"We're adopted," he said as he sat on the edge of the desk, turning his body so he could look at her. A deep sense of brooding seemed to have come over him.

"You know, Vic, these thirty days you want won't really work if you're not willing to share."

"So you'll give me the thirty days."

"One condition."

He said nothing but watched her in that way of his that had her squirming. She was positive he was seeing her naked. This was such a vulnerable place to be with him, and it terrified her even now.

"You won't push," she said. "You'll give me space, and I'll move back into the guest room." _Good girl!_ She wanted to pat herself on the back.

Maybe he hadn't expected that. "No," he said so matter of factly, and she wanted to argue with him, but he was shaking his head as he walked around the desk and pulled out her chair. He leaned down, pressing his hands on the chair arms, trapping her. She was breathing him in, and damn, the man always smelled so good. Their attraction simmered between them. "I will push," he said. "The entire idea of these thirty days is you and me sharing space, getting to know each other intimately, every part of each other."

He leaned in, and she shut her eyes, waiting for him to kiss her, to press those warm full lips that weakened her knees and her reasoning against hers. She could feel how close he was.

"You'll be in my bed, under me, screaming out my name every night and any time I want you. You'll give me those thirty days to have you, all of you, because sleeping with someone makes you vulnerable, and nothing happens here with us if you aren't there."

The tip of his nose brushed hers, and a gasp escaped her lips. He didn't touch her even though he was so close to her, waiting for her to agree.

She knew it, and she couldn't fight it, this desire he was driving in her. "Fine," she said, and he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers so lightly for a moment before pulling away, leaving her wanting him.

He smiled as if he'd gotten everything he wanted in the deal. He had, it took her an extra second to realize. "Listen, my brother is staying for a bit. I'll introduce you and John to him tonight." He reached for her hand and lifted it, studying her fingers. She wondered what he was thinking.

"I agreed to your thirty days, but I meant it, Vic: You need to share. I can't help feeling that something's up between you and your brother."

The fact was that it seemed there was some pretty heavy tension between the brothers, but that was just her first impression of the two from the five minutes she'd taken in their greeting. He said nothing as he walked around the desk to the open door, and her chest squeezed, not knowing what he was doing. Was he leaving?

Then he pressed the door closed. What had she been expecting? She wasn't sure with Vic. He was so hard to read. His hand was still on the door, and he was looking down at her, but she didn't have a clue what he was seeing, what he was thinking. She wondered whether she should be worried. Then he glanced her way, moved away from the door.

"I have three brothers, Chase, Luc, and Aaron. We were all adopted, me when I was a baby in a private adoption, Chase when he was two, Luc at eighteen months, and Aaron when he was a five-year-old snot-nosed little shit." He actually smiled as he said it, looking off as if reliving a memory.

"Wow. I didn't know that about you. How come you never shared that with me all those years ago? We were together for how long?" Eight months, two weeks, and six days. She'd counted and wondered if he had, too. It was long enough, but he'd never shared anything of them.

"I was interested in you and stealing cars then. My family came second..." He was shaking his head. Maybe he didn't have an answer.

She waited him out, watching as he squeezed the sides of his lips with his thumb and forefinger. It was something she'd seen him do a time or two when he was stuck in a moment in time, a thought or memory. Vic wasn't an open book. He was so complex that she needed a manual at times to decipher him.

"I started stealing cars for Dad. He gambled, got himself in trouble, and I stole my first car to pay off the bookie who'd shown up at the house with a baseball bat and beat the crap out of him. Dad was out cold. Aaron was there. He'd heard, he knew. Chase was out with friends, and Luc...I don't know where the hell he was. I knew at that moment it would fall to me to fix everything, and I did. I made an arrangement with the bookie and stole a damn car, and I got hooked on that rush, the adrenaline of taking something that wasn't mine, knowing the danger, that with one slip-up, one cop pulling up behind me and running the plate, I was as good as in jail for years. I loved the money, the life, all of it. Never told you that," he added, crossing his arms in front of him as she leaned back on his desk and then slid her bottom onto the flat surface, her feet dangling as he stopped right in front of her.

She shook her head but said nothing. Fiona never knew why he'd gotten into it. He'd never told her. She'd never asked.

"Fixed Dad's problem, but he never knew why or how. Told him I convinced the bookie. I think he was just grateful he wasn't dead. But I found a way to make money, a lot, and as the story goes, I was hooked up with a guy who used to repo cars, and he taught me everything I needed to know about getting into any car, boosting it, and disappearing."

"And after Phoenix?" She almost couldn't ask. It was a topic that still hurt.

"I had money stashed, and I was smart. I was young. Had a high school diploma, but that was it, so I made a plan and landed a scholarship to Harvard. Worked my ass off part time in construction, graduated with my MBA, and started my own construction company, and I haven't looked back."

He lifted his hand and slid it over her cheek, touching her so lightly with his index finger, his gaze heavy. "Quid pro quo," he said. He was serious, and she curled her fingers around the edge of the desk. "You're at a loss. Let me help you. You were alone with John. How did you manage, and why the cafe? Was there ever anyone else?"

Ah, so that was it. What could she say to him about how hard it had been to be single and pregnant? "I pulled it together. It wasn't easy, but I found subsidized housing so I could work part time and raise John as a baby. I saved over the years so I could open my place."

She'd scraped by every month, cutting out what she didn't absolutely need, and she'd created a business plan and memorized and planned out every detail for years—the location, the size, the menu—until there was no mistake in her mind that it would work. "I made a profit the first year. I've remained conservative but flexible, mindful of my customers. There was no time for anyone." She couldn't have allowed herself to become close to anyone. An intimate relationship would have brought questions she never wanted to answer.

"It had to have been hard," he said, "being alone."

"Yes. Was there ever someone else for you?" she asked.

"Nothing serious," he said, and she wondered who was being more vague.

"So no one in your life other than picking up a lot of women for sex," she said.

He leaned in, resting one hand on the desk beside her thigh, and the other touched her waist and slid up, each movement so deliberate. "Just sex, no relationships, and I always used protection."

But he hadn't with her. The fact wasn't lost on her as his face was close again, his expression unreadable. His eyes seemed to darken, and she wondered whether he would kiss her as he ran his hand up her side, his fingers tracing her as if knowing exactly where he could touch her.

She shut her eyes and leaned her head back, opening up her neck just as she felt his lips touch her, taste her, his hands holding her there as he stepped in between her legs. Oh, good God, he was so big, and she knew she couldn't stop this even if she'd wanted to. She'd weep, she was sure, if he stopped now. She wanted more of Vic, all of his heat and touch and kiss. She wanted him to love her here.

"Vic, what are you doing?" Her voice sounded breathy and not hers.

His hand had somehow slid under her shirt and was skimming over her skin, touching the underside of her cotton bra as he lifted her shirt over her head. His other hand was around her back as he maneuvered her down so she was lying flat on his desk, her legs spread as he stood between them, and she wanted to touch him, too.

He just took her in, every part of her, her every curve, her ordinary and practical white bra. There was no lace or frills, and for a second that bothered her.

"What?" He lifted his hand and touched her brow, and she wondered how he could read her so well.

"It's nothing," she said.

He placed his hand on her flat stomach as his other slid over her thigh and down around her ass, pulling her so she was pinned against him, feeling every hard inch. She couldn't move, she couldn't breathe.

"Hey, Vic..."

She hadn't heard the door, and she was up so fast she banged her elbow, Vic still between her legs. She was against his chest, hiding her shirtless state. She couldn't see his brother, and she was glad, as the humiliation was so humbling. Maybe Vic knew, as his arm was around her, holding her to him.

"What?" he said to his brother. She was grateful he didn't turn around. "Ever heard of knocking?"

"Whoa, geez, so sorry." Chase actually laughed, but he didn't leave. "Listen, I wanted to talk with you about Mom."

Oh my good God, he was still talking, and she thought he'd also stepped into the room. Her fists curled into Vic's shirt, and she heard him hiss.

"Easy," he said. He kissed her temple, both his arms around her now. It was a protection she loved, one she wanted.

She said nothing, hoping to disappear, but she knew she couldn't.

"Chase, listen, kind of busy here," Vic said.

"Oh, sorry. Yeah, why don't I give you a minute?"

She realized he was still there even though she couldn't see him. "Vic, tell him to leave, please," she whispered.

"Chase, get out!" he shouted and then laughed as the door closed. "Where were we?" he said, sliding his hand down her back as she pressed both hands to his chest and shoved.

"No, no, down, please. Once was enough of your brother walking in. Don't you have a lock?" She scooted off the desk and looked for her shirt. Finding it tossed on the floor, she grabbed it and pulled it on just as a hand slid over her ass.

"I'll go and talk to Chase. You go upstairs to the bedroom and wait for me."

She was shocked for a minute and couldn't believe he'd suggest such a thing in the middle of the day. With his brother there. "No, now that I've regained my senses, I have things to do." What, she didn't know, considering the distance between her and her work. He was controlling so much of her life, her day to day, and now he wanted to tell her what to do.

"Fiona, you can't tell me you don't want me." He took a step toward her, and she knew he'd have her back on that desk, convincing her his way was the only way, so she did the only thing she considered the smart thing to do. She took a step back and then another.

"You stay right there. You go talk or whatever it is you need to do, and I'll go and get John from school."

He didn't seem happy in the least, but she also didn't expect him to give in. He slid his hand into his pocket and lifted out a set of keys, and he held them up as he closed the gap between them, bringing with him all the sexual tension that erupted any time he was within a foot of her.

"Don't scratch my car," he said, and she realized he was actually going to let her drive his Charger. Wow!

She took the keys and rose up, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. His hands instantly went over her ass, pulling her to him, and she had to wiggle away. "Stop! Hands to yourself," she said as she moved out the door.

"You may have gotten away now, Fiona, but tonight..."

She had her back to him and turned her head only slightly, very aware of how close he was as his hand slid over her shoulder. His fingers traced a line up the side of her neck.

"You won't be going anywhere," he said. "So rest up. You have a long night ahead of you."

That was exactly what she was afraid of and wanted at the same time.

# Chapter 34

Tracking down his brother after he'd taken a minute to cool his heels hadn't left Vic in a very accommodating mood, considering Chase had interrupted a very intimate encounter on his desk right as he'd planned to peel back one more of Fiona's layers and rip away her instinct of wanting to run from him.

Fiona, though, had been all smiles as he'd watched her climb behind the wheel of his baby and pull away a little too fast. She was having fun driving his car, and it wasn't lost on him that he'd never let anyone, ever, behind the wheel of a car he owned.

He spotted Nora carrying a stack of towels up the stairs. "You seen my brother?"

"Last I saw him, he was heading toward the gym. Said he was checking out the house, and that was after he was in your room, sir. He borrowed, as he put it, shorts and a T-shirt." It wasn't lost on Vic that Nora sounded far from her usual calm. He wondered what else Chase had done.

It had been the same growing up. Chase hadn't hesitated to wear anything of his, especially when there were no clean clothes, because laundry never got done until none of them had anything left. "Other than that, is everything okay with my brother? He's not causing any grief for you?"

"Of course not. Have to say I was a little surprised he's your brother. After that reporter showing up and saying she was your sister, I was expecting him to be a reporter or someone else trying to get to you."

"I'm sure you were. You handled it fine. Listen, since Chase is staying the night, we'll have dinner in the dining room."

"Absolutely. Already started dinner. Usual time, sir?" she asked, and he had to think. Usually dinner was whenever he got home, but now with John and Fiona here, he was having to change a lot about his schedule.

"Earlier. John has school, so let's say..."

"Six, sir, will that work?" she added with a teasing smile. Maybe she knew he didn't have a clue about a good dinner hour for a family.

"Six is perfect."

He let Nora get on with her day and started to the gym at the back of the house. As soon as he started down the hallway, he could hear someone on the bench press, the clatter of weights. He stepped into the gym and took in his neat and tidy brother in a pair of his shorts, a T-shirt, and bare feet laying on the bench, lifting what looked like ninety pounds.

He rested the bar back on the rack and sat up. He was sweating, and he lifted the edge of the white shirt to wipe his face. "So sorry again about walking in on you and..." He gestured, and it kind of bothered Vic that his brother couldn't remember Fiona's name.

"Fiona."

"Sorry, Fiona. Don't know where my head is. I'm great with names usually. She seems nice, skittish, quiet, not really your type," he added, and Vic wasn't sure what his brother was getting at. What the hell did he know about his type?

"You'll be meeting John tonight—my son," he added, realizing he could have brought it up in a way that wouldn't have been such a shock.

"Your son, like...real, like really yours? What, a baby?"

Yeah, there definitely could have been a better way. "John is fourteen. Long story." One he didn't intend to get into.

"And Fiona fits in how?" Chase was smart, and Vic could see that lawyerly brain trying to analyze and put some order into this.

"She's John's mother." Vic crossed his arms, taking in the shock, staring back at him.

"And you've kept it a secret all these years?" Chase stood up from the bench, and this was the first time Vic had seen his brother so pissed at him.

"It's not like that. I just found out." Why was he having to explain?

"So let me get this straight. Fiona is some old girlfriend, she had your kid, you didn't know and now you suddenly do, and she's living here?" The moment Chase said it, Vic knew what he was hinting at: Fiona was a gold digger. "You sure this kid's yours?"

"Careful, Chase. Everything isn't always so black and white. But yes, he's mine. There isn't even a question there. And Fiona...it took a lot of convincing to get her here, and there's still a lot that needs to happen before she'll agree to stay, so whatever you're thinking about her, don't, because she isn't one of those women." He wasn't so sure he'd appeased Chase, but he wondered too why he felt the need to do so. "So you've invaded my house, interrupted my life, and driven across the country to drop a bombshell on me, which I'm still wondering why you think I give a shit about. You insist on dragging me into this thing with..."

"Mom, remember? The woman who loved you, raised you."

"And walked out on us. Seriously, Chase." He knew his mom had wanted all of them. She'd wanted kids; she just hadn't wanted whatever trouble his dad had dug himself into. "She didn't just leave Dad. She walked out on us, too, casting us into the same pile of being not worth her time, and now you've forgiven her? Great, good for you. I have other things that are more important." Namely, his son and keeping Fiona from bolting. "So just say it, whatever this is with Mom now that's so dire."

He wondered whether Chase was going to walk out, as he said nothing, but his face said it all: He wasn't impressed with Vic. Why should Vic care? But the problem was that he did. "Sorry," he said. "What is it? Mom and Dad are maybe getting back together, or Mom adopted another kid?"

"That's the thing. Our sister isn't adopted. That's what had Dad freaking out," Chase said, still with the same odd look.

"Well, so some guy knocked up Mom and she had a kid. Didn't think Mom could have kids." Then he remembered what she'd said, that it wasn't in the cards for her and his dad to have kids of their own. He'd just presumed it was her. So maybe it was their dad.

"No." Chase was shaking his head. "She's sixteen, and apparently Dad is the biological father, so maybe you understand a little better why Dad is freaking out."

Yeah, he could understand that maybe better than anyone. As he took another second to digest what Chase had said, it hit him. "Holy crap, a sister."

# Chapter 35

Fiona drained the bathtub and stepped out just as she heard the door to the bedroom close. She reached for a towel and quickly dried herself as Vic opened the bathroom door.

"Wondered where you hurried off to," he said. "You were quiet during dinner."

She wrapped the towel around her breasts and tucked it in, knowing how excited John had been to meet Vic's brother. Dinner had been exceptional. Nora was a fantastic cook, which should have made the evening enjoyable, but Chase had made her uncomfortable with the way he kept watching her. "Was I?"

He raised an eyebrow. Would he press?

"So your brother is staying for how long?" She didn't know what Vic had shared about her, about them.

"Not long. He doesn't know anything of our past, of you."

She wandered over to the sink, very aware of how Vic filled the doorway and was watching her. She picked up her toothbrush and squeezed paste on it, then turned on the tap and brushed her teeth. She rinsed, knowing what Vic wasn't saying.

"But he must have questions? He knows John's yours." Chase and John had connected and chatted all through dinner, and she'd stopped listening when the conversation switched to basketball.

"It's not his business, it's ours, and since when do you care what my brother thinks?" He was behind her now, watching her through the mirror. The way his eyes connected with hers as she wiped her face had her realizing a lot was going to happen.

"I don't. I'm just thinking about John." Why the hell had she agreed to give Vic these thirty days?

"John's fine. My brother's leaving." He slid his hand around, flattening it over her stomach as he stepped closer, his body pressed to hers. His fingers slid up and were touching the edge of the towel, lightly touching her skin. She shivered.

"You have a family I know nothing about, and now a sister?" She knew Vic was rattled, and she'd seen how he was sifting it all through his head without saying a word. Chase had shared a lot about the four brothers growing up, but Fiona was quite aware he'd left out all the bad, including the fact that his father had a gambling problem and his mother had run out on them.

"Yeah." He kissed her shoulder and then stepped away, pulling off his shirt and tossing it in a hamper in the corner. She again took in the scars and his tattoo as he stripped out of his clothes, turned on the shower, and stepped in. She stood there, watching him, trying to separate the young man she had known from this very quiet man who held on to everything.

It took her a minute to realize he'd turned off the shower, stepped out, and was drying himself off. She rested her butt against the sink and slid over after he looped the towel loosely around his hips and then reached for his toothbrush.

"I can't help thinking there's so much more about you," she said as she turned and rested her hand on his back, running her fingers over his scars and then lower to the flame tattoo low on his hip. He rinsed his mouth and spat, then watched her through the mirror. She knew something had happened to cause the scar and inspire the tattoo, maybe the same event for both. "Your turn," she said. "Tell me, why this tattoo?"

He didn't move except to rest his hands on the counter by the sink.

Her fingers slid over the scars, one by his spine, the others by his shoulders and lower. "And the scars," she said. "There has to be more to the story."

"Told you..."

"No, you didn't, not really," she said, resting her face against his arm, wondering what he didn't want to share.

"Was days after you left. You just disappeared after screaming out your hate for me. Seeing your face and knowing it wasn't just grief, I got drunk, high, everything and was so out of my mind. I was going to steal another car because I was all about reacting, but I was sloppy, stealing it right from this rich dude's garage. Didn't count on a silent alarm or the guy being a former boxer. He beat the crap out of me, dragged me down his hallway, and all I could think was that this guy was going to kill me. He threw me out a second-story window. I had just a T-shirt on, landed on my back. Was lucky I wasn't dead. Crawled home, and Aaron used a pair of tweezers and pulled pieces of glass from my back and patched me up." His eyes flared as he remembered. There was something about time and all the years that had now passed that softened her memory of those days.

"I'm sorry I was cruel," she said.

He turned around and leaned back against the sink, resting his hand on her hip and settling Fiona between his legs. "The tattoo was for me, you. I saw it in Hong Kong and knew I had to have it because it was who I was, where I came from, all of it. You've always been with me, the memory of Badra, who you were and the part of us that would be forever entwined. I just didn't know then that you'd had my son." He flicked his finger in the edge of the towel, and it slipped to the floor, leaving her naked. "It's time for bed."

She didn't have to consider as he took her hand in his and led her out of the bathroom and to his bed, because she knew that it was going to be a long and pleasurable night, but it scared the hell out of her to have him pulling yet another piece of her armor away and exposing her tender raw heart, which was still so fragile and had never healed.

# Chapter 36

They were skin to skin, and he couldn't stop his hand from tracing over the lines and curves of her breasts, her stomach, and her thighs. Her head was resting on his arm and her back pressed into his chest, and he knew she was wide awake. He could feel her heart racing still after how he'd drawn out his exploration of her body. He'd tasted her and had her begging to finish, but he wouldn't rush as he slid in slowly, taking his time to mark her and watch her and her vulnerability, open for him. It wasn't lost on him how terrified she was of letting go, nor the lone tear that had slipped out when he'd spilled his seed in her. She knew and he knew he had no intention of letting her go.

"I love you," she said, and he could hear the confliction in her voice. It wasn't something she was happy about, and he pulled her closer, never having believed she would say those three words to him.

He kissed her shoulder, and she let out a shaky breath. "You okay?" he asked. He couldn't say it back. It was there on the tip of his tongue, but he'd never told anyone. She was the only one he'd loved.

"You're not playing fair," she said. "You won't let go, will you?"

He was still touching her, running his hand over her stomach and her breasts, holding her. "You're inside me," he said. "You're a part of me and have screwed me so I can never have anything with anyone else."

She moved a bit away from him and slid over onto her back. He leaned up on his elbow, taking in the alarmed expression he could still make out in the dim room.

"You're scared," he said. "Don't think I can't see that."

"Of course I'm terrified." She was overthinking again.

"Of me?"

She frowned, and he couldn't figure out what she was thinking. "No, of myself. I'm scared of letting you love me and giving myself permission to be loved. I feel so much with you that I'm waiting for something to go wrong and blow up in my face. I want to believe that it will be okay, but I fear it won't. I don't know how to do this and be with you, and you want more."

There it was. He'd wondered whether she'd ever admit it. "Yeah, I want everything," he said, everything they were owed, the lost years and a family. "I never allowed myself to consider being a father because that would mean having a woman in my life and a relationship, and that wasn't going to happen. But now..." He couldn't say it because it was still so raw. He couldn't love anyone else because she'd broken him.

"Now what?" She was waiting, and the only light in the room was from the moon, spilling in from the window.

"I don't want anyone else, just you, me, John..."

"And other children," she said. "You're trying to get me pregnant. I figured that out already, Vic."

"Yeah, I want more, and this time I want to be part of my kids' lives from their first breaths, first teeth, first steps, and I only want that with you."

Maybe she'd never expected him to say it, as he could feel her tense. Then she lifted her hand and touched his face, and he pressed a kiss to her palm. "You expect to have everything your way," she said.

He wondered whether she knew he was smiling.

"But you won't, just so you know. I'm not a pushover," she said as she rolled back on her side, sliding closer to him. "I'm tired." She tapped the hand that was running over her stomach and lower again. "Yes, I suppose I'll marry you. You really left me no choice in the matter."

He moved Fiona onto her back and settled between her legs. "So you're telling me you're staying, no more freaking out and trying to find a way to bolt?"

She rested her hands on his cheeks as he slowly entered her. "No, I'll try." She was breathless as she tried to talk.

Then he moved again as her legs wrapped around his waist. "You'll do more than try. This is our time, and no one is coming between us," he said as he lowered his mouth and kissed her deeply. He moved faster and took her once more over the edge, and this time he whispered in her ear, "I love you."

# Chapter 37

Fiona was out on the front step with John and Chase as they said goodbye. His brother tucked his bag into the trunk of his BMW.

"Great to meet you, John," he said. "The fact that I now have a nephew is pretty cool." He shook John's hand and then ran his over John's hair, messing it up. John beamed, taking in the teasing. "We'll stay in touch. We'll take in a game or two."

"Yeah, that would be fun." John was all smiles.

Chase stepped over to Fiona. Vic could see the tension, knowing his brother was dealing with half truths and seeing only part of the story. "Fiona, pleasure. Congrats, you two, on the engagement. Keep my brother happy."

Fiona inclined her head and accepted a kiss on the cheek from Chase, who then stepped up to Vic and pulled him into a hug.

"So no big wedding?" Chase said. Neither Vic nor Fiona wanted anything with a lot of focus. She wanted a civil ceremony with just the three of them, and Vic was fine with getting it done at the courthouse. John was over the moon with the fact that his parents were getting married and that he'd soon be a McCabe.

"Not what we want. You heading up to Dad?" he asked—and, he supposed, their mom, too.

He shrugged. "Was hoping you'd come, too, meet that sister of ours. Heard Aaron and Luc are planning a trip as well."

Vic had no desire to visit, but he knew Chase was always trying to figure out a way to bring everyone together. It was what he did, managed conflict, and he always wanted that happy ending. "Not this time," he said. "So what about work? When are you heading back?"

As Chase looked away, he knew there was something more. It was in his expression, something he was holding back. "I'm not. Congressman retired. Figured with all the changes in Washington now, it's probably best if I look at some other options."

He wondered whether there was more. With Chase, it was possible.

"If you need a job, let me know," Vic said, but Chase only laughed as he strode down the steps and around to the door of his BMW. He pulled it open, resting his hand on the roof.

"Take care, guys," he said, and he slid behind the wheel, started his car, and pulled down the driveway.

Vic stared at the taillights and felt Fiona slide her hand in his front pocket, where one of his hands was shoved. John had already gone back into the house. He linked his fingers with hers and pulled his hand out of his pocket.

"You know it's okay to go and see your mom and dad," Fiona said. "You should. They're family and the only one you'll have."

He knew what she was saying, knowing her loss would always be with her. "You're wrong there," he said, and he took in her expression and the question in her eyes. "I have a family. My family is right here."

# Chapter 38

Vic was absolutely dashing in a black suit, white shirt, and navy tie. John stood beside him in a suit he'd picked out the day before with Vic, and he was so much his father's son. There they were, the three of them at City Hall before a judge, who Fiona had learned was a friend—or rather a business acquaintance—of Vic's.

He had a reach with people who mattered, and Fiona was just beginning to realize the significance of his position in the community. Her world had spun out of control fifteen years earlier, leaving her feeling helpless, alone, and vulnerable, knowing rights were only an illusion for the average person and were really only extended to people of influence, so it comforted her to realize that Vic's influence now extended to her.

However, it was also unsettling. Instead of thinking it to death, though, she'd finally decided that allowing herself to be happy wasn't a crime. It was her right to be happy, and Vic made her so. His power and position and money would be that wall of protection she'd never believed she'd have, and she had to remind herself that it was okay to want it and have it.

She knew she looked good, fantastic. Vic hadn't been able to hide his appreciation in his dynamic hard gaze, which had softened when he saw her walk down the stairs in his huge estate wearing a white dress and strappy gold sandals that made her feel like a true woman, Vic's woman.

They repeated their vows. It was efficient and legal, and they now had matching bands, platinum, though for her Vic had added a second diamond ring inscribed with the word _Forever_. "You'll always be safe," he said as he leaned in before kissing her deeply.

She scribbled her name, Badra Walker, all legal, and Vic took the marriage certificate and tucked it in his jacket pocket before leaning in, kissing her again, and whispering, "We'll change it legally. I promise you I'll make it happen."

She knew he would, and she knew he now understood. Badra had died fifteen years earlier, and Fiona had been born. She'd never go back to being that girl.

John looked so happy, and Vic said, "Yours, too. Your mom and I are married, so you're both McCabes."

She could see how that seemed to lift John higher. Vic reached for her hand and linked their fingers. She could feel his calluses, and they told their own story of how hard he'd worked to get where he was. His touch had her wanting to begin their honeymoon, too. They'd never really talked about where; she just knew he was taking her away for a few days, and John would be staying home with Nora.

Vic had already loosened his tie when they walked to his car. He opened her passenger door while John slipped in the back. "I have a surprise for you," he said, taking her hand and running his thumb over the ring he'd placed on her finger.

"Oh, and what is that?" She wondered what he'd bought for her, feeling so spoiled now.

"Surprise, remember? Put your seatbelt on." He closed her door and walked around the front of the car.

"What do you think it is, Mom?" John asked. With Vic, it could be anything.

"I don't know," she said, though she didn't have to wait long, as Vic drove a few blocks to the building where his construction office was and parked in front.

"So what are we doing?" She looked around at the buildings and storefronts downtown before seeing a sign reading _Creekside Cafe_. She wasn't sure what to say.

His arm slid over the back of her seat, and he leaned closer as she took in a cafe, which looked so much like her little place back in Bellevue. It was open and busy, in full swing.

"Since you live here now, I know you miss your place, so I opened you a location here. It's yours, already staffed. You just need to run it."

For the first time, she was speechless, and she wondered whether Vic knew as she rested her hands over her cheeks and stared at the cafe, which appeared busier than the one in Bellevue.

"Oh, Mom, this is awesome," John said from the backseat.

"I can't believe you did this," Fiona said. She turned her head and couldn't hide the tears of joy that popped up in her eyes. "I didn't want to close down my place. I worked so hard for it."

"I know." He pressed a kiss to her lips. "You don't have to close down the Bellevue cafe, either. This is just a second location. You can find someone to run that one. We'll make it work," he said as she unfastened her seatbelt and looped her arms around his neck. She kissed him again.

"Okay, geez, you two. Do you want me to step out?" John was laughing, and Vic pulled away, smiling back at his son.

"You better get used to it. I plan on kissing your mom a lot." He turned the key. "Put your seatbelt on, babe."

She was giddy as she did so and as Vic drove back to his house.

Vic opened the top button on his shirt as they walked through the front door. John was already halfway up the stairs when Vic slid his hand around Fiona's and stopped her. "You were pretty quiet on the way back to the house," he said.

She leaned against him, resting her hand over his. "I didn't get you anything, and you..."

"Hey." He turned her around and walked with her to his study. "You've already given me everything, but I want to talk to you about something." He sounded so serious as he closed the door and walked over to his desk, from which he lifted a legal envelope. He held it out to her. "I wasn't going to tell you because I don't ever want to see fear in your eyes again."

"Should I be worried?" she said. The way he was watching her, she could see how conflicted he was. She took the envelope and pulled out what looked like a report, and she took in her brother's name. Her eyes went right to Vic. Did her horror show?

"Your brother was the reporter's source," he said. "He had her knocking on my door and yours. He had you and me followed for years, he kept tabs on you, he knew about John. It's all in there, but there's more."

She'd wondered where Ari was, her brother, who had hated her and blamed her for the death of their parents.

"He owned a bar in Long Beach, but he's buried himself in gambling debts and has carried self-loathing for all these years."

She couldn't look up at Vic. She knew what he was going to say, so she said it first. "It was Ari, wasn't it?" She'd known deep down that he'd set that night in motion all those years ago: calling the cops, giving them the details of the car, but why the bag of flour? Why had he pushed the terrorism button just to get rid of Vic?

"You knew," he said.

When she looked up at him, she hoped he didn't hate her, but it wasn't hate she saw reflected back at her. "Not for sure. I wondered. So he was the one who tipped off the police in Phoenix. I told him where we were. He knew about the car you stole. What are you going to do?"

He said nothing as he took the file from her and tossed it onto the desk. "I wanted you to know because I don't want any secrets between us."

It wasn't lost on her that he hadn't told her what he had in store for her brother. She nodded because she didn't know what else to do. "So he's still out to destroy you, and me now," she finally said, trying to understand the brother she'd loved and been so close to growing up.

"Not anymore," he replied. What was it about hearing those two words that had her feeling safer? "I'll do whatever it takes to keep you and John safe, anything."

He stepped closer and reached around, pulling her against him. She looped her arms around his neck, considering a lot of questions she could ask. Instead, all she wanted to say was "Thank you."

He leaned in and kissed her, tasting her. When he pulled away, he was breathing harder, and he rested his head to hers. "So you don't want to see him, to know what I've done?" he said.

At one time she might have wanted details, but that part of their life was filled with so much hurt, betrayal, anger, and loss. She didn't want to relive it. It needed to be put to rest and stay there. "No, I love you, and you fixed everything with the reporter, the story. You kept me and John safe, like you said. I don't know Ari anymore, and I don't want to know him or the anger that had him making the choices he did. You've taken care of it."

His hands rested on her lower back and slid over her ass, and he hugged her tighter to him. "And I always will," he said. "I love you, I've always loved you, and I'll always love you, Fiona McCabe."

As she rested her hands over his face, she realized how much Vic loved her, how much she had changed because of his love, because of this man who'd searched for her and found her, and because of their little family—her, John, and Vic.

The End

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# What's coming next

The second book in the McCabe Brothers, a spinoff of the big family romance series The Friessens from New York Times & USA Today bestselling Author Lorhainne Eckhart.

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**He stopped a robbery. Now he has to do the right thing.**

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Having left his life in politics, lawyer Chase McCabe is on his way to meet his brothers and sort out family matters when he stops for gas and walks in on a robbery in progress. However, he discovers the culprit is just a kid, and her situation may not be as clear as he thought. Authorities have written the girl off, and his need to fix everyone's problems sets in, putting him on a collision course with a mysterious woman with secrets of her own and entangling him in a precarious relationship that ties him to a place he was just passing through.

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**Excerpt from Don't Catch Me**

How long had that light been flashing? Chase reached over and flicked off the music he'd been blasting from the satellite radio he'd picked up outside Salem. He took in the gas gauge, which was sitting close to empty.

"Shit."

What had he been thinking—or not? He should have stopped at the last pullout two hours ago, but he'd been distracted after speaking with his brother Aaron about his upcoming UFC fight and with Luc about his dating woes, then coordinating a time for both brothers to meet in Vegas before seeing their mom and dad in Henderson.

Their parents hadn't been together in years, not since his mom had walked out after the savings account suddenly hit zero, as his dad had gambled away every last cent. His mother, who'd adopted all of them, who'd wanted them, had left them as well. Why was he going back again? Oh, because of his need to fix everything for everyone. His dad had called him, freaking out after secretly dating his mom again, because he'd just found out after all these years that he had a daughter, a biological daughter. Chase was still struggling to make sense of all of it.

He couldn't stop himself from giving his all to everything he did: talking, organizing, mediating. He had put everything else out of his mind, including his obvious need for gas.

"Shit, fuck!" He slapped his hand on the steering wheel and looked into the distance for a sign, anything that would give him the reprieve he so needed.

He had to be close to the Nevada border, but he hadn't seen a sign for miles, nothing but the flat brown land and hills in the distance. Then he saw what looked like a gas station, and as he got closer, he saw it had four pumps.

Chase pulled up to the pump and took in a pickup parked off to the side at the other pump, a rusty seventies model, faded red with wooden panels in the back. He guessed it was often used for livestock. There was not a body around. He half expected tumbleweeds to blow past from the dry dust in the air and the bright desert sun.

He climbed out of the car, taking a minute to roll up the sleeves of his white dress shirt. His dark blue suit pants were creased from having sat too long. He ripped off his loosened tie and tossed it over to the passenger seat, where his suit jacket was also folded, along with his cell phone.

"Hello?" he called out, expecting some grease monkey to appear, but there was no one. He could pump the gas himself, but he wondered whether prepaying was an option here. He was about to open his gas cap when he thought he caught some movement inside the station.

He stepped around the pump, taking in the garbage bin overfilled with takeout packaging and the dirty windows that made up the front of the station, which appeared as if it had never been cleaned. He rested his hand on the door and pulled it open to see a man with an overly bushy mustache and a receding hairline, the remaining dark hair slicked back in some eighties style.

It was in his face, the expression stuck there: Something was off.

It all happened in a manner of seconds as Chase took in the man behind the counter, pale, alarmed, eyes wide, staring at him. The guy said nothing. His hands were up. Chase saw movement, and then someone was pointing a gun toward slick behind the counter. The guy holding it was short, wearing a wide-brimmed hat, and the only thing that registered was that the gun was now pointed at him. Someone was yelling, and everything went into slow motion: the yelling, the movement of the gun and the skinny guy holding it.

"Drop the gun," Chase said. His hand went out, knocking over a rack of candy, and he grabbed the guy's wrist as it swung toward him. He took in the scar that ran up the inside of the arm holding the gun—slender, not a lot of muscle.

Someone screamed behind him, and the gun went off. Glass shattered, but he didn't let it go. Was he hit? Adrenaline surged. He had no idea. He knocked the hat off the guy, and long hair spilled out, a freckled face. Huge bright blue eyes stared up at him from the face of a girl, a teenager. _Shit!_

"Seriously, a kid?" He had the gun now, and he pinned the girl against the counter, his arm holding her. She was fighting him, kicking back with her hard-soled shoes, nailing him in the shin. He groaned. Christ almighty, the girl had fight. "Stop fighting, kid! Settle yourself down."

"Let me go!" she shouted and was squirming still. He shoved the gun in the back of his dress pants before he could lose his grip.

"Cops are on their way, you little shit," the store keep snapped. He was holding the phone, rightfully furious. He was still yelling, but Chase wasn't looking at him. He was staring down at the teen, who was squirming and trying to break free, giving everything she had to breaking away.

"Tie up that little hellion until the sheriff gets here and can haul her ass away," some guy with a deep voice shouted from behind Chase. He only glanced back to see an older man in overalls, short and stocky, with white hair that was in bad need of a cut. Behind him was a woman in a pink ball cap. Must have been the screamer. She said nothing now, but then, Chase couldn't exactly chat when he was occupied with holding the girl.

Then he felt teeth bite into his arm, deep. That damn wildcat had sunk her teeth into him!

"Fuck!" he yelled, worried she was biting into his bone. He didn't think as he reacted, grabbing a handful of her dirty brown hair and yanking hard. She screamed, which was great, since she no longer had her teeth sunk into his arm. He yelled in his head as he stared at the ragged gouge and the imprint of her teeth now embedded in his forearm, oozing blood.

"Let go of me!" she shrieked again.

"Yeah, I think not," he said as he lifted her and dropped her onto the ground, pinning her arms behind her as his knee jabbed in her back. "How old are you, anyway?" He took in his right arm, which had blood running down it. He squeezed his fist and shook it, the throbbing giving way to burning and stinging as he took in the trace of blood still on her lips. Fuck, now he was going to have to get a tetanus shot and most likely a round of antibiotics.

Suddenly the girl went quiet, her lips tight. After all her screeching and hollering and fighting to get away, she was lying there as if she'd given up. He expected tears, but instead he was staring at pure stubbornness, the kind he'd seen in the faces of his brothers growing up. So he tightened his hold on her, because that kind of stubborn didn't give in so easy. She was thinking, trying to give him a false sense of security. _Not likely._

"Anyone know her?" he asked, looking up at the three faces. The grungy guy in the overalls was frowning. The guy behind the counter had just hung up the phone, and he could hear sirens in the distance.

"That there looks like one of the Humboldt kids," the overweight farmer in the overalls called out, rising up on his toes, spitting as he talked. "They have a brood of kids they foster. Hey, kid, you one of those no-good troublemakers?"

The girl didn't answer, but Chase was staring at her face and didn't miss the flinch. "Is this Humboldt family where you're from?" he asked.

Her cheek rested on the dirty speckled floor, and she glanced up to him. "And what's it to you?" she snapped with an attitude that had him looking a little closer. Yeah, it was nothing but piss and vinegar to cover up how scared she really was. He could see a lot now.

"I asked you how old you are," he said, his voice lower, sharper, demanding, the kind he used on all the minions who worked in the Massachusetts congressman's office—correction, the former congressman's office, where he was the former aide and chief of staff. They were both retired now and exploring their options.

He was sure she wouldn't answer when two cop cars squealed in. He could see the dust flying, and the older farmer was out the door, lifting his hand to get their attention.

"Please, mister, let me go." She was scared for sure and begging, too.

"Not happening. Name, age, now," he snapped.

"What in all hell is going on here?" someone said from the doorway. "What a damn mess this is. Someone please tell me what happened."

Chase was looking at two solid cops, one short, one tall, wearing tan uniforms and badges, with guns on their hips. Another older man stood behind them in blue jeans, with a star pinned to his chest. It was this man who had spoken, and it didn't take Chase more than a minute to figure out he was the one in charge.

"You get off her," the man said. Had to be the sheriff, with a thick mustache, threads of gray in his hair, and a stomach that hung over his belt. He was now standing over Chase.

Chase stood, and the girl he'd been holding down slowly sat up. He took in her face. The tough kid was doing her best to hide how scared shitless she was. "I've got the gun tucked in the back of my pants," Chase said. "Got it away from her." He went to reach back for it.

"Stop right there. Hands up where I can see them. Don't be reaching for anything," said the sheriff.

Chase lifted his hands and waited as the sheriff stepped around him, his hand resting on his holstered gun, and lifted the gun tucked in the waist of Chase's pants. He stepped back and handed it to the tall cop over by the door.

"Goddamn little shit came in here and pulled a gun in my face," the man behind the counter said. He'd been crapping his pants when Chase walked in, but he was now working his way up to being an asshole.

"Near as I can figure, I heard the commotion from where I was at the back of the store," said the overweight farmer. "Saw the gun. Then this numbskull walks in, and everything went to hell." He was actually pointing to Chase as if he were responsible for all of this, and he seemed angry at Chase for having put an end to something that could have gone really badly. The woman in the ball cap still hadn't said a word as she crossed her arms, but her eyes made a _God help me_ roll to the ceiling. She obviously knew the farmer.

"Vern, you carry on worse than any woman," she said. "And truth be told, the only thing this holdup stopped was you shoving another one of those Twinkies down the front of your baggy overalls."

"What the hell you accusing me of, woman? The girl's the thief. I'm just a victim, minding my own business, stopping to gas up my truck." The man was spitting, and patches of red appeared on his round pockmarked face, the kind that hinted he spent his evenings drowning his sorrows in some cheap bottle of Jim Beam or a godawful version of Keystone. Whatever it was, Chase was sure there was probably an empty bottle and dozens of cans tossed in the back of that rundown flatbed.

"That true, Vern? You shoplifting?" the sheriff said, taking a step closer to the fat man. His scuffed boots scraped the floor, his hand resting on his belt. "And you, girl, stay right there." He jabbed his finger to the girl. Chase was still waiting to learn her name. She'd yet to say one word.

"Hell, no. She's the damn criminal. What the hell you all doing looking over here at me?" Vern said, spitting again, sounding overly outraged. Chase couldn't help glancing down at the bulge in his middle, wondering whether maybe he had something else stuffed down there.

Chase took in the girl on the ground, her back resting against the wall of the counter, her knees pulled up. She was looking down, contemplating something. "How old are you?" Chase asked her again just as he tuned out the sheriff and this idiot, whom the sheriff was now demanding to show what he'd stuffed down his overalls. It was crazy like a bad sitcom, back and forth.

The girl wouldn't answer, and he finally squatted down in front of her.

"What the hell you doing?" he heard one of the other cops say, and he glanced over to the shorter one, who had a pissed-at-life look on his face. "You just stand up there and move away from the girl," he said. He had cuffs pulled from a pouch on his belt, moving to the girl as Chase stepped back, noting how the cop pinned her down and cuffed her hands behind her back, patting her down—a little too grabby and rough, in his opinion, anyways.

"Hey, jerkoff, get your damn hands off my boob," the girl said. She had a smart mouth, and Chase could see she wasn't going to make this easy on herself.

"Hey, take it easy. Can't you see she's just a kid?" He was standing behind the cop.

"Get your ass back there out of my space," the cop snapped at him again. "Armed robbery is something we take seriously around here. Don't care how old she is. Shoving a gun in someone's face isn't just a slap on the wrist."

"I wasn't robbing anyone." It was the first time she'd said anything.

"You just shut your mouth, girl," the shop keep said, jabbing his hand toward her, his face dark. Chase couldn't help wondering what the hell he'd walked in on.

"If you weren't robbing the place, then what were you doing?" Chase asked, taking a step toward the girl, who was now standing. The cop was holding her arm, maybe interested in her answer.

"Just getting what was owed to me," she said. She wasn't looking at anyone, but Chase heard a breath catch behind him and took in the shocked expression on the face of the woman in the ballcap. He had a sinking feeling in his stomach that he wasn't going to like what was coming.

"Owed? What is owed?" the other cop asked. Everyone was looking at the shop keep, who had wide eyes, his hands raised now as if he were the innocent one here and everyone had forgotten it.

"Thirty dollars he didn't pay me for services rendered," the girl said.

"She's a damn liar!" the man shouted, and Chase took in the debacle of a scene and quietly kicked his ass for not filling up in the town forty miles back.

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**Click here to download your copy from your favorite retailer and keep reading.**

# Please Leave a Review

Thank you for reading Don't Stop Me introducing you to a new family, The McCabe Brothers. This is a brand new series of brothers Vic, Chase, Aaron, & Luc that will continue much like The Friessens. If any of you missed Leave the Light On where Vic McCabe, friend to Neil Friessen was introduced you can click here to grab your copy now, included free with Family First.

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AND PLEASE...If you enjoyed _Don't Stop Me_ then I'd love to ask you a favor and have you go back to wherever you purchased this eBook from and leave a review, or click here for a direct link back to your retailer of choice. Even just a few kind words really does mean a lot.

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Although this book and all my books have been edited and proofed, editors, proofreaders, and I are all human. If you spot a typo, please email me at lorhainne@lorhainneeckhart.com and let me know. Also, I would like to thank everyone who has emailed and told all their family and friends about my books. If you'd like to know more about my other books, please scroll to the next section or visit my website at www.LorhainneEckhart.com.

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All the best,

**_Lorhainne Eckhart_**

# The Friessens are back!

### November 30, 2017

**What happens when you meet a man you can't take home to meet your parents?**

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_Author Lorhainne Eckhart returns with a brand new generation of Friessens. An engrossing big family romance series about family, commitment, hope and making a relationship work. In this Friessen Family novel, an unexpected proposition leaves a young woman tempting fate that will inevitably end in heartbreak._

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**_She looked him straight in the eye, those blue eyes that were so intense and she wondered what they'd be able to get her to do? She was smart, level headed and not lacking in self-confidence. She loved who she was, she had a family who loved her and yet here she was sitting here discussing giving something to a man she would never consider giving to anyone._**

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Living on her parents' ranch in the middle of nowhere, most people would give anything to be part of her family and have the kind of love her parents did. But Becky Friessen needed more than quiet and stability. She craved excitement, action, a spark of adventure and not letting anyone steer her into something she didn't want to do, or living in a quiet piece of the world where nothing ever happened.

* * *

Until she meets a man who shocks her with an indecent proposal that she finds herself actually considering. He is a man she could never tell her parents about. He is a man she could never take home to meet the family. Only fighting this insane attraction between them could have her agreeing to something that could be a one-way road to heartbreak.

> —"I love the alpha males and their ever strong headed wives. They love hard and strong but forever." – Reviewer, Janet

> —"Loved the deep family bond she gave all the characters even when the plots took them to fighting they stuck together. Something we don't find often today." – Reviewer, Pebbles

[ ![IN THE MOMENT - Sometimes love happens unexpectedly. 
            Release date: November 30, 2017](images/in-the-moment-kindle.jpg) ](http://www.lorhainneeckhart.com/books/in-the-moment/)

In the Moment - Sometimes love happens unexpectedly. Release date: November 30, 2017 - Click anywhere in the image to order your copy!

Click here to order your copy of In the Moment

**Read a sneak peek from In the Moment available everywhere November 30**

### Chapter 1

Everything was the same.

The same house.

The same family.

The same boring, sheltered existence where nothing exciting ever happened. Everything about her life was predictable as if she were following a script, one that included a safe, comfortable, stable life, an existence that did nothing to fill her with excitement and anticipation of what her future could be.

Her parents, Brad and Emily Friessen, were amazing, full of love and laughter, with a closeness even her friends were envious of, and they lived the kind of life everyone seemed to want—everyone, that was, except Becky. However, in all honesty, she wouldn't trade her family for anything, a family filled with laughter, closeness, and questions about as familiar as the pull of breath every time she walked through the door after school. "How was your day?" they would always say before asking her to keep an eye on her little brother, Jack. Then there was Trevor, her older brother with autism, who would never have a life of his own.

The steps creaked on the porch as she stepped up. She pulled open the squeaky screen and then the inside door, which had been painted the same white as long as she could remember. She expected her mom to come around the corner, since Becky was home directly after school instead of working a shift at the grocery store, her part-time job, which filled her smart car with gas and gave her a modicum of freedom. Her backpack, which was filled with her schoolwork, binders, and basically her entire locker from her second time around senior year at high school, was still looped over her shoulder.

Yup, she'd actually been short two courses to graduate the previous year with the credits she would need to start her next adventure, college—all because the robotics course she'd once been excited about had only shown her she was never meant to be an engineer, so now instead of being on her way to college, she was stuck at home, working part time in a dead-end job, taking more courses that would finally bring her closer to her dreams. Only therein lay the problem she hadn't spent a lot of time considering: Becky didn't have a clue what that dream job could be. Instead, she kept seeing this same predictable life that would bore her to tears.

She did know it wouldn't be anything to do with the ranch, anything way out in the country where her closest neighbor was a mile away. She wanted people around, action, aliveness, excitement, but instead of sharing any of that with her mom, her dad, or anyone in her family, she kept it to herself.

Her sneakers squeaked on the pristine hardwood floor as she took another step, holding her backpack strap. She realized as she strode into the house she'd grown up in that she didn't hear the familiar clatter from the kitchen that said her mom was cooking dinner, or Jack, her six-year-old little brother, who was always chattering, running, playing. She expected him to come running as he always did and slam into her, all smiles, his way of saying he was happy to see his big sister. She often wished he'd dial it back a bit and finally get that she wasn't unbreakable.

It was unusually quiet.

"She's here now." She heard her dad's voice, and the floor squeaked as he stepped out of the kitchen, giving her a pointed look, the phone to his ear. It was in that second that she knew he was talking about her to whomever he was speaking with. "Thanks again for letting me know."

Then he disconnected the phone and stepped into the living room, where he rested it on the side table. Had she done something? She wracked her brain, trying to figure it out. Again, her dad said nothing, and she took in his dark blue shirt and the faint white lines that weaved a pattern through the cotton. His sleeves were rolled up, and she could see a line of mud on his forearm as if he'd just come in from someplace on the ranch and hadn't had a chance to wash up. His thick dark hair was wavy and in need of a cut, and the gray threading its way through was taking over the color more and more.

"Hi, Dad, where's Mom?"

"She's over at Candy and Neil's, picking up your little brother and dropping off Trevor for the night." Her dad glanced to the door and gestured. "So you're not working today? Good, because I want to have a talk with you."

He took her in, and her heart kicked up as she wondered again for a second whether he'd found out something she'd done or maybe hadn't done—but she was careful. She didn't share with anyone what she was thinking, instead slipping back and away and remaining purposely vague. His expression was curious, and that had her saying, "...Okay? About what, Dad?"

"Go hang up your coat and your backpack, and come and help me start dinner," he said, gesturing to the kitchen. He was being vague, too. Maybe that was who she got it from. So what was up? Her dad didn't cook, her mom did, so something was a little off. The house was way too quiet. Talking was something her mom always wanted to do, whereas her dad was more about stepping in when there was problem and fixing everything.

The tap was running in the kitchen when she walked back in, wearing her blue jeans, which were beyond comfortable, and her bright orange and brown peasant blouse with sleeves that flowed to midarm. She took in her dad washing his hands, his arms, and then shaking the water off as he reached for a towel.

"So how was school today?" he said. That was her mom's line. She noticed a pot steaming on the stove. Her dad reached over and turned it to low.

"Great, so is that dinner?" It smelled good, and she lifted the lid to see a pot of chili. Yum.

"Your mom started it this morning asked me to reheat it. She wants you to make a salad," he added.

She gave him a withering look, and a smile touched his lips. "Pretty sure she didn't say that," she said, but then, her dad really wasn't any use in the kitchen, and he helped by not cooking.

"No, but make the salad just the same. I'll wash the lettuce for you." He winked, and she rolled her eyes, because next she'd be doing all the work and her dad would be helping himself to a beer or something else, leaning against the counter, asking her...what? Oh, yeah, he wanted to have a talk with her.

"Here." Her dad had the fridge open and tossed her a cucumber. She caught it and pulled down the chopping board that was always clean and propped upright against the backsplash. Her dad began washing the lettuce and a bunch of green onions and tomatoes.

"So how about elaborating a little more on school? The courses you're taking are what, again?" Brad asked as he rinsed the tomato and then took the cucumber from her before she could chop it, giving it a rinse under the tap.

Becky pulled the wooden salad bowl from the cupboard above her and set it on the counter, then reached for a knife from the block. She sliced the cucumber. "Calculus, remember, and history," she said, thinking of the classes she'd thought were a great idea at the time. She was passing them, of course, but they too held little interest to her.

"Hmm" was all he said.

"Could tell you all about the French Revolution we're studying or the formulas I managed to nail today in Calculus, if you like."

Her dad shook the water off the lettuce, and she was about to point out he should really use a salad spinner. She was about to but knew then he probably wouldn't, since he likely didn't have a clue where her mom put it. That would force Becky to take over everything, which she pretty much was now as she took in how out of place her dad appeared, prepping a salad in the kitchen. He slowly turned his head, giving her a withering dark look. His answer so clear she wanted to laugh.

"No, but I'd like to talk with you about what's next, about college," he said. So that was the big talk he wanted. Who had been on the phone? Maybe that would give her a clue as to what this was about.

"Sure, what about?"

Her dad nudged her with his elbow. "You're evading, Becky. Don't think I don't know you haven't really figured out what you want to do. Not once have you ever said what you're dying to do. Everyone has a vision, as in a lifelong dream of something, but you've never once said anything about yours. In school, you do well enough, and I'm starting to get the feeling that—"

"Linguistics," she said to cut her dad off before he started down a road he'd never ventured on before, analyzing her and maybe steering her into something she didn't want to do. No, that was what her mom did. She analyzed and poked and questioned, and at times it seemed like nagging even though Becky knew she cared and worried. This was starting to sound like something her mom had put her dad up to.

"Linguistics, really?" he said and rested the dripping leafy green lettuce on the cutting board when he really needed to tear it up. She realized washing the lettuce was all he was going to do.

"Yup, linguistics, you know, the study of languages and variations, how they've changed over time, how they're processed by the brain. Linguistics," she added, this time with more sureness, wanting to pat herself on the back and thinking this would shut down any more of this probing into her future plans.

"Sounds like you pulled that out of your butt just now." Her dad was studying her, and she realized he probably knew her better than most. She said nothing as she stood there, and he leaned down, resting his forearms on the edge of the counter. He was level to her, considering she was only a little taller than her mom, at five foot four, and her dad was such a tall man—and, as her girlfriends said, a man who hadn't let himself go. He was built like a linebacker, with a chest that was built to hold a woman, and he was a hotty for a man his age. The thought made her cringe, knowing her friends often drooled over her dad. If only he knew.

"Becky, linguistics, really?" he said. She didn't miss the humor that seemed to light up his eyes. "I'm starting to think you're more about becoming a professional student."

"What?" How could he say that, even if she was more comfortable keeping on with school until she found that spark of something that excited her, even though she wasn't an exceptionally gifted straight A student? She did want to find something and thought it would come to her when she was away at school, preferably someplace like Berkley or Cambridge, Ohio State, or even Michigan, someplace hopping and alive with people, with a nightlife and energy that would feed that part of her that at times was so bored living on her father's ranch in Hoquiam, a quiet piece of the world where nothing ever happened.

"Dad..." she started as he handed her the tomato. Just then, she heard a vehicle.

"Sounds like your mom's home, so how about coming up with something better than linguistics? Oh, and that was your principal, who called with the good news." He rested his hand on her shoulder. "You have all the credits you need to graduate. You're done. Wait till your mom hears."

She realized now what her dad was saying and the reason for this talk. Her mom was on her way in. Soon enough, she'd know the news and start poking away at Becky until she came up with an idea for her future, and if she didn't, Emily would start pushing her in a direction she didn't want to go. "Great. Thanks for the heads up, Dad."

Her dad lingered just a second in the doorway, long enough for Becky to realize he understood her more than she was comfortable with, more than she liked. Then he was gone, and she listened to the car doors, the chatter of her family.

She pressed down on the knife and hit something hard. "What the...?" Too late, she felt the stabbing pain and realized she'd cut into her finger. She saw white bone and blood gushing, covering the cutting board and turning the salad fixings into a bloody mess. She just stared, hearing nothing and everything as she was hit by a wave of dizziness, and the sounds around her drew out long and loud. The world seemed to lighten around her and then plunge into nothing, as everything suddenly went black.

### Chapter 2

"I can't believe you almost cut your finger off," Emily said, arms crossed over her chest, pacing the tiny curtained-off area in the emergency room where Becky lay on a bed, inclined to almost sitting. Brad towered over her, holding Jack, who was more impressed with the blood, the trauma, than Becky was.

When she'd come to, she'd been on the floor of the kitchen. Her dad had wrapped her hand with a towel, and her mom had been yelling. She hadn't been able to make sense of anything other than the fact that she'd been lifted and carried outside to her mom's minivan and then belted in back before she could gather herself. Her dad had been behind the wheel, driving, and her mom had been in the back beside her, holding the towel around her finger, putting pressure a little too hard. Jack, for the first time, had been quiet.

Becky was grateful this time that Brad Friessen was the kind of man he was, the kind her friends teased was the last of a dying breed of men who knew how to be men, not asking but making things happen. Thus, she was in a bed and not stuck in a waiting room with dozens of other people waiting for hours. This time she was okay with it, maybe because she was lightheaded and it had hit her like a ton of bricks that the sight of blood freaked her out, so she could cross off any job in the medical field.

"Emily, calm yourself. Sit down. Your pacing is only making it worse." Her dad had a direct gaze, and it wasn't lost on her that he was likely the only one who could reason with her mom, calm her sometimes. Her mom touched her dad's hip a little too close to his butt, which bordered on intimate, and Becky had to roll her eyes, considering the number of times she'd walked into the house and caught her parents kissing, touching, laughing in each other's arms, behaving like newlyweds instead of like the typical couple, who never held hands, kissed, touched, or shared anything bordering on intimacy anymore. Brad and Emily were not the typical couple who just occupied space in a room. It was embarrassing at times how intimate they were around people. Here they were, a touch, a look.

Jack was now sitting at the foot of the bed, reaching up to touch the bloody towel wrapped around her hand. She noticed the blood that had dried on her favorite blouse, an image she'd never get out of her head. Great, it too was now ruined.

The curtain swung back, revealing a young doctor in green scrubs with a five o'clock shadow and deep brown hair with a hint of red. "Becky Friessen, I'm Dr. Tom Campbell," he said. "It says here you cut yourself—"

"Her finger is hanging off!" Jack interrupted, sounding so excited.

The doctor took in her dad, mom, and little brother as he rested the chart, which had to contain her details, on a hook at the side of the bed. Then he glanced her way. She took in his eyes, blue, so deep and vibrant she felt awkward lying so prone and vulnerable, even if the bed was inclined so she was almost sitting. Still, her first thought was how she looked, but he was more interested in her hand as he unwrapped the towel. She squeezed her eyes shut.

"A little squeamish, are you?" he teased.

"Yeah, well, blood's not really my thing," she said. Her finger hit air, and instantly there was a rush of pain.

"How'd this happen again?"

"A knife," Brad said. "She was chopping—you were chopping vegetables, right?"

It would be really nice if everyone could let her speak. She opened her eyes, seeing her mom beside her dad, his hand now around her waist. Jack was too busy trying to get a closer look at her almost severed finger, which she still hadn't looked at.

"Yes, I was making a salad," Becky said—the one her dad had said her mom insisted she make. She knew that was likely not the way of it, but she wasn't about to throw that bit in as she remembered the call from school and the good news her mom had yet to learn. "I guess I wasn't really paying attention when I pushed down with the knife, and my finger was there. I felt it, and then—"

"We found you on the floor. You fainted," Emily said. Becky could see now the worry she had caused. "Maybe you have low blood sugar. Did you eat all the lunch I packed for you? You should do a blood test to check her levels."

Now she was horrified. Her mom was telling a doctor what tests he should be ordering. The doctor paused and glanced her way. It was a look that had her suddenly feeling five years old. Her dad cleared his throat. Could this moment get any worse?

"Emily, just let the doctor work," he said.

"Mom, seriously, I fainted because of all the blood. I don't like blood. It kind of freaks me out. Ignore my mom, please. She's never happy unless she's doing something for all of us. You'll be happy to know I'm not helpless, thus making the salad which got me here. I was distracted over some good news." She turned to Emily. "I'll be off to college sooner rather than later and will be out of your hair." Becky glanced back to the doctor, to her dad, and finally to her mom again as she tried to save whatever dignity she could. The moment it was out of her mouth, she wanted to take it back.

"What!" her mom snapped, and the pointed look her father leveled on her had her wanting to sink back into the bed. When she looked over to the doctor, who was taking in all of them, she wondered whether it could be any worse. There was humor and something else in his expression she couldn't make out.

"Okay, first things first. This is deep, to the bone. I'll stitch it up, and I want to give you a tetanus shot and order a round of antibiotics." He snapped off the latex gloves she hadn't known he'd put on.

"Her shots are up to date," her mom added as if she were a dog at the vet's office, so she stared up at the ceiling, horrified and wanting to remind her mom she was all of nineteen, an adult, and didn't need her parents here speaking, handling things for her.

"Great," Doctor Campbell said. "So how about this? Since this is such a small space and it's getting a little crowded in here, how about everyone wait out in the waiting area while I stitch up Becky's finger. Then I'll have you out of here in no time."

She lifted her head and took in her dad as he ushered her mom out, Jack following on the ground. Brad stopped just inside the open curtain and took in the doctor, something in his expression that was...what, a warning that he wasn't amused? She couldn't say for sure. Then Brad softened as he took in his daughter.

"We'll be in the waiting room," he said and then left, his boots scraping the floor.

She took in the hot doctor, who appeared ready to laugh as he pulled up a stool with a covered tray, prepping everything. He pulled on fresh gloves and scooted closer, holding up a needle.

"So how about we get that stitched up?"

She stared at the syringe, the size of it, huge and steel. He was going to jab that where, exactly? It was moving closer to her hand, her finger, which he was holding now on the draped tray.

"Hey, look at me," he said. "Tell me about school."

She jerked her head to his face, this handsome doctor who didn't have a ring. She was now alone with him. He jabbed her with the needle.

"Ow!" she snapped, and he smiled brightly, dropping the needle and then getting ready to stitch up her cut.

"Sorry. I'm usually a lot gentler," he said as he dabbed away some of the blood still oozing. "Whatever would have distracted you so much that you cut your finger like this?"

She took in the calm of this handsome stranger, who had a touch that was somewhat welcoming. "Well, she just left the exam room, and I'll give you two guesses as to who it was."

He said nothing as she took in his concentration, then the smile again as he glanced her way. "Let me guess, your mom?"

Oh, wow, those eyes. She'd never seen any like them. Everything in them seemed to reach inside her and make her feel special, wanted, and she thought she could have sat there all day with him, just talking and looking into those eyes.

"Yeah, but it's more about the news she now knows," she said. Then her gaze went right to the smaller needle he was now holding, about to stick into her finger, ready to stitch. She felt her chest tighten as if the air had thinned, and she just stared at the steel, the surgical thread, the tools, and her bloody finger. Then she did something she'd never have expected to do: She yanked her hand away.

Click here to order your copy of IN THE MOMENT and keep reading!

### More upcoming Friessen Books!

[ ![IN THE FAMILY - Those we love always come home.
            Release date: December 22, 2017](images/in-the-family-kindle.jpg) ](http://www.lorhainneeckhart.com/books/in-the-family/)

IN THE FAMILY - Those we love always come home. Release date: December 22, 2017

Click here to order your copy of In the Family, A Friessen Family Christmas

[ ![IN THE SILENCE - In the silence, love hears everything.
            Release date: January 25, 2018](images/in-the-silence-generic.jpg) ](http://www.lorhainneeckhart.com/books/in-the-silence/)

IN THE SILENCE - In the silence, love hears everything. Release date: January 25, 2018

Click here to order your copy of In the Silence

[ ![IN THE STARS - Now that he's found her, he'll do anything to have her.
            Release date: February 13, 2018](images/in-the-stars-generic.jpg) ](http://www.lorhainneeckhart.com/books/in-the-stars/)

IN THE STARS - Now that he's found her, he'll do anything to have her. Release date: February 13, 2018

Click here to order your copy of In the Stars

[ ![IN THE CHARM - He's used to having everything he wants. This time it won't be so easy.
            Release date: March 30, 2018](images/in-the-charm-generic.jpg) ](http://www.lorhainneeckhart.com/books/in-the-charm/)

IN THE CHARM - He's used to having everything he wants. This time it won't be so easy. Release date: March 30, 2018

Click here to order your copy of In the Charm

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Stay tuned for more from the much-loved big family romance series!

# About the Author

With flawed strong characters, characters you can relate to, New York Times & USA Today Bestselling Author Lorhainne Eckhart writes the kind of books she wants to read. She is frequently a Top 100 bestselling author in multiple genres, and her second book ever published, The Forgotten Child, is no exception. With close to 900 reviews on Amazon, translated into German and French, this book was such a hit that the long running Friessen Family series was born. Now with over sixty titles and multiple series under her belt her big family romance series are loved by fans worldwide. A recipient of the 2013, 2015 and 2016 Readers' Favorite Award for Suspense and Romance, Lorhainne lives on the sunny west-coast Gulf Island of Salt Spring Island, is the mother of three, her oldest has autism and she is an advocate for never giving up on your dreams.

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_Lorhainne loves to hear from her readers! You can connect with me at:_

www.LorhainneEckhart.com

lorhainneeckhart.le@gmail.com

  Facebook

  Twitter

# Links to Lorhainne Eckhart's Booklist

The following Lorhainne Eckhart titles are available in ebook, audiobook and paperback. Please scroll down for the links or visit her website at www.LorhainneEckhart.com for all available retailers.

### The Outsider Series

The Forgotten Child (Brad and Emily)

A Baby and a Wedding (An Outsider Series Short)

Fallen Hero (Andy, Jed, and Diana)

The Search (An Outsider Series Short)

The Awakening (Andy and Laura)

Secrets (Jed and Diana)

Runaway (Andy and Laura)

Overdue (An Outsider Series Short)

The Unexpected Storm (Neil and Candy)

The Wedding (Neil and Candy)

### The Friessens: A New Beginning

The Deadline (Andy and Laura)

The Price to Love (Neil and Candy)

A Different Kind of Love (Brad and Emily)

A Vow of Love, A Friessen Family Christmas

### The Friessens

The Reunion

The Bloodline (Andy & Laura)

The Promise (Diana & Jed)

The Business Plan (Neil & Candy)

The Decision (Brad & Emily)

First Love (Katy)

Family First

Leave the Light On

In the Moment

In the Family: A Friessen Family Christmas

In the Silence

In the Stars

In the Charm

Unexpected Consequences

It Was Always You

The First Time I Saw You

Welcome to My Arms

Welcome to Boston

I'll Always Love You

Ground Rules

A Reason to Breathe

You Are My Everything

Anything For You

The Homecoming includes FREE short story When They Were Young

Stay Away From My Daughter

The Bad Boy

A Place to Call Our Own

The Visitor

All About Devon

Long Past Dawn

How to Heal a Heart

**The Friessen Legacy Collections**

1) The Outsider Series: The Complete Omnibus Collection

2) The Friessens A New Beginning: The Collection

3) The Friessens Books 1 - 5 Box Set

4) The Friessens Books 6 -8

5) The Friessen Books 9 - 11

6) The Friessen Books 12 - 14

7) The Friessen Books 15 - 18

8) The Friessen Books 19 -21

9. The Friessen Books 22 - 25

10) The Friessens Books 26 - 28

### The McCabe Brothers

Don't Stop Me (Vic)

Don't Catch Me (Chase)

Don't Run From Me (Aaron)

Don't Hide From Me (Luc)

Don't Leave Me \- Claudia

or grab THE MCCABE BROTHERS THE COMPLETE COLLECTION at a special reduced price.

### The Wilde Brothers

The One (Joe and Margaret)

The Honeymoon, A Wilde Brothers Short

Friendly Fire (Logan and Julia)

Not Quite Married, A Wilde Brothers Short

A Matter of Trust (Ben and Carrie)

The Reckoning, A Wilde Brothers Christmas

Traded (Jake)

Unforgiven (Samuel)

Click here to grab The Wilde Brother The Complete Collection at a specially reduced price!

### Married in Montana

His Promise

Love's Promise

A Promise of Forever

Or click here and grab Married in Montana the three book collection at a specially reduced price

### The Parker Sisters

Thrill of the Chase

The Dating Game

Play Hard to Get

What We Can't Have

Go Your Own Way

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Or click here to grab The Parker Sisters 5 Book collection at a specially reduced price

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A June Wedding

### Kate and Walker: Deadly, Dangerous and Desired Series

One Night

Edge of Night

Last Night

Or grab the Kate & Walker Collection at a specially reduced price

### Walk the Right Road Series

The Choice

Lost and Found

Merkaba

Bounty

Blown Away: The Final Chapter

Or click here to grab all the books in the Walk the Right Road series in one boxed set collection, Walk the Right Road: The Complete Collection.

### The Saved Series

Saved

Vanished

Captured

Or click here to grab The Saved Series: The Complete Collection, with all the books in this military thriller.

### Single Titles

He Came Back

Loving Christine

### Boxed Sets & Collections

Danger Deception Devotion, The Firsts: A collection of eight novels all first in series. _A great collection if unsure of which series to begin with._

### For my German Readers

Die Außenseiter-Reihe

Der Vergessene Junge

Der Gefallene Held

### For my French Readers

L'ENFANT OUBLIÉ
