

### Bronwyn's Stand

### E Kelly

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2011 E Kelly

This book is available in print at most online retailers.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

### Table of Contents

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

Epilogue

About the Author

Books by E Kelly

Excerpt from Anna's Strength

To all my friends, old and new, who told me I should do this. Thanks!
Chapter 1

She noticed him when he walked in, of course she did. It was her job, Bronwyn rationalized, to notice her customers. This man, however, didn't feel like a customer. Instead, he left her with a sense of nervousness, an unreasonable desire to turn away. No man actually looked like this in real life! He was well over six feet, dark hair, and light eyes. Despite the stylish Armani suit, he made her think of knights on white chargers, damsels in distress and covers of cheap romance novels. Possibilities, she thought at first. Nonsense, she corrected almost immediately. He was simply a man who might buy a book, nothing more and nothing less. Fixing a smile firmly in place, Bronwyn moved forward to greet him.

"Good morning. Welcome to Another Story." It was a standard greeting she had delivered countless times. She continued to smile brightly as he studied her. Thoroughly studied, she thought, even though his eyes never left her face. It was a neat trick she might have appreciated another time or place.

"Can I help you find something?" she added.

"Actually, I think I've found it," he answered smoothly. He'd been given an accurate description, five feet three inches, dark shoulder length hair and green eyes that managed to communicate intelligence, interest, and warmth. What the description didn't include was that her petite frame included a well-toned curvaceous body that made a man's hands itch to touch and that her eyes were the color of the hills of Ireland. Vincent was instantly captivated. "Damn," he whispered in appreciation.

Although she continued to smile, he didn't miss the frost that over took the warmth. He didn't blame her. He had surprised them both with his comment. Chancing a smile, he held out his hand.

"Vincent Lane, Ms. Barrister. If I could have a few moments of your time, there is a private matter we need to discuss. Perhaps you have an office where we might not be disturbed?"

Bronwyn's first reaction was to remove her hand from his and step back. "I'm sorry, Mr. Lane. You must have me confused with someone else. We have never met and, therefore, could not possibly have a private matter to discuss."

"It has to do with your father."

"No."

"No. What?"

"No. We cannot discuss Robert Barrister. Not privately. Not publicly." With that said Bronwyn turned on her heel and walked through the rows of books to the back of the store. For a moment, Vincent stood still, shocked and silent. Not exactly the smoothest of introductions, he thought as he started to follow her. He was brought up short, though, when a man stepped into his path.

"I don't think Wyn wants to talk to you," the man said. He was big, both taller and broader than himself. The look in his eyes was determined and with just enough mean to coerce a lesser man into backing down. This was the dragon guarding the gate Vincent thought as he stood his ground.

"I will talk to her," he started. "This can't just be about what she wants anymore." With this said he stepped around the man and went in search of Bronwyn. He neither commented nor acknowledged the fact that Bronwyn's protector followed him closely. Vincent found her in a back room; sitting at a desk piled high with what he thought might be invoices. Taking a quick breath, he tried again. "Excuse me, Ms. Barrister. I do need to talk to you."

"I believe I said no already," Bronwyn corrected. She didn't even bother looking up from her work when her coworker grabbed Vincent by the arm and began dragging him from the room.

"Your Uncle Jacob sent me."

"Wait," was her only response as she studied him. Slowly she picked up the phone and began to dial. The man holding Vincent stopped trying to rip his arm from its socket, but did not release his grip. There was a very tense moment as the two men stood glaring at one another. Bronwyn's voice interrupted the silent battle. "Uncle Jacob. Good morning. Did you send a man to see me?" She turned her back to Vincent and listened. "Six four, about 195 pounds, dark hair, grey eyes. Looks like he can handle himself...You did send him. Why in heaven's name would you...? What are you up to now, Uncle...? Fine, I'll hear him out...Yes. I'll call later. Bye." After hanging up the phone, Bronwyn turned back and looked at Vincent with both curiosity and hostility, but her words were for her friend. "It's okay Jack. You can go back up front now."

Reluctantly, Jack released Vincent. "If he gets out of line, you only have to call me," he threatened.

"If he gets out of line, I'll kick his ass," Bronwyn assured him. Returning to her seat, she stared up at Vincent. "Okay Mr. Lane. Let's get this over with. I have a business to run."

Vincent took the remaining seat in the room, even though she hadn't offered it. "That was a very detailed description for someone you'd only just met."

"I learned at an early age, Mr. Lane, that it's important to read a person quickly and not miss any of the details. The details can make or break you. Now if you'd just state your business, I'd appreciate it."

Vincent began. "Your uncle has told me that you've been getting threatening phone calls for the past three weeks. You have received these phone calls here, as well as at your home. He is concerned for your safety. Jacob has hired my company to check into this matter and to watch out for you during the course of our investigation."

"Define watch out for."

"I'm to act as your bodyguard."

"For how long?"

"Until everyone is satisfied that the threat to you has been eliminated."

"You've absolutely got to be kidding!" she said in exasperation. Standing abruptly, Bronwyn began to pace the small office, her angry steps eating up the confined space. She dressed professionally, as he did, but there was no mistaking the distinctly feminine cut of her suit jacket or the click of her high heels on the wooden floor. Despite the circumstances, Vincent had to admire the way she moved, fluid and sexy. It was the kind of walk that caught a man's attention and imagination. She paused in front of him. "There is no threat!" she continued. "There is only one man. One man who is angry because I don't do what he tells me to do anymore. One man does not constitute a threat nor warrant a bodyguard."

"He does when that one man has already made multiple attempts on your life." All color drained from Bronwyn's face. Her emerald green eyes went wide in shock. Gone was the enraged sex goddess of his brief, but inventive, fantasy. Instead, Bronwyn looked fragile and alone. Vincent silently cursed himself, realizing too late that words could hurt just as profoundly as fists. He felt like an ass as he watched her collect herself. She looked everywhere, but at him. Twice she opened her mouth to speak and twice she closed it. Slowly she walked over to gaze out the window. After a few moments of awkward silence, she turned back to Vincent.

"I appreciate you coming here today, Mr. Lane, but your services are not necessary." Carefully, she took a deep breath, before she continued. "I've been taking care of myself for quite some time now, and I will continue to do so, alone. I'll call my uncle and let him know, so that you will be compensated for the time and effort you've already put in. Goodbye." Bronwyn turned her back on him then and silently concentrated on maintaining her composure. What could her uncle have been thinking to send this paperback playboy to stir things up? Things that she had spent considerable time and effort burying. Bronwyn had spent years rehearsing and telling elaborate lies to hide what she truly was. Even those closest to her didn't have all the pieces to the puzzle. She had always been so careful and now this well-intentioned stranger was threatening everything she had built. How could Bronwyn possibly explain the need for a bodyguard without telling her friends everything? She couldn't, she decided. Vincent Lane would have to go.

"Bronwyn...?" Vincent had moved to stand behind her as she stood at the window; close enough that he could smell the light fragrance she wore. "I'm beginning to realize that I'm not exactly a welcomed addition to your life." He reached, ignoring the tensing of her shoulders, and slowly turned her to face him. Don't like to be touched, do you, he thought as he took a careful step back. "You might want to consider something before you send me packing. Your uncle hired me for two reasons. One, he thinks that your father poses a very real threat, and from what little he's told me so far I'm inclined to agree with him. And two, he doesn't want you going through this by yourself. He knows that you're perfectly capable of taking care of yourself, alone. But Jacob doesn't want you to be alone, this time. He feels partially responsible for what happened before. He thinks that if he had paid more attention you wouldn't have suffered at the hands of your father." When Bronwyn opened her mouth to interrupt, Vincent held up his hand to stop her. "This is his way of making sure that you are not put at risk again. Don't take this away from him."

"It's not necessary, you know," she said as she turned away from him again. "It's a waste of both time and money to have you protect me when I'm perfectly capable. But..."

"But...?"

"But, if it keeps my uncle from worrying, I can hardly refuse. Can I?"

"No, I don't believe you can." He smiled at her now as he took in her rigid stance. He could all but feel her frustration. "I promise I'll try not to interfere with your routine any more than I have to."

Bronwyn sighed deeply as she answered. "I guess that will have to do then." Somehow, she would just have to figure out how to keep her uncle happy and her secrets to herself. "So, Mr. Lane," she said as she turned to look up into his eyes, "how do we start to protect this body of mine?"

"I suggest we start with lunch."

"Lunch...?"

"We both need to eat and I'm sure you'd like to have this discussion somewhere that we couldn't possibly be overheard. Therefore, we eat lunch, out." He held out his hand for her to take. Ignoring his offer, Bronwyn went to her desk and picked up her purse instead.

"Well then, let's go."

Chapter 2

After orders had been placed, Bronwyn sat back in her chair to study her lunch companion. "So tell me about your company."

"There are five of us. We've been in business for about a year and a half now. We worked together before this, too. We secure buildings, both private and public."

"Buildings, not people?"

"Yes, just buildings. You're our first personal protection case. First and last I should say." Vincent, too, leaned back in his chair. For the first time he was able to look his fill. She was absolutely lovely, he thought. Not like the polished, sophisticated women he often spent time with. Bronwyn was warmer, somehow more alive. Knowing some of what she had been through as a child, what she had survived, only added to her appeal.

"Why me then? Why the exception?"

"Simple, really. My father plays golf with your uncle. Apparently, they discussed your situation at the club Monday morning. My father called me Monday night and asked if I'd look into it. I talked to the guys this morning. We did some preliminary checking and here I am." She wasn't happy with the idea. Her eyes had taken on a flat, cold tone that Vincent found perversely appealing.

"What do you mean? Just exactly what was discussed?"

"The basics and nothing more. I assure you."

"Define the basics," Bronwyn continued.

"Specifically?"

"Specifically."

Vincent took a minute to study Bronwyn attentively. "You don't like the idea of anyone talking about you, do you?" Without waiting for an answer, he continued. "Specifically I was told that you and your younger sister were removed from your father's custody when you were just ten years old and Laura was eight. You were both removed because of suspected and then later verified child abuse. I know there was a trial and that your father was convicted and sent to prison for eleven years. You and Laura were sent to live with your Uncle Jacob and Aunt Kim. It is suspected that Robert is the one behind the phone calls. That is specifically what I was told. Should I also tell you what I have inferred from this information?" Again, Vincent didn't wait for an answer, but continued on. He leaned in to tell Bronwyn the rest. "I have inferred the following: One, you don't refer to Robert Barrister as your father. Probably haven't since the first time he hit you. Two, if he got eleven years for what he did then the abuse was extreme and documented in some way. Three, your friends, at least very few of them, know about your past. And finally four, you are now well and truly pissed." With everything said, Vincent waited for the fall out. She hadn't moved at all during his confession and there were no outward signs that she had even heard him. Confused, Vincent leaned in further to study her eyes. Where he had expected anger, he saw only pain. The kind of pain that would swallow her if she let it. But she didn't. Instead, she stared back at him, thoughtfully weighing her words. Finally she spoke.

"My private life, my past, belongs to no one but me, Mr. Lane. I've worked hard to keep it that way. You will not interfere."

"Your secrets are safe with me Bronwyn. I will discuss this case with only my men and you and yours."

"No. Do not tell my family anything," she insisted.

"Your uncle is the one who hired me. I will not keep information from him; information that he needs to have; information that might keep you safe. You ask too much of me, Bronwyn."

She sighed deeply. Yes, she had somehow known Vincent wouldn't agree to her terms. She had tried anyway. Not this man, though. This was a man that made his own choices, his own decisions and he wouldn't give a damn if other people accepted or understood him. So she'd try for a compromise. "Just my uncle then. And you agree not to share any information with him that you haven't shared with me first."

Vincent held out his hand. "Agreed." They completed their bargain as lunch was served.

As they drove back to her store after lunch, Bronwyn reflected on their conversation. She had learned that Vincent and his partners were ex military, former Navy SEALs. That meant they were good, very good. She wouldn't have to question their abilities or her own safety if it came to that. It also meant though, that they would be determined. Vincent would be determined. And he already knew too much she thought as she turned to look at him now.

"We never got around to discussing the procedures for my protection, the dos and don'ts."

Now that he had parked the car, Vincent turned so that he could look at her. Hell of a view he thought absently. "The procedures are simple. Where you go, I go. To be exact, everywhere you go, I go. Everywhere, no exceptions. So, if you have a boyfriend that is going to object to threesomes, you may want to clue him in."

"No. No boyfriend to worry about."

Vincent didn't even attempt to hide his smile. "Good. It makes things less complicated. Since I'm outrageously attracted to you, it will make things between us easier if I don't have to go through some jealous idiot."

"Excuse me?" Bronwyn questioned. "You're attracted to me?"

"Outrageously attracted," Vincent corrected.

"Outrageously attracted, then. And you assume this means that there will automatically be something between us? Do you have any idea how impossibly arrogant that sounds?"

Vincent continued to smile and reached out to gently stroke his finger across her check. There was something vaguely possessive in his touch. "Not arrogant, just honest. I don't believe in hiding or ignoring my feelings."

"Well, okay then. In the spirit of not hiding or ignoring our feelings, I will work with you, Mr. Lane. I will allow you to follow me everywhere, if that's what it takes to reassure my family. But that will be the extent of what is between us. I'm sure you must have a line of women somewhere waiting for a chance with you, but not this girl. Please, don't take this personally. I'm just not looking for a relationship at this time. I hope you understand," she concluded. Bronwyn waited, not realizing she was holding her breath, for Vincent's response.

"That was well done, Bronwyn. Just enough to let a man know the answer is no without being insulting. I bet that little speech has worked just fine in the past." He noted the brief look of surprise in her eyes that was quickly smothered. "I wasn't looking for a relationship either, but something about you pulls at me. No woman has ever done that before. I'm not about to turn away from that so you'll just have to learn to deal with it, with me, because I'm not going anywhere."

Bronwyn leaned back against the door of the car and let the silence stretch out between them. "Why?" she finally asked.

"Why what?"

"Why me?" she persisted.

Vincent stopped to think before he answered. "All of my life I've been lucky enough to witness loving relationships first hand. For the last ten of those years I've not only witnessed them, but envied them as well." He paused to look at Bronwyn as she openly gaped at him. Taking a deep breath, he finished it out. "Simply put, I recognized you. My whole world honed down to just the two of us and I knew."

There were tears in her eyes as Bronwyn finally spoke. "You don't even know me. I'm not what you think I am, Vincent. You're attracted to someone who doesn't exist-an illusion. I'm sorry. I don't mean to disappoint you, but I'm not the one for you." With that said she quietly left the car and returned to her shop.

It had been a long day for Bronwyn. Between Vincent's hovering and his constant questioning, she had reached the limit of her patience. She was looking forward to going home to peace and silence. As she said goodnight to her staff, Bronwyn was not the least bit surprised to have Vincent fall in step beside her. She refused to acknowledge him in the least until they arrived at her car. "Well goodnight, Mr. Lane. It's been a ... day. I guess I'll be seeing you again in the morning."

"Actually, I'll be accompanying you home. Remember, everywhere you go, I go." Vincent waited for Bronwyn to contradict him. When she didn't, he completed his thought. "I'll ride with you and arrange for one of the guys to pick up my car." Bronwyn stood silently and watched him walk over to a dark grey Jaguar, pop the trunk, and lift out a small suitcase and garment bag. "Ready when you are," Vincent commented as he walked back to her.

Bronwyn looked from Vincent's luggage to his eyes. "You are not spending the night in my apartment," she challenged. "I didn't agree to that."

"In fact, you did. I will work with you Mr. Lane. I will allow you to follow me everywhere, if that's what it takes. That's what it takes Bronwyn. We cannot simply assume that you're safe in your own home. That kind of thinking is not only naïve, it's dangerous." Vincent knew he was being more dramatic than the situation called for, but he couldn't help but push. He'd take no chances with her safety. Her body rigid, Bronwyn turned on her heel and climbed into her car. After stowing his things in her back seat, Vincent joined her.

Chapter 3

After a short drive and small hike up three flights of stairs, Vincent and Bronwyn arrived at her front door. Sitting his things down by the door Vincent placed his hands on Bronwyn's shoulders. She tensed at his touch and her eyes became sharp slits. "I'll go in and check things out first. You wait here. If you hear or see anything that doesn't feel right, run like hell," he warned.

"You're kidding, right?" Bronwyn inquired. When her question was met with stony silence, she cleared her throat and muttered, "Run like hell. Got it." Vincent slipped inside. He returned moments later. "Okay. We're clear."

"We're clear. Good to know. I'm going inside now." As she entered, Bronwyn immediately removed her shoes and suit jacket. Turning to Vincent she said, "I guess you won't need the fifty cent tour. Why don't you settle into the guest room while I change for the pool? I usually swim a few laps after work, if that's all right. I mean, if we're clear to swim that is," she teased.

"Cute," Vincent rebutted. "Swimming is fine, until I say it isn't. All of your normal routine is fine."

"Until you say it isn't," Bronwyn interrupted.

A few laps turned out to be fifteen. Vincent admired Bronwyn's style and skill as an athlete. She'd chosen to wear a suit more apt for surfing than swimming. Tiny shorts and a fitted shirt with a high collar in emerald green. It did nothing to detract from her form or femininity and Vincent found the zipper down the back to be outrageously tempting. She was lean and curvy and amazingly sexy. "Damn," he whispered as she rose from the water the last time.

"I agree completely," said a voice from behind him. Vincent stood to introduce himself. He gauged the man to be roughly six feet and one hundred and eight-five pounds with dark hair and eyes to match. He was dressed in lifeguard trunks and flip-flops. "Vincent Lane, old family friend of Bronwyn's."

"Richard Close and I don't think so. I've known Wyn since high school and if you're an old family friend, I'm straight."

"And we know you're not straight, honey," she called out as she joined them. "Gorgeous maybe, but definitely not straight," Bronwyn concluded as she kissed him soundly on the lips. Grabbing a towel from the back of Vincent's chair, she turned to introduce her friend. "Mr. Lane, this is Richard. We've known each other forever. He's the one person in this world who knows all my secrets and loves me anyway."

"Same goes darling," said Richard as he shook Vincent's hand. Both men openly measured each other. Turning back to Bronwyn he asked, "Now that I know his name, who is he?"

Vincent stood back and followed Bronwyn's lead. She had made it quite clear that she would pick and choose who knew what. He was surprised when she related the unabridged truth.

"I don't hide anything from Richard," she said as way of explanation. "It only pisses him off."

"Ditto," Vincent agreed.

"I have to go on duty now, but I want to talk to you later. Both of you," Richard clarified. For Vincent he added, "She means everything to me and I won't have that bastard Robert anywhere near her."

"Then we're on the same page here. I can assure you that in order for Robert to get near her, I'd have to be dead."

Richard stopped to stare at Vincent. "My God. I think he's serious."

"He's a SEAL. They're always serious," Bronwyn explained. "So if you two are done flexing and beating your chests, I'm going in now."

Vincent followed her up the path as Richard called out, "Love you."

"Bite me," was her only response.

After a quick shower and a change into jeans and her favorite dark purple blouse, Bronwyn found herself staring into her refrigerator trying to select something for dinner that would not offend what would assuredly be Vincent's very masculine, carnivorous tastes. She decided on grilled chicken and salad. Bronwyn had defrosted the chicken and started the marinade when Vincent walked in. "I hope you don't mind, but..." her voice died on her lips as she looked up. If she thought Vincent looked like an ad for Knights R Us before, it was nothing compared to how he looked now. In a fitted black t-shirt and jeans, he was both shockingly handsome and potentially dangerous. Vincent smiled broadly at her hesitation. He knew exactly how he looked. That was obvious. Bronwyn openly scowled at him and silently damned him to hell.

"It's just grilled chicken and a salad for dinner. I hope that's all right. I wasn't expecting to have company tonight." She moved quickly and efficiently around the small kitchen as she spoke.

"Sounds great. Anything I can do to help?"

"Ever handled a grill?"

"Once or twice."

"You're hired then. Just through the patio door. The tools are in it. You can go out and get acquainted whenever you're ready. The chicken could use a few minutes in the marinade so there's no need to rush." Opening the refrigerator door, she added, "I've got cold drinks, if you're thirsty."

"I'll just have whatever you're having."

"Iced tea?"

"Sounds great."

Bronwyn quickly poured a glass and returned to her salad preparations. She had no idea what to say to him now. What conversation did she have with a man she'd only known a few hours? A man who knew more about her than she ever would have told him herself. And what the hell had he meant when he said he recognized her? Like a coward, she let the silence stretch between them. As if understanding her unease, Vincent leaned against the bar and watched her, enjoying the fact that he seemed to make her nervous. Slowly he sipped his tea, saying nothing, just watching. He couldn't help but notice the way her jeans hugged her frame, showing off her curves or the fact that her toenails matched the rich jewel tone of her shirt. Her hair was still wet from the shower and the smell of it carried the short distance to him. Five long minutes stretched by before Bronwyn finally spoke.

"Can I ask you a question, if it's not too personal?"

Vincent smiled, "You can ask me anything."

Bronwyn smiled in return, "Anything?"

Vincent put down his glass and leaned toward her, "Anything."

Bronwyn studied him for a minute, trying to gauge his mood. He couldn't be serious. He wouldn't possibly answer any question she asked. Would he?

"What's your favorite color?"

"Grey."

"Favorite author?"

"Clancy."

"Shoe size?"

"121/2," Vincent laughed. "Is that the best you can do Bronwyn?" he asked as he came around the bar to stand in front of her. "All my secrets are yours. You only have to ask."

"Mother's maiden name?"

"McGregor."

"Social security number?"

"348-71-2904."

Bronwyn laughed. "That was quick. I'm impressed. Okay. How many tattoos do you have?"

"One. It's a team tattoo. We all have one. How many tattoos do you have?"

"One, but we're not talking about me. Have you ever been in love?" Bronwyn continued.

"No. Where is it?" Vincent asked as he considered the possibilities.

"Never? Where's what?"

"No never, but I'm working on it. Where's your tattoo, Bronwyn?" Vincent moved closer and neatly trapped her between him and the counter. "How many men have been lucky enough to see it?"

"How many women have seen yours?" Bronwyn responded.

"More than I can count." Vincent pulled up the sleeve of his shirt to reveal his bicep and his SEAL team tattoo. Smiling, he said, "I showed you mine. Aren't you going to show me yours?"

"No. What's the password for your computer?"

Vincent eased backed just a little. "Frost."

Bronwyn laughed now. Vincent smiled at the sound and wondered how often she laughed. He was enjoying flirting with her, teasing her. It made him wonder how often she let her guard down and just let go like this.

"Now I know you're teasing. There is no way you just told me the password to your computer. Nobody does that."

"Really?" Vincent challenged. Without another word, he turned and left the room, returning moments later with a sleek little laptop. Sitting it on the countertop near Bronwyn, he opened it and pressed the power button. When the computer cued him to enter his password, he turned it to face her. "Go ahead," he prompted. "I believe you know it."

Prepared to meet his bluff, Bronwyn typed F, r, o, s, and t. Her mouth dropped open in amazement as the password was accepted and the computer booted up. She snapped it shut quickly, though, when she saw the satisfied look on his face. "It will take more than that to impress me. Passwords are very easy to change these days."

"True enough," he agreed.

"What was your specialty as a SEAL?"

"Electronics, computers, and weaponry," Vincent stated without hesitation, "But could you keep that to yourself? It's classified."

"You just told me classified information. Are you crazy?" Bronwyn asked in exasperation. "Why would you do that?"

"I know information that could be considered classified about you. It seemed only fair to let you in on a few of my secrets. I trust you to keep them." He smiled now to lighten the mood. "Anything else you want to know?"

"Yeah." Struggling to follow Vincent's lead, Bronwyn added, "Can we grill now?"

It had actually been a lovely dinner Bronwyn thought later as she cleaned the kitchen. Vincent continued to answer questions and even asked a few himself. By mutual consent, they had kept the questions light and fun. When Richard had shown up at the end of their meal, Bronwyn had expected the men to struggle with conversation. No two men could be more different, yet they had managed to find common ground. Looking out at Vincent on the patio talking to one of his team on his cell phone, she was surprised to realize that he had been entertaining and charming. If this had been a date, she would have considered it a success. Bronwyn stopped abruptly when she realized where her thoughts had taken her. A date. Had she lost her mind? Women like her didn't date men like Vincent. Men like Vincent didn't date at all. They seduced. As she looked out at him again, he smiled at her through the glass door. She returned the smile easily enough. Anything more, she realized, would be unwise and potentially painful. She would be better off if she remembered that she thought as he turned to come inside.

"I would have helped you with that," Vincent said as he gestured to the dishes she was finishing. "There is no need to treat me like a guest."

"Of course there is. You're staying here to keep me safe, Vincent, not do dishes," Bronwyn contradicted.

"There's no reason I couldn't do both," Vincent insisted. "I don't expect you to take care of everything by yourself when there are two of us. That wouldn't be fair."

"This isn't about being fair. This is about you being a guest in my home, not my roommate. Guests don't clean. Period. End of story," Bronwyn clarified. "Now we could continue to stand here and debate this for another twenty minutes or so, or I could make some coffee and we could relax in the den. Your choice," she challenged.

Vincent considered her for a minute and reluctantly gave in. "Coffee."

Two hours later as she lay in bed, Bronwyn found herself looking back on those last hours of conversation. Once again, Vincent had surprised her. He continually moved from serious and intimate to light and friendly and back again. He kept her guessing the entire evening. There had been heated debates about the virtues of Tom Clancy verses J.D. Robb and Mac verses PC. She had learned that his team all called him Einstein and that he was the oldest of three children. His family was in real estate (building not selling) and that it had been anticipated that he would follow in his father's footsteps. Evidently, it had taken him quite some time to convince his family that the navy was right for him. All in all, she would be the first to admit that there was more to Vincent than she first thought. Tomorrow morning at brunch with her family, she would see him with his team for the first time. She had to confess, if only to herself, she was curious.

Chapter 4

He was up at sunrise, regardless of the fact that Bronwyn had kept him restless and awake most of the night. Thoughts of Bronwyn. How had she managed to find a place in his mind so quickly? Logically he knew he shouldn't be so drawn to her. It shouldn't feel so absolutely right, so quickly. Should it? He was in new territory here and wasn't sure of the steps to take. He knew one thing for certain. Fate had placed her in his path and he was much too Irish to ignore fate.

Quietly he slipped on his jeans and moved silently through the apartment checking for signs of any disturbance. He paused in Bronwyn's bedroom doorway, desperate to step in. He couldn't have been standing there more than a few seconds when she began to stir. Silently he stepped back, hoping she would sleep a little longer. Kitchen and coffee were the two clear thoughts in his head.

An hour later Bronwyn stepped onto the patio where Vincent had been enjoying his second cup. She was dressed in a lightweight paisley summer skirt and fitted Kelly green t-shirt. Her feet were bare. She looked fresh, energetic and damned tempting Vincent thought.

"Good morning," she greeted. 'Good lord!' is what she was thinking. How the hell was she supposed to maintain any rational thought in her head when Vincent was sitting on her patio half dressed? He was tan, fit, and dangerous and seemed to command the space they shared. That made her nervous and jumpy. She took a seat at the bistro table that, until this moment, had never seemed so small, and tried to make small talk without swallowing her tongue or drooling. "I hope you slept well," was all she managed.

"Very well, thank you," Vincent lied smoothly. He, like Bronwyn, was struggling to keep his thoughts from straying. She looked lovely in the morning sunshine and whatever perfume she was wearing was making him ache. The patio seemed to shrink with her added presence. It was definitely time for a shower. A nice, long, cold shower. As he stood to go, though, Bronwyn stopped him.

"You said your team all has the same tattoo?" She leaned forward to get a closer look. "What is it exactly?"

Silently offering up a prayer for restraint Vincent answered. "It's the Navy Special Warfare Trident. It's only worn by SEALs. We all decided to get the tattoo when we left the team. You know. Once a SEAL."

"Always a SEAL," Bronwyn finished. Without thinking, she reached out to touch. "I see the eagle, the anchor and the trident, but what else is the eagle holding?"

"It's a pistol," Vincent answered. His voice sounded rough and hoarse as he fought for his composure. His skin burned where Bronwyn's fingers touched. When she leaned closer still, he could feel the warmth of her breath. His composure slipped a notch and he ran his hand down the length of her hair.

Startled, Bronwyn looked up at him. She had forgotten, for a moment, to be careful. She had allowed him to get too close. Correcting her mistake, she began to pull away, but came up short when Vincent's hand tightened in her hair. Raising one eyebrow in question, she looked into his eyes. Vincent made no attempt to hide his attraction from her, wanting her to see what she made him feel. Yesterday she seemed to think that his interest was misplaced. He would make sure she knew he thought she was wrong about that. Just before the curiosity in her eyes became anger, he let her go. It was his years of training that helped him stand and walk away.

Forty-five minutes later, he was being introduced to Bronwyn's family. First, there was Uncle Jacob. He was tall and robust with dark hair just starting to grey at the temples. The love he felt for his family was evident in every word he spoke. Her Aunt Kim was taller than Bronwyn but shared the same hair color and body language. In her eyes, Vincent saw love and concern for her niece and wariness for the man standing beside her. Vincent admired her for both. Next, there was the sister he had heard about, Laura. Despite being two years Bronwyn's junior she looked nothing of the part little sister. She was at least four inches taller than Bronwyn and long and lean with it. The suspicion he had seen in their aunt's eyes was mirrored in hers. Laura's husband Michael looked more business suit than gym but seemed nice enough. Vincent had to respect the slightly territorial way he stood close to his wife. The entire family presented a united front, a tight nit group. He liked them instantly. When his team arrived, he introduced each one by name. First, there was Hollywood. With his blond hair, blue eyes and undeniably angelic looks he looked liked he had just stepped off the nearest movie screen. Poet with his soft southern drawl was the dark to Hollywood's light. Both his hair and eyes were as black as midnight and even now, laughing at something one of the guys had said, he looked every inch of what he was – a soldier. Then there was Preacher. He had the coloring of his ancestors, the Dakota. Always observant, he could be trusted to see everything and miss nothing of the details. The final member of the group was Caveman. Every inch of his 6'2" frame was bulging muscle the color of rich mahogany. He knew his appearance was intimidating and he used it to his advantage when it was called for. Vincent knew every one of his men would stand for him without question. Their loyalty was unquestionable and unshakeable. He watched Bronwyn carefully as she shook each man's hand in turn. While she smiled and commented politely Vincent noticed the subtle barrier that she erected. His men would be treated with dignity and respect and maybe friendship eventually, but she wouldn't let them in. She would be careful to show them only what she wanted them to see. He wondered if they had met at a different time and place would she have reacted to him this way. Would he be on the outside looking in?

"So, why do they call you Einstein?" Kim asked as they all took their seats around the patio table.

As serving dishes of food were passed around and everyone filled their plates, it was Hollywood that answered. "Our BUDS instructor started calling him that on day one of Hell Week. It seems his scores on the ASVAB were through the roof and the highest of the all the candidates."

It was Laura who asked, "What's the ASVAB?"

"It's like an entrance exam for potential SEALs. It seems Einstein blew the grading curve for all of us. That, plus his IQ, and the name stuck," Poet explained.

Laura, who didn't believe in the concept of personal information asked of Vincent, "So, what's your IQ?"

Vincent hesitated just long enough for Poet to answer. "147, but he doesn't like to admit it. Me, on the other hand, if my IQ were 147 I would tattoo it on my forehead."

"Oh, please," interrupted Caveman, "I'm not even sure you can count to 147."

Everyone laughed at that as Laura turned to her sister. "But it's still not as high as yours, is it?"

Put on the spot, Bronwyn hesitated much like Vincent had done earlier. "Well, no, but a person's IQ shouldn't be the only measure of their intelligence."

"Easy for you to say. Last time I checked your IQ was 162." Laura, knowing her sister wouldn't admit to it, made sure her voice carried to all the men at the table. For years, she had watched Bronwyn take a back seat, content to let others take the lead. But if Vincent was even half as interested in her as he appeared to be, he had better be prepared to take Bronwyn for who and what she was.

"162! You're fucking kidding me," Caveman exclaimed.

"Caveman," Vincent warned.

Thoroughly chastised by the softly spoken word, Caveman turned to Kim and apologized. "I'm sorry, ma'am. Sometimes I forget where I am and whom I'm with. That's no excuse, but please know I meant no disrespect."

Charmed by the heartfelt apology, Kim reached out and patted his hand. "Don't apologize on my account. You don't raise two teenage girls without hearing a swear word or two. Not to mention saying a swear word or two."

Once again, everyone laughed, moving on to a new topic. Bronwyn was grateful. She had never been comfortable being the center of attention. Vincent quietly turned to her and asked, "Is your IQ really 162?"

Bronwyn avoided looking at him but answered, "Yes."

Interesting thought Vincent. Not technically ashamed of your intelligence, but you don't promote it either. I wonder why. He would let it go for now. He wanted her to relax and be able to enjoy this time with her family. There would be time for questions later, lots of questions. As he sat watching Bronwyn, he quickly began to realize that there was so much beneath the surface that she showed to the world. He had taken this job thinking he knew what she had been through and what she needed. Now he wondered if all his assumptions had been right.

Vincent's thoughts were interrupted when Hollywood leaned close and whispered. "She's not on the menu."

"What?" Vincent turned to Hollywood with obvious confusion on his face.

"You've been sitting there staring at Bronwyn for a full two minutes," he whispered. "Get a grip man. Focus." Hollywood turned back to the conversation and Vincent, with one last look at Bronwyn, reluctantly followed.

At the end of the meal after the dishes had been cleared and the last cups of coffee had been poured it was time to discuss what had brought them all together.

"Okay. I know we all know why we're here this morning," Vincent began. "Why don't I just run it through so we all start in the same place? Approximately three weeks ago, Bronwyn started receiving threatening phone calls. It is suspected that Robert Barrister is the person making these calls. The team's job is not only to investigate these calls, but to keep Bronwyn safe as well."

"Which is completely unnecessary," Bronwyn argued.

"Your rebuttal is duly noted," Vincent answered without breaking his rhythm. "Preacher, you're on watch for the next few days. I want an idea of what Robert does every day, where he goes, whom he sees. Hollywood, use your connections and that pretty face of yours to get me some wiretaps."

"You're going to tap one of my phones?" Bronwyn asked taken aback.

Vincent spared her a glance. "We're going to tap all of your phones and Robert's too." Turning back to the group he continued, "Poet, you're on the paper trail. Caveman you're with me. You just became the newest employee of Another Story." He smiled broadly at his last statement knowing that his friend would hate the detail but wouldn't admit it in front of Bronwyn and her family. "Any questions, anyone?"

It was Jacob who spoke first. "I understand the plan. It's very organized and thorough. It seems you've thought of everything."

"But?"

"But... how do we get him to stop? Your plan accounts for proving he's making the calls and keeping Bronwyn safe, but how do we get Robert to leave her alone?"

"Once we have proof we can decide together what the next step is," Vincent explained.

"I have a question," Bronwyn stated.

"Of course you do, darling," Vincent agreed as he returned to his seat beside her. He was perversely pleased as she hesitated over the endearment. It hadn't been his intention, but still he was pleased.

"Don't you think this is all a little much for a few phone calls?" she finally asked.

"No," her family answered in almost perfect unison.

Bronwyn looked at each of them in turn and saw the resolve on their faces clearly evident. How had she become the only voice of reason? How had she lost control of the situation and her life? "At what point did I lose the ability to take care of myself?" she contended.

"That's not what this is about," Kim clarified. "It's not about you being unable to take care of yourself."

"Then help me understand," Bronwyn pleaded.

There were tears in Kim's eyes as she took both of Bronwyn's hands in hers. "For years you had to live at the mercy of Robert because there was no one to help you. You stood alone then."

"It's okay. I'm okay now," Bronwyn reassured her.

"No, it's not okay," her aunt corrected. "It will never be okay. What he did to you..."

Jacob continued when Kim faltered. "What he did to you can never be forgiven or forgotten. That's what this is about. Then you stood alone. Now we stand together."

Bronwyn looked at each member of her family in turn. She could see in them, after all these years, pain and sorrow for the little girl she used to be. She could see in them the fear that they had for her now. She had assumed as she had grown, that her childhood could be forgotten. No one needed to talk about it or think about it ever again. She had buried it all. But now... the people she was closest to, those that knew better than any, how far she had come were telling her that after all these years all they saw when then looked at her was a victim. Someone to pity. She was appalled. And hurt. How could they not see that she wasn't that helpless little girl anymore? The pain threatened to choke her as it washed over her. Bronwyn dared not look at Vincent, afraid that he might be able to see what no one else could. Instead, she hid behind the illusion she had created and nodded at her uncle. "Together," was all she trusted herself to say. When Vincent took her hand under the table, she couldn't acknowledge the comfort he offered. All of her energy was focused on keeping herself together. If she let down her guard for even a second, she would shatter. The conversation continued around her as everyone prepared to leave for the day. Promises were made to keep in contact and to be careful. Later Bronwyn would realize that she didn't remember much after her promise to her uncle. It had been Vincent that guided her through the departures when she couldn't filter out the hurt. It had been Vincent that held her hand as they walked to his car. And it had been Vincent that listened to her later when she finally allowed herself to fall apart.

"How could he say that to me? How could he think it, believe it?" she began. Vincent had brought her to his house after brunch because it was the only place he could think of that would afford Bronwyn the privacy she needed. As soon as they were inside, she had started prowling his living room. It was the same sexy stride he had admired the day before.

"He didn't mean to hurt you." It was a statement, not a question.

"Agreed," Bronwyn answered without breaking her rhythm. "Hurt just the same, though."

"I know."

Bronwyn interrupted her pacing to stop in front of him. "You knew?"

"Yes."

"How?" Before Vincent could answer, she continued. "My own family didn't see the pain. How did you?"

"I didn't see it. You wouldn't look at me," he accused.

"Couldn't," she corrected absently. "Then how did you know?"

"I felt it."

"You felt it? You felt my pain?" She made no attempt to hide the doubt and suspicion on her face or in her voice.

"Yes."

Bronwyn scowled at the statement and resumed her pacing. "I'm not that scared little girl anymore. I'm a hell of a lot more than that now."

Vincent checked his ego and impatience at Bronwyn's abrupt denial. Now was not the time to challenge her on this. He concentrated on what she was saying and put his feelings aside, for now. Eventually, no soon, she would have to deal with him.

"For heaven's sake. I went to Harvard Business School, after turning down Julliard. I analyzed and played the stock market to get the start up money for my bookstore. I speak eight different languages and can balance my books without the aid of a calculator or a computer." She stopped in front of Vincent again. "What more do I have to do? How can I make people see who I am now, not who I used to be?" When she turned to, once again, continue her pacing Vincent stepped in front of her.

"I see you," he said gently. "I see the woman in front of me. She's brilliant, guarded, and sexy. Her strength and courage stagger me." His hands came up to cup her face as he continued. "Yes, I can see the woman you are now. But just because I see her doesn't mean I can't still grieve for the little girl you used to be." As he watched the frustration begin to build in Bronwyn's eyes, Vincent pressed on. "It's a lot to ask someone who loves you to forget. If you were my sister or daughter, and I thank God you're not, I couldn't forget. I wouldn't be able to settle for anything less than justice for you."

"There's no justice to be found here," Bronwyn answered as her eyes filled with tears. "He got eleven years."

"Eleven years is not nearly enough. I know that and I'm sure your family knows that, too. Maybe it's hard for them to see the woman when they still want, need justice for the little girl."

Bronwyn's tears began to fall unchecked now as she asked, "How am I supposed to fight that? How am I supposed to live with it?"

"I don't know, but we'll find a way." He pulled her into his arms and held her close. "And if, along that way, you happen to realize that you can't live without me that would be all right, too."

Bronwyn leaned back to look at him. "Cute." As she wiped her eyes and tried to step back, Vincent held on. Rather than struggle, she looked up and into his eyes. He made no attempt to hide his emotions as he continued to watch her. She found herself at the start of the road she was determined to avoid.

"I know what you're thinking," she began.

"I certainly hope so," Vincent interrupted.

"I don't think it's a good idea for us to..." she tried again.

"I would disagree," he interrupted for the second time.

Frustrated, Bronwyn tried to step back and again Vincent refused to let her. Before she could rationalize rejecting him, he lowered his lips to hers. He had imagined her taste and the feel of her. Hell, she had haunted his thoughts most of the night. Nothing could have prepared him though for the reality of Bronwyn. She was warm and responsive and made him ache as he struggled to pull her closer. More was all he could think now. He had to have more of her, all of her.

Bronwyn knew she shouldn't kiss him. It would only start what she couldn't finish. But the taste of him, the press of his body against hers was too much. Just for a minute, she forgot about the need to be careful, the need to remain distant and she gave all of herself up to the kiss, to him. She heard Vincent moan as he molded her intimately to fit him, heat to heat. As the kiss spun out of her control Vincent's hands pulled at the edge of her shirt, searching for skin. Immediately, Bronwyn broke free. Even as he labored for control, Vincent watched her. She was breathing heavily, fidgeting, and looking everywhere but at him. He got the distinct impression that she was regretting every second of what had just happened between them.

"Are you still so sure that you're not the woman for me?" he asked as he fought to get his own system back under control. "Another thirty seconds and I would have had you naked and under me." Vincent watched as Bronwyn instantly composed herself, as she stepped behind the illusion she showed to the rest of the world. If she thought she could retreat now, she was in for a hell of a fight. "You do that very well," he said. "Pick up the mask you wear and shut out the rest of the world." He saw the shock in her eyes before she ruthlessly smothered it. "You won't be able to shut me out, though." He stepped close to her and had to applaud the strength he knew it took for her not to step back. "Now that I've had a taste of you and what we are together, I will not be dismissed. Go ahead and try if you must. Build your walls." He moved close enough that their bodies brushed lightly and the need for her flooded him. "I'll tear them down to get to you if that's what it takes."

Bronwyn could see the conviction in his eyes, could see it in the way he stood. He was daring her to contradict him. She considered it, but dismissed it almost immediately. She knew there were times in life when you took a stand, when you held your ground no matter what. This wasn't one of those times. No amount of conversation was going to convince Vincent that he was wrong. She was going to have to let this play out. She was going to have to let him find out for himself that she wasn't what he believed her to be. And in the end, she was going to have to watch him walk away.

Vincent watched the play of emotions cross Bronwyn's face. He hoped that her obvious struggle was somehow proof that he was beginning to get through to her. Just before she turned away, she looked at him one last time. Vincent was confused by what he saw. Defeat. It was only there for a second, but long enough to cause him to reach out to her.

"Bronwyn?"

"We should go. I have some errands to run, work to do, you know."

Even though he wanted to ask her about the look in her eyes, he didn't. He had already crossed the line and pressed his advantage when she was vulnerable. So he took a page from her book and buried his feelings, for now.

Chapter 5

After a trip to the grocery store and the post office, Bronwyn and Vincent returned to her apartment. Bronwyn was grateful that Vincent hadn't mentioned the kiss again. He had been a perfect gentleman and she had tried to maintain a little distance. If they could just keep it this way, she might be able to preserve some dignity in all this. As she began to put away the groceries, the phone rang. Checking caller id she answered.

"I hope you're enjoying your day off," Robert began.

Grabbing a pad of paper and a pencil Bronwyn began recording the conversation as she spoke. "I always enjoy my days off."

"I bet you had brunch with that bastard of a brother of mine, didn't you?"

"I had brunch with my family," Bronwyn corrected. "Sorry that couldn't include you, but we have rules about convicted criminals at our table."

At those words, Vincent came to stand behind her and read her notes as she wrote. He rested his hand on her hip, as he leaned in close.

"You little bitch. You think you can talk to me that way?"

"Yes, actually I think I can talk to you any way I want Robert."

"You never did learn to behave, did you bitch? I always had to punish you."

"Don't you mean beat me?" Bronwyn taunted.

"Same thing. Either way, I couldn't teach you a damn thing, could I?"

"No," Bronwyn said when she realized he was waiting for her to respond.

"I just wanted to call and let you know that I haven't forgotten about tomorrow. I'm sending you something special to help celebrate the day."

"Oh my, and I didn't get you anything. How tacky of me. But then we've already agreed that I'm a bitch, haven't we?"

"Yeah, we have. That's what happens when brats grow up without a firm hand to guide them. Maybe you still need that firm hand bitch," Robert advised.

"I don't think that will be necessary," contradicted Vincent as he took the phone.

"Who the hell is this?" Bronwyn heard clearly, as Robert began to yell.

"I'm the man who stands between you and Bronwyn," Vincent answered calmly before he disconnected.

Bronwyn smiled at how neatly Vincent had put Robert in his place. She wished she could remain that calm, but she usually lost her temper and ended up slamming down the phone. She was just about to thank him when he turned to face her. Bronwyn recognized the look on his face. It was a look she remembered well. He was furious. Instinctively she braced herself for the blow.

Vincent didn't miss the reaction and that only fueled his anger. "What the hell were you thinking?" Not waiting for her answer he continued. "You were writing down the entire conversation, every insult, every threat!" Flipping through the pad of paper, he added, "There must be thirty calls here, yet you've been acting like it's nothing!"

"It isn't anything," Bronwyn said calmly.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" he roared.

Bronwyn absorbed his anger without making a sound. She knew Vincent continued to yell and storm but she had blocked it out. She no longer heard the words. She had learned that the words weren't important. She watched him carefully as he prowled the room. Her careful attention paid off when he unexpectedly stopped in front of her. She prided herself on the fact that she didn't even flinch.

As Vincent's anger ebbed, he became aware that Bronwyn hadn't moved, hadn't spoken since he first raised his voice. Looking carefully at her now, he could see the tension in her body. Her face, a blank mask revealing nothing, was pale as glass. When he reached out, she took a step back. Vincent winced at the rejection. "Bronwyn?"

Sensing that the worst of Vincent's anger was over Bronwyn finally spoke. "I did what I thought was right. I shouldn't have to apologize for that." With that said, she turned on her heel and left the room.

Vincent hung his head in frustration and swore ripely. Wanting to give them both some time before he groveled for forgiveness, he called Hollywood. They arranged for him to come and get Bronwyn's notes and to bring a clean cell phone. Vincent was going to make certain that Robert couldn't contact her ever again. When he finally joined Bronwyn on the patio, he was calm and quiet.

"I need to apologize for my earlier behavior," he began.

"No you don't," Bronwyn contradicted.

"Yes, I do," Vincent argued. "I can't say I over reacted, because I don't think I did. But I can say that I handled it poorly. I shouldn't have lost my temper." He turned to face her now. "I shouldn't have raised my voice and frightened you." When he reached out to touch her face, Bronwyn took a deliberate step back. "God, please don't do that," Vincent whispered. "Tell me I haven't ruined this." This time Bronwyn held still when he reached out and his hand cupped her face. He laid his lips gently on hers and willed her to forgive him.

"There is nothing to forgive. Really there isn't," Bronwyn answered as she gently pulled away.

"I frightened you."

Bronwyn wanted to deny it. She wanted to be able to say that she wasn't afraid of anyone. But the words wouldn't come.

"I need you to know, to be sure, that I would never hurt you. I would never put my hands on you in anger. I need you to believe that," he pleaded.

"I do," Bronwyn assured him.

"But you weren't sure a few minutes ago. There was a moment or two when you weren't sure at all."

"Ghosts," she murmured so quietly Vincent almost didn't hear her. "Sometimes echoes from my past cause me to misjudge a situation." Covering his hand with hers, she added, "To misjudge people. For this, an apology just isn't enough. But I am sorry."

"So..." Vincent started as he took her hand in his. He weaved his fingers to blend and unite with hers before he continued. "Maybe we both handled it poorly?"

"Yes," Bronwyn agreed. It helped to realize that Vincent was willing to share some of the blame for the argument. He didn't seem the least bit concerned that she had over reacted and had, at the very least, implied an insult. That surprised her. She hadn't known what she expected, but it wasn't a simple heartfelt apology.

I've confused her again, Vincent realized as he watched the emotions play across her eyes. Not her face he noted. Her face was carefully masked. It came so naturally to her that he wondered if she was even aware that she stood disguised. Was she able to recognize fact from fiction? Reality from illusion? He reached out to cup her face in his hands again and wondered. Any words he may have spoken were lost when there was a knock on the door. "That will be Hollywood," he said as he dropped his hands and went inside.

Bronwyn stood and watched for a minute as Vincent let Hollywood in and began briefing him on the phone call and her notes. They were engaged and had temporarily forgotten her presence as she observed from the doorway. The way they talked and communicated spoke of years of friendship and an intimacy that only men seem to understand. Both men looked up as she finally came inside.

"Hey, Bronwyn," Hollywood smiled. "I've got your notes, good job there by the way, and I brought you a clean phone."

"You brought me a what?"

Hollywood looked first at Vincent and then repeated, "A clean phone. One that Robert doesn't know about. One that's off the grid."

Vincent added, "It is a phone that cannot be connected to you by name in any way."

"Whom can it be traced to?"

"No one."

"No one? Like a pay-as-you-go phone?" One look at both of the men had her adding, "Or not. Never mind. I don't need to know. Thanks."

Hollywood smiled again. He could easily see what attracted Vincent. Bronwyn was smart, sexy, and tough. What more could any man want? "I took the liberty of programming in your family and the team. Feel free to add any other numbers you want. Don't give the number out to anyone but family, though. It kind of defeats the purpose of having a clean phone if the number is out there where Robert might be able to get it. Make sense?" Hollywood asked.

"Makes sense," Bronwyn confirmed.

"Alright, then. I'll just leave you two kids to carry on. If you need anything, call."

"I like him," Bronwyn said as the door closed behind him. "He scares the hell out of me, but I like him."

Vincent raised an eyebrow as he responded, "That means...?"

"It means that even though I know he's a soldier," she began, losing her train of thought for a minute when Vincent took both of her hands in his, "a decidedly very scary soldier, he still seems like a really nice guy."

"He is a nice guy," Vincent agreed.

"Is he dating anyone?"

Vincent pulled back abruptly. "What?"

"Is he dating anyone?" Bronwyn repeated. "You know. Going out with? Got his eye on?"

Vincent's brain struggled to catch up. "You want to know if Hollywood is dating anyone."

"Yes."

Vincent studied her before he answered carefully, "Not that I'm aware of."

"Good. Do you think he'd let me fix him up?" she asked excitedly.

"Fix him..." Vincent began. Unexpectedly, clarity came rushing in. "You want to know if I think Hollywood would let you set him up on a date with someone?"

"Yeah."

"And that someone is not you?"

Bronwyn laughed. "No. Definitely not."

If her words had not convinced him, the look on her face would have. She actually looked confused by the concept of a date with Hollywood.

"You thought I meant me," she laughed again. "Seriously. You've seen Hollywood haven't you?" Without waiting for him to answer, she continued, "Men like Hollywood do not go out with women like me."

"No," he whispered as she walked away. "You're the kind of woman men fall in love with."

Chapter 6

On the drive into Another Story the next morning, Vincent finally asked the question he had not the night before. "What's so special about today that Robert would want to celebrate it?" He didn't miss Bronwyn's subtle withdrawal before she answered.

"Sixteen years ago today, was the last time Robert beat me."

Even though he could feel the tension in her body and hear the strain in her voice, Vincent had to continue. "Doesn't that mean this is also the day he was caught and went to prison? Why would Robert want to celebrate that? Why would he want to celebrate the beginning of an eleven-year prison sentence? The loss of the life he had built?"

"You have just uncovered one of the many contradictions of Robert Barrister. He doesn't see this as the anniversary of the day he was arrested. He sees this day as the anniversary of the day he almost succeeded in killing me."

"Jesus," Vincent whispered as he parked the car in the lot. He took his time and collected his thoughts carefully before he spoke again. Bronwyn watched as he fought to cautiously weigh his words. "I want you to know, no I need you to know, that even though I can't begin to understand what you went through as a little girl, I do think I have some idea of how difficult it is for you to talk about it. To talk about it is to live it again."

"Yes," Bronwyn agreed quietly.

Vincent smiled sarcastically. "I understand what it means to live through a traumatic experience and then revisit it again every time you retell it."

"I'm sorry. I should have realized."

"Darling, there is no reason for you to apologize." He paused to stroke her cheek. "You humble me. The strength and courage it took and still takes staggers me." He put a finger to her lips before she could interrupt. "What I am desperately trying to say is that even though I know it is impossible to talk about, even painful, I am still going to be forced, at times, to ask questions. I'm sorry for the pain that will cause you. If there was a way it could all be avoided, please know that I would."

"I know. And I appreciate the thought. Sometimes we just have to play the hand we're dealt."

"Yeah. And sometimes the hand sucks."

Bronwyn laughed and agreed. "Yeah, sometimes it does. The difference lies in what you do with it."

"I couldn't agree more. Let's see what we can do with this."

Vincent was so smooth that Bronwyn never saw it coming. Suddenly his lips were on hers and she had no choice but to respond. The taste of him was more than she remembered and hinted of possession. It was as if he drew everything out of her, emptied her, and then filled her again. The sensation was heady and exhilarating. Vincent pulled his lips from hers and burned a trail of kisses down her neck. The smell of her perfume was strongest there and it played with his senses. "God, I want to touch you," he whispered in desperation "taste you, feel your hands on me." His mouth captured hers, taking them under one last time before he finally let her go. Sitting back again, he considered her for a minute before he spoke. "I've never met a woman who made me want to protect her and rip her clothes off with equal measure."

Bronwyn laughed, "You don't filter your thoughts much, do you?"

"From you, no. Why would I?" He didn't wait for an answer, but continued on. "We should probably go in now before we attract a crowd." Vincent came around the car to open Bronwyn's door. He didn't miss the man leaning against the building, Caucasian, 5'10", 180 pounds, brown and brown, and heavily tattooed. When he opened Bronwyn's car door he was careful to keep himself between Bronwyn and the unknown visitor. A quick scan of the parking lot and street found them alone with the stranger. Here we go Vincent thought as the man pulled away from the building and walked toward them.

As he approached them, he met Vincent's gaze without wavering. "Easy man. Wyn's a friend of mine," he said as he leaned over to kiss her cheek. "So you can dial it down."

Completely oblivious to the tension in the air, Bronwyn greeted her friend, "Hey, Donovan. What's up?"

"Just hoping I can look at some art books, maybe grab some coffee before I go open the shop. I know you're not open yet..."

"I'm always open to you," Bronwyn interrupted. "Donovan, this is Vincent. He's a friend."

"So I noticed." He gestured to the car. "You know those things have windows, right?" he teased.

Vincent held out his hand in introduction as Bronwyn blushed heavily. "Can you blame me?"

"Absolutely not," was Donovan's quick answer. "Thought about it myself a time or two." Looking again at Vincent he added, "Hey man, don't I know you?"

It had already clicked for Vincent. "Yeah. Some friends and I came into your shop about a year and a half ago."

Donovan nodded. "Yeah, Navy SEAL tridents, right?"

"Yeah. Good memory. How do you know Bronwyn?"

Donovan opened the door of Another Story as he answered, "Same way I know you of course."

As they went inside, Vincent put it all together. "You did Bronwyn's tattoo?"

"Yeah."

"I believe that makes you my new best friend."

"I thought I was your best friend," Caveman said as he joined them. "Hey, Donovan, what are you doing here?" he added surprised. Bronwyn watched the two men shake hands and pat each other's backs the way men do. As they went off to get coffee, she made preparations to open for the day. She greeted her staff, walked the rows, and started up the registers before she saw Vincent again.

"He won't tell me."

"I'm sorry," Bronwyn answered distractedly.

"Donovan won't tell me. What your tattoo is. He'll admit he did it personally and that he even has a picture of it in his book. He will not, however, agree to show me the picture or tell me what it is. He won't even tell me where it is. The only thing he will admit to is that it is one of his favorites."

"And I thought he was your new best friend."

"Was. I already had to fire his ass," Vincent corrected.

"Sorry to hear that," Bronwyn said as she unlocked the front door. "Maybe you can make some new friends today."

Vincent leaned in close. "I've already made a new friend but she has to work today."

"Get a room," Donovan yelled from across the store.

"Love to," Vincent answered just as loudly. "What do you say, Bronwyn?"

She stared at him for a full ten seconds before she answered. "Did you just announce to the entire store that you wanted to sleep with me?" she whispered anxiously.

"I don't think he mentioned sleeping," said Donovan as he passed them on the way to the register.

"This isn't happening," Bronwyn whispered again. "You cannot just announce something like that."

"Why not? I assure you no one was surprised by the information."

Bronwyn stared at Vincent in shock and something akin to horror. He seemed completely at ease and not the least bit embarrassed or ashamed.

"I wasn't surprised and I've only known him for ten minutes," said Donovan as he came to say goodbye. "Have a good one darling." He kissed her gently on the cheek. "Vincent, a word outside before I go."

Bronwyn watched them for a minute through the window before she turned on her heel and came face to face with Caveman. "One word. I dare you. One word," she threatened. Caveman held up his hands in mock surrender. With one final glare, Bronwyn quickly walked away. She wasn't quick enough, however, to miss Caveman's laughter ring out loud and strong.

Bronwyn had been so busy all day that she had almost forgotten about Robert's warning. There had been customers to help, deliveries to unbox and shelve, phone calls to make and invoices to organize. She had spent hours on the inventory and books alone, yet she would never complain. In the beginning, she had struggled to keep the wolf from the door. Now her business was successful and she found more time to relax and enjoy it. A bookstore of her own had been one of the few dreams she allowed herself to have as a little girl. She would never take it for granted, nor fail to be grateful. Vincent watched her smile quietly to herself and wondered what she was thinking. He watched the smile fall away when Bronwyn looked up and saw the florist delivery truck.

"What is it?" he asked as he quickly moved to stand beside her.

"Unless I miss my guess, Robert is making his presence known." Her suspicions were confirmed when Jack brought her a long, white florist box tied with a black ribbon. She took it silently and walked back to her office. Vincent followed.

"Close the door, please," she said as he entered behind her. Handing him the box she added, "These should be a dozen long-stem roses, black. There won't be a card, but you can rest assured it's Robert. He sends the same thing every year." With that said, she moved to look out the window, turning her back on Vincent and the flowers.

He examined the outside of the box before gently untying the bow. They were just as Bronwyn had described. Lying in a bed of white tissue paper were twelve roses. Black to represent mourning, or vengeance. The sight of them both angered and frightened Vincent. Black roses were meant to convey strong and callous emotions. Those emotions were directed at Bronwyn. He took a minute to smother the fear that threatened to choke him and then called Poet.

"Poet, Bronwyn just received a dozen roses here at the store. The name of the floral company is Flowers by Joie. I want to know everything about these flowers, ASAP. Everything... Yeah, she's okay. We've got an hour left in the day and then we're headed back to her place... No, no phone calls today, just the flowers. Yeah... Soon. Thanks." He turned back to Bronwyn, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. It's not like I haven't been down this road before. He likes to do this every year just to get a reaction," she said as she returned to her seat.

"Well, he's in for one hell of a reaction this year," Vincent warned. He moved his chair so that he could be near her, touch her as they spoke. It seemed he couldn't have a conversation or even be in the same room with her without the need to touch overwhelming him. He saw no reason not to give in to the need. "Is there anything else that Robert typically does today?"

"There will be a phone call later, to check to see if I received the flowers. Along with the usual vile comments and insults. I think you get the idea."

"I'm beginning to. So it's phone calls four or five times a week and flowers once a year so far, right? Is there anything I'm missing?" His hands held hers in her lap.

"No, that's about it, which forces me to repeat that I could have handled this myself. I don't need a bodyguard."

"Then don't think of me as your bodyguard." He pulled her chair even closer to his so that their feet and knees were tangled together. "Think of me as the man that wants to spend time with you, get to know you better." He kissed her innocently on the cheek. "If I need a title, I can come up with a few. Friend." He kissed her other cheek. "Boyfriend." He kissed her lips. "Or my personal favorite... lover." He kissed her lips again, stretching it out longer this time. When Bronwyn held back he pleaded, "Just let go for a minute and feel. Feel what you make me feel." He could taste her indecision and ruthlessly fought back his own frustration. He kept the kiss slow and deep, drawing out the heat, until he felt her give. Then he took. With his mouth, teeth and tongue he pushed them both to the edge of sanity. His hands molding her to him as his tongue warred with hers. Briefly, his mind recalled that they were behind closed doors. No one would know if they gave in. He could have her, right now. This realization had him pulling her into his lap, pressing heat to heat before he could think clearly. He groaned at the contact and the need became razor sharp. And then reason returned. Slowly, he pulled back just enough to look at her. "I don't think it's possible to communicate just how much I want you right now."

"I think I have some idea. You make my head spin and the rest of me..."

"Not helping darling. I'm trying to remember why making love to you in your office is not a good idea."

It had been months since a man had tempted Bronwyn. Months since she had wondered if there was a man who might accept her, even think she was beautiful. Could Vincent actually look and see who she was and want her any way? Short of that, was there a way to get what they both wanted without the risk? Sure she thought sarcastically, if she could just convince him that he didn't want to see her naked.

"Hey," he ran his fingers through her hair. "Where'd you go?"

With one last wistful thought, she answered, "Nowhere. Just a little reality sinking in, I guess."

"Yeah, had that problem myself." Looking around the small, crowded room he said, "This isn't actually how I pictured it. At the very least, in my fantasy it was just the two of us. We weren't six feet from a very public venue."

"Good to know. I don't think I have any latent exhibitionist's tendencies."

Vincent laughed. "Good, because I don't share."

"Back to work?"

"Yeah, back to work."

Two hours later, Vincent found himself poolside again watching Bronwyn swim her laps. Once again, he had to admire her style. He couldn't help but think, though, that if they were at his place she'd be safer. Almost every apartment in the complex had a view of this pool. That provided too many opportunities for too many people. His pool was safe, isolated, and private. If they were at his place, he could relax a little and actually join her for a swim. Of course, if he joined her, they probably wouldn't be swimming.

Bronwyn let her mind empty as she moved through the water. It had been one hell of a day. She had one man who wanted to terrorize her and one that just wanted her. While she refused to validate Robert's threat by thinking about it too much, Vincent, on the other hand, was another matter. He was the personification of temptation. There had been a moment when she had actually thought it might be possible to take a chance, to take that leap of faith. In hindsight, she was relieved that reason had prevailed. She liked Vincent. He might be the one man who could come close to understanding and relating to her past. Bronwyn had never had that before. She had never told anyone about the most horrific events, the pain, and the fear. She had never told anyone all her secrets. What if she could tell Vincent those things? What if he could listen and recognize the impact such a childhood had on her, continued to have on her? Was she willing to risk losing that for just one night? She swam two extra laps before she had her answer. She couldn't fool herself into thinking that after Vincent saw the truth he would want to maintain any sort of romance. It had been her experience that men just didn't react well to the reality of the situation. It was a lot for her to ask she thought as she pulled herself from the pool. So she just wouldn't ask. She would just keep Vincent at arm's length until the novelty of the chase wore thin. No man faced constant rejection without eventually giving up, not even a man like Vincent Lane. She just had to remember that.

After dinner and a visit from Poet, she was trying to do just that. Even now, she found herself making excuses to hide in the kitchen because she couldn't handle one more look, touch, or provocative statement. And all of these had been made in the presence of Richard. In desperation, she had invited him to dinner knowing Vincent probably wanted to be alone.

"What the hell are you doing?" Richard whispered in exasperation. "You've been jumpy all night and now you're hiding in here."

"I'm not hiding," Bronwyn corrected.

"Liar," Richard accused. "What the hell is going on? As much as I enjoy spending time with you honey, I have to wonder if I'm just interference here." One careful look at Bronwyn told him he was right. Taking her into his arms he whispered, "Why are you so afraid to be alone with Vincent?"

Clinging to him she answered, "I like him."

"And...?"

"And I'm not ready to be rejected."

Leaning back to look at her he asked, "And you're so sure he'll reject you?"

"Seriously? Where have you been the last ten years of my life? I believe we have a well established pattern going here," she finished in exasperation.

"Honey, did it ever occur to you that maybe Vincent doesn't fit the pattern?"

Bronwyn looked at him in consideration and then finally shook her head. "No. So under no circumstances are you to leave me alone with him. Promise?" When Richard hesitated, she poked him in the chest. "Promise."

"Promise. But for the record, I don't think you give Vincent enough credit."

"Duly noted."

As they walked back into the living room, she overheard Vincent on his cell phone, "Yes, we'll be there on Saturday...Yes, the three of us ... Actually there will be four of us in all. I'm bringing someone for you to meet..." Turning, he saw Bronwyn and added, "I think you'll really like her... Gotta go, Mom. See you Saturday." With that said, he disconnected.

"What was that about?" Bronwyn wanted to know.

"There's a barbecue at my parents' house on Saturday."

"Oh, if you have plans I can just hang out with my family on Saturday."

"Or with me," volunteered Richard.

"That won't be necessary," Vincent corrected. "You're coming with us."

"But I wasn't invited," Bronwyn contradicted. "I can't just show up at your parents' house uninvited."

"Don't be ridiculous, darling. My parents are going to be thrilled to meet you."

"Thrilled to meet..." Bronwyn began.

Vincent perversely enjoyed the way she left the thought unfinished and just stood there gaping at him. He came to take her hands in his and bent to kiss her cheek. "Absolutely thrilled," he added, just to watch her pale.

"Um, on that note I think I'll turn in early if you guys don't mind. I didn't really sleep well last night," she lied. With that, she kissed Richard good night and quickly exited.

"I think I just scared the hell out of her," Vincent laughed.

"Yeah, about that," Richard began. "I'm going to have to ask you to give her some space."

Vincent merely raised an eyebrow in response. Richard wasn't sure what that meant, but he didn't figure it could be good. "Starting a relationship is a big risk."

"It's a risk for anyone," Vincent agreed.

"It's a bigger risk for Wyn than most."

"Why?"

"She's failed more times than most." That shocked you, Richard thought as he watched Vincent absorb the information. "I wish you luck, though," he added.

"Really?" Vincent asked skeptically. "Why?"

"I don't know man. There's just something in the way you look at her. I've never seen anyone look at someone like that before." He held out his hand to shake and as Vincent took it, he held on. "But that doesn't mean that I won't make every attempt to kick your ass if you hurt her."

"Understood."

Chapter 7

It wasn't until the next morning at work that Bronwyn thought again about the flowers. The florist had been more than eager to tell Poet about her first order for black roses. She said that a man had placed the phone order three weeks ago and paid by credit card. Poet traced the owner of the credit card back through a series of corporations that eventually led to absolutely nothing. Bronwyn wasn't surprised. Robert had always been very careful never to leave any evidence that could be used against him. One thing did surprise her though. He hadn't called. Why? Why did he choose to break the pattern now, after all these years? Knowing the question wouldn't be answered; she tried to put it out of her mind and focus on work. She managed quite effectively through most of the day until Caveman, followed by Preacher and Poet, walked into her office, and closed the door.

"He's not there," Preacher began.

"Explain," was Vincent's only response.

"I have been monitoring the house for three days. I suspected from the beginning that the house was unoccupied. It just didn't feel lived in, you know? This morning at approximately 0800, I entered the premises and confirmed that the residence is unoccupied. At that time, I called Poet and together we searched the house thoroughly. Every indication suggests that Robert has been gone for quite some time."

Poet continued, "All his clothes and personal items are gone. There is no food left in the house, not in the refrigerator or cupboards. His office is empty, not a single file, receipt or scrap of paper."

"What about his mail or newspaper service?" Vincent wanted to know.

"He must have had them canceled or rerouted because nothing is going to that house."

"Find out which. Canceled or rerouted. Also, find out if he bought or rented anything within a hundred miles of here. My guess, he'll want to stay close. Talk to his friends, neighbors, and coworkers. See what the people who know him know."

"Already started most of that," Preacher reassured him. "Do you want me to continue to watch the house?"

"No. I think that would be a waste of our time and energy at this point. Rig up something remote instead. I want eyes and ears inside that house, ASAP." Turning to Bronwyn he asked, "Is there anything that you can think of that might help us?"

"Yeah, maybe. Robert would never rent. That would be slumming and Robert doesn't slum. Concentrate on the more upscale neighborhoods, new construction if you can. He would like the idea of something brand new and modern. An exclusive, gated community would probably be his first choice." Looking up at the men she asked, "Does that help?"

Preacher smiled, "Yeah that helps. Thanks."

"See what information you can dig up. Talk to as many people as you can today and report back at 1800 hours. Let's get everybody together at Bronwyn's."

As Vincent walked his men out Bronwyn was left alone with her thoughts. Years before she had reconciled herself with the fact that Robert had moved to town within months of her opening her bookstore. She had also managed to accept the fact that he had apparently created a new and successful life for himself after prison. It wasn't an ideal situation but he stayed on his side of town and she stayed on hers. She had always felt perversely at ease with the unofficial arrangement. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Isn't that what they said? But now, how was she supposed to deal with this? How did she live with the unknown?

"How are you doing, darling?" Vincent pulled his chair close to study her face. Absently she realized that he did that often. He always seemed to be sitting closer, looking longer and touching more than was necessary. "You seemed a little taken aback."

"I was. I don't think I ever thought he would just pick up and move." She looked at him with obvious confusion shining in her eyes. "What does it mean?"

Vincent took a deep breath before he answered. "We'll know more once the guys have had a chance to ask some questions. If I had to hazard a guess right now, though, I would say that he planned everything. He relocated before he started the calls." He paused for another deep breath because the last part would be hardest to say. "He relocated so that he could execute his plan, his entire plan, without interference." He watched her face carefully as she processed the information and knew the precise moment when she understood. He would have spared her that, if he could.

"This is only the beginning."

"Yeah." He pulled her into his arms and just held on.

By five forty-five, the men started to arrive. "What is that heavenly smell?" Hollywood wanted to know.

"That would be dinner," Bronwyn called out. She looked up as Hollywood walked into the kitchen.

"That's a salad," he said accusingly. "I smell more than salad."

"What you smell is lasagna and garlic bread."

He watched as Bronwyn removed both from the oven. "Vincent," he called out, "We have to talk." Vincent and the rest of the team joined them in the kitchen. "She cooks," Hollywood began. "She's intelligent, sexy, and brave as hell. I'll fight you for her," he challenged.

"You'd lose," was Vincent's immediate response.

"But she made lasagna, from scratch," he pleaded. "Do you have any idea how rare that is?"

"Don't know. Don't care. Not my problem," was Vincent's only answer. For added insult, and his own pleasure, he kissed Bronwyn soundly on the lips.

"That's just cruel," Hollywood complained as he left the room. Bronwyn was saved any response by the arrival of her family. By tacit agreement, they all settled down to dinner. The conversation seemed to flow naturally from topic to topic with no mention of what brought them all together. Bronwyn found herself watching and enjoying the blending of such diverse people. The chef, businessman, two retired teachers, and five former Navy SEALs. It shouldn't work, but it did. She watched as Caveman struggled with his manners and language, clearly intimidated by her aunt. Hollywood and Poet wanted to know about Laura's restaurant. Michael and Vincent were talking about the struggles of running your own business. Even Preacher and her uncle were talking about setting up a date to play golf. It looked and felt like a normal dinner party. The eye of their particular storm. She had to smile as she stood to begin collecting empty plates and every man in the room stood, too.

"Oh, no you don't," said Vincent as he took the plates from her hands. "You cooked. The guys will clean."

"Don't be silly. They're guests in my home. I thought we went over this before. Guests don't clean."

"They're not guests. They're friends. Friends can and do help clean when someone has gone to the trouble of preparing them a fabulous meal."

"Well, what am I supposed to do then?"

Preacher answered, "Say thank you."

Bronwyn smiled, "Thank you."

"It's more than a fair trade," answered Poet as the men made short work of clearing the dishes.

"I'll just go and supervise," explained Kim.

"Just supervise," Vincent called out as she left the room.

After the dishwasher was filled and coffee and desert were served, it was time to discuss the latest development. Everyone looked to Vincent as he began to speak.

"I'm just going to get straight to the point. Robert has made an unpredictable move. He is no longer living in his house on Heritage Avenue. He still owns the property, but has not lived there for approximately one month."

"What? If he's not there then where is he?" Jacob demanded.

"As of right now, we don't know," answered Poet.

"What do you mean, you don't know?" yelled Jacob. "My family's safety depends on knowing where Robert is at all times!" He stood and began pacing angrily. Vincent now knew where Bronwyn had learned that particular skill. "If we don't know where Robert is, then we need to go somewhere, get away from here, and hide until you find him."

"No," contradicted both Preacher and Vincent. "We can and will keep you and your family protected," Preacher continued. "And the most effective way for us to do that is to keep you right here where our resources are greatest."

"If you try and run and hide, you risk making yourselves vulnerable," added Hollywood.

"You could potentially expose your family to even more danger," acknowledged Caveman.

Jacob stood motionless now, weighing their words and his choices. Vincent could see the uncertainty on his face. It was a hell of a choice for anyone to have to make. Jacob's decision for his family wouldn't however change Vincent's. "I won't risk Bronwyn," he challenged. "She stays with me."

"Now wait a minute," Jacob began. "I hired you..."

"This stopped being about a job," he countered. "I will not put Bronwyn at risk." The two men stood facing each other, each trying to measure the other's resolve. Whatever Jacob searched for in Vincent, he must have found, because at length he acquiesced. "We'll all stay. You promise you'll do everything in your power to keep my family safe?"

"You have my word." With one final hard look at Vincent, Jacob returned to his seat next to his wife.

"Now that you've both had a chance to flex your muscles I feel compelled to point out the obvious," Bronwyn interrupted. "There is only one person in this room that makes decisions about what I will and will not do. Neither of you are that person." Both men tried to interrupt and Bronwyn simply held up her hand to stop them. "For the record, not that either of you asked, I don't run and hide. Not from Robert. Not from anyone. I stand."

"Hooyah," cheered both Preacher and Caveman.

There was a long, awkward silence before Vincent asked Preacher to continue briefing Bronwyn's family. Making a quick apology for them both, he ushered Bronwyn from the room, down the hall and into the bathroom.

"What the hell are you doing? Have you lost your mind?" Bronwyn demanded in a hushed whisper.

"I needed to talk to you," Vincent replied. "It couldn't wait."

"It sure as hell can," Bronwyn disagreed. She reached for the door only to have Vincent turn and lean on it.

"You're angry."

"You're quick. Now I see why they call you Einstein." She turned to pace only to be brought up short by the confines of the room. She wanted to scream. How dare this man drag her from the room like he had the right! Turning, she gave him a scathing look that left him in no doubt of exactly how she felt. Not trusting herself to maintain civility, she said through clinched teeth, "Speak."

"I couldn't let you go with Jacob."

"Got that. Everybody got that. Thanks."

"I guess I lacked subtlety." Bronwyn's only response was to continue to glare at him. Lowering his head, he admitted quietly, "I'm sorry. I panicked."

"Fuck that! You're a SEAL! You guys are incapable of panic." Once again, she turned and came up short. She growled in frustration this time. "I want out of this room, now."

Vincent took a chance and reached out for her. He held on when she tried to shake him. "If I let you leave, which I can't, and something happened to you... I couldn't deal with that." He pulled her close to lean against him.

Unsure of what to say, Bronwyn opted for reassurance. "I'm not going anywhere." She touched his face and was surprised when he used one of his hands to hold hers in place. "I should warn you, though, that you did make one critical error."

Vincent abruptly stopped on his way to lowering his lips to hers. "What error?"

"You implied that your association with me is no longer a job."

"As I recall, I didn't imply it. I said it outright. And trust me when I say my feelings for you have evolved far beyond what your uncle originally had in mind."

"I believe you sent that message loud and clear."

"Good." Finally, he lowered his lips to hers. One long, slow, wet kiss and he pulled her into him. As she yielded and opened to him, he slid his tongue inside to taste and arouse. She moaned as he slid his hands up her back and buried them in her hair. Reluctantly, he felt her pull away.

"I believe we're in the middle of a dinner party." Her voice sounded strange and husky to her ears. "And I believe you've still got questions to answer."

Keeping her firmly pressed against him he asked, "What questions?"

"My guess? My uncle will want to know your intentions."

"Considering the ultimatum I just delivered, I would say he's entitled," Vincent agreed as he took her hand and began to lead them down the hall.

The next two hours were spent discussing the potential locations, actions, and motives of Robert Barrister. Everyone had theories and suggestions. Jacob was able to provide insight into his brother's habits and routines. They were fortunate he knew more about his brother than he had originally revealed. At the end of the evening, a course of action had been set. As part of this plan, Preacher would temporarily move in with Laura and Michael. Poet would team up with Kim and Jacob. Caveman, as well as Hollywood now, would continue to join Vincent and Bronwyn at Another Story every day. The men would check in with Vincent at regular intervals throughout the day and night. The entire group would also meet again Sunday. It was a solid arrangement. It left Robert with little to no access to his family.

Preacher, Laura and Michael were the first to leave. Caveman and Poet walked them out. As soon as the door closed behind them, Jacob turned to Vincent. "I'll have a word with you before I go." Bronwyn could only stand and watch as the men moved to the patio for privacy.

Later, after everyone had gone she couldn't keep herself from asking, "I hope Uncle Jacob wasn't too hard on you?"

"No, not at all. Actually, he behaved just as you said he would. He asked me about my feelings for you. Given my answer, he also asked what my intentions are." He waited for her to comment and when she didn't he asked, "Would you like to know what I told him?"

"No. I don't think so."

"Really?"

"It's been kind of a full day already. Information like that just might send me over the edge." When his cell phone began to ring, she used it as the excuse she needed. "That should be the guys beginning to report in now. I'll just leave you to your calls. See you in the morning. Goodnight."

"Goodnight Bronwyn. Pleasant dreams."

Chapter 8

She knew it was a dream, even as it unfolded. Even as she felt the pain and shock of the blows, she was not, she reassured herself, at the mercy of Robert Barrister. She was not ten years old again, helpless, trying in vain to defend herself against a monster. She was twenty-six, wasn't she? As Robert grabbed her arm, she remembered what came next in this particular nightmare. She opened her mouth to scream and woke with a jolt. It took reality a minute or two to register. She was drenched in sweat, nauseous and her head was pounding. She lay still for another minute trying to level her system. At least she had managed to cling to some shred of dignity and had not actually screamed and woken Vincent. She could just picture that little scene. Silently, she eased out of bed and made her way to the kitchen. She was angry to discover that she wasn't quite steady on her feet. Ginger ale and aspirin were her standard treatment, preferably before her head fell off. She didn't bother with the lights. Having lived in the same apartment for three years meant she could easily navigate in the dark. She had just reached for a glass when she felt she wasn't alone. Even knowing, she jumped at the sound of his voice.

"Bronwyn, are you alright?" Vincent asked. He could feel emotions pouring off of her that he couldn't quite identify. He moved closer, hoping to understand.

"I'm fine. It's just a headache. I didn't mean to wake you." She turned to the refrigerator to find the ginger ale she knew would be buried in the back for just such emergencies as this. She didn't dare look at Vincent. It hadn't taken her long to realize he saw much more than others. This was not something she wanted to discuss.

Vincent studied her as she very carefully poured and took two aspirin from a bottle in the cupboard. Her movements were calculated and measured. And she was avoiding looking at him. "Nightmare?" he asked quietly.

She took one last sip before she answered, "Memory." Finally, she turned and immediately wished she hadn't. He stood there in her kitchen wearing nothing but a pair of jeans. 'Damn' was all she could think. Time to go now. She tried to move past him, but came up short when his arm came out to block her.

"Bronwyn," Vincent whispered. His hand moved to her shoulder to gently rotate her to face him. He held her steady and leaned close to consider her in the dim light. He could see her pain now. It was in the way she stood rigid before him, the way she tensed when he touched her and in the way she tried to hide her eyes. "Memories can reach out when you least expect them."

"Yeah."

Without another word, he pulled her into his arms. When she remained unyielding he whispered, "We're the only two here. If you lean on me no one will know." He felt her give a little and added, "You don't have to be strong all the time." When her arms finally came around him, he smiled to himself and pulled her close. They stood there together, both drawing comfort from the other. Vincent wasn't sure at what point things began to change. What began as comfort became much more. His hands that held moved to caress. When her body stretched and arched in response, he could feel his heart begin to race. There was one flicker of reason that he might be taking advantage of the situation before he grabbed a handful of her hair, pulled her head back, and crushed his mouth to hers. There was no hesitation, no subtle exploration. This kiss was possessive and demanding. With tongue and teeth, he tempted them both. Vincent drew from her passions that she hadn't known she possessed. She was the first to groan as her hands moved over him. They both fought to touch, taste, and feel. Abruptly, Vincent lifted her and sat her on the edge of the kitchen island. She wrapped her legs around him as he moved into her. Tearing his lips from hers he whispered, "Closer" as he grabbed her hips, pulling her tight against him. He heard her breath catch at the unexpected intimacy. The sound had him fighting desperately for some measure of restraint even as his hands searched for the edge of her short nightgown. "I want to see you," he whispered. "I want to see my hands on you." He pushed down one of the thin straps to feast on her shoulder. "Let me see you," he whispered desperately. "Let me have you." Lifting her slightly he was able to raise the nightgown to her waist. When his hands skimmed her waist and met skin for the first time, her muscles quivered. Her reaction thrilled him. Vincent made a mental note to exploit the vulnerability as soon and as often as possible. As his hands moved to her back she became desperate.

"Wait." Pushing his hands away, she repeated more firmly, "Wait a minute."

"I want you," he persuaded, his mouth moving against hers. With one hand, he caressed her hip and caused her to quiver again. He smiled. "You want me."

When his hands moved again, she became urgent. "No," she whispered.

"I bet I can make you say yes," Vincent teased.

"No," she repeated more firmly. "I think I should just go now." Pushing his hands away, she tried to jump down from the island. He moved quickly to block her. "I want to go now," she repeated.

Confused, Vincent tried to reason with her. "What's wrong?" She wasn't looking at him. He needed to see her eyes. Everything Bronwyn thought and felt he could read in her eyes. He reached out to lift her face to his.

Bronwyn surprised them both when she shoved him away and crawled backwards across the kitchen island. "Just let me go." It was then that Vincent heard the fear, the panic in her voice.

"What the hell?" he asked as he reached out again.

Bronwyn backed further away. "Please, just let me go." Her voice was pleading now. While Vincent didn't understand the reasoning behind it, he knew authentic fear. Sometime in the last five minutes, Bronwyn had gone from aroused to terrified.

"Bronwyn?" Concerned, he started to step toward her, only to have her tense at the proximity. Hands in the air he took one exaggerated step backwards instead. "Something's wrong. I can feel it."

Fighting back the tears, she silently shook her head. "Just let me go, please." The look on his face was nearly her undoing as she waited for his decision. She was hurting him. That made the entire situation worse. Much worse. "I can't talk about this," she whispered. "If I talk about this, it will change everything." Her tears fell unchecked now, slicing at him, making him feel helpless.

"How?"

She sat silent and still for such a long time that Vincent was certain she wouldn't answer him. "It would shatter the illusion."

"Fuck the illusion," he hissed.

"I can't."

"Why?" he persisted.

"Because it already matters." Vincent could see she was starting to shake. The pain she was holding in was threatening to tear her apart and he stood powerless to stop it. He wanted to scream...to tear down the walls between them... to make love to her... to show her it was the woman not the illusion he was falling in love with. He did none of these things though. Instead, he stepped aside and watched her leave.

Vincent sat at the little patio bistro table watching the sunrise, his untouched coffee for company. His body and heart ached from his encounter with Bronwyn. And his mind was racing. He kept playing it over and over trying to analyze it. The problem was he couldn't separate the facts from the pain. She had stripped him bare and driven him to desperation. Vincent had reveled in it. Never before had he felt anything close to what she made him feel. Then she had devastated him. The pain choked and infuriated him. It had always been easy for him to keep his relationships and feelings casual and, he had to admit to himself, shallow. With Bronwyn, it was different. She demanded so much more. She demanded everything. And she wasn't even aware of it. Vincent had been prepared to meet those demands. So where did it all go wrong? What had he done to compel her from passion to fear? He had felt her need, tasted it. There was no denying that they both had been equal partners in their desire for one another. He vividly remembered the way her body felt as it moved against him, pressed against him. When she wrapped her legs around him, it had taken every ounce of self-control not to take her right there, to finish it. She hadn't been frightened then. He was certain of it. He began to pace as he replayed the scene in his mind. It wasn't until he reached for her nightgown that she became agitated and distressed. Right? And why had agitation flared into terror? There was a definitive reason. Bronwyn had admitted that much. But why wouldn't she tell him? What could be so horrible that it would shatter her precious illusion if people knew? What could be so fucking important that...? He stopped abruptly when only one thought came to mind. He dismissed it almost immediately. No. It wasn't possible. As if mocking him, Bronwyn's words haunted him. 'If I talk about this, it will change everything.' He couldn't be right. To try to live with something like that would be unbearable. He resumed pacing as his imagination played havoc with his emotions. It didn't take him long to admit he had to know. He couldn't live wondering, dreading the truth. Without giving himself a chance to hesitate, he rushed inside to find Bronwyn just coming into the room. She had pulled on a robe and was just closing it when she looked up.

Taking one look at his face, she immediately asked, "What's wrong? What's happened?"

Distracted by the thoughts in his head, he considered her for a moment. Just now, she managed to look both vulnerable and undeniably powerful. It couldn't be true. Could it? He had to know. "I have to ask one of those hard questions," he began.

"Okay," she answered. He appeared edgy and apprehensive. Whatever this was, it was making him miserable. "Just ask it."

"I know you suffered unspeakably at the hands of your father."

"I haven't considered Robert Barrister my father for quite some time," Bronwyn corrected. "Just ask the question, Vincent. Hesitating only adds to the grief."

"Were you just physically abused?"

She raised one eyebrow, looking at him skeptically. "Just?"

"You know what I mean." Even now, he didn't want to say it.

"No, Vincent. I don't know what you mean. Perhaps you should spell it out for me instead of just hinting at it."

"Were you sexually abused as a child?" He watched her flinch and pale at his words.

"Is that what you think?"

"It's what scares me to death," he answered honestly.

"Then let me relieve your fears. The answer to your question is no."

"Honestly?"

"I don't lie. I may choose to keep my secrets to myself. That does not automatically make me a liar." She ended the last statement standing close with her finger jabbing him in the chest.

Ironically, it was her anger that convinced him of her sincerity. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to imply that you were a liar. I only meant to ask if you would hide this from me."

"I don't know if I would or not. I've had no experience with this. If I had to guess, I would say yes I would hide this from you, but I didn't because it never happened."

Vincent actually smiled. "I don't know if I should be relieved or pissed."

"That's up to you," she said as she backed away.

"Then I choose relieved," Vincent decided.

"Me too. I thank fate for small favors all the time." Vincent shook his head in response to that.

"What?"

"You amaze me. You're not angry or bitter, even though you have every right to be."

"Being bitter or angry wouldn't change anything, Vincent. It just is what it is. I try and remember that."

Chapter 9

Bronwyn was determined to relax and enjoy the day. It really wasn't that hard. Caveman and Hollywood were excellent company on the drive. It was fun to watch the connection between them. These men, who were technically unrelated, seemed closer than any brothers she had even known. There were stories about Hell Week, worst girlfriends and craziest things they had ever done. Bronwyn laughed until her sides ached. It wasn't until they arrived that she remembered she was about to meet Vincent's parents. Suddenly she was nervous and fidgety.

"Relax," Vincent suggested. He watched her there in the sunshine realizing for the first time that day how lovely she looked. She had opted for a soft summer skirt that skimmed her knees and a fitted t-shirt again. Both were a ruby red that was somehow simple but stunning. On her feet, she wore sexy red sandals. "My family is really going to love you."

"Man. I don't think that's helping here," cautioned Hollywood. "Maybe you should just hold her hand and keep the suggestions to a minimum."

Bronwyn only had a quick glimpse of the exterior of the house. That's all it took to realize Vincent came from very impressive money. Interesting, Bronwyn thought. As they walked around the house to the backyard, she forgot about the house. What she had pictured as a simple barbecue with Vincent's parents was in reality a party of approximately one hundred people.

"This is a family barbecue?" Bronwyn hissed as she turned to Vincent.

"Yeah," Vincent answered completely ignoring her tone of voice. "We're celebrating my mom's birthday so most of the family came." She was glaring at him now. Vincent smiled broadly. "This is great. You'll be able to meet almost everyone at once." Pulling her along behind him, he moved toward the largest crowd of people.

"I'm sorry to report to you," she whispered to Hollywood and Caveman, "I'm going to have to kick your friend's ass for this." Both men were smiling as they began the round of introductions.

It took a full hour and countless new faces before Vincent was able to work their way through the crowd. Taking her by the hand again he said, "It's time you met my parents." Bronwyn had no time to react before Vincent was already making the introductions. "Mom. Dad. I'd like you to meet Bronwyn. Bronwyn Barrister."

"Dr. McGregor?" Bronwyn was stunned.

"Bronwyn. When Vincent said he was bringing someone for me to meet, I wondered if it would be you. It's good to see you."

"Hey, time out," interrupted Caveman. "How do you two know each other?"

There was a pause as the men instinctively turned to Bronwyn for the answer. It only took her a second to decide to admit the truth. "Dr. McGregor is one of my surgeons. She's known me since I was a little girl."

"When you were ten," Vincent realized.

"Yes," Bronwyn confirmed.

"You must call me Mac. There are no doctors and patients here today. And this is my husband Peter," Mac said as she introduced the man standing with her. Trying to fill the awkward silence, she immediately launched into small talk. Bronwyn was paying little attention. Instead, she was keenly aware that Vincent had not spoken a single word since the introductions.

"Hey guys, why don't we get you some drinks?" Peter suggested.

"Yeah. And we should help," volunteered Hollywood. "Wine, Bronwyn?" When she shook her head, he hastily followed the others, leaving Bronwyn alone with Vincent.

Vincent moved in close so that their bodies lightly brushed. He rested his hand intimately at the small of her back. "I've got questions," he whispered into her ear. "I know they have to wait. I just need to know one thing right now. Are you okay? If being here, seeing my mother, brings up too many memories, we can go."

Bronwyn was stunned by his sensitivity and thoughtfulness. She pulled his head closer to whisper in return, "Thanks. I think that's the nicest thing anyone has ever offered to do for me. I'd like to stay though. I like your mom. She's always been nice to me."

"If you change your mind, the offer stands," Vincent reassured her.

Bronwyn laid her hand briefly on his cheek. "I'm okay, really. Stop worrying."

"You want him to stop worrying about you?" Caveman asked as they returned. "Not going to happen." He handed Vincent a beer and once again asked, "Bronwyn, are you sure you don't want anything? A glass of wine? Cocktail? Beer?"

"No thanks. I don't drink."

With his beer halfway to his lips, Hollywood paused. "Ever?"

"No. Never." When the men stared at her in stunned silence, she explained. "It's just one of those echoes from my past."

"Robert was a drinker," Vincent concluded.

"Not in the traditional sense." She hesitated, trying to find the right words. "Robert used alcohol as a sort of celebration. A reward for a job well done. Unfortunately, beating me until I couldn't stand was typically the job he was celebrating." Bronwyn wasn't sure why she was admitting any of this. She never had before. Trapped now though, she finished it out. "I can still remember what it was like. He would pour his drink, pull up a chair, and just watch me as I lay there on the floor. Sometimes it was beer, sometimes wine, whatever. Sometimes it was one drink. Other times it was two or three. I don't think it was really about the drink, though. It was about the ritual."

"Bronwyn," Mac called. "Come here. There's someone I want you to meet."

"Excuse me," Bronwyn said as she left them standing in dazed silence.

"Jesus," Caveman muttered.

"That stays here, gentleman," Vincent insisted. "Now, if you'll excuse me."

Hollywood watched as Vincent threw away his untouched beer before joining Bronwyn. By silent agreement, he and Caveman did the same. "How can anyone live through that and still be so...?"

"Normal?" Caveman finished.

"Yeah."

"I don't know." Caveman watched Vincent and Bronwyn together. He was always touching her. Her arm, the small of her back, her face. He wondered if Vincent knew that. "He's in love with her, you know."

Hollywood watched them too. "Yeah, I know. Lucky bastard."

As they sat down to dinner an hour later, Bronwyn confessed. "I think I'm going to adopt your grandmother. Just thought you should know."

Vincent laughed. "She's certainly taken with you. You're beautiful, intelligent and speak Gaelic. The kind of girl her husband married. She said I'd be an idiot if I let you get away." He leaned over to gently kiss her cheek. "I assured her I'm not an idiot."

"Alright, break it up," Hollywood teased as he joined them. "And move over woman and give a man some room." Bronwyn shifted to accommodate both Hollywood and Caveman at the old-fashioned picnic table. They were crowded together, elbows and knees bumping. She was also pressed up against Vincent, hip to knee, but it wasn't so bad. It was actually kind of nice. Joined by Vincent's parents they spent the meal talking about books, food, and the merits and criticisms of The Bourne Ultimatum. Vincent watched as Bronwyn relaxed degree by precious degree. She was joking and laughing with everyone and snuggled up next to him. He kept her there as the table was cleared and his mother began opening her presents.

"I wish you had told me it was your mother's birthday. I would have gotten her a gift," she admonished quietly.

"It's fine, darling. I assure you, a gift wasn't necessary."

"On the contrary," Mac interrupted. "There is something I have wanted from Bronwyn for years."

"There is?" Bronwyn asked. "What?"

"A song."

"A song? You want a song from me?"

"Yes," smiled Mac. "I've known you for more than ten years and I have never heard you sing. I think a song would make an excellent birthday present."

Bronwyn smiled in return. "I think I may be able to accommodate you there." Reaching out she picked up the ukulele that had accompanied one of Mac's gifts. She pulled away from Vincent a little to give herself room. When she began to play an unconventional interpretation of Somewhere Over the Rainbow, the entire table became silent. Her voice was clear and captivating. The message so pure his mother's eyes filled with tears.

"Let me be the first to say. That was definitely worth the wait," said Mac as the song came to an end. Wiping her eyes, she added, "And you chose not to attend Julliard? Do you mind if I ask why? I would think you could have made an excellent career with a voice like yours."

Bronwyn returned the ukulele to its box before she answered. No one missed the fact that Vincent drew her close again as she spoke. "There has always been music in my life. At times, it has been my passion, my link to sanity, my salvation. I don't see how I could ever reduce it to mere dollars and cents."

"So what do you do with your music?" Caveman wanted to know.

"I enjoy it. I sing and play when and for whom I want. No rules. No limitations."

"No limitations. I like the sound of that," agreed Hollywood.

As the conversation turned to other things, Vincent suggested a walk through the gardens and a tour of the house. It was just an excuse for him to be alone with her. He wanted a few minutes when he didn't have to share her with everyone. So he showed her his dad's prize roses and the house he grew up in. As they walked into the solarium, he watched her face. Somehow, he had known she would love this room most.

"Wow," she said almost reverently. "It's beautiful." Watching her walk the room in the fading sunlight Vincent felt his heart suddenly skip a beat. This was Bronwyn without the walls, without the masks and illusions. This was the woman she was when she wasn't pretending.

"No limitations," he whispered.

"Do you know what I would add to this room if it were mine?"

"No. What would you add?"

"A grand piano, just there," she pointed. "That way I could play and enjoy the gardens outside the window."

"The best of both worlds," Vincent agreed.

"Exactly."

When he started towards her, she tried to back away. Vincent was quicker. "Oh, no you don't."

"But we should get back," she stammered.

"In a minute. There is just something I have to do first." With that, he lowered his lips to hers. This kiss was something new. It wasn't heat and desperation he felt now as he held her in his arms. This was seduction, slow and thorough. The warmth of it spread through him. It was intoxicating. He could have stood there for hours just kissing her. Learning the texture and flavor of her. But once again, his timing was flawed. Reluctantly, he pulled back. It eased his regret to see that Bronwyn looked as stunned as he felt.

"Um. That was..." she began.

"No walls, darling. No limitations." He said it calmly without even a hint of apprehension, when in reality she had shaken him. He had expected the passion and heat, even the seduction. He had not expected the raw, undeniable need that had reached up to claw at him. He was equally surprised to find it took considerable effort on his part to suppress it now as they rejoined his family.

It was after midnight when they reached Bronwyn's door. She had really enjoyed the day with the guys and Vincent's family. It had been full of surprises and unexpected pleasures. She said as much to Vincent as they stood under her porch light.

Vincent smiled in response. "I'm pleased you enjoyed yourself." He took her hands lightly in his. "It means a lot to me that you like my family. And they all certainly loved you, especially my grandmother. She has requested that I bring you to visit her as soon as possible."

"I'd like that."

"Then we'll have to plan a trip," he bent to kiss her in the soft light. "Soon." As she moved to open the door, he abruptly pulled her hand back. "Don't." She turned to ask why and was startled by the transformation. The man she spent the day with was gone. A soldier stood in his place. After a quick examination of her front door, he took out his cell phone.

"We've had company," was all he said before he disconnected. He examined the door one last time before he directed his attention to Bronwyn. "Someone entered your apartment after we left today."

"Are you sure?" she asked but then quickly answered the question for herself. "Of course, you're sure." She too turned to look at the door.

"Does anyone else have keys to this place? Friends, family, old boyfriends?" Vincent sweated over the answer to the last question.

"No, no one. No keys to friends or family. I have this thing about privacy."

"What about old boyfriends?" he repeated.

"I never give my key to men," Bronwyn answered distractedly. She missed Vincent's obvious interest and delight in her response. As Caveman and Hollywood hurried up the outside stairs, the men quickly organized. Vincent and Hollywood would search the apartment and Caveman would wait outside with Bronwyn. Before going in Vincent pulled Caveman aside and Hollywood used a handkerchief to loosen the bulbs in the exterior lighting, plunging them all into near complete darkness. Caveman pulled Bronwyn into the darkest corner furthest from the door and stairs. Placing her body behind his he made the perfect human shield. The entire situation was surreal and more than a little creepy. Bronwyn didn't know how long they stood there but she was thrilled to see her apartment door finally open, light spilling out around Vincent's silhouette. He held out his hand for her. Taking it, Bronwyn left Caveman and followed Vincent in.

"The police will be here in about twenty minutes," reported Hollywood as he slid his cell phone into his back pocket.

"Police?" Bronwyn asked. "Is that necessary?" This she directed at Vincent.

"Yeah darling. I'm afraid it is."

Slowly, Bronwyn began to search her apartment. Her laptop was missing from the kitchen table. "Damn," she muttered as she continued. At first, her living room seemed untouched, until she looked carefully. Walking over to the glass fronted bookcases that lined one wall she peered inside. Instinctively, she reached out.

Vincent's hand stopped her. "Careful darling. We can't touch anything yet."

With a silent nod, she settled for looking through the doors of each case. What she saw confused her. While her expensive stereo components were untouched, her CDs, DVDs, and books were missing, as well as a few framed photos. "What the fuck?" she asked no one in particular. Without expecting an answer, she began to move quickly through the rest of her apartment. A quick look into the guest room showed Vincent's things were still intact. Then she stepped into her own room and was simply astounded. The closet doors and dresser drawers remained open as if to emphasize their emptiness. The IPod she always kept beside her bed was absent. Her guitar and violin stands stood empty. One step into the adjoining bathroom showed a distressingly similar state. All personal items had been removed. Standing in the doorway she looked back into her bedroom and realized every photo was missing here, too. Everything that had been uniquely hers had been taken, while the rest of her apartment remained untouched. What the hell was that supposed to mean? Vincent saw her pale with understanding. Looking at the men gathered around her she whispered, "This was personal. Directed specifically at me. Targeted to hurt me." She studied them carefully and saw the answer in their faces. "This wasn't a random break in."

Vincent moved to pull her into his arms, to soothe. "No darling, it wasn't random. This is an attempt to scare you. To hurt you."

"Well, it's working," Bronwyn confirmed as she wrapped her arms around his waist, rested her head on his shoulder, and closed her eyes. Vincent offered her the physical and emotional support she needed even as he caught the eyes of his men. They recognized the expression, barely contained fury.

When a knock sounded on the door a few minutes later, both Caveman and Hollywood went to let the police in.

Vincent held Bronwyn's face in his hands and said, "The next little while is going to be hard, darling. I want to remind you that I'm here. You are not alone in this. Okay?"

"I know, and thanks." She kissed him softly on the lips. "In case I forget to thank you later," she said as way of explanation. As they left the room hand in hand, she asked quietly.

"Could you do me one favor while I talk to the police?"

"Absolutely anything," Vincent replied without hesitation.

Bronwyn smiled faintly up at him. "Could you have one of the guys check on my family? I know it's silly, but I would feel better if I knew for sure. I don't want them to wake them up or anything but..."

Vincent interrupted, "I'll have them call right now."

"Thanks."

That's the image the police saw when they first came into the room. A small, vulnerable, almost fragile woman and the man who stood like an avenging angel by her side. It took hours to go through it all. Bronwyn had to identify as many of the missing items as she could, officers dusted for fingerprints and everyone's statement was taken. When Bronwyn was asked if she knew of anyone who could have done this she just froze. It had been Vincent who stepped in to give the details of the last few weeks. It had been Vincent who gave the officers contact information where he and Bronwyn could be reached. And when it was all over at four o'clock in the morning, it had been Vincent who ushered a now silent Bronwyn into his car. Thirty minutes later, they were standing in his bedroom. She was worrying him. He had watched her in a room full of people just disappear, retreat behind the safety of her walls, become untouchable. While it was impressive, it scared the hell out of him. He had given her one of his shirts to wear to bed and pointed her toward the bathroom to change. She hadn't even thought of questioning his intent, but simply obeyed. When she came back in the room a few minutes later he ruthlessly ignored the desire that rushed through him. "Timing sucks," he muttered as he turned down the bed. "Come here, darling. It's late. We both need some sleep." Vincent tucked her in as gently as a child. It wasn't until he went to the other side of the bed and began to undress that Bronwyn reacted.

"What are you doing?"

"Coming to bed," Vincent answered as he made short work of his clothes. He stood there in just his underwear as he looked at her. He almost smiled when he saw the fire in her eyes.

"Here?" she asked incredulously.

"Well, it is my bed," he challenged.

"Your b...?" she started. "You put me in your bed?"

"Yes. It's where you belong." Vincent turned off the light and quickly joined her before she could process the information. Anticipating her reaction, he grabbed her before she could rise. "Listen," he began as she struggled. Gently shaking her to get her attention, he repeated, "Listen." When she stilled, he continued. "You're upset and exhausted. And rightly so. I'm exhausted as well. Despite that exhaustion I can tell you with absolute certainty I will not sleep at all if I have to sleep without you, without touching you and knowing you're safe." He watched her eyes in the dim light of the full moon. "You need to be held. I need to be the man that holds you," he pleaded. With that last statement, her eyes filled with tears and she just broke. Vincent gathered her into his arms pulling her tight against him. There were no words of sympathy he could offer in a situation such as this, so he didn't. He just held on as the grief washed over them both. He was still holding her an hour later as the grief was overtaken by weariness. She made a halfhearted attempt to pull away. Vincent refused to yield as they both drifted off.

Chapter 10

Vincent wasn't sure what time it was when he heard the door quietly open, pause and then just as quietly shut again. He did know it was Laura, Bronwyn's sister, in the hallway talking to Beckett, his butler.

"You can see she's perfectly safe," Beckett reassured her. "I really wish you wouldn't wake them. They've only had a few hours sleep," he whispered.

"No. I don't need to wake them. I just needed to see her. I needed to see for myself that she was okay. We'll give them until noon and then I think everyone is going to want some answers. If you call the guys, I'll call my family so no one disturbs them."

"It's okay. I went in about dawn and unplugged the house phone and took their cells."

"I knew I liked you. Okay. Then it's settled. We'll all let them sleep for now and meet back here at noon."

Vincent smiled as he snuggled Bronwyn closer and allowed himself to slip back into sleep. The next time he woke the sun was high in the sky. He felt Bronwyn tense as she woke; could almost hear her replay the night's events that had led her to his bed. He was absurdly pleased when she relaxed back into him instead of pushing away. She wouldn't have succeeded, but it was nice that she hadn't even tried. Progress he thought. He ran his hand from her waist, up her back and finally to tangle in her hair as he lifted her face to his. "Good morning," he smiled sleepily before pulling her close for a kiss. He held her there for a minute as he let the warmth of the kiss and Bronwyn's body spread through him. He actually heard himself sigh as he released her and she slid back down to lay her head on his shoulder. "I think we have a little while longer. They're waiting until noon to storm the castle."

"Cool," Bronwyn answered, her words still slurred with sleep. "Who are they?"

"Your family and the guys I think."

"My family knows already?"

"I'm afraid so. Laura was here earlier. I think."

Bronwyn lifted her head at this. "Laura was here?"

"I think so. She insisted on seeing you herself before she would let you sleep." With this said he gently pushed her head back down on to his shoulder.

Bronwyn hesitated, wondering if she should be concerned that her sister had seen her in Vincent's bed. Philosophically, she resigned herself to the fact that there was nothing she could do about it at the moment, so she tried to relax. Unfortunately, she had become acutely aware of the fact that she was resting on Vincent's mostly naked body. Sometime during the night, he must have moved her to lay entirely on him, their upper bodies in line and their legs tangled. Just now, his hand was absently rubbing up and down her back.

"Um. What time is it anyway?" she asked in desperation.

Vincent angled his head to read the clock. "Just a little after eleven. We still have time."

"Time for what?" Bronwyn asked nervously.

"Aren't we going to argue now?" Vincent asked.

"Argue about what?"

Vincent turned them both so that they were on their sides, facing each other. He wanted to see her, to see what she looked like waking up in his bed. "You're not going to give me a hard time about insisting that you sleep with me?"

"No."

"No?"

"No." Bronwyn hesitated over the next part. "Because you were right."

He raised one eyebrow at the admission. "So you admit that you belong in my bed?" He pulled her close again so that they were matched and tangled from the waist down.

"I'm not sure that's what I'm saying," Bronwyn gently corrected.

"Really?" He kissed her, holding it just a little too long to be considered gentle. "Then what are you saying?" He kissed her again. Held it even longer this time. It didn't take a clairvoyant to see where this was headed.

"I'm saying that last night this is where I belonged," Bronwyn clarified.

"In my bed," Vincent finished. "Say it." Another slow, wet kiss. "I want to hear you say it."

"I belonged here, in your bed, l..."

Vincent put one finger to her lips before she could complete her thought. Glancing again at the clock, he explained. "We only have a few minutes left before we have to face everyone. I think I should spend the time showing you why this is where you'll always belong." He immersed them both in desire as he lowered his lips to hers and rolled her to fit under him. He moaned at the contact. He had wanted this the first time he tasted her, to feel her under him. The sensation was almost too much when he knew there was no time to see it through. This was just a taste. He had to keep just that one thought in his head. But it instantly evaporated when his hands trailed a path from her thighs to her breasts. She arched up to meet him as her fingernails raked down his back. "God," he groaned. "Just a little more, darling," he pleaded. "Give me just a little more of you." Watching her eyes carefully he grabbed both sides of the shirt she was wearing and pulled, exposing her from waist to shoulder. Her eyes gave away everything. More than a little fear flashed brilliantly, but it vanished as soon as he touched her. His greedy hands and mouth burned a path over her skin, lingering when and wherever her muscles began to tremble. This is what he wanted, Bronwyn as desperate and weak as he felt. Reluctantly he pulled back. They were both breathing heavily, neither satisfied, as they balanced precariously between need and reason. The soft knock on the door swayed the balance. Gently, Vincent covered Bronwyn and kissed her one last time. Lying down beside her again, he took her hand in his and called out, "Come in."

"Good morning, Vincent. Good morning Miss Bronwyn," Beckett said as he entered. "I've brought coffee and juice." He set both on a table by the window. "The team and your family Miss Bronwyn are expected in thirty minutes. I took the liberty of cleaning your clothes for you Miss. It was my understanding that you would need them today."

"That was very thoughtful. Thank you," Bronwyn said with such warmth that the normally stoic Beckett actually preened. "I really appreciate it."

"No problem, Miss. I wasn't sure if you preferred coffee or juice, so I prepared both."

"Now you threaten to spoil me," Bronwyn teased. "Juice would be great."

"Not at all," he admonished as he handed her a glass. Pouring Vincent a cup of coffee, he offered that as well.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome. Now, if you don't mind me saying, you two should probably hurry. I will hold them off as long as I can, but everyone seems very eager today." With that said, he left as quietly as he had come.

"Damn," Bronwyn laughed as she sipped her juice. She vaguely remembered meeting Beckett the night before. His job title was a bit fuzzy in her brain, but it was clear that he ran the place. "He's a model of efficiency isn't he?"

Vincent laughed with her. "That he is. And, if I'm not mistaken, he's besotted with you."

"He is not. He's only doing his job."

"True, but it's the way he's doing it. You wait," he teased. "See if he doesn't treat you differently than he does the guys." He rose from the bed and moved toward his closet. "You use my shower. I'll use the one in the next room."

"Oh, no," Bronwyn corrected as she too left the bed. Using one hand to hold together the shirt Vincent had rendered, she followed him. "This is your room. I'll use the shower next door. It just makes sense."

Vincent turned back and had to smother the desire that filled him at the sight of her. "Use my shower," he reiterated. "I'll use the one next door." His voiced was short and clipped. Clothes, he kept thinking. Just get some clothes and get the hell out before...

"Vincent," Bronwyn began.

"Bronwyn, look at me." He waited for her to comply. "Really look at me. I'm about three seconds from locking the door and..." He looked up at the ceiling for a moment as he spoke, anywhere but at her. "I like the thought of you in my shower, precisely as I liked the thought of you in my bed. Right now, I just desperately need you to pick one and go before..."

"Going," Bronwyn agreed as she all but ran from the room.

Forty-five minutes later, they all sat around Vincent's living room for what Bronwyn was now thinking of as one of their summit meetings. Everyone had gotten past their initial fear and corresponding relief. It was now time to talk about what came next. She sat next to Vincent on the sofa, her hand already captured in his, as he relayed the events of the day and evening before in succinct, chronological order. When he began to describe the state of Bronwyn's apartment and the suspected nature of the crime, his voice became stiff and stressed. She squeezed his hand in a show of silent support. He squeezed back and turned to smile softly at her. The group fell silent when he finished, each person trying to grasp the meaning of this turn of events. Jacob was the first to finally speak.

"Well, first and foremost, it's clear that Bronwyn can no longer go back to her apartment."

"Agreed," said each member of Vincent's team in unison.

"And as much as I would like to have her with me," he said as he turned to Vincent, "she'd be much safer with you. Wouldn't she?"

"Yes, sir," Vincent answered honestly.

Jacob sighed deeply before he finally agreed. "Okay. Then it's decided. Bronwyn stays here." Not wanting a repeat of their last confrontation he added, "If, of course, that's alright with you honey."

Bronwyn smiled sweetly at her uncle. "Yes, I'll stay here. You're right. It's the safest choice." She felt Vincent relax beside her. Had he actually thought she would leave? Before she could turn to him and ask, he leaned close and whispered for only her to hear, "Thank you."

"So Bronwyn stays here. Got that and agree. What else?" Laura asked.

"The guys will ask questions today, see if anyone heard, or saw anything. They'll also search the apartment to make sure that the police didn't miss anything last night. Finally we'll put live feeds inside and outside of the apartment to see if anyone returns."

Kim repositioned herself next to Vincent. "And keeping Bronwyn safe? How do you plan to do that?" she asked quietly.

"We start," Vincent reassured her, "by being careful. The only people who know Bronwyn is staying here with me are the people in this room. As far as everyone else is concerned, she's still in her apartment. No one visits her here. If you need to talk to her, call her on the secure cell. If you need to see her, we'll come to you."

"Why can't we come here? If Bronwyn is safe here, why isn't it safe for us to visit her here?" Laura accused.

Preacher was the first to answer. "Every time you came here, you would run the risk of someone following you. We are attempting to limit Bronwyn's exposure."

"What about going to work?" Bronwyn asked. "Can I still go to work?"

She watched each member of the team silently check with Vincent. An entire conversation passed between them without a single spoken word. It was Vincent who made the final decision. "For now, yes. There will have to be some changes, though. No more set schedule. Your days off will be random. Your hours each day will also be random. The goal is to be unpredictable. Keep everyone guessing."

"I like that idea," Jacob agreed. "He can't cause her grief if he can't find her."

"Exactly. I want everyone to continue to check in at regular intervals. And if something looks even a little off, I want to hear about it."

"And where will you be?" Jacob asked Vincent.

"I believe Bronwyn and I have some shopping to do."

Five hours later when the last of the stores had closed and they were on their way home, Vincent had to admit to himself that he had been impressed. He had never been shopping with a woman who managed it quite like Bronwyn. He was used to women who browsed through one store after another, aimlessly searching for what he was never sure. Bronwyn on the other hand approached shopping much in the same way he and his team approached a mission. She had been focused, efficient and thorough. Shopping from only a handful of stores, she had managed to create an entire wardrobe in one afternoon. Vincent had found himself entirely captivated by her and the single mindedness of the process. Before handing her into the car, he paused to kiss her warmly.

"What was that for?" Bronwyn asked as he settled into the driver's seat.

"That was for being unconventional you," he offered as way of explanation.

"Unconventional? That's a compliment?"

"Oh, yeah. That's a compliment." He backed neatly out of the parking spot and turned the car towards his place. "Why don't I elaborate?"

"Why don't you?" Bronwyn agreed.

"A conventional woman would have walked from store to store, randomly searching the racks, maybe occasionally asking me what I thought, ignoring my opinion for the most part, and walked out again with any number of unrelated items. You, my unconventional darling, orchestrated a carefully designed plot. And, might I point out, a very successful one." He turned to smile at her. "It was a joy to watch. You were a joy to watch."

"Wow. All that from just shopping?" she asked. After the slightest of hesitations, she leaned over to kiss his cheek. "Thank you."

He lifted her hand to his lips. "Anytime, darling. Anytime."

Bronwyn was relieved to find Poet waiting for them when they returned. Since waking up in Vincent's bed this morning the thought of what might happen tonight had been lurking in the back of her mind. She knew the moment of truth for them was at hand. Anything or anyone who could potentially postpone that moment was welcome.

"Something wrong?" Vincent asked as soon as he emptied the first load of packages into Beckett's waiting hands.

"No, nothing's wrong," Poet was quick to reassure him. "I just..." He shifted nervously from one foot to another, clutching tightly to a simple manila folder. "I just need to discuss something."

"Okay. Shoot."

"Um... Not with you, with Bronwyn," Poet clarified.

"You have something to discuss with Bronwyn," Vincent repeated.

"With me?" Bronwyn asked as she entered the room. She handed a second set of packages over to Beckett before joining the men.

"Yes," Poet agreed. Glancing quickly at Vincent he added, "In private."

"You have something to discuss with Bronwyn, in private. Meaning you want to intentionally exclude me," Vincent clarified. He took a moment to study his long time friend, a man he knew better than he knew his own brother. "Since when do we have secrets, Poet?"

Poet heard the insult and accusation in the softly spoken question and simply absorbed the blow. "We don't." He looked at Bronwyn, silently pleading for her to understand what he was not saying. He saw her glance down at the file and watched as realization turned her eyes cold and flat.

"Why don't we go outside on the patio then?" she asked as she turned to go.

Before Poet could follow, Vincent challenged, "We're not finished with this."

"Understood," was Poet's only response. He could deal with only one dilemma at a time. Vincent would just have to wait his turn. Instead, Poet prepared himself to face the new love of his best friend's life and break her heart. He took a deep steadying breath as he sat next to her at the patio table absently noting the setting sun behind her and Vincent standing prominently in the window watching them.

"I would like to begin by reassuring you that when I began my assignment I had no intention of prying into your personal life. My assignment was to follow the paper trail, to reconstruct the life of Robert Barrister." He paused to look at her. Her face remained blank, but her body had tensed and was braced for the worst. "In so doing, I was also expected to research the events leading to his arrest. This included police files, court transcripts, and doctors' reports."

"I see."

"It also included a sealed file." He looked away from her now, unsure of how to say the rest. In the entire term of his service, he had never felt the need to apologize for doing his job, until now. Logically he knew he had done what needed to be done, but he struggled to defend the right of it now.

"You unsealed the file," Bronwyn said finally.

Nodding his head, he answered, "Yes."

"And were you surprised by what you found?"

"Yes. And pissed. Eleven years was not nearly enough for this," he said as he slid the file across the table to her.

Reluctantly, Bronwyn took the file and slowly opened it. "Damn," was her initial response. "I remember that pictures were taken, for evidence they said." Poet nodded in confirmation. "This is the first time I've actually seen them."

"Shit," Poet hissed. He hastily reached to take the photos from her. "It never occurred to me that you wouldn't have seen them. I'm sorry. I just didn't think."

Bronwyn held fast to the file. "It's okay. You had no way of knowing that they had kept these from me. It seems odd considering that there isn't anything here I haven't seen before." She opened the file again and examined each of the photos, slowly and methodically. She gave away nothing of what she felt as she saw the victim she used to be. "It's all a bit gruesome, isn't it?"

"No, not gruesome. Disturbing," Poet corrected. "Especially when you know the history behind them."

"Yeah," Bronwyn agreed as she finally closed the file and hid the horror of her past from view. Disturbing. She suspected that was exactly the right word to describe her. While she appreciated his honesty, she wished it weren't true. Being measured and found wanting through no fault of her own was maddening and disheartening. Turning her thoughts back to Poet she asked, "So, why did you bring the file to me? Why not bring it to Vincent?"

"Your past belongs to you and you alone. I don't have the right to share it just because I stumbled into it." He placed his hand on top of hers. "So I'm returning it to you, no one else."

She smiled at him softly. "Thank you. I don't believe I've ever met anyone else who understands the significance of the past as well as you do."

"You're welcome." After a moment's hesitation he added, "Can I ask? Will you show him?"

Bronwyn stared out at the setting sun as she answered, "I don't want to. When people know it makes it hard for them to separate who I used to be from who I am now." She turned back to consider Vincent observing them. "In a way, I become a victim all over again."

"I'm sorry," Poet sympathized.

"Thanks," she said as she stood. "Now, just one question before we go in."

"Yes?"

"Exactly how angry is Vincent going to be?"

Glancing at his friend who continued to stand in the window, Poet answered, "I'm not sure angry is quite going to cover it."

A brief glimpse at Bronwyn as she entered the room assured Vincent that she was unharmed. In fact, she seemed more resigned than upset by her conversation with Poet. Vincent also noted that the folder Poet had earlier was now in Bronwyn's possession. Whatever it was that he had uncovered, he had passed on to her.

"Care to explain your actions now, Poet?" he dared as they came in.

Although phrased as a question, Poet recognized an order when he heard one. "In the course of my research, I uncovered information that, while not critical to the success of the current operation, is indeed sensitive. I immediately brought said information to Bronwyn."

"How do you know it isn't critical?"

"Because I'm not a fucking idiot," he answered sarcastically.

"That remains to be seen, doesn't it?" Vincent retaliated. "You brought the information to Bronwyn, not to me."

"Yes."

"You broke protocol."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"The information was... personal."

"Personal?" Vincent repeated. "So personal that you broke protocol?" He didn't wait for Poet's answer, but continued on. "So personal that you felt the need to keep me in the dark? So personal that even now she stands there clutching that file in her hand as if her life depends on the secrets it holds?"

Poet stepped to his right, effectively obstructing Vincent's line of sight to Bronwyn. "Your fight is with me, Einstein, not with her. Let's just leave her out of this, shall we? And while we're at it, why don't we just get real. You're not angry because I broke protocol. You're not even angry because you think I may have jeopardized Bronwyn's safety." This time he stepped toward Vincent. "You're angry because I know something about Bronwyn that you don't. You're angry because I know her secret, the one she continues to keep from you." He moved within a few feet of Vincent now. "I bet that just pisses you off, doesn't it?"

"You son of a bitch," Vincent exploded as he lunged for Poet.

"Hey!" Bronwyn shouted as she leaped between them. "Stop it! What the hell are you doing?" She shoved Vincent back as Beckett raced into the room. When Vincent made another dive for Poet, she lost it. "Back off. Back the fuck off now!" While she couldn't move him a second time, she planted her hand in the middle of Vincent's chest. When she was certain he wasn't going to move, she turned to see how Beckett was handling Poet. She was surprised to find that Poet stood passive and calm. It took her only a second to realize what he had done. "The next time you pick a fight with someone to protect me," she hissed at Poet, "I'll knock you on your ass myself!" When he started to open his mouth, she cut him off. "Just save it." Turning her attention and anger back to Vincent, she shoved the file into his chest. "Here! You want to know what Poet knows? You want to know the secret he thought was important enough to cause all this? Open it." When Vincent just stood there, she yelled, "Open it!"

Seeing no other real choice in the matter, Vincent opened the file. He immediately wished he hadn't. The words he had spoken during their very first meeting came back to haunt him. If Robert got eleven years for what he did then the abuse was extreme and documented in some way.

Bronwyn's words echoed his thoughts. "You said once that the abuse must have been documented. You were right." She gestured to the photo in his hand. "If you'll just look past the last injuries you'll notice what the doctors and police did. There's four years worth of evidence carefully preserved. Four years worth of scars."

Vincent stared at each of the photos in turn, angry and sick at what he saw. Part of him couldn't connect the woman he knew with the horror in front of him now.

"Not much has changed in sixteen years either, I'm afraid," Bronwyn continued. Before any of the men could anticipate her next move, she stripped off her t-shirt and turned her back to them.

"Sweet Mary Mother of God," Poet whispered.

"Jesus," Vincent hissed even as he moved closer. Bronwyn's back was riddled with scars. Between the base of her neck and the waist band of her skirt there must have been at least fifty, maybe more. It took Vincent a minute to process what he was seeing. Most of the scars were long and thin, like cuts that had healed poorly. Human hands alone had not made these injuries.

"What...?" Poet started to ask.

"He used a belt, sometimes a horsewhip," Bronwyn volunteered, her voice flat and unemotional. "He rarely used his hands, except for the last time." She flinched and took a reflexive step forward when Vincent unexpectedly reached out. If she was going to remain composed and answer all their questions, he couldn't touch her.

"And the last time, the injuries...?" Vincent persisted.

"Broken knee, a few cracked ribs, broken wrist, and a shattered collar bone."

Instinctively he started to trace the scar left by his own mother's reconstructive surgery. Again, Bronwyn pulled away. He closed his eyes briefly on the pain and slowly dropped his hand back to his side.

"One more question, if you don't mind," he added.

"Of course," she answered, her voice sounding flat and distant even to her own ears. She already regretted her hasty decision to bare all, both figuratively and literally. To stand here while they studied her scars left her feeling exposed and vulnerable. Two emotions she hadn't felt in a very long time. Even though she wanted nothing more than to run and hide, she knew it was better to finish it out.

"Your tattoo." Vincent was saying. "What does it say Bronwyn?" He watched as she silently reached behind her and folded down the waistband of her skirt to reveal the one word inked there. Stand. Vincent felt the impact of her message as a physical blow. It stole his breath and left him feeling shaken and oddly humbled.

"Stand," he whispered almost reverently.

"Yeah," Bronwyn answered. "It's important to me."

"Even now?" Poet asked.

"Especially now," both Bronwyn and Vincent responded simultaneously.

"Um. If you guys don't mind," she began as she finally turned to face them, "I think I'll call it a night."

Vincent searched her face trying to gauge her thoughts and emotions. She was pale as glass, her skin almost translucent. Her movements stiff and awkward. When he would have sought to soothe he held his hands firmly by his sides instead. She wouldn't welcome his touch right now, of that he was somehow certain. So he kept his thoughts and hands to himself. As soon as she left the room, he turned back to Poet.

"And you would have kept this from me?" he whispered.

"Yes," Poet reassured him, he too keeping his voice low. He checked the doorway to make sure Bronwyn had gone before he continued. "She shouldn't have been forced into this Vincent. It shouldn't have been like this."

"No," Vincent agreed.

"We hurt her tonight. And for what?" Poet didn't expect an answer so was surprised by Vincent's immediate response.

"I was jealous," Vincent admitted honestly. "You shared something with her. I couldn't stand to be left out, excluded." He moved to stare out the window at the night sky. As the silence stretched out between them he eventually continued, "I'm in love with her." Poet moved to join him.

"Yeah, I know."

Vincent nodded. "I guess it shows?"

"In every word, every look, every touch." He smiled at his friend, their anger forgotten. "And I've never been so fucking jealous in my life."

Vincent smiled softly. "I couldn't reach her tonight," he confessed. "She wouldn't let me in, wouldn't even let me touch her."

"We hurt her," Poet repeated.

"Yeah," Vincent nodded. At some length he added, "I can't lose her, Poet. It just isn't an option anymore."

While the men were reconnecting, Bronwyn was trying desperately to reclaim control. She couldn't imagine what made her think, even for a second that it would be a good idea to expose herself to Vincent and Poet. It had accomplished nothing but to create an awkward distance between them. Even men like Vincent and Poet couldn't be expected to accept something like this. She had just changed everything and there was no going back. The thought of it had her running down the hall to the bathroom where she immediately became violently ill. In the end, she lay down to catch her breath. The cool tile floor somehow soothing on her bare skin. She felt empty, culled out, physically and emotionally. She would just stay here for a few minutes she thought, fall back, and regroup. Curling up into the fetal position, she waited while her world slowly came back into focus. Unexpected footsteps had her bolting upright, but not before she had been seen.

"Oh, Miss," Beckett was saying as he lifted her to her feet. "Let me help you." He led her out of the bathroom to sit on the edge of the bed in the guest room. Examining her closely, he noticed that she was shockingly pale, fragile. It broke his heart to look at her. Gently he placed a throw around her shoulders. "Just sit here a minute, Miss. I'll get you something to settle your stomach."

"Thank you," Bronwyn murmured.

"Certainly, Miss. Just wait here."

Like she could actually move, Bronwyn thought sarcastically. What she wanted most was to lie down, pull the covers over her head, and just hide for the next few hours, days even. She didn't know how she would ever face the guys again, and once the entire team knew... Of one thing, she could be absolutely certain. Vincent would never look at her and see an illusion again. Her thoughts were interrupted by the reappearance of Beckett with ginger ale in hand. After watching to ensure that she drank it, he eased out of the room leaving her alone in the silence and dark. Bronwyn peeled off the rest of her clothes, leaving them where they fell, and slid between soft, smooth sheets. After the slightest of hesitations, she gave in, and pulled the covers over her head.

Chapter 11

Bronwyn lay awake in the silence of the morning. She had mercifully slept through the night without nightmares or flashbacks. She had simply shut down and switched off. Now she needed to think everything through. She would have to decide how to face everyone, how to anticipate and react. For this, she needed peace and solitude. Quietly she eased out of bed, pulled on her suit and headed out to the pool. She told herself she wasn't intentionally sneaking. It was an obvious lie, but she tried to convince herself it wasn't even when she breathed a sigh of relief as she escaped the house unchallenged.

For the first few laps, she emptied her mind of everything but the process of swimming. As her arms and legs moved in a traditional free style, she progressed steadily and fluidly through the water. She immersed herself in the silence, reveled in it. Then she began to think, to debrief her mind on the night's events. It was clear that she hadn't handled it well at all. Looking back, she wondered if she should have just taken the file from Poet and suffered Vincent's anger. Almost as soon as she had formulated the thought, she dismissed it. Vincent would never have accepted those terms. So in hindsight the only action that could have been avoided was her impromptu striptease. But even if she could take back that one action, it wouldn't change anything. The die had been cast as soon as Poet opened the sealed file. Unbeknownst to him he had set the wheel in motion and she had been helpless to stop it. That pissed her off. She didn't like being helpless and vulnerable. Bronwyn had spent more than a decade ensuring that she was always in control. Everything had been running very smoothly, too, until Robert's unrelenting presence required the introduction of Vincent and his team into her life. Ironically, since they began protecting her she felt increasingly helpless and vulnerable each day. The fault didn't lie with the team though. The fault lay squarely on the shoulders of Robert Barrister. As she finished her last lap, she came to a few final conclusions. One, she couldn't undo the events of the night before. She could only move forward. And two, it was time to evict Robert Barrister from her life once and for all. It wasn't until she stopped to catch her breath that she realized she wasn't alone. Slowly she turned, expecting to see Vincent. Instead, Poet stood at the edge of the pool holding a towel.

"I thought we could talk," he began hesitantly. "That is, if it's okay with you."

Unhurriedly Bronwyn swam to the steps and climbed out of the pool. As she walked over to Poet, she noticed that he looked unkempt and miserable. Was there anything she wondered as moving as a humble man? She could literally feel the guilt surrounding him. "Of course we can talk," she reassured him. Taking the towel he offered, she quickly dried off, wrapped the towel around her waist, and moved to sit so that she could observe him as they talked. "You're here early," she began, trying to relieve the tension.

"I slept in one of the guest rooms last night," he said in way of explanation. "I knew I wanted to talk to you this morning, so Caveman agreed to stay with your Laura and Michael." He leaned forward, folded his hands together, and for the first time looked her in the eye. "I know I said some of this last night, but I feel it bears repeating. I'm sorry. I in no way set out to invade your privacy. I was simply doing my part of our job. And I deeply regret, more than I can convey, hurting you."

Before he could go any further, Bronwyn interrupted him. "I know none of what happened last night was planned or intentional. I know that," she repeated as she placed her hands on top on his. "It was all just a circumstance of fate. You are in no way to blame."

"But..."

"Look at me, Poet." She waited until his eyes met hers again. "You are in no way to blame. You had a job to do, and you did it. You should never have to apologize for that. I will never expect you to apologize for that."

"I hurt you."

"Yeah, you did." Bronwyn watched Poet flinch at her words. "But you didn't set out to hurt me. It was an unfortunate consequence. And, in a way, it was a blessing."

"Bullshit," Poet contradicted.

"You simply brought to light something that couldn't have been avoided for much longer."

"Maybe." Poet leaned back in his chair. He was finding it hard to let himself off the hook so easily. "I could have handled it differently. I could have tried to find a way that didn't include hurting you."

"Maybe," Bronwyn echoed his words. "It is what it is, Poet. We can't go back and change any of it. The question is where do we go from here?"

Shaking his head in disbelief at her generosity, Poet answered, "I would very much like to be your friend, Bronwyn. I want you to be able to talk to me, trust me."

Bronwyn's smile was instant and genuine. "I'd really like that, Poet."

He smiled in return. "So we're good here?"

"Yeah. We're good here."

"Thank God," Poet sighed deeply. "Now how about I find Beckett and see if I can talk him into creating one of his fabulous breakfasts? Waffles?"

"That sounds perfect," Bronwyn readily agreed.

"Then waffles it is. You relax; I'll take care of everything." As he rose to leave, Poet bent to kiss her cheek. "Vincent's a very lucky man," he whispered. "Undeniably very lucky."

"Let's hope he still thinks so," whispered Bronwyn to herself as Poet went in search of breakfast. Would Vincent be able to accept reality, her reality or would he regret the loss of the illusion? She thought she knew the answer when he found her a few minutes later.

"Good morning."

"Good morning," she responded. Bronwyn kept her tone quiet and formal, taking her cue from Vincent.

"Have you seen Poet yet this morning?"

"Right here," Poet answered as he stepped back onto the patio. "I return triumphant," he announced to Bronwyn. "I found Beckett and put in our waffle request. He has assured me that we will be eating like kings in thirty minutes or less." Turning to Vincent, he added, "Are you joining us?"

"Um, I don't think so. Not this morning. I have some calls to make. I thought we would head into Another Story around ten o'clock. Preacher will be there for the opening." Finally turning to Bronwyn, he asked, "Can you be ready by ten o'clock?"

"Sure."

"Good." After the briefest of hesitations, he turned back to Poet. He found he couldn't look at her in the soft morning light without feeling ... everything. Desire, without a doubt. He wanted her more than he had ever thought possible. But now, after last night... He couldn't help thinking about the horrors of her childhood. It had been one thing to imagine them but now that he had seen the damage first hand it stirred in him emotions he didn't know how to handle; feelings of anger and impotence. How was he supposed to accept that he couldn't change her past? He couldn't go back and save her, protect her. "Ten o'clock then," was all he said as he quickly walked away.

"I guess he's not feeling very lucky this morning," Bronwyn said to mask the pain of Vincent's obvious rejection and dismissal. She had always known it would come to this.

Poet was stunned. In all the years he had known Vincent, he had never known him to be so callous and cruel. To slight Bronwyn in this way, to inflict even more pain into an already impossible situation was unforgiveable. He found himself trying to soften the blow. "I'm sure he would have joined us if he could. He's got a lot going on right now," he finished lamely.

"Yeah, I'm sure that's what it is," Bronwyn agreed as Beckett arrived with juice and coffee. "Don't give it another thought, Poet. Vincent's reaction is nothing more than I expected."

"Then you should learn to expect more," Poet challenged.

By the end of the day, Bronwyn came to the conclusion that whatever might have been between her and Vincent had vanished as if it had never been. He avoided being alone with her and never once, not in the entire day, met her eyes. She had known from the beginning that it would eventually come to this. She just didn't know that he would shut her out so completely and that it would hurt so much.

"Bronwyn?" Hollywood was saying. "You ready to call it a day?"

"Yeah," she answered distractedly.

"Bronwyn?" Hollywood had been worried about her all day. She appeared to be relaxed and composed, until you looked carefully. The stress of the day and Vincent's continued cold shoulder were taking their toll. "Are you okay?" he asked.

"I'm good," she answered automatically as she grabbed her purse. Turning she saw that Hollywood wasn't convinced. Smiling at him she added, "Really, I'm okay. Stop worrying." She patted his arm in reassurance. "I do have a favor to ask though."

"Anything."

"Can we hit the computer store on the way home? I need to replace my computer and get back online."

It was Vincent who answered from the doorway. "Give Hollywood a list of what you need and he can pick it up for you. I think you've taken enough risks for one day."

"Oh, um, I guess it could work that way. I just need a minute then." She moved to her desk as both men looked on. Hollywood angry with Vincent for being so unyielding and fueling the tension between them and Vincent angry with Hollywood for being so at ease with Bronwyn. It didn't take long for her to make her list and review it with Hollywood. As he left, Hollywood gave one last warning look to Vincent as he kissed Bronwyn's cheek. "Catch you later, Julliard," he whispered.

"Careful," Vincent hissed as Hollywood passed him on his way out.

Bronwyn could only describe the twenty-minute ride back to Vincent's home as a little slice of hell. After a few failed attempts at conversation, she finally gave up completely and lapsed into strained silence. Very quickly, the confined space began to feel increasingly claustrophobic. She took a deep steadying breath and immediately realized her mistake. The smell of him filled her and sparked memories of the feel of his hands... on her... in the dark. She groaned loudly at the recollection. She had to get out of this car.

This was impossible Vincent was thinking. How could he be expected to be with her like this, alone and not want to touch? Not want to feel the smoothness of her skin? To feel that skin heat. She was too close, had been too close all day. He knew she was angry with him. The pain he had inflicted on her the night before was both unnecessary and unforgiveable. She had every right to shut him out, to keep him out. Knowing that, he was desperately trying to give her the time and space she needed. But the need to touch, to be able to finally get past the barriers that she used to keep the rest of the world out was driving him to the very edge of his restraint. He sighed with relief as his house came into view. They both separated quickly, he to his office, she to change for the pool.

He didn't see Bronwyn again until dinner and was both annoyed and relieved to discover that Hollywood and Caveman were joining them. She looked lovely, more relaxed than he had seen her all day. She was laughing at something Caveman had said and he thrilled at the sight of her. "No limitations," he muttered as he joined the group. He watched her change, become stiff and uneasy, as she absorbed his presence and deeply regretted it.

Her thought just died on her lips. She couldn't help it. One minute she was joking with Hollywood and Caveman and the next Vincent was there. Filling up the room with his presence. Commanding her attention with entirely no effort on his part. As they sat down to dinner together, she struggled to focus on the conversation, to interject occasionally, listen intently. Later she couldn't remember what they had talked about or what she had eaten. She could only be certain of one thing; Vincent still didn't speak to her directly unless it was absolutely necessary. She felt a sense of reprieve when the men went outside to talk after dinner. For once, she didn't give a damn if she was the topic of conversation. If it kept Vincent outside and away from her she was all for it. She dismissed the men entirely from her mind. Looking at the packages from the computer store, she rubbed her hands together in anticipation and prepared to enter the land of Geekdom.

Outside on the patio, the men discussed the status of the investigation. There had been no leads to Robert's whereabouts and the video feeds in his home had netted no new information. Since the delivery of the roses, there had been no contact from Robert at all. Both Preacher and Poet agreed that they had seen nothing out of the ordinary while protecting Bronwyn's family either. It would appear that they had all reached some sort of impasse. Vincent didn't like it. Robert had been too quiet for too long. Angling a chair toward the big picture window, he sat. Beckett had joined Bronwyn at the table and together they were exploring her new computer. She was relaxed and completely unguarded. She was beautiful he thought. He smiled to himself as he watched her.

"Vincent," Hollywood began, "if you don't mind a little advice..."

"I do," Vincent interrupted.

"Stubborn prick," Hollywood muttered good-naturedly.

Vincent smiled as he answered, never once taking his eyes from the scene through the window. "I just think that Bronwyn and I need to find our own way in this."

"I repeat then, stubborn prick."

"And I second that," agreed Caveman. "But then again, you've always been a stubborn prick. Why should things be different now just because you've fallen for the most extraordinary woman any of us have every met?"

"Hooyah," Hollywood agreed. "And on that note, it's time for Caveman and me to call it a night. What's the plan for tomorrow?"

"We all go in first thing."

"Sounds good. Do you want us to meet you here or there?" Hollywood asked.

"There is good enough. I think I can protect her in my own home. Thanks." With that said, the men parted company. Vincent watched them walk through to say goodnight to Bronwyn. They spent a few minutes talking about the new computer and then each man bent to kiss her on the cheek. Vincent smiled. He had once predicted that Bronwyn would never let them in, that there would always be a wall between them. He couldn't have been more wrong. With his men, Bronwyn was warm and charming. Vincent was the one on the outside looking in.

The next day brought more of the same. Tense moments, stolen looks, and prickly comments. It seemed to Caveman that both Bronwyn and Vincent became increasingly agitated as the day progressed. Separate they were talkative, cheerful and engaged in the activity around them. Together they were curt, distracted, and self-absorbed. By late afternoon, Caveman realized that they couldn't maintain this level of tension much longer before something had to give. Perversely he hoped that he was around when it happened. Vincent and Bronwyn candid and uncensored were probably worth the price of a ticket. Caveman's thoughts were interrupted as Richard entered the store carrying a large manila envelope. After a cursory search of his surroundings and a wave to Jack at the register, he headed for Bronwyn's office. Raising one eyebrow in contemplation, Caveman moved to follow.

"Hey darling," Richard said as he pulled Bronwyn into his arms. Kissing her warmly he added, "How are you? I haven't seen you around since Saturday. What's up?" This last question was directed at Vincent who had appeared in the office doorway. Tucking Bronwyn in snuggly at his side, Richard waited for him to answer.

Closing the door behind him, Vincent quickly briefed Richard on the robbery, police investigation, the team's investigation, and Bronwyn's current place of residence. He was careful to mask the anger and fear, as well as now the tremendous jealousy, he felt.

"So you're safe?" Richard asked Bronwyn as soon as Vincent had finished. "Really?"

"Absolutely. I would trust Vincent and his team with my life, without hesitation."

Richard studied her for a minute before he acquiesced. "Okay. I'm not thrilled with the turn of events, but as long as you're safe..."

"I am."

"Okay. I can live with that."

"Good. Now that we've got that settled, what brings you to Another Story?"

"Oh, I almost forgot. When I went by your place yesterday, you had a package." He handed Bronwyn the manila envelope he had tossed on her desk when he walked in. "It was just leaning against your door. When I couldn't find you, I figured I'd bring it here and eventually you'd connect with it."

"Thanks," Bronwyn said as she took the envelope. A quick glance assured her that the envelope had not been processed through the post office nor was it from anyone she knew. The only way she was certain it was for her was her name printed in bold block letters on the front. She kept her face carefully blank as she thanked Richard again and walked him out. When she walked back into her office, she quietly shut the door behind her. Using a pair of scissors to cautiously open the envelope, she poured the contents onto her desk before she lost her nerve. "They're pictures," she stated unnecessarily. "Of me." She hastily shuffled through the hundred or so photos. "They're all pictures of me." She held up one in particular and turned to Vincent. "This one was taken as I left the hospital. When I was ten years old," she emphasized.

Vincent barely registered the image of the little girl in the pink robe and wheelchair. The photo that had caught his eye was the one of himself and Bronwyn eating lunch the day he had met her. "Time to go," he said as he began stuffing the photos back into the envelope.

"What?"

"We're leaving, now." He opened the office door and spoke to Caveman who had been patiently waiting. "You and Hollywood bring the car around back. We're cutting the day short. Tell Jack if he needs to see Bronwyn before she leaves, he has three minutes." He stood in the doorway to watch as Caveman spoke briefly to Jack and then left with Hollywood. Jack looked back and gave him one quick shake of his head before he returned to his customer. With that, Vincent closed the door and turned to Bronwyn.

"Ready?" He didn't wait for an answer as he took her hand and led her to the back door. When she reached to open it, Vincent wordlessly took her other hand in his. Bronwyn started to ask what he was waiting for and then she heard it. Three sharp knocks from the other side. With that, Vincent opened the door to Hollywood and they both ushered her to the car. No one spoke on the ride to Vincent's and when Bronwyn tried to pull her hand away from his he held on tight. When they finally arrived, she was ushered inside just as expeditiously as she had been exited from her store.

As soon as they were inside Bronwyn moved directly to the dining room table and again poured out the contents of the envelope.

"What the fuck?" Hollywood whispered as he moved closer to get a better look.

With her expression grim, Bronwyn began sorting the pictures. Some were taken as long as fifteen years ago, extending through high school and college. She found pictures of both graduations and every recital and formal dance she had ever attended. There was one taken on opening day of Another Story and several from her sister's wedding. Her entire life for the last fifteen years chronicled and frozen in time. Ironically, though, the last to be taken were the ones that scared her the most. They were of Vincent, Hollywood, Caveman, and herself. They were taken at four o'clock in the morning the night her apartment had been robbed.

"He knows we're here now, has our faces," Hollywood commented.

"Can he find you?" Bronwyn asked immediately. "Can he get to any of you?"

"No," Caveman was quick to reassure her. "We're careful, Julliard. You know, once a SEAL..."

"Always a SEAL," she finished. "Yeah." She turned back to study the photos for a few minutes before another thought had her racing for her phone. She dialed hastily. "Preacher? It's Bronwyn. I have a question. Did my sister receive a package in the last few days? An envelope. It would have been left somewhere for her to find, at her front door, maybe the restaurant or her car... No? You're sure? Yeah... Hang on.... He wants to talk to you," she said as she held out the phone to Vincent. Even as she handed her phone to Vincent, she turned to Caveman to ask to borrow his. Quickly she dialed the next number and repeated her questions to Poet. Once she had been reassured that no one else in her family had received a package of photos and that everyone was safe, she began to relax. She passed the second phone to Vincent just as he disconnected the first. Moving back to the table, she continued her sorting. Vincent watched her as he answered her uncle's questions. She organized and sequenced the photos and her life as if it were a perfectly normal event. Her only concern had been the safety of her family. It was a trait that Vincent respected and admired even as it worried him. Disconnecting a second time, he moved to stand beside her.

"They're on their way."

"Who?" Hollywood asked.

"All of them. I'm afraid. They're more than a little anxious." Turning to Bronwyn, he added, "They need to see you. See, for themselves, that you're okay."

"Yeah. I'm not surprised. They've been a little freaked out by the whole series of unfortunate events. I wish I knew how to reassure them."

"Keeping yourself safe is undoubtedly the best way to start," Caveman suggested.

"You're probably right about that," Bronwyn smiled. Facing Vincent again she added, "I need a favor."

"It's yours," Vincent answered without hesitation.

The shocked showed clearly on her face for a moment before she remembered to hide it. Vincent was ridiculously pleased. Smiling, he watched her lift three photos from the table and rearrange the rest to conceal their absence. It was his turn to be surprised when she handed the photos to him. They were the photos from her sister's wedding.

"This was Laura's wedding day. She dreamed of this day since we were girls, started planning it when were teenagers. My family shouldn't have to know that Robert managed to touch it." She looked into Vincent's eyes for the first time in almost twenty-four hours, trying to gauge what he was thinking. "I would like to keep these three photos a secret, just these three. And I would like you to help me."

Vincent answered quickly, without pause. "Done."

"That's it?"

"That's it." As the doorbell sounded, Vincent passed the photos to Hollywood. "Okay. Here we go." For the next hour, he answered questions, reassured family members and watched Bronwyn carefully. He noticed that she actually managed to minimize the significance of the photos and ease everyone's level of anxiety. She was able to transform a potentially threatening and intimidating situation into an evocation of memories long forgotten. If the goal had been to frighten her, Robert had failed miserably. Even after everyone had left, he watched her return to the photos. She stood silent and still, considering. Whatever she was thinking or feeling was hidden away.

"So, what are you contemplating?" he asked as he joined her. "What draws you?"

She spared him a quick glance before she answered. "To tell you the truth, I'm not really sure. I just have a distinct impression that I'm missing something." She turned back to him, "What do you see?"

Vincent considered her for a moment before turning to look back at the table. He focused on the contents and tried to block out everything else. Finally, he spoke. "It's memories, a life. Your life. Some of the most important aspects of it any way." He paused to look at her again, but her eyes were centered on the table. "Actually, they seem pretty typical to me. I'm sure if my sister went through pictures that she saved over the years, they would look much like these. Maybe what draws you has nothing to do with the subject."

Shaking her head in frustration, she agreed. "Maybe. I'm just not sure." Their eyes connected and held as she faced him again. "Um..." Bronwyn began as the silence stretched between them. "Maybe I just need to let it jell for a while."

"Yeah," Vincent answered softly. It was clear that he was lost in thought. He took a step forward and was reassured when she didn't draw back. "Bronwyn?" His phone began to ring, but he ignored it. "I think we should talk."

"About what?" she asked nervously.

He took another step before he answered. "About the other night. There are some things that need to be said. At the very least, there are some things that I need to say." He closed the distance between them. Taking her face in his hands, he added, "And I think I should begin with an apology."

Bronwyn stood passively, afraid to move, to hope. "An apology isn't necessary," she whispered. "You have every right to your feelings, Vincent."

"True, but ..."

"Einstein," Caveman apologized. "I'm sorry to interrupt." He stood awkwardly across the room. "You didn't answer your phone. Your mother called me. She needs to talk to you."

Without taking his eyes or hands from Bronwyn's face he answered, "Tell her I'll call her back."

"I don't think that would be a good idea, man. She sounds upset."

Vincent's reaction was immediate. Snatching the phone from Caveman, he asked anxiously, "Mom, what's wrong?" As he listened intently, he walked away from Bronwyn, effectively shutting her out. Caveman saw the bitter acceptance flash in her eyes before she busied herself with the photographs. "Is she alright...? Will she need surgery...? Yes, I'll leave right away... I can be there in a couple of hours..." Vincent said as he started up the stairs. Ten minutes later, he was ready to leave. They all met in the living room to discuss the change of events.

"Okay. I need to be short and to the point here. My grandmother fell at my parents' house just a little while ago. They took her to the hospital and it seems she has broken her ankle. Right now, they're waiting for the orthopedic surgeon to assess her. My mother has asked me to come but..."

"No buts. You should go," Bronwyn interrupted.

"I agree. You should go," said Hollywood.

"But I don't want Bronwyn to be alone," Vincent argued.

"She won't be. I'll be here," assured Hollywood.

"And so will I," agreed Caveman.

Vincent smiled faintly. "Thanks guys. I was hoping you'd say that, but I didn't want to assume."

"But you packed already," challenged Hollywood.

Vincent smiled again. "Yeah. You guys are pretty fucking predictable."

"I like to think of it as consistent," corrected Caveman. "And pot calling kettle."

"True. Okay. Now for the rules." Pointing at Bronwyn Vincent explained, "You are officially on vacation until I return. No work. They can just live without you for the next little while." Pointing at the guys he added, "She doesn't go anywhere unless it's absolutely necessary. Understood?"

"Understood," they all answered in unison.

"Okay then. I'll keep in touch. Caveman, walk me out." With that said, he picked up his suitcase and left. He didn't dare even look at Bronwyn. If he did, he wouldn't leave without her. He'd embarrass them both by begging her to come. And after what he'd put her through, he had no right to ask anything of her. Logically he knew that. Emotionally it was slicing him in two to walk away and leave her when she was vulnerable. He said as much to Caveman as they reached his car.

"Man, we're not about to let anything happen to her," Caveman promised. "She means a lot to all of us. We'll keep her safe. You just focus on your family. They need you right now. We'll focus on Julliard."

Those are the words that echoed in Vincent's mind as he raced to be with his family. Even with Caveman's reassurance, he hadn't wanted to leave Bronwyn. He trusted them with her safety. Of that, he had no doubts. He simply didn't want to be separated from her. In an absurdly short amount of time, she had become part of him. And he would do whatever it took to keep her.

Chapter 12

Bronwyn hadn't slept well. Between Vincent's hasty departure and the slide show of pictures in her mind, she had been unable to find peace. She wasn't sure what disturbed her most. The memory of Vincent's rebuff or the thought that there was someone out there that was following her and documenting her every move. In order to function and address the problem at hand she would have to bury her feelings (again) and dismiss the thought of Vincent all together. She'd done it before. Years of practice had taught her to feel one way and present another entirely different set of emotions; the birth of the illusion she thought cynically. Yet it wasn't the illusion captured in the photographs she realized suddenly. It was the Bronwyn she kept hidden.

"Fucking stalker," she muttered. "Too much of a coward to face me."

"Let him try," Hollywood challenged as he entered the room. "He'll be a dead fucking stalker."

"Well, don't kill him on my account," Bronwyn warned. "You're much too pretty to go to prison Hollywood."

"Oh, I don't know about that," teased Caveman as he joined them. "I think he'd make lots of new friends."

"Fuck you," Hollywood argued.

"Boys," Bronwyn admonished. "Behave. Or I won't tell you what I think I've deduced about the photos."

"You've figured something out? Spill it, Julliard," Hollywood insisted.

"Okay. Keep in mind. I have no real evidence to support my claims. This is just what I see." She waited for both men to nod before continuing. "First, there are two photographers."

"What?" exclaimed Hollywood. "Two? How could you possibly know that?"

"I've taken enough pictures of my own and worked with Donovan on his tattoo books enough to recognize two different styles here. One photographer is more skilled than the other. The composition, the clarity, etc. are all vastly different. If I had to hazard a guess, I would say that one photographer is an amateur while the other is more advanced. He's not quite a professional, but close. The superiority of the photographs suggests a higher quality camera too, expensive."

"What else?" Caveman prompted.

"I can tell you that the second photographer was hired the same time I moved to town five years ago. That's when the photos changed." She watched as both men absorbed the information and then said the part that scared her the most. "And I think I know who the second photographer might be."

Their reaction was immediate and explosive. "What the hell? How long were you going to keep that to yourself, Julliard?" Caveman demanded.

"Until I thought it through, which I have," Bronwyn answered calmly. "So I'm telling you now."

"Okay then. So who is it?"

"I think it might be a guy I used to date," she almost whispered. Looking at the pictures she added, "It would have to mean that he started taking these pictures years before we met and continued even after we became involved. He would have stalked me even as he professed to love me."

"Are you sure?" Hollywood inquired.

"No, I'm not," admitted Bronwyn honestly. "But it would explain why he is the only man I ever dated not in any of the photographs."

"Good enough for me then," announced Caveman. "What's his name, Julliard? I think it's time the guys and I paid him a little visit."

"If that's your plan, then I'm coming with," Bronwyn challenged.

"The hell you are!" Hollywood contradicted. "There is no way we are going to put you in the same room with the man who took those pictures."

"The man who took those pictures is a coward!" Bronwyn argued. She advanced on Hollywood as she spoke. "He didn't even have the guts to come at me directly. He had to hide behind a camera. The man who took those pictures is no threat to me."

"You can't be sure of that," Hollywood began.

"No, I can't," Bronwyn interrupted. "That's why we go together. The guy would have to be an idiot to try something with you two there."

"Four," Caveman corrected. "If we do this, we go as a team." He looked at Bronwyn as he finished. "All of us, or none of us."

"What about Einstein?" Hollywood asked. "Shouldn't we wait for him to get back?"

"No!" Bronwyn answered quickly. Caveman raised one eyebrow in response, but remained silent. Bronwyn realized her mistake and immediately composed herself. "I just think that the longer we wait the more chances he'll have to retreat and hide what he's done. I think we're better off confronting him now, when he's not expecting it." Both men remained still and expressionless as they listened. "If we wait for Einstein we may lose what little advantage we have."

"I don't like it," Caveman was swift to respond.

"Me neither," agreed Hollywood. "But Julliard may be right."

Slowly, Caveman began to nod in agreement. "We go together, equipped to defend ourselves and Julliard. We don't separate or leave her unprotected for even a second."

"Agreed," Hollywood confirmed.

"And we don't go until we hear from Einstein today. He should have a chance to weigh in on this."

"Oh, please," Bronwyn, answered in exasperation. "If you let Einstein weigh in, you honestly think he's going to let us do this?"

Caveman's response was interrupted when his cell phone rang. "How the hell does he know?" he muttered as he answered. "Good morning, Einstein. How's your grandmother...? How did it go...? Good... That's good to hear... No, nothing new here. It's been quiet... Yes, she's fine. She's right here. Would you like to talk to her...? Oh, okay. Um... When do you think you'll be back...? Understood. Keep us posted... Yes, we'll do the same... Bye."

Because he was looking for it, Caveman caught the flicker of pain in Bronwyn's eyes. Suddenly he didn't feel the least bit guilty for keeping Vincent in the dark. "I'm sure he'll call you later, when he has more time," he lied.

"I'm just as sure he won't," Bronwyn disagreed. Before Caveman could argue, she continued, "You didn't tell him."

"No, I didn't. He seems really busy, and I figure we can handle things on this end."

Bronwyn smiled. "Thanks."

"Don't thank me yet, Julliard. If I, or any of the guys, feel, if even for a second, that you aren't safe, we abort. No discussion, no compromise. Those are the terms. Take them or leave them."

"I'll take them."

An hour later, Bronwyn and the team stood around the table as she explained her theory of the possibility of two photographers.

"It seems, logical, if not unusual. I think we should play this out, see where it leads us," agreed Preacher.

"What did Einstein say when you briefed him?" asked Poet.

"Not much. We chose not to brief him," stated Hollywood.

"Not to... whose brilliant idea was that?"

"Mine," answered Bronwyn. "Last time I checked, I still have the right to make decisions for myself." She waited but no one contradicted her. "I understand if you guys don't want to break protocol and defy Vincent. He trusts you to do what he asked. To break that trust could seriously jeopardize your friendship."

"What about your relationship with Vincent? Aren't you worried about jeopardizing that?" challenged Preacher.

"That's already run its course. I don't have anything to lose here. You guys still do."

"Whatever the risks, I'm in," said Poet.

"Me, too," agreed Preacher.

"Okay, then," began Hollywood, "Now that that's settled. Here's how we'll do it."

In the bright afternoon sunshine, Bronwyn took a deep steadying breath as she stood outside the office building and looked up at the top floor.

"You don't have to do this," Poet reassured her as he stood beside her.

"You could just give us his name and we'll handle it," Preacher agreed.

She studied each of the men that had gathered around her and saw both concern and determination etched on their faces. She smiled slightly to reassure them before turning to walk into the lobby. The man at the information desk greeted her warmly, adding that it had been too long since her last visit. He examined the men with a look of confused suspicion. Bronwyn hardly noticed as she stepped to the first elevator. The men followed closely and instinctively formed a wall around her. "Here we go boys," she whispered as the elevator doors opened on the top floor. By mutual consent, the guys stayed back and watched her enter the glass fronted office lobby.

Bronwyn took another deep breath as she walked up to the receptionist. She was nervous about the reaction she would elicit. If she couldn't get past Barbara quickly and quietly, this whole confrontation would be a failure. She'd leave without any of the answers she needed.

"Barbara," she said quietly as she walked up to the desk. Her insecurities vanished as she saw the warm welcome in her friend's eyes.

"Wyn! Oh, my god! It's great to see you!" Barbara was saying as she leaped from her seat and skirted the desk to give Bronwyn a hug. "You look great!"

"Thanks," Bronwyn answered hesitantly. "How have you been? How are the kids?"

"Everybody's great. Thanks for asking. My Betty is pregnant with our first grand baby! Can you believe it? But you don't want to stand around talking to me, do you?" She leaned in conspiratorially and whispered. "He's missed you terribly, you know. It'd be great if you two could work things out and get back together. You always made such a great couple."

"Um, thanks," Bronwyn stammered. "Is he in? Do you think I could go back and see him for a few minutes? Talk things over," she added when Barbara hesitated.

"Sure, honey. I think that's just what the doctor ordered." She laughed loudly at her own joke. "You remember where his office is. You just head on back now."

"Thanks," Preacher answered as he took Bronwyn's arm and propelled her down the hallway. Bronwyn never had a chance to thank Barbara so she missed the stunned expression on her face as the team suddenly fell in around her. Barbara only had seconds to see their faces before they were gone. Weird she thought as she rushed back to her desk to answer the phone.

Bronwyn wasn't quite sure how to approach Jeremy so she entered his office hesitantly and quietly spoke his name. She noted genuine pleasure in his eyes as he saw her and a smile began to warm his face. The smile froze when he saw she wasn't alone. That one unguarded reaction told Bronwyn everything. Jeremy was indeed the second photographer.

"Good afternoon, Jeremy. I'd introduce you," Bronwyn said as she gestured to the team, "but I think you know everyone here."

"Good afternoon, Bronwyn," Jeremy repeated as he stood and circled his desk. He reached for her, but was stopped short when Preacher intercepted him.

"Let's just keep our hands to ourselves, shall we?" he asked nicely. Jeremy recognized a civilized threat when he heard one. He also recognized barely contained fury. He wisely stepped back and feigned confusion.

"I'm sorry, Bronwyn. I'm not sure what you mean. I have never met any of these ..." he paused slightly, "gentlemen before. I'm certain I would remember if I had."

"I didn't say that you had met them. I only said that you knew them."

"Then I'm confused. How could I possibly know someone I haven't met? Really, Bronwyn," he asked in exasperation, "must you talk in riddles? I'm a very busy man, you know. I really don't have time for your games."

"Why don't I try and clear things up for you then?" Bronwyn asked. "Let's see if I can jog your memory." One by one and with careful, deliberate moves, she placed ten photos on Jeremy's desk. She had made sure to incorporate the ones that included all the members of the team.

Jeremy's eyes widened with shock, but his words belied his emotions. "I still don't understand what you're getting at Bronwyn. And, frankly, I'm becoming rather annoyed."

"Let me clarify. You took these photos, Jeremy." Holding up one of Laura and herself shopping she added, "This is your work. You took these, as well as about fifty others, put them in an envelope, and left them at my apartment."

"What?" Jeremy asked. "I did no such thing! I would never..."

"How much did Robert pay you, Jeremy?" Bronwyn accused as she stepped closer to him. "How much did you get for tormenting me and my family?" She moved in even closer as her anger got the better of her. "What happened to the other photos Jeremy? Surely, you took others. Where's our trip to Cancun? Where's my aunt and uncle's 30th wedding anniversary?" She continued to advance on him until Poet brought her up short. "Where are all the private moments you must have captured? I would imagine you got some pretty juicy stuff when you were still sleeping with me?"

Jeremy forgot himself for a moment and reached out. Poet simply closed his hand around Jeremy's wrist and turned him abruptly away from Bronwyn. Preacher moved in smoothly to replace him at Bronwyn's side.

"Let's make things very clear here. Any part of you that touches her, you're not getting back." He stepped in and leaned close into Jeremy's face to finish the last part. "Understood?" Jeremy swallowed audibly before nodding. "Good."

"I ... I just wanted to explain," stammered Jeremy. "I did not leave those photos, or any photos," he quickly added, "at your apartment."

"But you took them," Caveman insisted.

"Yes," Jeremy agreed reluctantly. "For a client."

"What client?" demanded Poet.

"Um... I'd rather not say. I was hired to be discrete."

"You know what?" Preacher asked. "We don't actually care what you'd rather do. Poet asked you a question. I suggest you answer it."

It didn't take Jeremy long to weigh his options, and reconsider. "I took the pictures for Robert Barrister."

Even though she had been certain Jeremy took the photos, had even been certain that he would eventually admit it, she couldn't stop the startled gasp that escaped her lips. "Why?" was the only word she managed to whisper. Preacher put his arm around her waist and pulled her close. He could feel the tension in her body as she struggled to maintain her composure.

"You've got to understand, Bronwyn. I never did this to hurt you. I was trying to help," pleaded Jeremy.

"Help me?" Bronwyn asked incredulously. "How the hell did you think you were helping me?"

"Robert contacted me," Jeremy implored. "I didn't go looking for him. He told me all about his estranged daughter and how he missed being a part of her life."

"I'll just bet he did," Caveman agreed sarcastically.

Jeremy didn't even spare him a glance as he continued to try to convince Bronwyn of his innocence. "I agreed to take a few shots, a onetime deal, so that he could see what you were like now as a grown woman. He was so grateful, so happy for those few pieces of your life that it was easy to agree to continue to send him a few photos every week. I didn't see any harm in it really."

"Did it never occur to you that you were stealing pieces of my life? You were giving him pieces he didn't deserve."

"Honestly, no it didn't."

"Fucking idiot," accused Hollywood.

Jeremy took a deep breath before continuing. "I had been taking pictures for Robert for about two years when you shocked the hell out of me by walking into my office one day. Do you remember that?" He didn't wait for her to answer. "I do. For days, I struggled with the idea of seeing you and still supplying pictures for Robert. It didn't seem right, especially after I knew the whole story."

"But you still continued to send pictures," Bronwyn countered.

"Yes. I figured if he didn't get pictures from me, he'd get someone else to do the job. At least this way I could pick and choose what he received."

"He should have received nothing," Preacher corrected. "You should have told Bronwyn the whole story instead of continuing to betray her."
"That's what I am trying to explain. I didn't betray her! I was protecting her!" Jeremy argued.

"From what?" Caveman interrupted. "If Robert was just a father who wanted pictures of his daughter, what were you protecting Bronwyn from?" Everyone waited for Jeremy to respond and when he didn't Caveman continued. "Could it be that the two of you planned this together? Robert would make the phone calls and break into her apartment to frighten her. And you, you would send her all those pictures you had been taking for years. Let her know that everywhere she went, she was being watched. Stalked." Caveman waited a beat and sent Bronwyn an apologetic look before he added. "I bet it was quite a rush. Knowing you could scare her; use her fear to control her. Were you hoping she would come running back to you for protection or were you paying her back for cutting you out of her life?"

"No!" Jeremy retaliated. "You've got this all wrong! I'm not anything like that bastard Robert Barrister." Poet moved to stand on the other side of Bronwyn as Jeremy became more agitated. "What can I do to make you believe me? I would never do anything to hurt Bronwyn! I couldn't! I love her!"

"Really?" Hollywood asked quietly. "How do you get the pictures to Robert?"

"He has a post office box. Once a week, or so, I send photos there. I don't have his home address, or even a phone number to contact him. I've only met with him a few times over the years. Each of those times he has shown up at my office unannounced." He watched the men silently deliberate before he suggested. "I could give you the address. You could stake it out or something, right?" he asked desperately. "You could use that to catch him or something, right?"

"Or something, yes," agreed Preacher.

"Good. Good," repeated Jeremy as he moved to his desk and hastily wrote down the address. He held it at arm's length towards Preacher. Hollywood was the one to reach out and take it, though. Preacher just continued to stare at Jeremy as he kept a firm hold on Bronwyn. He kept his thoughts to himself.

"Bronwyn?" Jeremy pleaded. "You believe me, right?" He cautiously took a step forward as he watched for Preacher's reaction. "I never meant to hurt you."

"Hurts just the same though. Doesn't it?" Bronwyn challenged quietly.

"What can I do to make it up to you?"

Bronwyn gave a small sarcastic smile. "Nothing."

"Nothing! But there has to be something," he demanded.

"No there doesn't, Jeremy," Bronwyn calmly disagreed. "Sometimes you can't go back. You can't ever undo what has been done." Without another word, she turned to go.

Preacher released her to Poet, but did not follow. He remained fixed in place, his eyes following Jeremy's frantic pacing. Preacher caught the look in his eyes just before he changed course to pursue Bronwyn. Desperation. Desperate men were capable of almost anything Preacher reminded himself.

"This isn't over, Bronwyn," Jeremy called out as she reached the doorway. "I'll find a way to make this up to you."

"Actually," Hollywood corrected. "You're going to let this go. You're going to let her go."

"I won't."

Preacher angled his head back slightly and his eyes went cold. Hollywood knew that Jeremy had gone too far. He simply stepped back and let Preacher take the lead.

"You will let her go. You will sever every connection immediately. There will be no phone calls, no visits, or emails. There will be no dropping by her store or asking her friends about her. As far as you are concerned, Bronwyn does not exist, has never existed."

"But..." Jeremy began desperately.

Preacher simply took one step closer to him. "I assure you this is not a subject for debate. It is not open for discussion." He stood his ground until he was certain that Jeremy was convinced of his sincerity. "We're finished here," he added as he quietly left the office, shutting the door as he went.

Back on the street, next to the car, they gathered close to quietly debrief. "Are you okay Julliard?" Poet asked first.

She was slow to answer, as she knew that they would be quick to recognize any attempt at charade. "I think so. I'm trying to find my anger but all I can manage is disappointment and resignation. I never would have thought Jeremy would do something like this, yet I'm somehow not surprised either. He always was arrogant in his beliefs. It would be just like him to ignore my thoughts and feelings if he thought he knew better."

"Then he's an idiot," Caveman announced.

"That goes without saying," Bronwyn agreed. "But I still don't get his motive in all this. What did he have to gain from an alliance with Robert?"

"I don't know," Hollywood answered her, "But I think we need to find out. We need to find out how much of what Jeremy told us is the truth. How much he knows and how much he has passed on to Robert."

"How do we do that?"

Poet, as the unofficial leader of the group, took point. "I've been giving that some thought. This is what I think we should do." They all closed in tight, as he began to outline the plan. Leaving nothing to chance, the men prepared to search Jeremy's condo, tap his phones and post sentries at the post office and Jeremy's office. He wouldn't be able to make a move without them knowing it now. And if he had lied to them, he would suffer. Of that, Bronwyn was sure. The entire briefing was remarkable. Separate, the men were all quite extraordinary. Together, as a united front, they were indomitable. They had just taken a giant step forward and toward the conclusion of Robert's little game. The next move was up to him. All they had to do now was wait.

Chapter 13

Four days later Bronwyn and the team were still waiting.

"Just for a few hours, Hollywood, please. I'm going crazy sitting around here day after day," Bronwyn was saying as they sat around the pool after lunch.

"Careful, honey," Hollywood teased. "I do believe you're dangerously close to whining. Whining is very unattractive on a woman."

Bronwyn scowled at him briefly before turning to Preacher. "Oh, no you don't Julliard. You know the rules. You leave this house only if it's absolutely necessary."

"Then I think it's time to reevaluate the rules. Things have changed."

Preacher nodded, as if considering. "You have a point there." He looked over at Poet who was sitting in the cool shallows of the pool. "Maybe we should rethink it."

It was Poet's turn to contemplate. It didn't take him long to decide. "I'll run it by Vincent the next time he calls."

"Well gee, thanks Poet," Bronwyn groaned. "I'm sure that will help the situation tremendously."

"You're welcome, Julliard. Anything I can do to help. Anything at all," he answered sweetly.

Bronwyn's response was cut short when her phone rang. "Just remember, Poet," she said as she answered and asked the caller to wait, "Sometimes karma is swift and ugly." With that said, she turned her back on the men, "Hey sis. What's up?"

Preacher watched her for a minute, as she stood exposed. Her voice and body language were animated and he could hear the love she had for her sister in every word. She hadn't even thought about it as she turned her back to them even though she wore nothing more than small black swim shorts and a red bikini top. Both her scars and her tattoo were clearly visible in the bright afternoon sun. She had come so far in the last four days. He desperately wished Vincent could see her like this. "Did you tell her that Vincent was expected later today?" he asked of Poet.

"No."

"No?"

"I thought it might be interesting for her to be caught by surprise. Don't you think? She won't have time to put up her walls."

"Jesus man," started Caveman and then Bronwyn screamed. Before she could make another sound all four men were standing and alert. She didn't see them as she began to jump up and down excitedly.

"Oh my goodness, Laura! This is fabulous! I can't believe this. I am so happy for you!" She turned then to see the men still standing and realized immediately what had happened. "We have to celebrate. Tonight! Dinner. Here at the house. Okay? Six o'clock. I can't wait! I love you! Congratulations! I'm sorry," she was saying as she hurried to the men. "I didn't think. I was just excited. I didn't mean to startle you."

"Occupational hazard," Caveman stated matter-of-factly. "It happens."

"So what's the good news?" asked Hollywood.

"Laura's pregnant!" screamed Bronwyn. She was shaking with excitement. "I can't believe this! We're going to have a baby! Isn't that great?" She laughed enthusiastically. "So tonight, we celebrate! I'm thinking outdoors, here by the pool. I told Laura six, so that gives us five hours to get everything ready."

"Us?" Poet asked hesitantly.

"Yes, us, Poet." She smiled at him as she added, "Sometimes karma is swift and ugly."

"Shit," was all he muttered as the men began to laugh.

He stood in the doorway, unnoticed, and watched the scene before him. The table was set with fine linen, china, and crystal and he could hear classical music playing softly, yet the mood was far from formal. There was no awkwardness, no polite, stilted conversation. There was excitement and joy in the air. Everyone was talking at once and laughing as they mercilessly teased the expectant mom and dad. Vincent smiled to himself as he watched them; his men, her family. Somehow, in his absence, they had forged themselves into a unique unit of sorts. He only hoped that there was still room for him. He took a deep breath before stepping out of the shadows. "Well, I hear congratulations are in order," he announced. He heard his name called out in surprise from several different voices as he moved to kiss Laura on the cheek and shake Michael's hand. Everyone greeted him warmly and began flooding him with questions about his grandmother. He answered each in turn and finally turned to Bronwyn who had not spoken at all.

"My grandmother told me to tell you that she misses you and that she was sorry you hadn't joined me for the trip." He scrutinized her carefully. She looked absolutely lovely in the soft fading sunlight. She wore a delicate summer dress that skimmed her knees and showed off her curves and light summer tan. He wanted nothing more than to lean down and kiss her warmly. He found himself moving toward her before he could stop himself.

"Well, I'll be sure to call her tomorrow then. If you'll excuse me for a moment, I need to speak to Beckett about dinner."

It only took Vincent a second to decide to follow her. "Bronwyn?" he asked as he found her alone in the kitchen. She didn't turn to face him because she hadn't had enough time to step behind her illusion. She kept her face hidden as she continued to put the final touches on dinner. "I wanted to make sure that we're okay, that you're not still angry with me for the way Poet and I handled things. I'm afraid you may have misinterpreted the situation."

You can't be serious was all she could think. Taking a deep breath, she turned. "I'm not angry with you Vincent. I never was really. Don't worry. You're entitled to your own feelings. I can respect that. The hell I can she thought. And I assure you," she began as he started to interrupt, "I have not misinterpreted the situation at all. Oh no, I understand you perfectly. You are just like all the others after all, aren't you? I will not make this difficult for you. I promise. There will be no scene or crazy drama. I have more respect for both of us than that."

"What? No, that's not what I meant."

"It's okay, Vincent. Stop worrying," Bronwyn repeated.

"Are you ready to serve, Miss Bronwyn?" asked Beckett as he entered the kitchen. "I have set up the buffet table and everything should be ready."

She moved quickly to avoid any further conversation with Vincent. What the hell was he doing home unannounced anyway? Seeing him walk onto the patio had shocked her. And then to have him follow her into the kitchen to talk things over! Was he actually that stupid or just insensitive? At least she had handled herself well. She had not broken or begged for another chance. She had simply accepted his rejection and told him not to worry. Later she might be proud of herself. Right now, she was fighting to swallow the pain, the pain that absolutely must not show. This night was for celebrating. And celebrate she would, even if it killed her. She kept herself busy for the next fifteen minutes and tried not to notice that Vincent had positioned himself so that he could watch her closely. She just kept moving from the buffet table to the kitchen and back. When all the food was in place she focused on making sure everyone filled their plates and found a place at the table. Then there were beverages to see to. She did everything she could think of to postpone joining the party herself. Finally, she couldn't avoid it any longer and she approached the buffet table.

"Let me," Vincent said in her ear. "You've apparently been working at this all day. You deserve a break. I'll fix you a plate. Go sit and relax." He smiled sweetly at her.

"Um... That's not necessary. I'm okay, really," she stammered.

"Bronwyn. Sit."

She turned abruptly to join everyone and her steps faltered a little as she noticed that the only two seats left at the table were together. Now she would have to be on guard for the rest of the evening. Vincent had already proven that he could see in her what others missed. Well he had never seen her at her best, had he? He was in for one hell of a surprise.

Forty minutes later, she felt pretty good about her performance. No one seemed to notice anything was off. She laughed, she ate, she joked. Everyone praised her meal and she smiled. Things were going really well and it was almost over. She was pretty confident she would make it through even with Vincent's relentless presence pressing in on her. Never once had he left her side. She knew him well enough to know that his proximity was intentional. He was crowding her and he knew it. It was beginning to piss her off.

"Bronwyn?" Michael was asking. She ruthlessly smothered her thoughts of Vincent and turned to her brother-in-law. "I don't know if this is the right time or place, but I really hope we can talk for a minute." He stood there looking between Bronwyn and Vincent, silently asking permission to interrupt. Bronwyn stared poignantly at Vincent.

"Poet, give Michael your seat for minute, will you?"

"Sure Einstein," Poet answered as he rose immediately and allowed Michael to sit. Vincent knew he was being obstinate. He just didn't care.

"Is this something you want to keep just between you?"

"No," Michael was quick to reassure him. "I'm sure you two have laid bare all your secrets by now. Laura says it's like you two are connected." He took a steadying breath before he began. "All this new business with Robert has brought up a lot of ..." Another steadying breath, "memories for Laura." Bronwyn placed her hand over his on the table.

"I'm sorry."

"No. Oh my god. No!" he grabbed her hand desperately. "Don't apologize. It has also given us the chance to have a lot of conversations that were long overdue. Before this mess, she hadn't told me much about your childhood, the early years with Robert." He felt her tense and saw Vincent lean forward and place his hand at the small of her back. Michael looked at Vincent and smiled. "I see what Laura means by connected." Redirecting his attention back to Bronwyn, he continued. "Because we had never talked about it, I didn't know." He leaned in close, as did Vincent. "I didn't understand until recently everything you did for her, to keep her safe. I do now." He paused again, looking quickly at his wife. "I know that there is not a mark on Laura that God didn't put there himself. And now I know you are the one to thank for that. I want you to know, need you to know, that I am forever in your debt."

"No," Bronwyn tried to interrupt.

"Let me finish, please. I am in your debt," he emphasized. "Laura never would have survived without you. We never would have fallen in love. I wouldn't be about to bring our first child into this family. I would never have become the man I am without her. None of it, none of it would have happened if you hadn't been there. I can see that now. So, as I said, I am in your debt." He kissed her cheek and started to rise.

"Just love her," Bronwyn pleaded. "I don't need gratitude, or indebtedness. Just love her."

"I do. More than I can possibly convey." With that said, he walked over and took his place next to his wife.

If possible, Vincent moved even closer as he studied Bronwyn's face. "Look at me," he whispered. "Let me see your eyes."

"Vincent. Don't," she pleaded.

He reached up to turn her face to his. "I need to see your eyes." He searched and scrutinized before he finally asked, "What did he mean, Bronwyn? What did he mean you are the reason that Laura has no scars?"

Her eyes began to fill, but she shook her head and pulled away. "I can't do this now," she whispered desperately. "Just let me go."

"No," he whispered just as desperately. But he did move back and let her stand.

"I need to see to dessert," she explained before she rushed inside.

Ten minutes later, she was back. She had used those minutes to compose herself and rebuild her facade. She smiled as she approached her sister.

"Oh my goodness! Is that what I think it is?" Laura asked excitedly. "Is that really your seven layer chocolate cake? Please, tell me it is."

"It is. How could it be a celebration without it?" Bronwyn teased.

"You know, you always were my favorite sister," Laura added as she took her first bite.

Half an hour later, the party had begun to break up. Everyone was hugging and kissing and saying their goodnights. If Vincent was surprised that his team didn't leave with Bronwyn's family, he didn't show it. As Bronwyn turned from shutting the door, the last time he said, "It's time for us to talk, now."

She acquiesced immediately. It was better to just get it over with.

Following her into the living room, Vincent repeated his question from earlier. "What did Michael mean when he said that you were the reason Laura has no scars?"

"How could I possibly know what he meant?" She was startled when Vincent growled in frustration. Bronwyn quickly revised her answer. "I guess he was thanking me for protecting her. She was younger and smaller than me. She needed my help."

Vincent didn't comment when his team filed into the room one by one. He kept his focus on Bronwyn and tried to piece the puzzle together. "How did you protect her?" He knew immediately that he had asked the right question, because he saw it flash in her eyes. He would have taken a moment to gloat but he needed to hear her answer.

"The usual way."

"No," He accused as he advanced on her. "I won't settle for half truths anymore. Tell me."

"It doesn't matter."

"The hell it doesn't!" he roared. "If it can make a man thank you fifteen years after the fact, it matters. How did you protect Laura?"

Bronwyn felt trapped again because she knew the answer would not be what they wanted to hear. She stood frozen in place as she deliberated what to do.

"Bronwyn," Vincent hissed.

Her head snapped up at that, as she glared at him in anger. He had left her no choice. "I could usually tell when things were going to get ugly. When I knew what was coming, I got her out of the room first."

"And if you didn't know it was coming?" This question was from Poet.

Tears filled her eyes as she looked at the concern in his. "I did what I had to do. I protected her."

She heard Vincent's sharp intake of breath before he exploded. "You were her fucking human shield!" He began to pace angrily. "You were only ten years old!"

"Six," Bronwyn murmured.

"What?" he demanded as he stopped short in front of her.

"I was only six the first time Robert hit me. I was only six the first time I didn't see it coming." Vincent paled at that but she continued. "If you want to be pissed about it, fine. Go ahead. I did what I had to do. I'm not sorry and I won't apologize for it." She paused as she looked at each of them in turn. "And there is not a man in this room that wouldn't have done the same. Now, if you'll excuse me. I think I've said all I plan to say on this."

Preacher waited for her to leave the room before he approached Vincent. "Jesus, Einstein. It would probably hurt less if you just hit her." He didn't even flinch when Vincent lunged at him. "Go ahead. I'd rather you hammer at me instead of her. She can't take much more Vincent, before she breaks."

Vincent stopped short at that, defeated.

"You know you've handled this badly, don't you?" Poet asked quietly.

"I'm beginning to realize how badly," Vincent admitted miserably. "I just didn't know what to say. I knew she was angry..."

"She was never angry," Poet interrupted. "She told me that she never anticipated you would understand and accept her. She told me that your rejection was exactly what she expected."

"But I didn't reject her! I was giving her time and space."

"That's not how she saw it," Caveman corrected. "That's not how any of us saw it." When Vincent looked up at him in disbelief, he explained. "From the outside, it looked like you couldn't or wouldn't handle the scars. It looked like you completely changed your mind about how you felt about her."

"But I didn't," Vincent denied. "If it's at all possible I love her more now than I did before I knew. Now that I know what she's been through, what she's overcome... Her love, her strength, her devotion; they stagger me."

"Yeah, she amazes the hell out of all of us," agreed Hollywood. "But if you still love her, you need to tell her that, now."

"I don't know that she's ready to hear it," Vincent argued.

"She's ready," Poet disagreed. "Even if she doesn't think she is. She doesn't need time and space, Einstein." Poet advised. "What she needs is a man who can love her."

Those were the words that echoed through his mind, even after the team was gone. She needs a man who can love her. God, he hoped they were right, because he couldn't wait any longer. She was going to hear him out. He wouldn't live at arm's length any more. He found her in the shower and considered it a sign of fate that he could corner her so easily. Now he had two options. He could patiently and silently wait her out or he could confront her. Never having been accused of being a particularly patient man, he undressed quickly, pulled back the shower curtain, and stepped in. Bronwyn screamed and punched him straight in the face.

"Damn it," he swore.

"Vincent! What the hell are you doing?" Bronwyn accused. "You should know better than to sneak up on a woman in the shower."

"Well, I do now!" He glared at her as he gently examined his nose. Satisfied that there were no broken bones, he ignored the throbbing and focused in on her face. "We need to talk."

"You've got to be kidding me. You barge into my shower, risk personal injury and all you have to say for yourself is we need to talk." She looked at him in absolute amazement. No mask now, Vincent thought absently. "Tell me this, does crazy run in your family, or is it just you?"

"I'm not crazy," he started to explain. "I just needed to talk to you."

"And it couldn't have waited until I finished my shower?"

"No."

"Fine then. Say your peace and then get the hell out." His eyes reduced to slits at her tone but she was beyond caring any more. She just wanted him to leave her alone, needed him to leave her alone. So she stood there impatiently, trying to pretend that they weren't both wet and naked.

"I'm not sure how to begin." He took a deep breath to steady his nerves and lost precious seconds as he struggled to smother the desire that overwhelmed him. Bronwyn unwittingly added to his struggle as she reached to push back the wet curtain of hair that fell over her shoulder. He refocused his eyes on the wall behind her. "According to my men, I've made a lot of mistakes this week. I'll apologize for that." He held up his hand to silence her as she prepared to interrupt. "I know you'll tell me it's not necessary, but I'll apologize just the same. I never meant to add to your pain. I'm in uncharted territory here and lost as to how to make my way. I see now that my indecisiveness has lead to confusion, misunderstandings, and a lot of wasted time. I plan to make up for all that, if it is at all possible. And I'm going to start right now. I'll begin by clarifying my feelings for you. I don't want there to be any lingering doubts in your mind." He shifted his gaze from the wall to her eyes. She stood motionless, braced for the pain she was certain he would inflict. It saddened him to realize that he had brought her to that. Watching her intently he announced, "I'm in love with you."

"No you're not," was Bronwyn's immediate response. "You feel responsible for me. And you feel sorry for me. Neither of those emotions is the same as love."

"Why would I feel sorry for you?" His question caught her off guard. "You're an intelligent, beautiful, successful woman. And you have friends and family that love you beyond all measure. Why would I pity you for that?" She didn't answer, so he continued. "And I don't feel responsible for you either. I feel protective maybe; possessive definitely, but not responsible. That makes you sound like a child that needs to be cared for. You are undeniably not a child. So, I repeat. I am in love with you."

She studied him for a full thirty seconds before she asked, "Why?"

It was then that he realized her disbelief was rooted in her lack of self worth. What was it Poet had said? She expected your rejection. Her early childhood and the many years since had taught her that she wasn't ever going to be like other women. She wasn't ever going to live happily ever after with the man of her dreams. Every man she had ever dated had served to reinforce this belief until Bronwyn had learned to accept the fact that no man should be expected to love her. No wonder she didn't believe him. "Why do I love you?" Vincent finally began. "I love you because you are funny, sexy, and smart as hell. I love you because you are compassionate and loyal to the bone." He took a chance and reached out to cup her face in his hands. "I love you because at six years old you were stronger and braver than I will ever be. I love you because you have earned the right to be angry and bitter yet instead you are loving, and kind and full of hope." When she tried to turn away, he held her firmly in place. "I love you because I can see everything you feel mirrored in your eyes. I love you because you have a mean right hook and can sing like an angel." When she smiled slightly, he realized he was making progress. "I can keep going all day if you like."

"No. That won't be necessary," she whispered.

"Do you believe me, then?" Vincent asked. He held her gaze as she studied him. He needed her to recognize the truth. He needed her to trust him and accept him.

"I think I'm beginning to," she admitted.

"Then let me in, Bronwyn," he pleaded. "Surrender everything you are." He pulled her into him. "Take everything I am." He stood rigid, his body taut as he waited. He would not coerce or seduce her. The decision had to be hers. She had to believe in him enough to take a chance. He watched in both fascination and fear as she battled with her emotions. After what seemed an eternity, her eyes began to fill and he thought surely he had lost. His body tensed as he prepared to step back. Then his heart simply stopped as he watched the doubt in eyes give way to warmth and desire. She smiled up at him and nodded 'yes'.

"Say it," he said as he gripped her tightly. "I need to hear you say it."

"Yes," she murmured before his lips found hers. The kiss was all fire and heat and hunger. Their mouths fought to taste as their greedy hands moved over wet skin, stroking, enticing. Someone moaned and the sound fueled their need. Bronwyn gasped in shock when Vincent turned abruptly and slammed her back against the cold tile. What had started a little over a week ago was spinning out of control, choking him, stripping him bare. He pinned her with the weight of him as his mouth and hands continued their insatiable explorations. The need to have her staggered him. Bronwyn fought to keep up, her hands and mouth just as eager as his. She wondered absently if this is what it felt like to be ravaged. And then she couldn't think at all, as the need became razor sharp.

"Now," Vincent demanded roughly. "I want to feel myself move inside you."

His words sent her mind scrambling for a response. "Bed," was the one coherent thought she managed to articulate.

"Here. Now." It was instinct that had Bronwyn holding on as Vincent lifted her and plunged deep. The unexpected orgasm shocked them both and stole the breath from her lungs as it devastated her system. His body went rigid as he fought desperately to wait. Wave after wave tore through her until she was steeped in pleasure. And then Vincent began to move.

The pace he set was nothing short of frantic. His need to drive her to come again, overwhelming. He could feel the next orgasm building, her body closing tight and hot around him, snapping the last threads of his sanity.

"Surrender, damn it. Yield to me." He stared into her eyes that mirrored the pleasure he was feeling. And he watched those eyes go blind as she came again, dragging him over the edge with her.

They were both gasping and weak when Vincent noticed Bronwyn was also shivering. Without releasing his hold on her, he reached over and turned off the shower, wondering at what point it had grown cold. He continued to hold her with the press of his body against hers. He was afraid if he moved one or both of them would crumble and sink to the floor of the shower. His knees where weak and he could feel his heart racing, or was it hers? Vincent leaned back just enough to look at her face. She had her head tilted back and her eyes closed. "Hi," he murmured.

Bronwyn opened her eyes to find his face just inches from hers. "Hi yourself." She considered him for moment before adding, "You look rather pleased with yourself."

His smile widened in response. "I'm feeling rather pleased, with the both of us actually." He closed the distance between them and kissed her softly. "For the record, though, this is not how I planned our first time. I'm afraid I may have rushed things a bit."

"I don't recall me complaining."

"No, but..."

"You were the first man that wasn't careful with me." Vincent winced at that and started to apologize but Bronwyn was quick to interrupt. "Don't you dare ruin it by saying you're sorry. I don't want careful. I want genuine. I want what you're feeling when you're feeling it. If you're not feeling particularly composed and gentle, then I want to know that, experience that. I don't ever want you to hold back, to protect me because you think I might be shocked or offended. I am not and never have been that fragile. "

He pulled her into his arms and kissed her deeply before he answered. "I assure you that I have never thought of you as fragile. You are by far the strongest person I have ever met." He kissed her again. "I will gladly give you all of me but I will expect the same in return. I won't settle for anything less than all of you, past, present and future."

She studied him carefully before stepping out of the shower and reaching for her towel, "Then I guess we need to talk."

It's not what he had been hoping she would say, but at least her first reaction had not been to reject the idea, to reject him. He smiled at her as he answered, "Talking works for me." He grabbed a towel for himself and dried quickly. Wrapping the towel around his waist, he looked up and froze. Bronwyn had wrapped her towel around her body and was busy rubbing lotion onto her arms. The subtle smell of vanilla filled the air. Vincent found himself captivated and aroused by the purely womanly task. When she bent to add lotion to her legs, she looked up and caught him watching her.

"Is something wrong?"

"No, definitely not." She looked at him suspiciously, prompting him to confess, "I was... distracted." She smiled then.

"That's nice."

"I think that's my cue to leave. I'll meet you on the patio?" he suggested.

"I'll be out in five," she agreed as she continued applying lotion. Vincent willed himself to turn around and walk out.

True to her word, five minutes later she stepped out onto the patio. She was wearing a simple t-shirt and jeans, her feet bare. He thought she had never looked more alluring. He stood as she approached, making her smile shyly. "My turn to confess. I love it when you do that. It makes me feel cherished and respected."

"You are." She dipped her head, embarrassed. He smiled; delighted that she would trust him enough to drop her illusion. Pulling out her chair, he waited for her to sit before he joined her at the table. She looked nervous and suddenly he realized he might not like what she had to say. Leaning back in his chair he sipped his iced tea and tried to maintain an air of confidence he wasn't feeling.

"The way I see it," she began hesitantly, "we have a couple of ways we could precede from here." She stole a glance at him when he didn't comment but his expression gave away nothing of what he was feeling or thinking. She looked away again before continuing. "We could call our ... experience in the shower a onetime event and move on from here, no apologies, no regrets, no explanations needed." Without warning, he leaned forward, placed his glass of tea firmly on the table, and looked her in the eye.

"No."

"Oh. Okay," she stammered. "Option two. We could remain the mature adults that we are and agree to a casual relationship of sorts. No demands, no strings. We stay in as long as we are both satisfied and when one of us wants out, we walk away. No outbursts, no drama." She didn't look at him he noticed as he fought to control his temper. And her hand trembled slightly as she traced the condensation on her glass.

"Look at me," he demanded. He waited for her to comply before he asked, "What do you want, Bronwyn?"

She turned away again before she answered him. "I can do casual." He knew she was lying.

"Is that what you want?" he repeated.

"Casual is fine."

"And you would be willing to settle for fine? You would be willing to settle for less than what you want; less than what you need?" She didn't answer him and the tight reign he held on his anger slipped. "Damn it! Look at me." She did now, her eyes wide with shock. "I will not settle," he insisted. "I'm not looking for a one night stand or casual sex. That's a road I've been down before and I am not interested in returning. If you had hopes of keeping this casual you picked the wrong guy." He grabbed the arm of her chair and pulled her around to face him. "All of you. All of me. All the demands and all the strings."

"Past, present and future?"

"Without exception," he emphasized.

"I don't know if that's a promise I can make," Bronwyn hesitated. She could feel the anger and disappointment pouring off Vincent in waves, yet he remained silent. "My present is easy to offer you. It's yours, plain, and simple; for as long as you want it." She tried to turn away but his hand snaked out and caught her chin. "It's my past that I don't know if I should offer you."

"Keeping your past from me is not an option." He shook her slightly to emphasize his point. "You will not hide pieces of yourself."

"Why? Why is it so important for you to have all of me?" She sounded confused and exasperated, so Vincent dug deep for patience and the right words. "You're fighting with me over pieces of my life that have brought nothing but misery to those who know me. No one else wants to hear any of the details. No one else wants to be reminded."

"I'm not like anyone else you've ever known." Vincent assured her. "I'm in love with you. You, Bronwyn. Not the illusion." He smiled when her eyes widened in surprise. "I'm in love with the woman you are when no one is watching. The woman who has secrets, triumphs, failures, dreams." He kissed her softly and pulled her into his arms. "All of you. All of me," he whispered desperately.

She hesitated before tentatively wrapping her arms around him and allowing him to pull her tight. With her lips close to his ear, she whispered, "I don't know how to let you in." When Vincent would have pulled back to search her face, she clung to him. "I don't know how to do this." Her words stunned him, rocked him. She sounded lost and frightened and, somehow, very, very alone. He did pull back then so that she could see him when he answered her.

"Darling, I am in." He kissed her warmly. "And there is no one I know who is more capable of loving than you." He kissed her again, with just a hint of urgency. "You understood the depth and breadth of love long before you recognized what it meant to offer that love to a man. And I realize the risk you are taking by extending that love to me. I will not let you down. I will not disappoint you."

"But what if I let you down? What if I disappoint you?"

"You couldn't if you tried, darling. If you extend to me even a small portion of the love you have for your family, then I will have more than I ever dreamed possible."

Bronwyn, smiled softly. Reaching up, she pulled his head down so she could rest her forehead on his. "You are too good for me," she whispered.

"As you are for me," Vincent countered. Bronwyn smiled brightly at that.

"I just hope you know what you're getting into," she warned.

"Maybe I should take you to bed and you can show me."

"Maybe you should," she agreed.

This time, Vincent was determined to take it slowly, to savor every moment, every touch, every taste. When Bronwyn reached to lift her t-shirt, he stopped her. "Let me do that," he demanded huskily. "I've fantasized about undressing you; the slide of fabric against skin. I've thought about what it would feel like to take my time and reveal you by inches." He watched her eyes cloud with desire before he bent to kiss her. The taste of her thrilled him and seduced him. The touch of her hands aroused him. They let the passion wash over them and drag them under. Slowly, he reached for the edge of her shirt and pushed it up and over her head, exposing her inch by precious inch. His lips traced a path from her mouth to her shoulder as he pushed the fabric aside. With his tongue and teeth, he memorized the shape and texture of her skin. Bronwyn reached to undo the buttons of his shirt. Suddenly impatient to feel her hands on his skin, he pulled at the shirt himself, sending buttons flying. She laughed softly and pleased them both by sliding her hands from his waist to his chest. Vincent breathed in sharply when she laid her lips on his chest above his heart. Jerking her mouth back to his he fought his own impatience as he plundered. Tongues warred for possession as his hands fought to undo the clasp of her bra. When it too fell to the floor to join her shirt, Vincent cupped one breast with his hand as the other held her steady. Her moan went straight to his center, making him ache and bend her backwards to lower his mouth to her. Bronwyn moved against him as he savored her breast, driving them both perilously close to the edge. She barely recognized the woman who dragged Vincent to the bed with the demand, "I want to feel the weight of you." He was eager to comply as he stretched out, pinning her under him. It was his turn to moan then. "God!" Moving down he burned a trail of hot, wet kisses across her body until he circled around to her breast again. With his tongue and teeth, he teased the nipple until she fisted her hands in his hair. That's how he wanted her, desperate and demanding. She writhed under him making it impossible to wait. He had to drive her, watch her come. Taking her mouth again, he swallowed her moan as he unbuttoned her jeans and lowered the zipper. Ruthlessly, he pressed his hand against her, cupping her. "Open your eyes," Vincent insisted. "I want to watch you yield to me, to what I can do to you, to what I can make you feel." Bronwyn's eyes fluttered open as Vincent waited. He kissed her, eyes wide, as he began to stroke her. It was too much, Bronwyn thought, too much to feel. But Vincent was quick to show her that there was more as his fingers continued to caress and then slid inside. She was hot and tight and was almost his undoing. He drove her fast and furiously as her body bucked and trembled with need. "Yield," he whispered as he stared intimately into her eyes just inches from his. "All of you," he groaned hoarsely. He felt her body tighten and pull at him driving him beyond all sanity until suddenly she cried out his name and climaxed violently. She was too limp and weak to protest or even help as Vincent finished undressing her. Her body felt heavy and sated. "Beautiful," he murmured, as he looked at her in the soft moonlight. He moved to lie beside her so that he could look his fill. When he had been desperate just minutes before, he now found he wanted to linger. Slowly his eyes moved over her while his hand followed to caress and tease. Bronwyn's skin began to heat to his touch and he found the sensation incredibly arousing. "Exquisite," he muttered almost to himself. Lost in his own need and arousal, he missed the shock and surprise that showed clearly on Bronwyn's face and the tears that filled her eyes. Working from her feet, he trailed his hands and lips up her body, tasting and tantalizing. She began to move under him as he found and exploited vulnerabilities, driving him wild as she alternately stroked and clawed at him, her nails digging into his back. He took his time as again and again he used his mouth to seduce. Finally kneeling, he pulled her hips up to meet his and slid deep inside her. He heard someone sigh at the glorious feel of her surrounding him, but wasn't sure if the sigh was his or Bronwyn's. Together they set a pace that was slow and sensual, deliberately stretching out the luxurious, intoxicating friction of their bodies moving together. Linking his fingers with hers, Vincent focused on Bronwyn's face. Her eyes were clear and deep as they watched him. Every shudder and vibration he felt in her body echoed there for him to see. He groaned at the tremendous intimacy of the moment. In absolute unison, their pace increased until Bronwyn thought she would simply implode from the emotions and sensations Vincent was pulling from her. He kept his eyes locked on hers; refusing to surrender the connection even as she collapsed and he poured himself into her.

Their hearts gradually began to slow as Vincent lay with his head on her shoulder, his lips pressed against the pulse in her throat. Just as gradually his mind began to reboot and he realized that his full weight was pinning Bronwyn to the mattress. With considerable effort, he leveraged himself onto his elbows and looked down into her face. Feeling the warmth of her body still surrounding him and seeing the passion clouding her eyes, Vincent thought Bronwyn had never looked more beautiful. And then she smiled... and he felt his heart catch.

"You're beautiful," he whispered almost reverently.

Despite the physical intimacy they shared, Bronwyn smiled shyly. "You said that once before."

"Anything that is true, bears repeating."

"No one's ever told me that before," Bronwyn admitted. "All anyone has ever seen is the scars."

Her words sliced at him and angered him. "You're so much more than that, you know. More than even I imagined." He kissed her tenderly. "I love you." He said the words without hesitation or ambiguity.

Bronwyn scrutinized every nuance of his face as if she could read the truth there, while he held perfectly still. He was afraid that somehow his entire heart and soul hung in the balance of this moment in time. He would not jeopardize it with some careless remark or casual gesture. "You really mean that," Bronwyn decided. "I can hear it in your voice. See it in your eyes," she said as she reached up to put one hand on his cheek. "You really are in love with me."

"Yes," Vincent answered simply. "I really am."

"That must make me a very lucky woman," Bronwyn teased. She didn't wait for him to comment, but instead brought his mouth down to hers. She had meant for the kiss to be simple and sweet, with just enough heat to let Vincent know that she did indeed consider herself lucky. But with his words echoing in her head, she couldn't stop herself from giving more. Without allowing herself time to reflect on the risks, she poured everything she was feeling into the kiss and into him. Vincent responded immediately, both hands moving to hold her still so that he could draw out the kiss, sinking into her until they were both shaking. "God! I can taste it in you," he realized. "What I'm feeling. What you're feeling." He crushed his mouth to hers again willing her to respond, to understand.

"Yes," was all Bronwyn could manage before she was drawn into his desperation. His mouth was on hers again and his hands were everywhere, coaxing and commanding. He was drowning in her, willingly, even eagerly and he was determined to take her with him. His need to have Bronwyn, all of Bronwyn, became unbearable. Wrenching his lips from hers, he blazed a trail to her ear. "Tell me," he demanded hoarsely. "Tell me now." Before she could answer, though, his mouth was on hers again.

Bronwyn couldn't think, couldn't reach the logic she used to protect herself. All she could do was feel. Feel Vincent and all he brought to her. All they brought to one another and made together. It was overwhelming her. He was overwhelming her. It was her turn to drag her lips from his. They were both breathing heavily as they stared at one another. Vincent's eyes, dark and endless. With a small nervous smile, Bronwyn took his face in her hands. Hands that were shaking they both noticed. "I love you," she admitted.

Vincent's tenuous hold on his control, shattered. With hands and tongues and teeth, they devoured each other. Hands that bruised as well as aroused dragged them both to the very edge of sanity. With a growl that was almost feral, Vincent thrust deep as Bronwyn rose to meet him. As their fingers linked tightly, he withdrew and waited.

"Tell me," he demanded roughly. "Tell me now, when I'm inside you."

"I love you," Bronwyn moaned. "I love you," she said again as they both lost themselves in a rhythm as old as time. The race was swift and exhilarating. Vincent could feel Bronwyn's body tightening around him as she climbed toward release.

"I love you," he insisted as he sent her over the edge and followed. Spent and weak again, his body covered hers. Even hot and sweaty and satisfied he gloried in the feel of her under him. There was something so elementally sexy about the feel of her warm skin against his. He turned his head to smile at her. His heart swelled when she smiled lazily in return. Slowly and gently, he reversed their positions, settling her face down on his chest. Pulling her tight into him, he allowed himself to drift. He knew he had never been happier in his life, with Bronwyn, here in this moment. He also knew, after tonight, he would never let her go. She had given herself to him. He intended to keep her.

Chapter 14

Again and again, they came together during the night; sometimes, desperate and greedy; other times deliberate and thorough. Each time taught them something new about each other. And with that knowledge, the bond that was forged between them grew stronger. At sunrise, they finally collapsed in exhaustion, Vincent's arms keeping Bronwyn close.

It was there Preacher found them three hours later. He had intended to creep in undetected and catch Vincent unaware. It was something he had been trying to do since they met in Hell Week, but in all the years since then Preacher had never caught Vincent off guard. Two steps into the room he froze. Vincent stared at him, unmoving but clearly alert. Preacher had no idea what had given him away. Then his eyes shifted from his friend to the woman in his arms. Bronwyn was draped across Vincent's chest with the sheet riding low on her waist. Her scars and her tattoo were clearly visibly as was the love in the way Vincent held her. The scene could only be described as outrageously sexy and intimate. It only took Preacher a moment or two to process, but when his eyes returned to Bronwyn's face, she too was staring at him unmoving.

"Jesus," he whispered. "How the hell did you know I was here? Him, I understand," He said to Bronwyn. "We've been playing this game for years. But you? You shouldn't have been able to hear me at all."

"I didn't hear you," Bronwyn agreed. "I just... knew."

Preacher pondered it for a moment before his face registered understanding. "You knew because he knew. Weird ... but okay. Change of subject. The team and I thought you would want to be briefed and brought up to date on the things you missed when you were gone."

"I would."

"So we invited ourselves to breakfast," Preacher explained. "Surprise!"

"Cute."

"I try. Beckett said everything should be ready in thirty minutes." Turning to Bronwyn he asked, "He wants to know if you want to eat inside or on the patio."

Bronwyn missed the way Vincent raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Please tell him that the patio sounds lovely."

"Will do. See you in thirty," Preacher said as he quietly shut the door behind him.

Bronwyn stretched and prepared to rise but was brought up short when Vincent didn't release her. "Hey," she said. "It's time to rise and shine."

"After you kiss me good morning," Vincent insisted.

"I think I can manage that," Bronwyn teased. Taking his face in her hands, she used her tongue to trace his lips, and when he moaned in response, she moved in. Slowly and deliberately, she stripped him bare and made him ache. And when he would have turned and tucked her under him, she pulled away. "Good morning," she said as she climbed out of bed.

"Hey!" he said as he sat up and reached for her. "Where are you going?"

Bronwyn sidestepped his hands. "I need to grab a shower before breakfast." Vincent watched her walk naked to the bathroom, mesmerized by the feminine sway of hips.

"Promise me something," he called out to her.

"Maybe," she answered cautiously.

"When this is all over, you'll let me take you away for awhile." He paused, but she didn't comment. "I'm thinking somewhere hot. Just you and me and a private beach. We can make love in the sunshine."

"You and me on a private beach? That's the best offer I've ever had. Deal," she agreed as she turned on the shower. She didn't hear Vincent fall back on the bed in relief or his exaggerated sigh. He had been terrified that she would turn him down. Gradually, he began to smile to himself. Every small victory was cause for celebration.

"All right woman," he said as he rose. "I'm coming into the bathroom. I'd appreciate it if I could enter without the threat of bodily harm." Bronwyn's laughter rang loud and strong as he joined her.

By the time breakfast was over Vincent had begun to suspect they were hiding something from him. There was something in the way the guys looked at Bronwyn; talked to her. There was a subtle layer of ... protectiveness. "Maybe it's time you told me what happened when I was out of town."

Preacher looked around the group before he spoke. "I guess it would be best if you heard it from me."

Vincent's eyes narrowed but he remained silent.

"It started the morning after you left," he began.

Vincent listened intently, never once interrupting. Preacher did his best to recount every detail without justifying or apologizing for their actions. He was careful to relate every word of their confrontation with Jeremy. He could feel Vincent growing increasingly angry and when his head suddenly snapped up Preacher took an involuntary step backwards. "Did I hear you correctly?" he asked with ice in his voice.

"Yes," Preacher confirmed. After the briefest of hesitations, he continued the rest of his debriefing unmolested. The air was heavy with tension.

"Are you angry?" Bronwyn asked Vincent.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Why? I gave strict instructions that you were supposed to stay here and only leave if it was absolutely necessary."

"Yes, I remember that. I happen to think it was necessary, though. We needed to prove my theory."

"Your theory could have waited," Vincent pointed out.

"Technically, yes," Bronwyn agreed. "But, honestly, I didn't want to wait. I was anxious to confront Jeremy and test my theory."

"It could have waited."

"Yes, but I didn't wait. I..."

"We didn't wait," Poet emphasized. He was not about to allow Bronwyn to face the brunt of Vincent's anger alone.

"We didn't wait," Bronwyn corrected. "I'm sorry if that upsets you. I know you're very used to giving orders and having them followed without fail. I also know that until they met me your men had never defied you, but I'm not one of your men. I don't respond well to orders. I am used to handling things on my own. I am used to taking care of myself."

"Times have changed," Vincent reminded her.

"Yes, they have," she smiled sweetly. "A week ago I would have confronted Jeremy on my own." Vincent swore ripely at that. "I didn't go alone, though, did I? I took highly trained and experienced soldiers. I took men who are fully capable of keeping me safe no matter the circumstances involved." Checking his look she added, "I assure you. They didn't even let him touch me."

"Yeah, that wouldn't have been a good idea." The worst of his anger fading, he stroked one finger down her cheek. "I'm a little territorial."

"Really? I hadn't noticed."

His smiled brightened and he kissed her softly before turning his attention back to his team. "So what has he been doing since you confronted him?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary; work, the gym, the grocery store, home. He has made no attempt to contact Robert. We've been watching the post office and the envelope we placed in the box is still there. The search of his condo reveled nothing connecting him to Robert." Preacher paused with a quick glance at Bronwyn before continuing. "The search did reveal something I think is worth noting though. Jeremy continues to have framed photos of Bronwyn. Lots of them, spread around the condo."

"Lots of them?" Bronwyn asked. "How many is lots of them?"

"Fourteen," answered Hollywood.

"Fourteen! That's just..."

"Creepy," Caveman finished.

"Yeah," Bronwyn whispered softly.

Vincent's eyes had turned hard as steel. "And he loves you."

"What? No, he doesn't! Not anymore," Bronwyn argued.

"Actually," Poet clarified. "When we criticized him for putting you in jeopardy, he said he couldn't put you at risk because he loves you. Loves. Present tense."

Bronwyn silently weighed his words, considering. "Crap," she finally whispered.

"Tell me something, Julliard," Preacher commented. "Who ended it?"

Sighing loudly, Bronwyn answered. "That would be me."

"Why?"

"Jeremy couldn't handle who I really was." Looking at Vincent, she added, "He got caught up in trying to hang on to the illusion. Toward the end of our relationship, it got really bad. He started treating me like I was too fragile to do anything for myself any more. And everyone was expected to be nice to me all the time. No one was allowed to upset me. After all, I had already been through so much."

"Damn," muttered Hollywood.

"Exactly."

"So what do we do about him, Einstein?"

"Unfortunately, nothing."

"Nothing? You can't be serious!" exploded Caveman.

"I am. We have severed the ties between Jeremy and Robert and between Jeremy and Bronwyn. As long as Jeremy keeps his distance, I won't touch him. If he gets stupid... well then, that's another story." He could see his men weren't happy with his decision, so he tried to explain. "I can't very well blame Jeremy for being in love with Bronwyn, can I? That would make me a hypocrite. I can, however, make sure he never gets close enough to breathe the same air."

"I can live with that," Caveman finally nodded.

"I also think we should do an extensive search into his life before, during, and after Bronwyn. Let's just make sure we don't have any surprises later on down the road. And," turning to Bronwyn, "for the record, that was good work. It took a brilliant mind to figure out it was Jeremy with so little evidence. I'm impressed."

"Thanks. Does this mean I can go back to work tomorrow?"

"Yes, as long as we continue the random schedule and don't take chances we don't have to."

"Yes! For that, you guys get Hungarian Goulash for dinner."

"And pie?" Hollywood asked eagerly. "Your sister said you make one hell of an apple pie."

It was great to get back to work Bronwyn thought as she walked into Another Story the next morning. Her employees greeted her with hugs and questions. She wasn't sure what to say about her self-imposed absence but Vincent was quick to explain. "Sorry to worry everyone. I just wanted Bronwyn to myself for a while. You understand how it is." He explained all this while staring lovingly at Bronwyn. Her employees responded with feminine giggles and masculine grins but no one questioned Vincent's explanation.

It didn't take long for things to return to normal. She had Vincent and Caveman hauling boxes and unpacking stock. Old displays were removed and new ones created. A table was brought from the back to create an area for a local author due in the next day for a book signing. Invoices were checked, verified, and filed. New stock was order. It was a very busy and productive day and Bronwyn loved every minute of it. She was disappointed to hear Vincent call an end to the day at four thirty. "I'm afraid it's time to go, darling. You know we have that dinner party this evening at the Jackson's."

"Is it that late already?" Bronwyn asked as she looked at her watch. "Let me just grab my purse then." As they climbed into Vincent's car, Bronwyn turned to Caveman. "So I hear the party's at your place tonight?"

This day was the start of a busy but uneventful week. Work was demanding, productive and profitable. Vincent and Caveman both blended into the staff and no one seemed to question their presence any more. Unfortunately, though, there was no progress made on finding Robert. The team had found no one who knew where Robert had gone or even that he had been planning on leaving. He had served no notice at his law firm but had just called in sick one day and never returned. Newspapers, magazines, and credit cards had been canceled. Robert did continue to maintain electrical services in the house but even that he had paid in advance with a lump sum of five thousand dollars. That transaction had occurred in person two weeks ago. Since then Robert had effectively fallen of the grid. No one had seen him or heard from him. Even Hollywood had been unable to track him. By the end of the week, the team was getting antsy. No contact was always a premonition of worse things to come. They didn't like to wait. They would much rather take Robert head on and take him now.

Laying at the edge of the pool on Friday evening, Bronwyn turned to Vincent. "I'm glad you decided to keep it just us tonight. Not that I don't love the guys..."

"But six can be a crowd."

"Exactly."

Smiling at her, Vincent swam over. Slowly, he ran his finger down the length of her torso. "I thought I would spend the evening indulging your every desire."

Bronwyn laughed deep in her throat, making him ache. "My every desire or yours?"

Leaning into her, he kissed her warmly. "I thought maybe we could meet somewhere in the middle."

"I think that can be arranged."

"And I think I should begin by making us a fabulous dinner."

Moving into him, Bronwyn tempted, "Or we could just skip dinner."

His mouth was on hers before her thought was finished. He drank the taste of her and let it fill him. The warmth of her spread through him. He moaned and rested his forehead on hers for a moment. "No," he finally managed. "We need to eat. And I don't want to miss seeing you in the candlelight." Standing abruptly, he hauled her to her feet. "You go take a nice relaxing shower and I'll get dinner started."

"Okay. If you insist." Wrapping a towel around her waist, she headed inside. As she got to the door, she turned back. "But you don't know what you're missing."

Vincent groaned to himself and let her go. She was worthy of more than just sex. Grant it, it was earth shattering, life-altering sex, but still... She deserved more. Bronwyn deserved candlelight, soft music, and romance and he was determined to give it to her. Right after he spent the next fifteen minutes extinguishing himself in a very cold shower.

Bronwyn took her time getting ready. She washed and dried her hair, smoothed scented lotion into her skin and tried to choose just the right dress for dinner by the pool. She finally decided on a light summer dress that hugged her curves and skimmed her knees. Tying on strappy sandals, she stepped out onto the patio. Vincent was there setting the table with fine china and crystal. He hadn't seen her yet, so she took a moment to watch him. He had showered and changed too. He wore a crisp white shirt rolled up at the sleeves and trousers of dark grey. He looked every inch the romantic gentleman tonight. Bronwyn's heart ached at the thought that he could actually be hers. As if sensing her eyes on him, Vincent turned and his breath caught in his throat. She looked exquisite standing there watching him. Her summer dress blew lightly in the breeze, molding to her body and the sandals she wore accentuated her remarkable legs. She looked happy and at peace. He hoped desperately that he was at least partly responsible for her new found tranquility. Walking over to her, he laid his lips lightly on hers. "You look stunning, darling."

"Thanks," she smiled shyly. "You look pretty handsome yourself."

"Thank you. Shall we sit?" He led her to the table and pulled out her chair. The simplest pleasures and smallest kindness always startled her. She never failed to react with gratitude. It made him want to spoil her. It made him want to give her everything she had ever wanted as well as the things she had been too afraid to want. And he would start right now, tonight.

The meal, including dessert, was delicious, the candlelight, lovely. She had had Vincent's undivided attention all evening. There had been no talk of work, family, or friends. He had steered the conversation away from anything that might tarnish the night. Bronwyn had never felt more treasured. She said as much to Vincent. He just smiled as he took her hand and stood. Pulling her into his arms, he began to move seductively to the music. "Darling, I'm just getting started," he whispered into her ear. Song after song they danced in the soft light of the candles and the moon. His hands began to caress as he held her intimately. His lips began to sample the bare skin of her shoulders and neck until finally he guided them to the patio door. There he stopped and pleasured them both with one warm wet kiss. Lifting her into his arms, he stepped through the door, closing it behind him with a brush of his shoulder.

"Sweeping me off my feet?" Bronwyn teased.

"Absolutely," Vincent assured her. Bronwyn began placing soft kisses along his jaw line as he moved across the room. Holding his head in place, she worked her way back to his ear. Vincent made it to the stairs before he felt his restraint slip. Letting her feet fall, he used his body to press her back against the wall as his mouth feasted on hers. Without warning, he wanted her terribly. Tearing his mouth from hers, he picked her up again before he could change his mind. He had to dig deep for control as he carried Bronwyn into the bedroom. Standing her gently on her feet, he brushed a feather light kiss on her cheek. "Wait here," he whispered. Quietly, he moved around the room lighting candles as he went. When he had finished, the room glowed softly. Vincent stood in front of her again, smiling down at her.

"Did I tell you that you look lovely this evening?"

"Yes, I believe you did. But you can repeat yourself if you like. I really like the way you look at me when you say it."

"How do I look at you?" he asked as he took her hands in his.

"As if you believe it."

His smile broadened. "I do believe it. Let me show you." Bronwyn melted into him was all he could think. She didn't hesitate or hold back but gave. The taste and texture of her, the feel of her in his arms was intoxicating. Vincent savored as his hands moved over her, memorizing curves and lines. He sat her on the edge of the bed and knelt at her feet. Slowly, he slipped her shoes off. Taking her mouth with his again, he drank deep. Vincent's hands ran lazily from her feet, along her shins and then up, pushing the hem of her dress out of his way as he went. As his hands traveled up her thighs, they both groaned. With gentle pressure on her hips, he guided her to stand. His mouth traveled a new course now across her stomach and hips. Bronwyn's hands contracted in his hair. Vincent continued to push her dress up as he trailed open-mouthed kisses across her ribs and breasts. He tossed her dress aside when he was once again standing before her. Bronwyn reached out and dragged his mouth back to hers. Pressing her body to his she drove him to desperation. Bronwyn laughed softly when he growled deep in the back of his throat. They worked together to strip him of his shirt.

"Bed," Bronwyn demanded, echoing their first time together.

"Oh yeah," Vincent eagerly agreed. He allowed her to push him toward the bed. When he could feel it behind him, he held her tightly and fell. Bronwyn laughed softly again as she landed on top of him.

"My turn," she said as she began to burn kisses across his chest. Almost immediately, Vincent began to writhe under her. Her hands and mouth moved over him, tasting, tantalizing, and stealing the breath from him. With his hands clutching at her, he switched their positions.

His mouth plundered hers as her lifted her enough to unclasp her bra. When he peeled it away, his mouth sought her breast. With his tongue, he teased the nipple and gloried in the way she arched for him, offering herself. He shifted his attention to the other breast, suckling. Bronwyn fisted her hands in his hair. "Oh god! Vincent, please," she begged.

"Do you want me, Bronwyn?" he asked hoarsely as he rushed to rid them of the rest of their clothes. "Do you need me?"

"Yes," she admitted breathlessly.

Once again rolling them both he lifted her above him. "Look at me," he demanded. He entered her slowly as he lowered her, drawing out the sensation for them both. "Now take me," he challenged.

"What?" Bronwyn stammered.

"Take me, darling," he repeated. Grabbing her hips, he pulled her tight against him, driving deeper. "Ride me," he whispered seductively.

"But..." Bronwyn panicked. "I mean, don't you want to..." she faltered again.

"Don't I want to what?" Vincent asked. Something here, he thought.

"Don't you want to, I don't know, be in charge," she finished lamely. Feeling like an idiot, she wanted nothing more than to disappear. She closed her eyes on her own humiliation.

"Darling?" Vincent asked carefully.

She wouldn't look at him. "It's just that I've never... I mean... I usually... You know... different positions..." She faded into silence as Vincent tried to piece together what she was telling him. "Why don't we just forget the whole thing? Okay?" Bronwyn tried to pull away, but he refused to release her.

"No." He held her in place while he struggled to think. He could feel the tension in her body as he replayed her ramblings in his mind. Gradually the pieces came together. "Are you saying that you never...?" He started again when she flinched. "Your ...experiences have been predominantly traditional?"

"Completely traditional," she mumbled into his chest.

Suspicion confirmed he thought. "So you're..."

"Not really sure how to...please you," she admitted. Could a person really die of embarrassment?

Vincent lifted her face to his. "This is not about pleasing me. This is about both of us. And as far as you not knowing what to do, I don't believe that for a minute. Your head might not be sure, but your body is." He ran his hands from her hips, up her back and down again. "There is really only one simple rule. Do what feels good."

"But..."

"Trust me," he whispered.

Hesitantly, Bronwyn straddled him. She watched his face as slowly she began to move. At first, she was unsure of herself. She relied on the pressure in Vincent's hands to guide her. Then as she became more confident she began experimenting with the slide of their bodies, changing the pace and angle as she continued to watch Vincent's face. He was captivated, hers to manipulate, dominate. Sliding her hands up his chest, she bent to kiss him. His hands convulsed, tightening their grip. She laughed seductively.

"Let's see what I can make you feel," she challenged. Linking her hands with his, she slammed into him driving him deep. The response was immediate.

"Jesus," Vincent whispered. His hands bruised where they clung to her now. Bronwyn reveled in her newfound power. Setting a pace that was reckless and frantic, she determined to strip him of his control. His hands moved over her body, stroking, clutching. Bronwyn arched back and closed her eyes as they raced together. Her body tightened around him, eager and frantic. His breath caught in his throat as she ripped at his control. Higher and higher they climbed together until he felt her tense seconds before she shattered and collapsed across him. "Again," Vincent swore. Impatiently he reversed their positions and lifted her hips high. "More," he demanded as he plunged deep. "Take more." He felt her instinctively rise to meet him as the need began to build again. "Give me more. Give me everything." Again and again, they met and retreated, both lost in what they brought to each other. As the next climax ripped through her, he let himself go. Spent, he lowered himself to her so they lay tangled together, exhilarated, and exhausted. With his face buried in her hair he sighed, "I love you."

"I love you too," she murmured. Vincent gently reversed their positions.

"Is that better?" he asked as she finally took a deep breath.

"I like the other way too," she insisted sleepily.

"Me too," he agreed as they both began to drift off, holding tightly to each other.

Hours later, Vincent was callously awakened from a sound and satisfied sleep. Years of training had him alert and reaching for the phone before the second ring.

"Vincent," was all he said. Pulling Bronwyn close he listened to Caveman apologize for waking him. Even in those few words, he could hear the stress in his voice. "Tell me." He tried to remain calm and listen to the details but his body tensed and Bronwyn noticed.

"What?" she asked anxiously. When he didn't answer, she leaned over to turn on the light. She wanted to be able to see him, to see his face. Even as his arm tightened around her, his hand riding low and intimate on her hip, she watched the soldier replace the man. He listened patiently for a few more minutes while Bronwyn struggled to maintain her composure. Finally, he clicked off.

Instead of bombarding him with questions, Bronwyn waited for him to collect his thoughts. He was profoundly humbled by her faith in him. Knowing what she needed to know first he quickly reassured her. "Everyone is fine, your family, and mine. No one is hurt."

She relaxed only marginally. "But it's still bad. Isn't it?"

"Yes." Deep breath. Say it fast. "Caveman was returning from a date a few minutes ago. He passed Another Story on the way back to his place. Baby, it's on fire." He felt her sharp intake of breath as a physical blow. "He called the fire department. They're on their way." He saw the tears filling her eyes. "He said it looks bad."

"I have to go. I have to see, Vincent," she explained as she leapt from the bed and began a frantic search for some clothes. Realizing all she had in his room was a dress she rushed to the guest room. For one split second, she almost lost it. Standing naked, staring into the closet, she just froze. Her store, her dream, everything she had worked so hard for just slipping away. She wanted to scream. Throw things. Cry. But she did none of these things. Instead, she rested her head on the doorframe as she mentally built walls to keep out the pain. She was so focused on her internal battle that she didn't hear Vincent approach. He put his hands on her shoulders and her head snapped up.

"Baby?" he whispered. "Can I help?" She shook her head violently. Ignoring her, he reached around her and pulled a shirt and jeans from the closet. Going to her dresser, he pulled out panties, a bra, and socks. "Come here, darling," he said as he forced her to turn and move toward the bed where he had tossed her clothes.

"I think I can dress myself, Vincent," she said quietly. "Thank you though." With that, she slowly bent to the task. Unsure of what to do with himself, he stood and watched her. Piece by piece he watched her cover herself, both physically and emotionally. It took her less than two minutes to dig deep enough to find the illusion he thought he had shattered. "Ready."

Leaning in to study her carefully, he could see the woman she was just below the surface. "Ready," he agreed as he took her hand and they hurried from the room.

Neither spoke as they raced across town. Bronwyn couldn't decide if she wanted Vincent to hurry or slow down. Her brain, which had never failed her before, just couldn't process. It seemed impossible to her that she could be rushing toward unspeakable heartbreak. It seemed impossible that this could be anything more than one of her nightmares.

They had to park blocks away because of the fire engines. Bronwyn was stunned by the commotion, the noise, and the lights. It all looked like well-organized chaos. Even before Vincent could kill the engine, Poet and Hollywood were beside the car. "Report," he ordered, moving quickly around the car to escort Bronwyn. The three men circled her tightly as they gave a quick update. "I want pictures of everything, not just the fire," Vincent responded. "We need every face; every plate. We can't afford to miss anything."

"We won't," Poet reassured him. "Preacher has already started on the crowd. I'll work the cars, now that you're here. Hollywood can take you to Caveman." With that, he slipped away.

"Caveman's up front. He should be able to brief you on the status of the fire."

"Good. Let's go then. Stay close and alert," Vincent cautioned.

"Hooyah."

The next half hour was a blur to Bronwyn. It hurt to watch as men and women she had never met fought to save her dream. Over and over, they raced into the inferno to fight what surely must be a losing battle. The large sheets of glass that made up the front windows were shattered. Thick, black smoke and flames poured out of the openings as well as the roof. The heat even from where she was standing was intense. The smoke and unshed tears burned her eyes and throat. She knew Caveman and Vincent were talking, but she couldn't bring herself to listen to the details. She could see for herself what was happening. The details could wait. She wasn't sure how long she continued to stand there, lost in her own personal horror. Someone asked her questions about the store, employees, the security system, and insurance. But when that same someone asked her if there was someone who might want to hurt her by setting the fire deliberately, she winced and closed her eyes. Vincent shifted his grip from her hand to her waist, drawing her close. With a slight incline of his head, he had Caveman take the questioner away. Hollywood slid smoothly into his position. They stood silently watching the scene until Bronwyn suddenly spoke. Both men instinctively leaned down to listen.

"It won't spread, will it?" She didn't look at either of them but kept her gaze fixed on the flames. "No one else will be hurt by this, will they?"

Hollywood answered. "The fire chief said that the firewalls are holding. They're made from two hour fired-rated concrete."

"How long has the fire been burning?"

"He estimates maybe forty-five minutes."

She looked at him them. "Forty-five minutes?"

"That looks like a lot of damage for forty-five minutes," Vincent challenged.

"Yes, it does," Hollywood agreed. They all turned back to the fire, lost in their own thoughts for a minute until Bronwyn again broke the silence.

"How could he possibly hate me this much? What could I have done to cause this?"

"Listen to me, darling, and listen well," Vincent said as he turned her abruptly to face him. "You did nothing to cause this. Do you hear me? Nothing! The man is a monster. He does not need an excuse to hurt you, to terrorize you. You are not responsible for any of this."

"No, you're not," agreed Preacher as he and Poet joined them. "He's just like a bully on a playground. He doesn't need a reason. He just needs a target."

"Who just needs a target?" asked the fire chief as he walked up to them. No one answered him. In fact, he noticed a subtle shift to shield the one woman in their midst.

"Vincent, Bronwyn, let me introduce Gabriel Andrews," announced Caveman. "He's the man in charge here."

"Mr. Andrews," Vincent acknowledged. "What can you tell us?"

"I might ask you the same question."

"You first," Vincent insisted.

Mr. Andrews took his time taking the measure of each of the men before he finally turned to Bronwyn. "You're the owner?" He waited for Bronwyn's nod before he continued. "From eye witness accounts and the 911 calls we can estimate that the fire started approximately one thirty this morning. When the first trucks arrived, the fire had already spread throughout most of the building."

"That quickly?" asked Vincent.

"There are signs that the fire had some help." He paused to light a cigarette and used the time to quickly scan the group. No one seemed surprised by his news. Pissed, definitely, but not surprised. "There is evidence that an accelerant may have been used, possibly gasoline, or kerosene. Both doors were also left open and the glass window shattered, probably in an attempt to increase the oxygen content."

"Which would cause the fire to burn faster," Bronwyn clarified.

"Exactly. We'll know for sure once the arson investigator has had a chance to examine the physical evidence."

"Did the fire damage the buildings on either side of mine?"

"No. As I suspected, the firewalls held."

"That's something to be grateful for then," Bronwyn murmured.

"Yes, baby. It is," Vincent whispered as he once again tucked her in at his side. "So what now?" He directed his question to Gabriel.

"We should be finished here in the next hour or so. We'll go over the entire building; make sure we got all the hot spots. Once the fire is out, our job will be done here. Then the arson investigator takes over."

"And who is that?" Hollywood asked.

"Logan," Bronwyn responded, startling the group.

"You know Logan?" Gabriel asked. Not waiting for her to answer, he continued. "That must make you Wyn?" He nodded, taking another pull from his cigarette. "I've heard a lot about you. You're supposed to be smart as hell."

"She is that," agreed Preacher.

Nodding again, Gabriel suddenly paused as if he remembered something. He was saved commenting when someone rushed over. "Wyn?"

"Kate." The two women embraced tightly.

"I am so sorry. I know how important this place is to you; how much it means to you."

Releasing her, Bronwyn stepped back. "Thanks."

Taking Bronwyn's hands in hers, Kate added, "I will do my best to figure this all out for you. You have my word."

"I know." After another quick hug, Bronwyn made introductions. Vincent watched the women together as they pulled away from the group a little to speak privately. Kate was taller that Bronwyn by at least five inches. She had long blond hair, big blue eyes and looked like she belonged on the cover of some glossy fashion magazine. She wore an oversized jumpsuit and heavy boots. Even as the women spoke, she twisted her hair up into a cap.

"She's the arson investigator," Gabriel confirmed. "Logan has known Wyn for a long time. You can trust her to do right by her."

"She's an arson investigator?" Hollywood sputtered. "You've got to be kidding! Looks more like a centerfold than an investigator."

Gabriel tossed his cigarette and stepped into Hollywood, his face mere inches from his. The reaction of the team was immediate. As a unit, they moved up to stand on either side of Hollywood, a united front. Gabriel didn't care. "What the hell is that supposed to mean? You think because she's beautiful you have the right to say that kind of shit about her?" He took another step toward Hollywood. "I'll have you know that she's the best arson investigator I've ever worked with. She..."

"Hey!" Kate rushed over with Bronwyn right behind her. Pulling on Gabriel's arm she asked, "Gab, what the hell is going on? These are Wyn's friends."

Refusing to move, Gabriel challenged, "Well, then you should tell her friend that he should keep his mouth shut... before I shut it for him."

For a split second, Hollywood's eyes shifted. He would not move or comment without Vincent's authorization.

"Let me guess. He," gesturing toward Hollywood, "said something about my looks," Kate clarified.

"He said you don't belong here," Gabriel explained.

Kate's eyes closed to mere slits as she glared at Hollywood. "Where do I belong then?"

"Some fucking centerfold," Gabriel spat.

She studied Hollywood carefully before she spoke. "Pot calling kettle if you ask me."

Hollywood, clearly startled, stared at Bronwyn as she laughed loudly. "Sorry Hollywood," she apologized. "But Kate's right."

"His name's Hollywood?" Kate chuckled. "Of course it is." Dismissing him entirely, she turned back to her friend. "Come on, Gab. We have work to do."

One look from Vincent had Hollywood apologizing. "I'm sorry if I offended her, Julliard. I didn't realize her looks were a sensitive subject."

"Not her looks. Being judged by just those looks. That's what pisses her off."

"Seems to have pissed off Gabriel as well," Vincent observed.

"Yeah. Gab has always had a soft spot for Kate. He's a little over protective."

"Not a problem," Hollywood assured her. "And you're right. Being measured by your looks. Been there, done that." He watched Kate talking to one of the firemen. "But I'm guessing that would be much harder for a woman."

"Yes," Bronwyn answered softly. "It is." She watched Kate deep in conversation, nodding her head in confirmation, taking notes, asking questions when needed. "She said it would be a couple of hours before she can tell me anything."

"Then I suggest we wait at home," Vincent proposed. Bronwyn turned to object. "Darling, there's nothing we can do here. There is, however, work that can be done at home. We can begin to sift through the information we've collected here tonight, the faces, the plates." He put one hand on her cheek. He noted the dark circles under her eyes, the nearly translucent skin. "Please."

She sighed deeply, but agreed. "Let me just tell Kate first."

The men watched her walk over to her friend. Without turning, Vincent asked, "Who's the man behind me and to my right? Four o'clock. He's not watching the fire. He's watching Bronwyn." He waited, his eyes never leaving Bronwyn, until finally Preacher spoke.

"Fuck a duck," Preacher hissed. "It's Jeremy, that little prick. Excuse me, gentleman. I believe our guest needs a little reminder of what happens to stalkers who don't take no for an answer." He started to move out but was brought up short when Vincent grabbed his arm.

"I think it's time I dealt with Jeremy personally," Vincent insisted. "Please, take Bronwyn to the car. I won't be but a minute." Before the team could protest, Vincent smiled brightly and began weaving his way through the crowd.

"Damn," muttered Caveman. "I'd really hate to be Jeremy right now."

Chapter 15

Hours later Bronwyn was sitting on the patio, cup of coffee in hand, watching the sun come up. The men were inside working through the pictures they had taken at the fire. Slowly they matched names to faces and began profiling everyone. With nothing to contribute to the search, Bronwyn was left with only her thoughts for company. Someone hated her enough to burn down her store; hated her enough to commit a crime and risk going to jail. Did Robert hate her that much? Yes. Would he risk prosecution? No. She sipped her coffee thoughtfully. She was certain that Kate would find no physical evidence to place Robert at the scene. She was equally confident however, that Robert would be perfectly willing to hire someone. After all, he had hired Jeremy. She sipped again. She would have to rely on Vincent and his team to uncover the truth. And Kate, of course. She heard the door open and close behind her. Vincent walked over and looked down at her. In that moment she looked so alone and vulnerable.

"How are you doing, darling?"

"I'm okay," she reassured him as she handed him her coffee.

Taking a sip, he put it on the table and reached for her. In one fluid move, he lifted her, sat, and pulled her into his lap. "Better," he murmured.

Startled by both the move and the comment, Bronwyn could only stare. Vincent just smiled, picked up her coffee, and continued to sip. Finally, she asked, "Have you guys made any progress?"

"Some. Not enough. We'll keep working at it until we put a name on every face."

"I know."

He smiled. "Such faith," he whispered as he bent to kiss her. He leaned back to study her before reaching up to hold her still. Deliberately, he lowered his mouth to hers again. She opened for him as he hoped she would. Vincent immersed himself in the taste of her, stealing a few minutes to remember and relive. When he would have pulled her closer and taken even more from the moment, a voice interrupted him.

"Good morning."

Slowly, Vincent pulled out of the kiss and released Bronwyn's face. He did not however relinquish his hold when she tried to stand.

"Kate. How did you get here?"

"I wanted to give you an update. When I called, your man here said I should just come talk to you in person. One of the guys picked me up; the pretty one," she joked.

"My man?" Bronwyn laughed

"Well, what else am I supposed to call him?"

"Her man works for me, for now," approved Vincent.

"Okay then. How about I give you an update? Is there some place we can talk privately?" she asked Bronwyn.

"You can talk in front of Vincent. We don't keep secrets from one another. In fact," turning to Vincent she asked, "wouldn't it be easier if she just told us all at once?"

"That's your decision, darling."

"Call them." She watched as Vincent angled his head toward the patio door and signaled the team. As they filed out and took their seats around the patio table, Hollywood pulled over a chair for Kate. Beckett brought juice, coffee, and water for everyone. Once again, Bronwyn tried to get up and once again, Vincent held fast. "Seriously. Are we really about to have this entire conversation with me sitting in your lap?" she hissed.

"Absolutely," he persisted.

"Fine," she capitulated. "Let's just table this part of the discussion until later." Turning to her friend, she announced, "The floor's all yours, Kate."

Swallowing her laughter, Kate began. "Am I to assume you are bottom line kind of guys?" She continued after Vincent's nod. "Well then, the long and the short of it is this, Wyn. Somehow you have made someone very unhappy."

"So you're sure it's arson?" She held up her hand. "I'm sorry; knee jerk response."

"No problem," Kate assured her. "Why don't I show you what I know?" Taking out a pad of paper, she placed it on the table in front of her and drew a quick sketch. "This is your store; front door, windows, office and rear door."

"Got it," Bronwyn confirmed as everyone leaned in to watch her work. Vincent peered over Bronwyn's shoulder, one hand resting on her hip. Kate smiled at the picture they made.

"The evidence shows that someone came in through the back door. We know that because the alarm system was disabled."

"Sprinkler system?" asked Preacher.

"That too," Kate confirmed grimly. "The villain of this particular little nightmare then walked up and down the rows of books laying down a trail of gasoline in his wake. He made sure he treated each and every row."

"Son of a bitch!" Caveman exploded. Following a harsh cuff on the back of his head from Preacher, he mumbled an apology.

"After he treated the rows, there is evidence that he moved to the front of the store, continuing to trail gasoline in a grid pattern as he went. When he finished spreading his own personal brand of joy, he opened the front door and smashed the front window."

"Simple, but effective," Hollywood stated.

"Yes. Because the trail was connected throughout, all he had to do was light it as he walked out the back door."

"That's why it burned so fast," Bronwyn concluded.

"That's why." Leaning back in her chair, Kate looked around the group until her eyes rested on Vincent. "Now, your turn."

"Meaning?" Vincent asked cautiously.

"Meaning," Kate specified, "what do you know that I don't?"

Checking with Bronwyn first, Vincent prepared to lay it all out for her. It was a group telling, each team member, and even Bronwyn adding information and clarifying as they went. Kate nodded and sipped water as she listened. Finally, when everyone was finished and the story complete she considered the group around her before she spoke.

"Well, you can count me in on the fight, then," volunteered Kate. "Anything I can do to put this fire on Robert's door step, I'll do."

"Then maybe you should see the faces we collected at the scene last night."

"Photographs? You took photographs of people in the crowd?" she asked incredulously.

"And the crews and the plates of all the vehicles as well," Poet clarified.

"Are you kidding me? He's probably right there! Odds are you already have his face or his plate, or both. Show me what you've got," she insisted eagerly. Her energy contagious, they hurried inside.

Bronwyn and Vincent watched them go. "I think between all of them, if there is something to find they will find it. Agreed?" Bronwyn asked.

"Agreed." He kissed her tenderly. Before she could pull away, he added, "More." But instead of pulling her close, he waited. "Please," he asked in a whisper.

"Agreed," she teased. Just seconds before her mouth met his, she added, "I love you," and closed her mouth on his gasp. Vincent's hands clutched at her upper body, turning her and pressing her intimately into him. She never ceased to astonish him. He knew better than anyone how hard it was for her to reach for him first, to take that chance. His surprise and delight fueled the kiss. Tongues, teeth, and hands hungry for more. The need clawed at him as he devastated them both. His breath backed up in his lungs. In an effort to reestablish control, he tore his mouth from hers. "Jesus! I want you." Unable to resist, his mouth blazed a trail across her jaw. "Do you have any idea what you do to me?"

"Show me." The words were barely spoken before his mouth was on hers again. She couldn't think. All she could do was feel. Her heart thundered in her chest and her blood pumped hot. This was about to get seriously out of control. "Vincent," she said her voice not quite steady. Bronwyn groaned when his hands found their way to her breasts. "Vincent," she tried again. "This is not the time or place for this."

He stilled when her words finally reached him and he almost whimpered in frustration. There were times that the need to have her overwhelmed him, leveled him. "I've never met a woman who could undo me the way you do." He studied her thoughtfully. "I've never met a woman who makes me want in all the ways I want you." She smiled that shy smile he loved so much. "But you're right. This is not the time or place for this." He kissed the tip of her nose. "So before I lose my newfound resolve, we better go inside."

"Yeah," Bronwyn agreed breathlessly.

Standing with her still in his arms, he took the time to enjoy the feel of her. "I take it carrying you inside is totally out of the question," he joked just to see her glare at him. Finally, he released her legs, letting her slide down his body. "Mm...," he moaned loudly. "I really love the feel of you." Bending down to kiss her, he stopped. "Better not. I believe that's what made me want to strip you naked a few minutes ago."

"Oh, please," Bronwyn, argued. "You always want to strip me naked."

"This is true, darling. This is true."

Hours after Hollywood had taken Kate home, the guys were still studying photos.

"Update," Vincent ordered.

"Last night there were a total of thirty-seven possibles on scene; thirty men and seven women." The men drew closer and Preacher lowered his voice as Bronwyn stirred in her sleep on the sofa. "We have names for twenty-seven of those possibles so far. For each of those twenty-seven we have a completed preliminary background check. The ten unidentified are all men."

"Vehicles?"

"All the vehicles on scene have been connected to previously identified individuals."

"We also checked out the entire fire crew, including Kate," added Hollywood. "Everyone is clean. Several of the men are cheating on their wives, a few are struggling financially, and one of the women used to be a call girl. Interesting, but not salient to our case. No one, other than Kate, can be connected to Robert, Jeremy, or Bronwyn."

"Good start," Vincent nodded thoughtfully. "Let's keep at it until we can identify and clear everyone."

"Certainly."

"I'm going to take her up for a few hours. She needs the rest."

"Permission to speak freely?" asked Caveman. When Vincent nodded he leaned in and whispered, "Whoever did this to her, whoever torched her store... we're going to find them. They will pay for their crime. Julliard will have justice."

Vincent surveyed his men. Each, in turn, nodded his agreement. "Thanks," he began. "I know you all agreed to do this job, this favor for my father... but none of you contracted for this. I want you to know that you could have opted out and I would have understood. It means a great deal to me that you stayed. I won't forget it." He considered Bronwyn as she slept. "She is everything to me. Absolutely everything." He paused so that he could choose his words carefully. "I don't like seeing her hurt." Another pause. "It's time someone was held accountable." With that said, he took her gently in his arms and carried her upstairs.

Laying her out on the bed, he carefully slipped off her shoes and began to undress her. He was quick and efficient as he stripped her to the skin. When he started to tuck her under the sheets, he noticed slight bruises. Leaning over to examine them more carefully he was startled to realize that they were marks left by his own fingers. As he ran his thumb lightly over a bruise on her hip he knew he should probably feel contrite. Instead, he felt... smug. Smiling to himself, he peeled off his clothes and slipped in beside her. Even before he could reach for her, Bronwyn was turning into him. He settled her above the length of him, center to center with legs tangled together. They both sighed contentedly as they slipped into sleep.

Vincent wasn't sure how long they had slept; only that the house was silent now and the sun had gone down. Cautiously, he turned his head to read the bedside clock-7:38. They had slept a good part of the day away. Time to rise and see about a simple dinner. With any luck, Beckett would have left them something they could heat up. Just then, Bronwyn stretched in her sleep, her body pressing into his. Vincent's thoughts scattered. Smiling, he stroked his hands firmly up her back and down again pulling her more intimately into him. Up and down his hands stroked until she moaned. Dinner would have to wait. Turning them both, he laid Bronwyn on her back, he on his side. He continued to stroke and caress until her nipples were taut and hard. Leaning over, he used his tongue to dampen the skin there. She groaned and clutched at him. Her eyes flew open when he blew gently on her moist skin. Vincent moved quickly now. Rising above her, he slipped inside, sinking deep. She was ready for him, hot and wet and tight. It felt like coming home.

She smiled up at him. "Hi."

"Hi. I was going to make you dinner but ... I got ... distracted," he explained as she began to move.

"I hope I had something to do with that."

"You had everything to do with that." They kept the pace steady and deep, rising and falling together. Vincent could feel her body tightening around him, himself filling her. He laced his fingers with hers. "Yield," he murmured seductively.

"Come with me," Bronwyn coaxed as she let herself fall.

"Always," he said with a satisfied sigh as he allowed himself to follow.

They lay tangled together, their heart rates gradually slowing. Vincent's hands continued to move over her, stroking, memorizing. "I believe you promised me dinner," Bronwyn reminded him.

Smiling, "I believe I did." He kissed her fast and hard. "With any luck, Beckett will have helped us out in that department." Throwing back the sheets, to Bronwyn's shocked squeal, Vincent rose and slipped on his jeans. He left the top button open as he went to the closet. Turning back to Bronwyn, he held out a robe of emerald green silk. Her brow furrowed.

"I didn't buy that, I'm sure," she said as she sat up.

"No. I did."

One brow arched in response. "You did?"

"Yes. I noticed it when we were shopping. I decided I wanted to see you wear it, so I bought it. Let's see how it looks." Bronwyn stood and allowed him to dress her. "Just as I thought. It looks sexy as hell." He bent to kiss her. "Now, why don't we see about dinner together?" He took her hand in his as they left the room.

They spent the remainder of the evening together, putting aside the events of the night before. There was no talk of the fire, of Jeremy, phone calls or Robert. Once again, Vincent went out of his way to carve a piece of time for them alone. A time and place where they could be just a man and woman in love. Bronwyn thanked him for it later as they lay in each other's arms.

"It's times like these that make the rest bearable."

Tilting her face toward his, he laid his lips warmly on hers. "You're welcome, darling, but you give me too much credit. I need these times just as much as you do."

Chapter 16

Sunday morning meant another brunch with family and friends. This time they included Vincent's entire team, Kate, Richard and Donovan. Vincent briefed everyone on the events of the past week, including the status of Kate's and the team's investigations. They all fought their tempers and frustrations in order to spare Bronwyn additional pain. It was clear, however, that they all had reached their limit. Something was going to have to be done.

After everyone had said their goodbyes, Bronwyn, Kate and the team went to Another Story to meet her insurance agent. Bronwyn thought she had known what to expect, after all, she had been there the night of the fire. She had been there to watch countless men and women work to try to save the building, but to no avail. Intellectually she had known it was a total loss. But to see it now, sliced at her. There was not a surface that hadn't been touched; that wasn't now charred and ruined. In some areas, the flames had climbed the walls and reached the ceiling. The metal frames of the bookshelves were twisted from the heat and everywhere there were piles of debris that represented the work of thousands of writers. Her heart ached from the useless devastation. As she paused in the center of it, all she couldn't stop the tears that silently ran down her face. She had worked so hard for this, had loved every minute of it. And now, because of the bitterness of a madman, it was gone.

"Oh, darling. I am so sorry," said Vincent as he pulled her tightly into his arms. "This should never have happened."

"No, it shouldn't have," agreed Bronwyn as the tears fell in earnest now. "And I plan to put the blame squarely where it belongs somehow." Pulling back to look up into Vincent's face she added, "He can't get away with this, Vincent. He's gone too far now. He can't get away with this."

Pulling her back into his arms, Vincent agreed. "No, darling. He won't."

"We'll all work to make sure he gets what's coming to him," added Caveman.

"Hell yeah," exclaimed Preacher. He leaned over and kissed the top of her head.

Bronwyn turned in Vincent's arms and gave them a watery smile. "Thanks guys. It helps just having you here, knowing that you're on my side."

"Always," reassured Poet.

"Okay, not to spoil the warm and fuzzy feelings we've all got going here, but can I ask some practical questions that are absolutely none of my business?" Hollywood inquired.

"Sure."

"Your insurance should handle most of the cost of this right?"

Bronwyn accepted Vincent's handkerchief and wiped her eyes. "Yes, I have fire insurance, hence the agent. It's a three-part policy that covers the amount of property, business interruption, and business liability. I should be adequately covered."

"Cool."

"You said it covers the amount of the property, right? Doesn't that amount change depending on how prosperous a business is? And what if you and the insurance company can't agree on that amount?" Vincent countered.

"Already thought of that. Every year I have an independent appraiser evaluate the property and I adjust coverage as necessary."

"When was the last time you did that?"

"Two months ago.

"Wow. I am impressed," Vincent smiled.

"162, man. What did you expect?" challenged Caveman.

Just then, the insurance agent and Kate returned to the group. "Okay, Ms. Barrister, everything seems to be in order. I have examined the building. Ms. Logan was a tremendous help. She answered all my questions and even a few I didn't think to have. I will take all this information back to the office and the agency will review your claim. I don't think it would be inappropriate for me to reassure you that we should be able to settle this by the end of the week."

"That soon?" asked Bronwyn.

"Well, Ms. Barrister, the quick return is largely your doing. You are a model client. That and all the information Ms. Logan was able to provide should make this very simple."

Bronwyn held out her hand. "Well, thank you Mr. Carlson. I appreciate all the hard work you are doing for me. It makes this all a little easier."

"You're welcome Ms. Barrister. I look forward to your grand reopening. I have always been a passionate bibliophile."

"Me, too."

Shaking hands all around, he nodded and Kate and Hollywood escorted him out.

"Well," Bronwyn said hesitantly. "I guess that's it." She looked around one last time. Her eyes threatened to fill again as Vincent pulled her tight to his side. "There's nothing left for me to do here." She studied each of the men. She could see the compassion, the concern etched on their faces. But there was something else. They were all very tightly wound, on edge. Each of them seemed as if they were waiting for something, ready for something to begin. "Something's coming," she muttered as they all left the building.

Bronwyn spent most of the rest of the day on the phone. One by one, she called her employees, notifying those that hadn't heard already. Over and over again, she answered questions and recited the details. Over and over again, she apologized and reassured people that she would be fine. She collected addresses in order to mail last paychecks and complete contact information to use when she was ready to rehire. Through it all she ranted, raved, cried. Now that she had finished, she was exhausted, tempted to put her head down right where she sat. Instead, she stepped out onto the patio to watch the sun slowly set. It was beautiful, comforting, and peaceful. It was here that Vincent found her.

"Hi, darling," he said as he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her back against his chest. "Did you finish all your calls?"

"Yes," Bronwyn answered wearily.

"I'm sorry. It must have been very difficult. To go over it all again and again."

"Yes," she agreed quietly as she leaned back and closed her eyes.

It hurt him to see her like this, weary and sad. He could feel the pain she covered earlier as he held her close. He wasn't sure what she needed most right now. "Distract or comfort?"

"Distract, definitely."

"Just the two of us or the guys, too?"

Bronwyn turned to stare at him then. "Just what are you suggesting, Vincent?"

He laughed loudly; delighted that she could still find her sense of humor. "I was suggesting, my suspicious little genius, that you have a choice. I can send the guys away if you need a break or we can do something together." He pulled her back into his arms, this time facing him so he could watch her eyes. "The guys have been talking about putting together a poker game for the last few days."

"Poker? I've never played."

"Really? The guys will love that!"

"It can't be that hard, though, right? It's basically just math and common sense."

"I hate to break it to you, darling, but there's a little more to it than that."

"You're not suggesting it might be too hard for me, are you?" She raised one eyebrow at him questioningly.

Lifting his hands in mock surrender, Vincent laughed. "I would never suggest anything of the sort." Taking her face in his hands, he kissed her soundly. "I love you." He kissed her again, softly this time. "I want you to try and remember that. Whatever you need, you only have to ask. Okay?"

"Okay. And in case I forget later, thank you." She reached up to place her lips on his. "I love you, too. I want you to try to remember that. Whatever you need, you only have to ask."

"Okay, Julliard, Einstein tells us you've never played poker before. Is that right?" asked Hollywood as they all sat down together after dinner.

"That's right. This will be a first."

"Okay then. Well, I don't want you to worry. We'll take it easy on you and help you out along the way if you need it." Bronwyn simply raised one eyebrow at him. Vincent smiled to himself. He knew that look. "The first thing we all agreed on, if it's okay with you, is that tonight's game is a simulation. No genuine betting will be employed. Got it?"

"Faux money. Got it," Bronwyn reassured him.

"We'll still use the chips," Vincent clarified, "We just won't expect to cash in at the end."

Bronwyn nodded. "So, five card draw?"

"We figured that would be a good place to start," explained Preacher.

"Okay then, let's get started." It was fascinating, Vincent thought, to watch Bronwyn learn. She was hyper focused, logical and quick. He noticed that she never forgot something she was taught and when she asked a question of her own, she asked it just once. It only took her a few hands to get the basics down. And when Caveman provided her with a list of possible poker hands, she read through it quickly and put it aside.

"Photographic memory?" Poet asked when he noticed what she had done.

"Hmm? Oh, yes," Bronwyn admitted distractedly.

Much to everyone's surprise she won the fifth hand she was dealt. She just smiled, wiggled her eyebrows, and scooped up her winnings.

"You learn quickly," Preacher commented.

"Well, I've always been good at cards. Blackjack is what I'm best at, but poker's interesting, too. Blackjack is more about the odds. Poker seems to be about the players."

"Christ on a crutch, Einstein. She's a ringer," announced Hollywood.

"Don't look at me. I didn't know."

"Technically, I'm not a ringer. I was honest when I said I had never played poker before. No one asked me about other card games," Bronwyn clarified. "Cards just happen to come easily to me, that's all."

"And I suppose you can count them, too, like Einstein?" wondered Caveman.

Nodding sheepishly, Bronwyn admitted, "Yeah."

"Well then, I don't know about you guys, but I think the simulation is over. It's time for a bona fide poker game." Leaning across the table to stare Bronwyn in the eye, he added, "Are you in?"

Leaning across the table as well she answered, "Bring it." The teamed erupted into whoops and hooyahs. Amid the trash talk, Vincent bent toward her, placing his hand intimately on her back. "I love you, you know," he whispered in her ear.

"Hey, no helping, Einstein!" accused Hollywood.

"I've been standing on my own for quite some time, Hollywood. I think I can handle a little game of poker."

Thoroughly chastised, Hollywood bowed his head to her. "I stand corrected."

"No problem," reassured Bronwyn, "just ante up." She dealt the cards. Mentally reviewing what she had learned about her competition so far. All but Vincent had tells. Hollywood leaned back in his chair when he had a good hand. Caveman munched on the snacks at the table. Preacher stopped making eye contact. Poet blinked repeatedly. All of these things made it easier to play and win. She was about to give them a serious run for their money.

Three hours later, the only two players left in the game were Bronwyn and Hollywood. Vincent had set himself up as dealer. The rest of the team remained in their seats to watch the face-off. Bronwyn had thousands of dollars worth of chips while Hollywood fought to hold on with only a few hundred. They anted up and Vincent dealt. After glancing at his cards, Hollywood made a reasonable bet. Bronwyn raised it. Hollywood asked for two cards, Bronwyn only one. Both players studied their cards. Finally, Hollywood pushed his chips to the center of the table. "All in." No one spoke, no one moved. Not even Hollywood, as he remained slumped forward with his elbows on the table.

Bronwyn smiled to herself. "Call."

Hollywood smiled now too as he turned his cards over to reveal a pair of eights. There were moans and muttered insults around the table. Silently, Bronwyn laid her hand face up on the table.

"Full house," Hollywood announced. "Damn. You're good Julliard."

"Thank you very much," Bronwyn said as she collected her winnings from the middle of the table. "It's a good thing this was a simulation."

"Oh, no you don't," argued Hollywood. "We agreed that this would be a real game, betting, and all."

"You guys might have agreed. I didn't. I will not take your money, Hollywood," Bronwyn insisted.

"That's not right. Help me out here, Einstein."

"It's her decision Hollywood. Personally, I would take you for everything you have," Vincent taunted. "But Bronwyn has more class than either of us."

"Amen, to that," agreed Preacher. "And on that note, I think it's time we left gentlemen and gave this lovely lady some privacy."

"But she hasn't agreed to take my money yet," Hollywood protested.

"Hasn't and won't," clarified Caveman. "Get over it man."

"Well, you have to at least agree to a rematch," Hollywood pleaded.

"If I agree, can we stop talking about this?"

"Absolutely."

"Then I agree to the rematch," Bronwyn promised. "Now there will be no more talk of money." She stood as each member of the team hugged her and kissed her cheek. "Breakfast in the morning then."

"Hey, I have an idea for our next poker night," suggested Poet. "Next time, we can play for the woman."

"Over your dead body," answered Vincent as he walked them out.

"Your friends are really great," Bronwyn said as they climbed the stairs to the bedroom. "I am honest enough to admit that they are not at all what I thought they would be when I first met them."

"What did you think they would be like?"

"Soldiers, twenty-four seven. You know, those scary guys who see danger lurking around every corner." She laughed at his expression. "You must confess that you guys present a hell of a picture when you're together."

"What picture is that, darling?" Vincent asked as he pulled her into his arms.

"An immovable, indomitable force to be reckoned with."

He smiled. "Yeah. That sounds like us."

Bronwyn smiled too. "Then I'm glad you're on my side."

"Always, darling. Always." Vincent bent to kiss her tenderly. "Let's go to bed. I want to make slow, seductive love to you."

"Mmmm." Bronwyn reached her arms around his neck, molding into him. "That sounds like the perfect way to end the day." He was smiling as he led her to the bed.

Chapter 17

For the next few days, Bronwyn tried to bring order to the confusion left in the wake of the arsonist. There were countless conversations with her accountant, insurance agent, suppliers, and Kate. Everyone had questions for which they needed answers. She spent hours on the phone and in front of the computer. Vincent balanced staying near enough to lend support if needed, but far away enough to provide her with privacy if she required it.

Early Wednesday morning, just after sunrise, Vincent's phone rang. He snatched it up, answering in hushed tones hoping not to wake Bronwyn. "Speak." Listening to Hollywood's brief dialogue, he turned to see Bronwyn's eyes on him. Smiling grimly he disconnected and pulled her into his arms. "That was Hollywood. Apparently, he and Kate had some sort of break through late last night. They're on their way over to debrief us. Do you want me to call in everyone or keep it just the four of us?"

"Might as well invite everyone. This way it only has to be told once," Bronwyn sighed.

"I'll have Beckett make the calls."

"I'll grab a quick shower," Bronwyn said as she hurried into the bathroom. For the first few minutes, she just closed her eyes and let the water wash over her. She didn't know whether to be excited or scared that something had happened. She turned and rested her forehead on the cool tile. That's how Vincent found her when he pulled back the curtain to join her.

"Darling." He put his hands on her shoulders, turning her to face him. "Darling," he repeated as she simply melted into him.

"Could you hold me, just hold me for a minute?" His arms enfolded her closely. "I just need a minute."

"You can have this minute and all my others. I love you."

"I love you, too."

Bronwyn pulled herself together by the time their guests started to arrive. Vincent, however, couldn't shake the mental picture he had of the vulnerable woman she had been just moments before. Looking at her now, moving amongst their guests, she presented as strong and capable. She offered coffee and juice and made small talk while they waited for Hollywood and Kate. When everyone had arrived, Vincent sat close to her on the sofa, her hand clasped in his.

"You tell it," Kate gestured to Hollywood. "You will be more concise and succinct. You've had more experience. I'll jump in if needed."

"Okay. Monday, Kate spent the day working her way through contacts she had and told them about the fire. She asked them to just keep their ears and eyes open. These contacts included restaurant, bar and storeowners in various economic brackets. They promised to let her know if they heard anything. Tuesday evening approximately nine fifteen one of the bar owners called Kate to say that there was a man sitting at his bar that seemed to know a lot about the fire. Kate called me and we rushed over. We arrived approximately nine forty-eight. When we entered the premises, the aforementioned individual was still present. I recognized him from one of our surveillance photos. Kate took the only available empty seat at the bar, the stool next to his. I held back as Kate thought my presence might be...what did you call it?"

"Menacing."

"Yeah. Menacing. So I held back until she signaled me. Apparently, our possible suspect did know too much about the fire. At which time, we called the police and they came to pick him up for questioning. To sprint to the end here, our suspect was questioned at length. Eventually, he decided it was in his best interest to confess. Included in his confession was the name of the person who hired him to set the fire: Robert Barrister."

"Jesus H. Christ," Jacob snapped. He stood and began pacing angrily. "That son of a bitch! Did he honestly think he could get away with this? Did he think that his hired thug would keep his dirty little secret?"

"Yes. He probably did." This from Vincent. "From what I have been able to deduce about Robert, it would never occur to him that someone would betray him."

"That's exactly right," Bronwyn agreed. "That's the Robert I knew; a bully who considered himself untouchable."

"So, did your arsonist have a location for Robert?"

"A phone number, to be specific. The police used that to get an address. They are, even as we speak, on their way to said address. Since Kate and I were not invited to that particular party, we decided we would use our time to update everyone."

"One question," inquired Vincent.

"Sir," replied Hollywood.

"This one's for Kate. Why did you call Hollywood when you thought you had a suspect? Why didn't you call me?"

Kate smiled knowingly. "Are you kidding me, Vincent? Hollywood was hard enough to manage. If you actually came face to face with the man that set that fire, there is no way in hell I'd be able to control you." Kate saw the muscle in Vincent's jaw clinch. His eyes reduced to slits. "I'm sorry," she interjected quickly. "I don't mean to offend you. I'll apologize if I was wrong."

Vincent sighed deeply before he answered. "You weren't wrong."

"So now we just wait. Right?" Bronwyn asked.

"Yes. That's about all that's left to do right now."

"Okay," stated Kim. "Then honey, why don't we work with Beckett and get breakfast organized for this crowd?" Vincent smiled, knowing that Kim was just trying to keep Bronwyn distracted, her hands busy.

"Breakfast sounds good, darling. Doesn't it guys?" Recognizing their cue, they readily agreed.

Once Kim and Bronwyn left the room, Jacob was quick to ask, "Did you tell us everything?" Hollywood inclined his head slightly at the accusation. "Maybe there were things you just didn't want to say in front of Bronwyn."

Hollywood's eyes flicked to Vincent before he answered. "We don't keep anything from Bronwyn. She deserves our honesty and respect. As her uncle, I would think you would know that." Hollywood walked away at that and went to lend a hand in the kitchen.

Jacob sighed in frustration and hung his head. Vincent came to stand by his side. "I didn't mean to insult him, Vincent. It's just that... This has all turned out to be harder that I thought it would be. I'm afraid I'm not handling it well."

"On the contrary. I think you're handling it as well as can be expected, sir."

Jacob looked up at him. "You are too understanding, son."

"You love her," was Vincent's only explanation.

"You do too," Jacob noted.

"More than I could ever convey," Vincent admitted honestly. Putting his arm around Jacob's shoulders, he added quietly, "But Robert's not my brother." He felt Jacob tense at that, but continued. "I think we have all forgotten that Robert wasn't always a monster. In the beginning, he was just your little brother." Jacob gaped at him in shock. "It's one thing to accept that your niece was the victim of repeated violent attacks from a madman. It is an entirely different thing to accept the fact that the madman is someone you once loved."

Jacob studied him with tears in his eyes. "You're an amazing young man, Vincent. I see why my niece loves you." He slapped him on the back a few times in a show of manly affection. "If you ever decide to make this union you have with her permanent, I would be honored to receive you into our family."

"Thank you, sir. That means a great deal to me."

"Excuse me," Bronwyn called from the kitchen doorway. "We could use some help setting the table."

"Coming, darling," Vincent responded as he and Jacob rushed to help.

Breakfast was oddly familial Bronwyn thought. These men, these former Navy SEALs, never ceased to amaze her. They blended into her family becoming the brothers and sons they had never had. It was seamless somehow, as if they had always been there. She smiled as she watched them. Catching the expression, Vincent leaned close.

"You look beautiful, darling, and happy." He kissed her cheek. "May I ask, what's going on in that fabulous brain of yours?"

Bronwyn smiled in return. "Look at them," she whispered as she turned back to the group. "What do you see?"

Puzzled but intrigued, Vincent turned to comply. Everyone was eating companionably together, talking, occasionally laughing. Conversations overlapped from Laura's pregnancy to Jacob and Kim's upcoming vacation, and almost every topic in between. Everyone seemed completely at ease with each other. Suddenly, Vincent saw what Bronwyn did. Turning back to her, he announced with astonishment clear in his voice, "They're a family."

"Yeah," she agreed almost reverently. "Our family." One tear trickled down her cheek. Vincent reached out to wipe it away with his thumb.

"Wyn, what's wrong?" Laura was quick to ask.

Facing them all, Bronwyn answered, "Nothing. Really, nothing. I just got caught up in the moment. This one beautiful, perfect moment in time." Vincent's hand squeezed hers tightly. "I don't think I've ever told you all how much I love you, all of you," she added as hers eyes took in each member of Vincent's team and Kate. "You have come together to help me, support me. I want to thank you for that."

"And since we're thanking people, I want to thank you all, too," Vincent interrupted. "You went out of your way to include us in your family. From the very beginning you accepted us, took us in. I think I speak for the entire team when I say we feel honored."

"Ahhh," Laura exclaimed. "That was beautiful." With tears pouring down her face, she jumped up to hug Vincent and then each and every other person at the table. "You should know better than to make a speech like that with a hormonal pregnant woman around." Everyone laughed, lightening the mood once more. Jacob extended his hand to Hollywood, silently offering an apology. Hollywood accepted it immediately.

As the meal came to a close, they were interrupted by a knock on the front door. A few moments later Beckett entered the room. "Sir, the police are here. They are inquiring about Miss Barrister and wish to speak with her if she is on the premises." He glanced apologetically at Bronwyn. "What would you like me to tell them?"

"Invite them in and have them wait in the front room Beckett. Offer them coffee and tell them we will be with them in a minute."

"Very good, sir."

"What could the police want with me?" Bronwyn wondered aloud. "Could they have made an arrest so quickly?" she asked Kate.

"It's possible. Do you want me to go with you to talk to them?"

"Thank you for offering, but no. I think this is something we need to do alone." She turned to Vincent. "Ready?"

"Absolutely. I would appreciate it if everyone would stay here until we know what's going on. Preacher, if you would move into position, I'll be able to signal you if necessary."

"Will do." Preacher agreed as he slipped from the room.

Taking Bronwyn's hand firmly in his, Vincent led her down the hall. As they entered the room, two pairs of cop's eyes shifted to consider them. He could tell they were being scrutinized and he didn't like it. He resisted his natural instinct to defend. They would be allowed the first move. "Gentleman," he greeted formally. "How may we be of service this morning?" They shook each officer's hand as they introduced themselves as Carter and McKinley.

"We would just like to have a few words with Ms. Barrister," explained Carter.

"Certainly," answered Bronwyn. "Please, be seated gentlemen." She gestured to two formal straight back chairs while she and Vincent sat close together on the love seat opposite them. Vincent had his arm around her shoulders and his free hand was holding both of hers.

McKinley, clearly the senior officer, tried again. "Your presence is not necessary, Mr. Lane. We simply need to speak with Ms. Barrister."

"Then I assure you, my presence is necessary," Vincent insisted. His voice was calm but there was no mistaking the steel behind it.

"Very well then," acquiesced McKinley clearly agitated. "Ms. Barrister, we have been informed that in the past few months you have been the target of a stalker. Is that correct?"

"Yes."

"During this time the stalker has made numerous phone calls in which you were threatened. He also sent," looking back at his notes, "black roses to your store." He continued after Bronwyn nodded in agreement. "It is also suspected that he is behind the photos that were left at your apartment."

"Actually we figured out who took some of them. It turned out to be an old boyfriend. Robert hired him to take photos of me when I first moved to town. Claimed he missed his long lost daughter. He continued to take photos after we became involved, right up until the time I requested he stop."

"So, you've spoken to this old boyfriend?"

"Confronted him would be more accurate. When I saw the photos I thought I recognized his work, so I took some friends with me, and we went to talk to him about it."

"The name of the boyfriend, please."

"Jeremy Anderson."

"The name of the friends that went with you when you confronted Mr. Anderson."

Bronwyn recited them evenly.

"And would you happen to know where these gentlemen could be reached?" asked Carter.

"Yes actually. They're in the next room," Bronwyn admitted.

"They're here?" McKinley repeated in disbelief. "May I ask why?"

"Breakfast," Vincent answered calmly. "We had just finished a family celebration of sorts when you arrived."

"Celebration?"

"Yes. Laura, Bronwyn's younger sister, has just announced that she is pregnant. The family is very excited," Vincent explained.

Following his lead, Bronwyn added, "It's the first grandchild in the family. We can't wait to get started on the shopping and the decorating. And darling," she smiled sweetly, "Remember you promised to help with the nursery."

"Of course, dear. It will be good practice for me." They both smiled innocently at the police officers.

Irritation etched on his face, McKinley continued. "So you say you confronted Mr. Anderson. How did he respond?"

"He admitted everything, accept knowing that Robert would use the photographs to try and scare me. That part of it he completely denied. In my opinion, he seemed angry that Robert had used the pictures that way."

"I see," McKinley said noncommittally. "And what can you tell us about the fire?"

"Nothing you don't already know I'm sure. Very early Saturday morning we got a call from a friend saying that he had just driven past Another Story and that it was on fire."

"You got the call here? I was under the impression you lived in an apartment on the other side of town," Carter broke in.

"Bronwyn moved in here after her apartment was burglarized. I wanted to ensure her safety. After we received the call," Vincent explained, taking up the story, "Bronwyn and I dressed and rushed over. When we arrived, the building was totally engulfed in flames. Firefighters fought hard to save it but it just wasn't possible. While speaking with the fire chief at the scene he revealed to us his suspicions of arson. When the arson investigator, Kate Logan, who by the way is also in the next room, arrived she began her investigation. Because of the overwhelming amount of physical evidence, Ms. Logan was able to come to a decision quickly. She concluded that the fire at Another Story was the result of arson."

"Yes, we spoke with her briefly over the phone. We are aware of her investigative conclusions," McKinley admitted.

"Then, I'm afraid we have nothing to add," Bronwyn confessed.

"We are aware, however, that a suspect has been identified and, according to Ms. Logan, he has been questioned. Do you care to elaborate, gentlemen?"

Carter and McKinley exchanged glances, before McKinley stated, "We will confirm that the suspect Ms. Logan brought in was questioned. We will also confirm that this suspect has confessed to setting the fire at Another Story."

"That's great then, right?" Bronwyn asked.

"It's a start," Vincent agreed kissing her hand that was still joined with his. "Is there something else, gentlemen?"

"Yes, Mr. Lane, there is. The suspect also gave us the name of the man who allegedly hired him."

"Robert Barrister."

"Yes, Robert Barrister."

"And have you questioned Robert Barrister?" Vincent wanted to know.

"Actually, no we haven't Mr. Lane," Carter began carefully. "Robert Barrister was found dead in his home this morning."

Bronwyn gasped, every trace of color draining from her face. "Dead?" she sputtered.

"Yes, Miss. I'm afraid so. It appears Mr. Barrister was murdered, shot once in the chest."

"Preacher," Vincent stated coolly. When Preacher stepped in from the hallway Vincent requested that he bring in the rest of their guests. "If we are going to have this conversation, gentlemen, I suggest we have it with all the interested parties present. It might save you some work in the long run." Preacher waited for a confirmed nod from Carter before he went to get the others.

Once they were gathered together, Carter repeated his announcement. "This morning, at approximately seven fifteen, the police entered the home of Robert Alan Barrister and found him shot to death in his living room." The room erupted into chaos, questions shouted from every direction. Carter stood, ordering silence. "We will have order. Everyone sit down and be quiet." When everyone had complied, he tried again. "I am assuming you all know about the suspect that Ms. Logan had us bring into the station for questioning?"

"I briefed them concerning the suspect, yes," confirmed Kate.

"Okay. The suspect stated that he had been hired by Robert Barrister to set fire to Another Story. When we went to question Mr. Barrister about the alleged connection with the arsonist, we found him dead."

"May I ask where you found him?" interrupted Poet.

"Mr. Barrister was found in a house in a new development that was just constructed on Birchwood. The house is not in Mr. Barrister's name. His connection to the owner has not been established," informed Carter. "Does that answer your question, Mr....?"

"Poet. And yes, it does. Thank you." Poet caught Bronwyn's eye and nodded his approval. She had been correct about the information she had given the team about Robert's housing preferences.

"To continue," asserted McKinley. "The coroner has confirmed that Mr. Barrister was killed late Sunday evening. A more accurate time of death is still to be determined. This brings me to an obvious question. Where were all of you on Sunday evening?"

"Are you accusing one of us of murdering Robert?" gasped Kim.

"I am doing no such thing, Mrs. Barrister. I am simply inquiring as to everyone's whereabouts on the night in question. Why don't we start with you and your husband? Where were you both Sunday evening?"

"We had dinner and then went to a late movie," announced Jacob. "After that we stopped at our favorite coffee shop for dessert. We got to talking with the owner and ended up staying out later than we planned. We didn't get home until almost one thirty in the morning. I have receipts and the ticket stubs if you need proof. I can also give you the name and number of the owner of the coffee shop."

"Thank you Mr. Barrister. I'll be sure to get that name and number from you before I leave." Turning to Laura, he asked, "And what about you? Where were you Sunday evening?"

Michael stepped abruptly in front of his wife. "We were at her restaurant, evening shift. Six o'clock to closing. We served the last customer around midnight, closed at approximately twelve thirty, cleaned up, and didn't get home until two o'clock. I remember because I checked my watch as we pulled into the driveway. Our staff can vouch for our presence the entire evening. If needed, I can provide you with a list."

"I would like that list very much. Thank you for your cooperation," Carter responded. "Why don't I ask you next, Miss Barrister? Where..."

"Why don't I speed things up here, Detective Carter," Vincent interrupted. "The rest of us, with the exception of Kate, were all here together. The team arrived approximately six o'clock. We had dinner together and then the guys and I taught Bronwyn how to play poker. We played well into the night. When the guys finally left, it was after one o'clock in the morning. The only people who can verify our whereabouts are Beckett and each other."

"That doesn't give any of you much of an alibi, does it?" pondered McKinley.

"No, it doesn't. But then we weren't trying to create an alibi, were we? We were just trying to spend an evening with friends," Vincent protested.

"It would have been very simple for one or more of you to take out Robert, while the rest of you agreed to lie about the poker game," suggested Carter.

"Wait just a damn minute!" Jacob roared. "You can't accuse..."

"Jacob," Vincent soothed. "It's okay. The detective is just doing his job."

"Well, he has no business accusing god-fearing, decent men, let alone my niece, of such a foul crime."

"It's okay Jacob," repeated Preacher. "He doesn't know us. Doesn't know what kind of people we are."

"Well, let me help you out here, detectives," offered Poet. "You are right. One or more of us could have easily taken out Robert while the rest provided a cover story. I can go one better than that though. There is not a man on this team that wouldn't have killed Robert Barrister if Bronwyn had only asked."

"Jesus," McKinley gasped.

"But Bronwyn never asked. Just the opposite in fact. She made it very clear from the beginning that she didn't want any more violence. She's had enough of that to fill more than one life time already," Preacher concluded.

"You could have gone against her wishes," insisted Carter.

"No we couldn't, detective. There is very little we value more than honor, trust, and loyalty. We would never have made a move in that direction. To do so would have hurt her," explained Caveman.

"You'll find no evidence that connects anyone here to that crime," Vincent finished. "I hope you don't waste too much of your time and effort pursuing that angle of the investigation. Even though no one here is disappointed that Robert Barrister is dead, we don't think his killer should be allowed to go unpunished." Standing he added, "Now if that's all, I'll see you out." He waited for them to stand before he ushered them from the room.

Chapter 18

Bronwyn wasn't sure how to react. Robert Barrister had been the source of her nightmares for most of her life. He was the monster under the bed, the boogey man, and her own personal stalker rolled into one. She never remembered a time in her life that he wasn't lurking in the shadows... waiting. And now, he was dead.

"Bronwyn?" Vincent asked as he came to stand next to her. He placed his hand on the small of her back, leaned close enough to be distracted by the subtle fragrance of her shampoo. "What are you thinking?"

"I don't know what to think." She turned to see the concern etched on his face. "This was never an option in my mind. There was never going to be a time when he wasn't there." He pulled her close. "I had accepted the fact that he would be with me forever. Does that make sense?"

"Yes. It does. I don't like it, but it does make sense." He reached out to take her face in his hands as he often did when he wanted to emphasize his words. "But things are different now. Robert is no longer a threat. He can never hurt you or anyone else ever again."

She smiled weakly at him. "Yeah. I think that's going to take a while to sink in."

"Take all the time you need, darling." He kissed her warmly, reluctantly letting her go as she pulled away to walk over to her uncle.

"Uncle Jacob?"

"Yeah, baby." He turned to her, noticing the tears in her eyes. "Hey, what's this?" He brushed away the first tear as it fell. "There's no need for all this. I do not; will not mourn the man that was murdered. Not even for a minute. He was not the same boy I grew up with." He grabbed both her hands tightly in his. "I do not want you to feel responsible or guilty in any way. You didn't cause Robert's death."

"No. No, I didn't. But still...It doesn't feel right to benefit from it. It doesn't feel right to be better off that a man is dead," Bronwyn insisted.

"Normally, I would agree with you. But in this case, the world, and certainly those in it, are better off without him."

"Well said, sir," Vincent agreed.

"You've waited a lifetime to be free of him. I suggest you enjoy it," advised Kim.

"It's a little hard to enjoy being free when the police seem to think that one of us committed the crime," Bronwyn replied honestly. "What if they actually arrest one of us?"

"In order to arrest someone, you need evidence. Lacking evidence, you need to prove motive, opportunity, and means," explained Preacher.

Bronwyn laughed sarcastically. "I believe most of us here qualify for arrest then."

"She's right about that," agreed Vincent. "But none of us actually killed Robert Barrister, darling."

"Even though, according to Poet, you guys were perfectly willing. My goodness, boy. Couldn't you have just kept that little gem to yourself?" asked Kim.

Poet merely shrugged sheepishly. "I tend to be forthright by nature, ma'am."

"I guess this means you can go home now, Bronwyn," volunteered Laura.

"What?" This from both Bronwyn and Vincent.

Laura raised one eyebrow in contemplation before she answered. "Well, you moved in here so that you would be safe from Robert, right? So, if Robert is no longer in the equation doesn't it follow that it's safe for you to go home?" She directed this last question to Vincent, watching him carefully as he considered her logic. She couldn't help but smile as his eyes began to smolder and reduced to slits as he studied Bronwyn. Laura was very pleased with his reaction; very pleased indeed. She could probably sell tickets to the conversation they were about to have. Smiling mischievously, she announced that it was time for her and Michael to be on their way.

Without ever taking his eyes off Bronwyn, Vincent said his goodbyes and reminded Michael that the detectives would be contacting him later for the staff list he had promised.

"Oh, well..." Jacob began. "If they're going to be calling Michael I should probably get home and find that phone number they want. Come dear," he said to Kim, "We should probably hurry." Kim rushed to kiss Bronwyn on the check, steered a wide berth around Vincent and dashed out.

"Good day, gentlemen," was all it took from Vincent. The team exited hastily and silently.

"That was... abrupt," Bronwyn commented.

"Yes."

"Do people always do what you want them to?"

"God, I really hope so," Vincent whispered desperately under his breath. Looking up at her, he admitted, "Usually."

"Lucky you."

"Yeah, lucky me." Damn, he was nervous. How in hell was he supposed to do this? Should he confront her or just remain silent? What if he forced her to make a decision and the decision she made was to leave? He couldn't live like that anymore. Being without her was not an option. Having her with him, in his life every day had become a necessity. Didn't she realize that? Didn't she know how vital she was to him?

"Vincent? Is something wrong?"

"To be honest, I'm a little nervous here. Okay, more than a little. I'm actually on the verge of terror."

Concern clearly evident in her voice, Bronwyn rushed to reassure him. "Everything should be fine now. I should be perfectly safe."

Vincent smiled wryly. "There you go again, giving me too much credit. It's not your safety that worries me. It's your geographic location."

"Oh.

"Yeah. Oh."

"If you need me to go ahead and pack I can do that. I can probably be ready to leave in about thirty minutes," Bronwyn stated flatly.

Her words hurt as they sliced at him making him ache even as he noticed she wasn't looking at him. She carefully hid her face from him, hid her eyes. That one movement told him everything. Bronwyn was afraid. Afraid that she wasn't wanted. Vincent closed his eyes for a moment, sighing as he felt his own fear evaporate. He wouldn't have to beg her to stay. He would only have to ask. Smiling, he opened his eyes and found himself alone in the room. "No!" his mind screamed as he raced from the room and up the stairs. He found her folding clothes that she had taken from the closet. Rushing in, Vincent yanked a shirt from her hands, tearing it in his haste.

"What the hell..." Bronwyn began.

Panic was settling in, choking him. "Stay," was all he managed.

"But I thought..."

"Stay," he interrupted. "I want you, in every sense of that word, in my life, in my house and in my bed. Stay." Even he could hear the desperation in his voice.

She hesitated, still unsure.

Realizing the danger of the situation, Vincent fought to rein in his emotions. "I love you," he insisted. "I want you and I need you. Stay, please." As she searched his eyes, he fought to bury the fear.

"Yes."

"Yes?" he asked incredulously. "You'll stay?"

"Yes," she answered as she gave him a quick kiss. "I'll stay." With a light laugh, she began putting her clothes back on hangers. When she started to turn to put them in the closet, Vincent stopped her. "I don't mean I want you to live here in this house." He stroked her cheek gently. "I mean I want you to live with me."

"Live with you?"

"Yes. Live with me. No 'your place'. No 'my place'. All of you. All of me. That's what I want. That's what I need."

Bronwyn smiled shyly. "I've always wanted and needed that too. I just didn't think I'd ever find it."

He sighed deeply and rested his forehead on hers. "You had me scared there for a minute. I thought you actually wanted to leave."

"No, not at all. Not even for a minute."

"Thank God." He held her tightly as his fear slowly subsided. "We'll have Beckett reorganize things...after." He bent to kiss her deeply, pulling her close. "First, I think we should test this new stage in our relationship. Don't you?" He lowered his mouth to hers, hesitating just inches from her lips. "We really should make sure we're...compatible." He smiled wickedly just before his lips captured hers in a kiss that was all hunger and greed.

They spent the next few days alone, just the two of them. No friends, no family, and no shadows waiting in the dark. Slowly, Vincent watched Bronwyn relax, felt himself relax. He hadn't realized how heavy the burden had been until it was lifted. But now, lying by the pool he reveled in the fact that the most notable thing he had to agonize over was how soon he would be able to get Bronwyn out of the outrageously sexy red bikini he had gotten her to wear. He took pleasure in the sight of her now, stretched out on the patio chair next to him. Shapely and lean, her skin oiled and lightly tanned.

"Don't even think about," she warned.

"What? I didn't say anything," he joked.

"Yeah, but I could hear what you were thinking." She rolled her head to face him. "Connected, remember?"

"Oh, trust me darling. I'm not likely to forget." He took her hand and lifted it his lips. She smiled. "Do you trust me?"

"With my life," Bronwyn answered without hesitation.

"That's the easy way of it." He repeated, "Do you trust me?"

"With my mind, my heart, and my soul."

Vincent had to pause as her words overwhelmed him. "Thank you," he finally managed, his voice hoarse. "I have a surprise for you, something I want to show you."

"Do I have to leave the house to see it?"

"Yes. I'm afraid so."

"Do I have to wear real clothes?"

"Yeah, because I don't share, remember?"

Standing to pose for him, she teased, "But I thought you liked this suit."

"I love that suit and the woman in it," he corrected. "But not enough to keep from following through with my plan."

"Oh. So now, there's a plan. Curiouser and curiouser," Bronwyn quoted.

"Well, you're going to have to shower and get dressed if you want to follow me down the rabbit hole," Vincent finished.

Charmed by him she kissed him lightly and hurried off. Vincent went in search of Beckett. He wanted to be sure that all the arrangements had been made. He also put in a call to Poet to let him know that everything was a go. Smiling ridiculously to himself, he too rushed off to shower.

When Vincent walked into their bedroom a few minutes later it was to find Bronwyn standing in front of the open closet wearing nothing more than a towel. Upon hearing him enter, she turned to face him. "What exactly does one wear for a journey down the rabbit hole?"

"Casual clothes. Comfortable shoes."

Nodding to herself, she turned back to the closet and pulled out jeans and a silk blouse. "Oh, I think it's only fair to warn you. I'm moderately claustrophobic." Tossing aside the towel, she stepped into black lace panties. Vincent closed his eyes, digging deep for the strength to stay put. When he opened them again, she was wearing the matching bra. The sight of her made him ache. He began to recite the Preamble to the Constitution in his head. "Vincent?" she asked when he didn't respond. It didn't take Bronwyn long to realize what was going on. Smiling knowingly she turned away from him, bent low at the waist and stepped into her jeans. With much wiggling and jiggling, she slid them up her legs. She was rewarded with a loud hiss as Vincent's resolve slipped enough for him to take several steps across the room.

"You did that on purpose," he accused softly.

Gazing over her shoulder at him, she answered brazenly. "You bet I did."

His eyes narrowed. "You'll pay for that later."

"No doubt," she agreed as she walked past him to the bathroom. "Looking forward to it."

Once she was dressed, tennis shoes tied, Vincent led her to the car. Handing her into the passenger seat, he walked around and climbed in beside her. Shifting to face her, he hesitated as he took both her hands in his. "This is going to sound strange I'm sure, but here goes. I want you to know, no matter what happens in the next few hours, no matter what you decide, I love you. Know that I have never in my life been so sure of anything more than I am sure of my feelings for you." He leaned in to kiss her. "Do you think you can remember that?"

"Yeah." When Vincent started to turn away, she stopped him with a gentle touch. "One more thing," she almost whispered. "Know that what you feel for me I also feel for you. I love you." He leaned in to kiss her again.

"Okay, now we are about to put your trust in me to the test."

"How so?"

"You're going to have to trust me to get you to our destination."

"I can do that."

"With your eyes closed. I want it to be a surprise," Vincent pleaded.

After the slightest of hesitations, Bronwyn agreed. "I can do that." Settling into the seat, she leaned back on the headrest and closed eyes. "Ready when you are."

Fifteen minutes later, Vincent pulled the car to a stop and turned off the engine. "Your eyes stay closed until I tell you to open them. Okay?"

"Okay."

"I'm going to get out of the car now and come around to help you. Don't move."

"Not moving," she agreed.

As soon as Vincent had her out of the car, he put his arm around Bronwyn's shoulder. Taking a deep breath he announced, "Open your eyes."

Bronwyn recognized the building that stood before her. It was well known in the area. She had heard that it had been many things in its lifetime: a school, an orphanage, a bed and breakfast, and finally a private home. Recently it had come up for sale, unfortunately well out of her price range. She had been tempted to walk through it any way just because she was curious. But she had learned early. Never fall in love with something you can't have. So it was with mixed emotions that she smiled up at Vincent. "I've always wanted to tour this building."

"Well, now's your chance," Vincent volunteered.

Chapter 19

Bronwyn took a moment before she went in. "She must have been so grand once," she mused, the admiration clear in her voice. "Can't you just imagine how it must have been? I can almost see rocking chairs on the porch, with little side tables and maybe a swing on that end," she gestured excitedly. "The deck above would have been just for family, a private place to have a glass of wine or steal kisses. And the widow's walk! It couldn't be more perfect, reminds you that this was more than just a house."

"I can see it now," Vincent agreed. "Through your eyes. I see clearly what she must have been." He smiled down at her, her excitement contagious. "Shall we go in now?"

"Absolutely," Bronwyn insisted. Hand in hand, they climbed the steps and opened the door. "Oh my goodness. Look at all this wood! It's gorgeous, or it would be if it were refinished." Touching the ornate trim work as she went, she knelt at the fireplace. "It would be fabulous if this worked. Can you imagine welcoming people into this house with a fire going in here? The foyer is big enough you could actually put a love seat in so that guests could wait in comfort." Turning abruptly, Bronwyn caught Vincent staring at her, smiling. He appeared to be unnaturally pleased about something. "What?"

"I've never known anyone who can so clearly see what isn't there. It's fascinating."

Dismissing his comment with a wave of her hand, Bronwyn set out to explore. In every room, Vincent asked what she could see, what she thought the room might have been. And in every room, she painted a picture with words so vividly, Vincent felt as if he'd actually been there before. It took them almost two hours to tour the entire house. Downstairs there were half a dozen rooms, besides the kitchen. Upstairs there were ten bedrooms and seven bathrooms."

"It's bigger than I thought," Bronwyn commented. "A bit too large for one family I'd say."

It was just the opening Vincent needed. "Well, I think if the family just lived upstairs, it would be perfect. Of course, it would take some remodeling. Change out some of the bedrooms. Build a kitchen up here. All the rooms are large enough. They could be redesigned to suit the family's needs."

"That's true," Bronwyn nodded in agreement. "It would be a tremendous undertaking, but more than worth the time and effort. What would you do with the downstairs, though? Shared housing. Maybe for extended family."

"Truthfully? I think the downstairs would make one hell of a bookstore."

Vincent saw a flicker of excitement before Bronwyn masked it with surprise. "I'm sure it would," she answered cautiously.

"How would you do it?"

"Excuse me?" Bronwyn asked.

"How would you redesign the downstairs so that it could be a bookstore?" Bronwyn hesitated so long, Vincent thought she wouldn't answer. "Humor me," he pleaded.

"Okay. It really wouldn't require much redesigning. If it were mine," she began, missing Vincent's triumphant grin, "I would make each room feel like a personal library. I would build the shelves in against the walls like they had always been there. No freestanding metal bookshelves. I would include comfortable chairs and stools in each room too, to encourage browsing. Each room could be a different genre decorated accordingly. There could even be a children's room where daily reading hours could take place. Low, comfy chairs for the kids. Oh, and some of those oversized chairs, so parents and their children can snuggle and read together." Her excitement was getting the better of her, but she couldn't seem to contain it.

"What else?" Vincent encouraged.

"The kitchen could be modernized so that you might be able to include a small coffee shop. It could all be done so it continued to feel like a home. People would love to come and stay awhile. Have coffee or tea, maybe a light snack. It would be a wonderful setting for book talks and author signings, too." She faced him now. "You're right. It probably would make one hell of a bookstore."

"I was hoping you'd think so." He pulled her close. "And we could redesign the upstairs. Make the rooms into whatever we need, except for the blue room at the back of the house, the one with the sitting area and attached bath. I think that would make a perfect master bedroom. Don't you? The rest though, are negotiable."

Bronwyn stared at him, clearly stunned and confused. "Are you saying you're thinking of buying this house?"

"No. I'm saying I already did." Vincent reached into his back pocket. He placed a key in the palm of her hand, closing her fingers around it. "It's a gift, for you."

"Excuse me?" Vincent watched the color drain from her face. "Are you saying you bought me a house?"

"This house. Yes." He held her tighter, worried by the paleness of her skin.

"That's impossible." Bronwyn began trying to step back. "You can't just buy me a house."

"I can and I did," Vincent disagreed as he refused to relinquish his hold.

"But you can't. That's just not ...right." Bronwyn argued. As soon as the words were spoken, she regretted them.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Vincent demanded. "I'm not allowed to buy you a gift?"

"A house is not a gift, Vincent. A blouse is a gift. Jewelry is a gift. Hell, even a plane ticket to Paris is a gift. But a house? No. A house is definitely not a gift," she explained.

"What is it then?"

"A commitment," Bronwyn answered without thinking.

Immediately, Vincent relaxed and he smiled. "Oh."

"Don't 'oh' me. A house is serious business. It shouldn't be bought and given on a whim."

Finally, Vincent let her go. "I didn't buy it on a whim," he insisted. "I bought it for you, for us." She could see that he was angry, hurt even and she was sorry for it. But she just couldn't accept it, could she? What if she did? What if she accepted it, learned to love it and then he changed his mind, moved on to someone else. She would lose everything, her heart, and her dream.

"I know you bought it for us," Bronwyn tried to explain. "But a house? A house is more than just a building Vincent, or it should be."

"So you said," he snapped.

She groaned in frustration. "What I'm trying to say is that a house is about commitment, long term. It's more than just the present. It's the future, months, years, decades."

"I know that," he fumed. He was rigid with anger as he stood before her, but she didn't care. She wasn't about to let this go, let him have his way and then get hurt in the end.

"Fine then," she snarled. "What the hell am I supposed to do if you change your mind?"

"What?" Vincent glowered at her now, confused and livid. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Don't you swear at me, Vincent Lane! I get that you're pissed..."

"Really?" he asked sarcastically. "You get that?"

"Yeah!" she yelled now. "I get that. But just because you're pissed off that I didn't throw my arms around you and pledge my undying devotion, does not mean you can stand there and swear at me. I just can't accept the house. I'm sorry." She closed her eyes, gathering her thoughts and emotions before she continued. "It was very kind and generous of you to offer. Thank you." She reached up to kiss him on the cheek as he stood passive, anger pouring off him. "It just isn't enough," she muttered so quietly he almost didn't hear. When she would have walked passed him, she was brought up short as he grabbed her arm, swinging her around to face him. Instinctively, she pushed against him. "Let go."

"Not in this lifetime," he hissed. "What did you mean when you said 'it isn't enough'?"

"Nothing," she lied as she continued to struggle. "Let go of me."

"No." Moving his face in close, to within mere inches of hers he added, "And don't lie to me. Not now, not ever."

She was close enough to see the rage he held at bay. But she could also see the pain riding just below the surface. She refused to be swayed by it and focused in on the rage.

"Fine, then. Here's the truth. I am not interested in the kind of commitment forged through gratitude." Her eyes bore into his as she added. "That's the easy way of it. Now let me go!"

"No," Vincent repeated. "Are you insinuating that I am trying to buy your loyalty, your commitment?"

"Well, it's not like you bought me a ring, Vincent. Is it? You bought me a house. A commitment with a back door."

"Oh my god. Is that what you think?" He didn't wait for her answer. "Of course you do. That's what I led you to think." Now he let her go and began pacing angrily. "That is the last fucking time I take advice from the guys," he muttered. "Give her the house first. Soften her up. How stupid! Now it just looks like I tried to buy her. Jesus Christ on a crutch! Don't even think it," he warned as he saw her backing slowly toward the door. "No way in hell you'll make it."

"You can't keep me here," Bronwyn challenged. Suddenly he was in front of her. She hadn't even seen him move. Her eyes widened in shock as she looked up at him. Vincent was close enough that she could feel the heat from his body yet he was careful not to touch her.

"You'll stay," he said through clinched teeth.

Realizing her mistake, Bronwyn nodded. She pointed to the window seat and mumbled quietly, "I'll just go sit over there."

"Fine. Make another move toward the door though and I swear on everything that is holy in this world, I'll stop you."

Glancing up into his face, she nodded in response. "I believe you." As she settled into the window seat, Vincent returned to his pacing and mumbling. She had never seen him so angry. She wasn't sure she had ever seen anyone so angry, or frustrated. Bronwyn couldn't really hear what he was saying now, only the occasionally swearing streak. She was reluctantly impressed by his creativity in that department. Replaying the conversation in her mind, she suddenly realized she might have missed something important. Forgetting herself for a moment, she stood. Immediately, Vincent's pacing stopped. She noted absently that he had positioned himself between her and the only door.

"I have a question," she began hesitantly. "What did you mean when you said 'give her the house first'? First? Is there something else? Something that I missed?" She knew right away she was right but Vincent stared her straight in the face and lied.

"Nothing."

"I guess I deserved that," she admitted. "Feel better?"

"No," he answered. But Bronwyn could see that his anger was fading. Disappointment had taken its place. Coming to her finally, he took her hands in his. "I so desperately wanted to do this right."

"Do what right?" she asked softly.

He gazed down at her, the last of his anger gone now. Studying her intently for a minute, he slowly began to smile. "Can I call a do over?"

"A do over?"

"Yes, please," he asked anxiously.

"Um. Okay, I guess," Bronwyn agreed. "If it means that much to you."

"It does," Vincent vowed. "I need you to try and put aside everything that was said. Focus in on what I'm saying now. Okay?" Bronwyn nodded and he continued. "The first day I met you, in Another Story, I was captivated. I knew I had been hired to do a job, to keep you safe, but all that just melted into the background. All I wanted to do instead was to get to know you. I had your background, provided in part by Jacob, but it didn't fit the woman I met. Your uncle described you as fragile, unable to take care of yourself. He was wrong; is wrong. You are the strongest person I have ever met. I was afraid that you wouldn't need me, that you would send me packing."

"I tried," said Bronwyn, smiling in remembrance.

"Yes you did, darling. Although, if I remember correctly, I refused to leave. I wanted to be a part of your life, wanted you to be a part of mine. I got a hell of a lot more than I bargained for, though. You are more than just a part of my life. You have become my life, the driving force that keeps me centered and happy. I love you," he said as he took her face in his hands.

"And I love you."

"I don't want to spend another minute of my life without you in it." Reaching into his pocket, Vincent pulled out a turquoise box tied with a white ribbon. Bronwyn gasped, her eyes filling with tears. "I love you. I want you. I need you, darling, in my life today, tomorrow and all the other tomorrows too. I want to live in this house with you. I want to fill it with love, hope, and children. I also want to help you plan and rebuild your dream." Her tears began to fall unchecked as he held out the box for her to take. "Please, Bronwyn," Vincent asked as he lowered to one knee. "Would you do me the honor and privilege of agreeing to be my wife?"

Knowing he would need to hear her say the words, she took his face in her hands. "Yes. Absolutely, without reservation. Yes." She wasn't sure later who moved into whom first, but suddenly they were clinging together; fused as one. Their mouths and hands sought to taste, touch. "I love you," Vincent repeated before he took the kiss deep. There was hunger and possession in the taste of him, Bronwyn thought. And she surrendered herself to it, to him. The kiss turned wild, on the verge of madness before Vincent dragged his mouth from hers. He was breathing heavily, battling for controlled. "The ring," he pleaded just before his mouth was crushed under hers. She robbed him of thought, stripped him down to this primal need. He had to have her. Now. He had to feel her move with him; her body race toward what only he could bring her. She pressed her body intimately into him driving his need beyond all reason. Vincent let go and let the madness take him. With shaking hands, they pulled at clothes, ripping them in their urgency. Their lips and teeth and tongues tasted, urging each other to take more. And when she stood before him naked in the fading sunlight, he felt triumphant. Dragging her to the window seat, he sat as she straddled him. When she lowered herself and he filled her, he swallowed her moan. She held them there, still, until the need became unbearable. Vincent held her face in his hands and she his, as they began moving, driving him deep with each thrust. Eyes focused on each other as their bodies strained. He groaned loudly as she constricted around him, making the slide hot and wet and tight. Their hearts pumped violently along with their bodies as they raced toward climax. "Mine," Vincent whispered as her vision began to blur.

"Yours," she said as she surrendered.

Vincent's smile was victorious as he followed. She draped herself across him as their hearts slowed, their bodies cooled. Tenderly he stroked his hands up and down her back until she leaned into them. He held tight as she smiled and softly kissed his lips. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she rested her head on his shoulder. Reluctantly, she spoke. "We should probably be going. I'm sure it's getting late."

"Mmmm," was his only response. She laughed softly. "Don't want to move," he muttered. "Ever again. Going to stay just like this." He pulled her closer. "Forever." She laughed again, prepared to settle in. Her rest was short lived though as Vincent suddenly smiled. "The ring." Lifting her head himself so that he could see her eyes he repeated, "We got distracted earlier." With that said, he gently lifted her from his lap and sat her on the window seat while he rummaged through their clothes looking for the box. Walking back, he held it out to her. "Hold this, please," he said as he lifted her and set her in his lap again. "Okay, I'm ready now. Are you going to open it?"

"It's a Tiffany's box," Bronwyn remarked. "I've never gotten one of these before." Vincent smiled and silently vowed that it would be the first of many. Carefully Bronwyn untied the ribbon and removed the lid, revealing the jewelry box inside.

"My turn," Vincent interrupted. Taking the jewelry box from her, he lifted the lid. "I love you," he repeated as he turned the box to face her.

Nestled in the box was the most beautiful ring Bronwyn had ever seen. "It's gorgeous," she whispered.

"I'm glad you think so. I wasn't sure what you'd like so I went out on a limb. I wanted something beautiful, like you, but also a little unusual. It's called a cushion-cut. Not quite square or round. Set in a diamond encrusted platinum band." He lifted it from the box. "It's probably a little over the top, but I couldn't resist." Gently he took her hand in his and slid the ring into place. "A perfect fit," he whispered as he leaned in to kiss her.

"Wow," Bronwyn exclaimed as she studied the ring on her hand. "Over the top is a good description, but I love it." She kissed him soundly. Leaning back, she asked, "But when did you find time to go ring shopping?"

"The week my grandmother was in the hospital."

"What? You went ring shopping when your grandmother was in the hospital?"

"No, not exactly," Vincent corrected. "I went ring shopping after she was home recuperating." Standing and setting Bronwyn on her feet he began to sort their clothes as he explained. "I spent a lot of time talking to my grandmother when I was there, keeping her company." He slid into underwear and jeans before he continued. "Well, we talked about you mostly. One thing led to another and she asked me what my plans were. I told her that I was determined to marry you." Vincent kissed her before sliding his shirt over his head. Bronwyn, who was doing more listening than dressing, stood there in panties and bra. "Are you going to finish getting dressed, darling, or are you eating dinner as is? Not complaining, just wondering?" Bronwyn answered him by reaching for her jeans. "Okay. Where was I?" Vincent asked as he sat on the floor to start on socks and shoes. Bronwyn joined him. "So after we had Grandmother home and resting she asked me where I was planning to buy the ring. At the time, I wasn't sure. She reminded me that it was a short plane ride to New York City from there, so..."

"You flew to New York City to buy me a ring?" Bronwyn asked incredulously. "We were barely speaking at the time, yet you bought me a ring."

"Darling, just because we weren't on the best of terms, didn't change my feelings for you."

"Wow," Bronwyn sighed. Kissing him, she added, "You're amazing. Do you know that?"

"Not so amazing," Vincent disagreed as helped her to her feet. "Just determined and in love." He pulled her into his arms. "Tonight, by agreeing to marry me and live here in this house, you have made me absurdly happy. I will gladly spend the rest of my life showing you how much I love you."

"I never thought I'd find someone who knew me, understood me so completely, and loved me any way. I will gladly spend the rest of my life showing you how much I love you."

"And I'll hold you to that," he teased. "But first things, first. I'm starved. Beckett should have been able to smuggle in dinner by now. Let's go check it out." He took her hand in his and started to walk out.

"Are you telling me while we... Beckett was downstairs? Making dinner?" Bronwyn blushed heavily.

"Well, it's not like he knew what we were doing up here. I just told him I would stall you long enough for him to sneak dinner in." He stroked one finger down her cheek. "I think we gave him more than enough time, don't you?"

She laughed in response. "You have absolutely no shame, do you?"

"No. Why should I?" he asked as they started down the stairs. Vincent was right. Beckett had come and gone, leaving them a lovely meal complete with place settings and candlelight.

"Wow," Bronwyn whispered in surprise. "I do believe Beckett outdid himself this time."

They spent the evening in seclusion wanting to keep their news to themselves for a while. In the morning, they would bring everyone together to celebrate, but for now, it remained just the two of them. One minute they would find themselves staring into each other's eyes or admiring Bronwyn's ring, the love they had for each other too much to contain. The next they would find themselves talking animatedly about the changes they wanted to make to the house. Then there were wedding and honeymoon plans to consider. Vincent and Bronwyn felt excited, giddy even.

"How about Paris?" Vincent suggested as they lay together in the make shift bed that Beckett and the guys had set up for them. They were talking honeymoon plans again and he studied Bronwyn as she considered. She was stretched across him, warm and naked. Vincent found her stunning in the moonlight. "Skylight," he murmured to himself as he rested his hands low on her waist.

"What?" she asked clearly distracted.

"Sorry," he said as his hands began to caress. "I was fascinated by the look of you in the moonlight." He traced the shadows on her face. "I'd like a skylight in the bedroom if it's possible. Right over the bed." He brought her lips to his. "I could watch you in the moonlight. I could see what we bring to each other in your eyes." He saw her eyes cloud now as he again brought her lips to his. Sliding her higher so that he could deepen the kiss, Vincent forgot about the skylight, and Paris. Forgot about the house and all their plans. It was just the two of them now, in this moment. There was no room for anything else as they made love slowly, completely. This was no fast burn that raged quickly out of control. Instead, it was a warmth that spread and intensified until it engulfed them. "I love you," Vincent sighed.

"I love you too," Bronwyn answered as she snuggled into him once again. "And a skylight above the bed is a definite must." Vincent chuckled quietly. "Paris is an option, too. Or Rome."

"Or Venice. Or Ireland," Vincent added, both of them drifting into sleep.

Chapter 20

They woke with the sun, which wouldn't have been a first choice for either of them.

"Curtains," Bronwyn whined, trying in vain to hide from the sunlight pouring in through the windows. "The first thing we buy for this place is curtains." Vincent laughed.

"Well, think of it like this, darling. Now you can explore all the nooks and crannies of this place again in the bright light of day. Better yet, why don't we give an impromptu tour to the family? We could show them the house and your ring," he said as he kissed her knuckles where it sparkled in the light, "then we could all have breakfast. I'm sure they'll have loads of questions for us."

"That sounds like a wonderful idea," Bronwyn agreed. "And very brave of you. Now if I could only have a shower first I would be your love slave for life," she vowed.

"Your wish. My command." Vincent complied as he stood and lifted her.

"Where are you taking me?" Bronwyn squealed as he carried her from the room. "Vincent, I'm naked! You're naked! We can't just parade around without our clothes on!" she shrieked.

Ignoring her protests, Vincent carried her up the stairs and down the hall. "I took the liberty of having a cleaning service come in a few days ago and clean the whole place, top to bottom." He carried her through the master bedroom, into the bath. "I also had the electric and hot water turned on." He stood her in the shower. "Go ahead," he gestured.

Cautiously, Bronwyn turned the knob and was rewarded with a strong spray of hot water. "Yes!" she cheered as she quickly adjusted the temperature. Noticing her soaps and shampoo were also present, she smiled as Vincent joined her. "You spoil me."

"I certainly aim to try."

"I love you," Bronwyn chuckled as she reached for the shampoo.

"Well, talk is cheap, darling. And I believe there was some mention of sexual servitude in exchange for hot water." Pulling her into his arms, he demanded, "Time to make that first payment." Bronwyn's laughter echoed off the tiled walls as she complied.

Freshly showered and changed, Bronwyn felt like a new woman. You'd never suspect from her enthusiasm that she had spent the night on a pallet on the floor. Smiling to herself, she marveled at how her life had changed in the few weeks since she had met Vincent. She had been, if not happy, content with her life. She had family, friends, and a successful business. And then Robert had felt compelled to threaten it all. He just couldn't let her be free of him, have a life without him, be happy. He was the cross she would always have to bare. Bronwyn had been certain of it, until Vincent. She turned to watch him now as he chatted on the phone with Poet. Vincent had swept into her life insisting that he would love her, refusing to take no for an answer. Bronwyn felt honored and grateful as well as a love beyond anything she could ever measure. Like Vincent, she couldn't wait for her life with him to begin. Her musings were interrupted by a knock on the door. With her smile bright, Bronwyn rushed to answer it.

She couldn't have been more surprised, more shocked. "Jeremy?"

"Good morning, Bronwyn. May I come in?" he asked casually. "I was hoping we could talk."

"Um. I don't think that's a good idea," Bronwyn stammered as she looked behind her to see Vincent just disconnecting his call.

"I'm afraid I'll have to insist," Jeremy stated flatly. Bronwyn turned back to refuse... and then she saw the gun. Her first instinct was to slam the door in Jeremy's face but, as if sensing her thoughts, he moved forward forcing her to take a step back.

"No," she protested. Jeremy took another step forward, ignoring her, but this time Bronwyn didn't retreat.

"Bronwyn," he threatened. "I'm coming in, whether you like it or not."

"Darling?" Vincent called.

Jeremy raised one eyebrow. "What do you say we ask lover boy what he thinks?"

Bronwyn eyes went flat and cold. "I swear to God, Jeremy, if you harm him in any way I will personally see you in hell."

"Bronwyn, who is it?" Vincent asked as he joined her. Without the slightest hesitation, he pulled her behind him putting himself just inches from the barrel of the gun. The move had been so fast and fluid that Jeremy hadn't had a chance to react. "What do you want Jeremy?" Vincent asked politely. It only took a glance for Bronwyn to see that the soldier had replaced the man.

"I'd like to come in, Vincent," he enunciated.

"Fine." Vincent backed away from the doorway, never taking his eyes off Jeremy nor releasing the vice-like grip he had on Bronwyn. He analyzed Jeremy as he moved, taking in everything from his unnatural grip on the gun to the slight perspiration on his forehead. It was his eyes, though, that worried Vincent the most. Misery... as if something weighed on Jeremy so heavily that he was inconsolable. It had been his experience that inconsolable was often just one short step from suicidal. And while he didn't care in the least if Jeremy was determined to end it all, he'd kill him himself if Jeremy continued to threaten Bronwyn. "So what brings you to see us this morning, Jeremy?" Vincent asked casually.

"I'm not here to see you," he spat. "I want to talk to Bronwyn. Alone."

"That's not going to happen," Vincent insisted.

Jeremy glared at him angrily. "Are you forgetting that I'm the one with the gun?"

"Not for a minute," Vincent reassured him. "But there's no way in hell you're going to be alone with her."

"You know, I could just shoot you," Jeremy threatened.

"No!" screamed Bronwyn.

"It's okay, darling," Vincent reassured her as he pulled her body flat against the back of his. "Jeremy is not going to shoot me right now. He just wanted to remind me that he could."

"I want to talk to her," Jeremy insisted.

"Then talk. Pretend I'm not here."

Jeremy shifted, trying to look around Vincent. Vincent echoed his move. "I can't even see her," he complained. "How am I supposed to talk to her if I can't even see her?"

"Lower the gun first."

Jeremy hesitated, but finally complied. Vincent responded by pulling Bronwyn to stand beside him. He wrapped one arm tightly around her waist.

"I didn't want it to be like this," he began. "I was hoping we could just talk."

"You brought a gun into my home, Jeremy. How did you expect us to react?"

"The gun wasn't for you. I love you," he assured her.

"Who was it for?" Bronwyn asked as she tried to reposition herself in front of Vincent, hoping to shield him. He held fast, refusing to let her move.

"I was only going to use it to get you out of the house," Jeremy explained.

"Out of the house? Where do you want to go Jeremy?" she asked hopefully. If she could get Jeremy out of the house, then Vincent would be safe. Her friends and family would also be safe.

"It doesn't matter now," he said as he began to pace nervously. "You're not about to agree to go with me now. And even if you agreed, he," Jeremy gestured at Vincent with a wave of the gun, "certainly won't let you."

"Vincent doesn't tell me what to do, Jeremy. Where do you want to go?" Bronwyn repeated.

He stared at her intently for a moment before he asked, "Why are you so eager to agree, Bronwyn? The last time we spoke, I got the distinct impression that you would wish me to hell if you could. Yet now, here you are, more than willing to go off into the unknown with an armed gunman." Bronwyn remained still and silent. Jeremy transferred his attention to Vincent. "What is she hiding?"

Vincent answered without a hint of regret. "Her family is on the way over. My guess is she doesn't want you in the same room with them." He felt Bronwyn flinch at his betrayal.

"Well then," Jeremy mused. "That does change things, doesn't it?"

"I'll go with you, Jeremy," Bronwyn promised. "If it keeps my family safe, I'll go with you."

"Okay then. Not how I planned it, but it works. Say goodbye to the boyfriend Bronwyn and let's go."

"No," Vincent stated flatly.

"Now how did I know you were going to say that?" Jeremy asked exasperated. "I guess I will have to shoot you after all. I didn't really want to do that but what's one more murder on my conscious?" He aimed the gun at Vincent.

"You shoot him or harm him in any way, Jeremy, I swear to you I'll be dead by nightfall," promised Bronwyn. It was Vincent's turn to flinch.

"Jesus," he whispered as he lowered the gun. "You love him that much?"

"Yes."

There was the misery Vincent had seen when he first arrived. "You're a very lucky man," Jeremy whispered hoarsely.

"Yes, I know."

"I'm afraid, however, that all of this leaves us at somewhat of an impasse. I can't do this here and I can't take her with me," he muttered to himself as he resumed his pacing.

"The only way you can leave here with her, Jeremy, is if you take me with you," Vincent suggested.

"And you don't see anything, I don't know, stupid about that?" Jeremy drawled. "You'll kill me before I can make it to the car."

Vincent sighed heavily. "If you promise not to harm or threaten Bronwyn in any way, I'll promise not to kill you. Agreed?"

Jeremy looked from Bronwyn to Vincent and back again. "Agreed, I guess. If something goes wrong, it's not really going to matter in the long run anyway." With that said, he ushered them out of the house and into the back of his car.

"Where are we going, Jeremy?" Bronwyn asked as he backed out of the driveway.

"To my favorite place, Bronwyn. I hope you remember it," he confessed as he caught her eye in the rearview mirror.

"To your grandparent's cabin?"

"I'm surprised you remembered. I thought..."

"What, Jeremy? Did you think I would forget everything?" Bronwyn speculated.

"Maybe." Jeremy fell silent after that, lost in his own thoughts.

Vincent's arms were tight around her, his mouth resting near her ear. "I love you," he whispered.

"I love you," she mouthed, afraid Jeremy would hear them.

Vincent smiled, letting her know he understood her message. "I'm going to get us out of this." Bronwyn nodded. "Such faith," he marveled. "I need a little help from you." Again, she nodded. "I need to know what you know about the cabin. I'm going to ask questions. Squeeze my hand when the answer is 'yes'. Okay?" She squeezed his hand. For the thirty-minute ride to the cabin Bronwyn answered Vincent's questions, some she understood, some she didn't. At least it gave her something to focus on, something to do, so the fear didn't swallow her.

The cabin was much as she remembered it, nestled into a clearing in the woods. It was set far enough away from the road to give the illusion of isolation. She thought about the last time she had been here with Jeremy. It had been just a few weeks before they broke up.

"Get out of the car," Jeremy said as he opened the door from the outside. With the gun aimed at them both again, Bronwyn was quick to comply. Vincent slid out behind her immediately drawing her body close to his again. "Inside," Jeremy ordered.

Bronwyn noted that little had changed in the eight months since she'd been there last. In truth, she doubted that little had changed since Jeremy's grandparents had lived there. While it was lovely, there was also an air of desperation about it, as if preserving it could preserve that time, those feelings of happiness.

"You remember it?" he asked anxiously.

"Of course, Jeremy. Of course I remember it," Bronwyn reassured him. "What I don't understand is why you wanted to bring me here."

"It seems like the right place to do this."

Vincent noticed that was the second time Jeremy had made that comment.

"What does that mean?" Bronwyn demanded. "I don't understand."

"It's okay, Bronwyn. That's why I brought you here, to make sure you understand everything." Vincent watched him pace as he collected his thoughts, the gun all but forgotten in his hand. "I know you're angry with me Bronwyn, because of the pictures I took. I wanted to try to explain. Will you listen?"

Confused, but hardly in a position to argue, she nodded.

"I fell in love with you, you know, long before I met you." Bronwyn gasped in shock. "That surprises you? I bet it doesn't surprise Vincent. I bet he understands exactly what it's like. Anyway, as I was saying, I fell in love with you through the lens of a camera. And when I met you...There was no way I could tell you the truth and risk losing you. So I didn't."

"But you kept taking the photos?"

"Yeah, I told you the truth about that. I kept taking the photos because I didn't want anyone else hired to do the job. I didn't want anyone else that close to you. Does that make sense?"

"I don't know, Jeremy. You were giving the pictures to Robert."

"Yes."

"Even after you knew what he had done. Even after you had seen the scars for yourself."

"Yes."

"But how could you have done that to her? How could you have hurt her like that?" Vincent asked.

"I didn't mean to," Jeremy explained.

"But Robert used those pictures to scare her, threaten her."

"I know. He shouldn't have done that." Jeremy began pacing angrily. "I told him he shouldn't have done that."

"You told him?" Vincent prompted.

"Yeah. I went to see him. I said I wouldn't, but I did. I had to tell him." He stopped abruptly in front of them. "I told him he had to stop trying to scare you. I told him he had to leave you alone." Jeremy resumed his pacing. His muttering increased, became almost frantic. "But he didn't stop, did he? He burned down your store! He destroyed everything you worked so hard for! He wasn't ever going to stop. Not as long as he was alive. He wasn't going to stop was he?" he asked of Vincent.

"No. He wouldn't have stopped," he agreed.

"So I had to stop him. It was the only way."

"You killed Robert," Bronwyn accused.

"Yes," Jeremy admitted. "Robert had to be stopped, Bronwyn. Vincent couldn't do it. You wouldn't have forgiven him if he did. But I could. I could kill him and make him pay for tormenting you, for using me to hurt you."

"Sweet Mary, Mother of God," whispered Bronwyn.

"Don't you see, Bronwyn? I had to. It was the only way!"

"No, Jeremy," Bronwyn began. Vincent could feel her shaking as he held her. "We would have found another way. Somehow, we would have found another way."

"I don't believe that, Bronwyn. I don't believe that for a minute." He was calm now as he looked at her. "Robert Barrister had to die for his crimes. And I was the only one that could do it. I'm not sorry about it either. I don't feel remorse. He deserved to die. I believe that." He reached out to touch her face but stopped short when she stepped back, moving deeper into Vincent. "I had hoped you would understand. Maybe you will... someday." Turning his attention to Vincent he explained, "This gun can be traced back to my grandfather. It's the same one I used to kill Robert."

"So, can I have it now?" Vincent asked cautiously.

"Sorry, man. I'm not quite finished with it yet. See, I was perfectly willing to kill Robert. The bastard deserved it and more. I'm not, however, willing to go to jail for it. Good bye, Bronwyn."

"No," shouted Vincent and Bronwyn together.

But they were too late. Jeremy stepped back, put the gun in his mouth, and pulled the trigger.

Epilogue

It had been weeks since the kidnapping and Jeremy's death. The police investigation had cleared Vincent and Bronwyn of any wrong doing almost immediately. The coroner had ruled his death an obvious suicide and the ballistics report stated that the same gun that had killed Jeremy had also killed Robert Barrister. It was finally over, Bronwyn thought as she sat in a rocking chair on her front porch. So many lives affected because of the zealous outrage of one madman. He had paid for it with his life, and so had Jeremy. Bronwyn doubted she would ever understand why Jeremy thought killing Robert was the only way. And then to take his own life? It was all such a waste.

"Hi, darling," Vincent said as he sat beside her. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Just thinking it all through. Trying to wrap my head around it, I guess."

He nodded grimly as he took her hand in his.

"It's just all so sad. At his funeral yesterday, I didn't even know what to say to his parents. How was I supposed to say to his mother that he killed himself because of me?"

"Wait a minute. Don't take this all on you. His death is not your fault, not your responsibility." He took her face in his hands. "Jeremy was a grown man. He made his own decisions. You did not ask him to kill Robert. Nor did you ask him to take his own life. Those were his decisions. They had nothing to do with you."

"How can you say that?" Bronwyn exploded. "He killed Robert for me!"

"No. No he didn't," he repeated when she started to shake her head. "He killed Robert for himself and used you as the excuse. He felt betrayed by Robert when Robert used him. He could have drawn on the information he had to turn Robert in, to see him arrested again. But he didn't. Instead he killed him."

"I never thought of it that way," Bronwyn admitted. "It still seems like such a waste."

"Yeah," Vincent agreed. They sat together for a while, rocking and holding hands. As the first car pulled up, Vincent smiled. "Here they come."

"I still can't believe they want to do this," Bronwyn confessed. She stood next to Vincent, his arm tight around her waist.

"SEAL team reporting for painting duty, sir," Caveman announced as he climbed the porch steps. "Hey, Julliard," he added as he bent to kiss her cheek. "You know, if he doesn't treat you right, I'm ready and waiting."

Bronwyn laughed loudly. "I'll keep that in mind, Caveman."

"Keep what in mind?" Poet asked as he joined them, bending to kiss Bronwyn's cheek too.

"Caveman was just reminding Bronwyn that if she decides to throw me over, she has other options," Vincent explained.

"Hell yeah! Put me on that list," Poet agreed.

"What list?" Hollywood wanted to know as he and Preacher joined the rest of the group, each bending to kiss Bronwyn.

"The Bronwyn Has Other Options List," volunteered Poet.

"Count me in," chimed Hollywood.

"Me too," concurred Preacher.

"All right. That's enough wishful thinking for you guys," mocked Vincent. "I thought you came here to paint."

"Fine, but let the record show we came to paint for her, not you," Poet scolded. "She's much nicer." With that, they filed inside, leaving the front door open behind them.

Bronwyn laughed, as the men had hoped she would. Vincent smiled as he watched her.

"I love you," he stated, almost breathless with the power of it.

"I love you, too," Bronwyn sighed. She pulled his head down to kiss him. "And I don't need the Bronwyn Has Other Options list," she whispered. "You're what I want and what I need. In this lifetime and in any others that might come after."

"You are more than I ever thought to dream, darling. You are my life."

"Hey!" Someone yelled from inside. "Are we going to do all this work by ourselves?"

Laughing, arms around each other, Bronwyn and Vincent went inside.

###
About the Author

E. Kelly lives in Eastern Maryland with her husband and amazing teenage daughter. She is an avid reader (understatement) and a tech junkie. She is currently at work on her fourth novel. You can contact Ms. Kelly and read about upcoming releases at: http://writerekelly.blogspot.com/

Books by E Kelly

Bronwyn's Stand (Choosing Love Series - Book One)

One Heart ~ Two Souls

Anna's Strength (Choosing Love Series - Book Two)

Excerpt from Anna's Strength

As she parked in the makeshift lot, Anna Davis took a minute to study the building in front of her. It was massive. Two stories, with white trimmed gables, balcony, and a wraparound porch. She knew it had been many things in its lifetime: a school, an orphanage, a bed and breakfast, and even a private home. Now the new owners had something else in mind – a bookstore. Well that was just fine with Anna. She always welcomed a new place to feed her addiction. Getting out of the car, she took a minute to take in the feel of the place. I bet you were grand once, she whispered. Even as she struggled a little with the porch steps, Anna trailed her hand lovingly along the railing. She looked past the peeling paint, the rotting wood, and the broken windows. Yeah, you're a beauty alright. Hope I get the chance to help you find your way back. Smoothing her hair and straightening her jacket one last time, she took a deep breath. This was it. This one meeting could catapult her career from obscurity to distinction. With another steadying breath, she raised her fist to knock. Suddenly the door swung open, catching Anna off guard. She gasped when she saw him. She couldn't help it. Startled and more than a little flustered, she felt trapped by the look in his eyes. He studied her silently. Took in the polished look, the portfolio, and the straightforward look in her eye. The interior designer he realized. Daniel nodded. After the briefest hesitation, she smiled.

"Anna Davis," she said as she allowed him to take her hand in his. "I have an appointment with Bronwyn Barrister."

"Certainly," he murmured as he continued to study her. She was petite, with delicate features. Her long hair and eyes dark, her skin pale. The subtle fragrance she wore carried the faint scent of ginger. He was immediately intrigued. "Daniel Spears," he finally answered. "Family friend."

She nodded, a little more cautiously this time. He was a bit intimidating Anna admitted to herself. Tall, dark, and handsome didn't begin to describe him. His shoulder length black hair and dark eyes, in combination with his tanned skin, were evidence of his Native American ancestry. He was at least six feet she guessed, and broad with it. Then there was the way he stood, the way he took in everything about her. She doubted he missed much.

"I'm sorry," he was saying now. "Please, come in." Gesturing her inside, he closed the door behind them. "Vincent and Bronwyn are around here somewhere. I think I saw them..." Daniel's explanation was cut short by the arrival of an elegantly dressed couple.

"You must be Ms. Davis," the man was saying. He shook her hand warmly. "I'm Vincent Lane. This is my fiancé, Bronwyn Barrister."

Damn, they're stunning, she thought. Vincent with his dark hair and grey eyes. Bronwyn with her chestnut waves and green eyes. He towered over her tiny frame, but it was strength, not frailty, Anna saw in her eyes. She noticed the way Vincent looked at her. The way he already had his arm around her, tucking her in close to his side. Anna could see that he loved her completely. Adored her. And when Bronwyn turned to look up at him, the love she was feeling reflected in her eyes. "Wow," Anna murmured. Smiling again, she took a deep breath and began. "So, a bookstore?"

"Yeah," Bronwyn confirmed. "Dénouement. What do you think?"

"The final act or climax of a story, right?" Anna guessed. Bronwyn nodded. "I think it's a fabulous idea. Both the name and the building. A very creative use of the space. I mean, I can just see it now, can't you? You could greet people in the foyer. They could meander from room to room, relaxed and at home. Taking books from the shelves, finding comfortable places to snuggle up and read. Maybe there's room for a small café too. Then customers could stay awhile. Have a snack. Keep wandering and shopping when they're done." Anna stopped when she realized they were staring. Wincing, she began to apologize. "I'm sorry. I think I got carried away there. Occupational hazard."

"Are you kidding me? You were describing the place exactly as I pictured it myself," Bronwyn confessed excitedly. "You're hired."

Anna laughed. "Thanks for the confidence, but I think you should see some of my work first. Is there a place we can sit, go over my portfolio?"

"Absolutely. We've set up a table and chairs in here," Bronwyn was saying as they all moved to the next room. "It should give us more than enough room."

"Great." Anna opened her portfolio, laying it flat on the table for Bronwyn and Vincent to study. It represented the last three years of her professional life. Every kitchen, attic, garage, bedroom, and living room she had ever designed. "Why don't you two take a look? See what you like. What draws you in," she suggested. Anna stepped away to explore the room and give them an opportunity to talk quietly.

Daniel watched her as she moved. Her hands had to touch he noticed. The trim, the window ledge, the ornate carving around the fireplace. She found pleasure here. Her smile soft, almost secretive. Her phone rang as she made her rounds. Daniel watched her check to see that Bronwyn and Vincent were occupied before she answered.

"Anna," she said as she caught his eye.

He didn't turn away, even though he understood that he should. Instead, his gaze remained locked on hers as she continued the call. Finally, she angled her head, sending him an inquiring look. Before he could decide if he wanted to respond, Vincent nudged him. Reluctantly, Daniel dropped his gaze and turned toward his friends. It didn't take long for Anna to finish her call and join them.

"Well, at the risk of repeating myself," Bronwyn began. "You're hired."

"Really? Thank you!" Anna shook their hands excitedly. "I was hoping we could work together. I just love this old place."

"Yeah. Me too," Bronwyn agreed. Together, they toured the building and discussed the overall design plan, as Daniel followed quietly in their wake. The top floor would become living space for Vincent and Bronwyn and the bottom would be dedicated retail space. Anna's job was to focus on the store first, and then they would see about the private spaces. Either way, Anna felt lucky to have this chance and, of course, she was hoping that once Bronwyn saw her work, she'd feel confident enough to hire her for the upper floor.

They returned to her portfolio then, identifying what Bronwyn and Vincent liked as well as what they didn't. Together they considered colors, shelving, furniture, and lighting; the possibility of tearing walls down, putting others up, moving windows and adding fireplaces. Clearly, their options were limitless. It would be Anna's job to sift through all their ideas, culling out the ones that would suit both her clients and the space. "I can have plans for the front room for you to review by the end of the week," she promised.

"Excellent," Bronwyn smiled.

"Is it okay if I take some pictures and measurements before I go?" Anna asked as they finished.

"Whatever you need."

"I can help if you like," Daniel volunteered. It was the first time he had spoken since their introduction.

Surprised by his offer, Anna's acceptance was hesitant. "Um. Sure. Thanks."

It took them over an hour to get the information she needed. They took her photos and calculated the size and shape of every wall, doorway, and window. Daniel commented on her thoroughness.

"I want to be able to map out the entire downstairs for Bronwyn and Vincent. This way they can see how each piece fits into the whole."

"Makes sense. What's the next step after this?"

"Now I go home and get to work. I have just one week to make a building map that my clients can understand and use. Added to that, I need to design a room that is warm and welcoming. A room that encourages people to come in and stay awhile." She put the tape measure, camera, and notes in her bag. "It'll be a lot of work, but I can't wait to get started."

"I have a feeling you'll be good for this place and for them." Daniel tilted his head toward his friends. "If you can help them rebuild their dream, I'd be grateful."

"I assure you, it will be my pleasure, just as much as it is theirs, Mr. Spears."

"Daniel," he corrected.

"Daniel," she nodded. "Thanks again for your help." As she turned to go, he surprised them both by reaching out, taking her hand gently in his. He was distracted for a moment by the feel of her skin against his.

"It was a pleasure to meet you," he murmured.

Anna smiled. "And you."

"I look forward to seeing you again," he added.

Anna nodded in response. She waited a full minute before she spoke again. "My hand, Daniel."

Slowly, deliberately, he smiled. Anna was stunned by the transformation - fierce warrior to erotic fantasy. He'd be a dangerous man to be involved with, she acknowledged. A born heartbreaker her grandmother would have said. Without comment, she turned to go.

Anna found Daniel's curiosity a little unsettling. She was sure he was just being friendly. After all, she was not the kind of woman men noticed. She was more the girl-next-door. One of the guys. Another look at Daniel and she was certain he wouldn't be interested in one of the guys. With his extraordinary looks, he screamed hot, steamy sex, not friendship. Not commitment. He was a man built for seduction, plain and simple. And Anna wasn't interested in seduction. Sex with no heart behind it. She tried to settle for that once before and the results had been disastrous. Bottom line - she sucked at being shallow.

Daniel watched her from the porch as she left. Thought about the hour they had spent together. It was obvious that Anna was clever. He didn't think she approached the level of Vincent and Bronwyn, but with IQs of 147 and 162 respectfully, not many people did. Still, she was smart. And funny. And kind. When was the last time he met a woman that was actually kind? Sexy? Yes. Aggressive? Yes. But kind? No. And then there was her smile. It brought energy and vitality to her face, a light into her eyes. She had gone from lovely to extraordinary with that smile.

"So, what do you think?" Vincent was asking.

"That depends."

"On what?"

"On whether you're talking about the renovation ideas or the designer," Daniel explained.

Vincent raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Both," he decided.

"The renovation ideas sound exactly right. You managed to find someone who understands and agrees with your vision for the place. I think she'll be an asset to the project."

"Agreed. And the woman herself?" Vincent wondered.

"Now that's another story all together." Being a man of few words Daniel thought it through before he spoke. "I'm not sure yet. I guess you could say I'm... curious."

Vincent nodded thoughtfully. "Curious could be an excellent place to start."

"Yeah," Daniel smiled. "That's just what I was thinking."

