 
## **Contents**

Synopsis

Smashwords Edition

Author's Note

Title Page

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

More fiction on Smashwords

Slow Agony
Slow Burn

by V. J. Chambers

Leigh Thorn is hiding out in a backwoods college because her father put her in danger, and if the wrong people find her, she's dead. She'd rather snort lines than think about that. She'd rather do shots of marshmallow-flavored vodka until she can't remember.

When Griffin Fawkes arrives with the news that her father's dead, she isn't sure if she cares. He wasn't much of a father anyway. The only silver lining here is that Griffin's jaw-droppingly gorgeous, and Leigh wants him bad.

Griffin owes his life to Leigh's father. The man begged him to keep his daughter safe. But Griffin didn't expect a cocaine-fueled party girl who barely seems to care about her own safety. It seems like she'd rather destroy herself than anything else.

Even worse, he didn't expect he'd care about her. He knows he's too damaged to ever really be with a woman. The best he can do is to make sure she's safe from whoever could hurt her. Including herself. Including himself.

Of course, fighting off men with guns is starting to seem easier than keeping his hands off Leigh.
SLOW BURN  
© copyright 2013 by V. J. Chambers  
http://vjchambers.com  
Punk Rawk Books  
Smashwords Edition

Please do not copy or post this book in its entirety or in parts anywhere. You may, however, share the entire book with a friend by forwarding the entire file to them. (And I won't get mad.)

AUTHOR'S NOTE

It will be apparent to anyone familiar with the area that I have created a college near Thomas, West Virginia where there is none. I haven't named this college, but I imagine it to be somewhat similar to Alderson-Broaddus in Philippi, only maybe not so religious.

I have taken a few other liberties as well. I've also probably made mistakes that I haven't noticed, not only about the Thomas-Davis area, but about Morgantown, Grafton, Boston, and Nantucket. Some of these places I know only through a judicious use of Google Maps and internet searches. So, forgive me, please, if I've got it wrong, and try to enjoy the story for the fantasy that it is.

Thank you for reading, and if you ever do find yourself in Thomas, you really must go to The Purple Fiddle. I insist.

Slow Burn

V. J. Chambers

CHAPTER ONE

"You turned off my alarm!" I screamed at the half-naked guy in my bed. I was pretty sure I'd known his name last night when we'd stumbled through my apartment door and collapsed back here. I was pretty sure. Hadn't I called out something while he was pulling off my clothes?

On the other hand, now that I was thinking about it, I didn't think the sex had actually been that good. I'd had to tell him at least five time to be more gentle, and he hadn't listened. At all. I'd call him Rough Hands, since I couldn't think of his name.

He raised his head sleepily from the pillow. Yuck. Had his hair been that greasy last night? Had his nose been that big?

Ugh. Why did I do this to myself?

"It was loud," he said. "And I'm trying to sleep."

"I told you last night that I had to get up early, didn't I?" I was holding the alarm in my hand, still staring at the numbers. It hadn't sunk in how late I was.

"What's the big deal? So you blow off class."

I pushed aside the covers, reached for a night shirt on the floor, and pulled it on. "Not class, you moron. I told you that. I told you it was important."

He put the pillow over his head. "That thing about having to go drive to a phone to talk to your dad? I thought you were making that up."

Panic shot through me. "I told you that?" How drunk had I been, anyway? I got out of bed. The minute I was upright, my head started pounding. Okay. That drunk.

"You talked a lot," he said.

I ripped the pillow away from his head. "Get out."

He rolled over. "Seriously?" He looked wounded.

"Seriously," I said. I threw the pillow at his chest and went into the bathroom. I didn't have time for a shower, but my hair was a complete mess. I popped a toothbrush in my mouth and surveyed my bed head. It was smashed on one side, wavy on the other.

I grimaced. Most girls on earth would be able to pull their hair into a ponytail now, but for some reason, I had the kind of hair that never pulled properly into a ponytail. I'd always have nasty bumps sticking out and my hair would refuse to lie flat. I wasn't sure why this was, but it was annoying.

I spat out toothpaste and rinsed my mouth. Then I turned on the shower. I'd just stick my head underneath it.

It didn't really matter how I looked. I wasn't going to see anyone important or anything. But I couldn't handle going out into the world looking really bad. I had a modicum of personal pride.

When I returned to my bedroom, a towel wrapped around my now-wet hair, Rough Hands was still lying in my bed.

I put my hands on my hips. "You're still here."

He sat up. "I can't believe you're kicking me out."

"Well, believe it," I said.

He found his boxers on the floor. He pulled them on and came over to me. His hand snaked around my waist. "Hey, didn't we have fun last night?"

I shoved him off. "Honestly, you weren't my best lay ever."

He looked wounded again. "Geez, you're cold."

"You need to learn about communication," I said. "When a girl tells you to be gentle, be gentle for God's sake."

He folded his arms over his chest. "You're really very rude."

"I was rude last night too," I said. "We were both too drunk to stop this train wreck from happening. Now get out."

He clenched his jaw. "Fine. I'm gone, Leigh." He yanked on his pants, threw on his shirt and stalked out of the room. Was I supposed to be impressed that he remembered my name or something?

I sighed in relief and started going through my closet for something to wear. Pulling out jeans and digging through some clothes on the floor for a t-shirt, I tried to get myself together. I wasn't going to be that late. If I drove really fast, I'd only be ten minutes late. And even if I missed the phone call, I could check the received-calls log. I'd be able see the number he had this month. I could call him back. I could. It would be okay.

"Um..."

I whirled. Rough Hands was in the doorway to the bedroom. "I thought I told you to get lost," I said.

"I can't find my shoes," he said.

I could not believe that. "I don't have time to help you look," I said. "I only get to talk to my dad once a month, and this is the day."

"Yeah, that's what you said last night," said Rough Hands. "And it sounds kind of weird. What's going on with your dad? Is he a fugitive from the law?"

Augh. I needed to remember not to tell people this stuff. I couldn't trust anyone. That was what my dad had tried to tell me. "Never mind. Just forget I said anything."

"He is, isn't he?"

"Find your damned shoes and get out of my life."

He shook his head. "You know, if you treat all the guys you take home like this, it's amazing anyone comes back for more."

I glared at him. "Comes back? Men are renewable resources. You're used up. Did you find your shoes yet?"

He tugged them out from under the bed. As he was walking out, I heard him mutter, "Bitch," under his breath.

Oddly enough, it didn't even make me angry.

I'd been called worse. And out loud, to my face, not from some West Virginia co-ed with a big nose. I could handle it. The only reason I was here was that my father was trying to sock me away where no one could find me. Thomas, West Virginia was practically the middle of nowhere. He'd stuck me here because he was in some kind of danger. I was too, I guessed.

Honestly, I wasn't real clear on what had happened.

Six months ago, I was at a normal college in Boston, and my father was ignoring me the way he had for his entire life. My dad had a job for Dewhurst-McFarland, the international arms corporation. I don't know exactly what he did, because the corporation kept a tight lid on all their projects in development, and that was what he worked on.

Work was my dad's life. And I was only an annoying distraction to that. Since my mom left him when I was too small to remember her, I'd been raised by a series of nannies, and my dad had worked. As a kid, I barely saw him. He seemed happy enough when I was finally old enough to go to college. He could send me away.

Not that I cared. I mean, not really. I didn't need the guy. He'd made it pretty clear he wasn't interested in me.

So, anyway, six months ago, I was in college at Boston. I had a great boyfriend named Eric. We'd only been going out for about two months, but we had a lot of fun together. We liked to party. We were crazy. We were up for whatever. That night, whatever had been a baggy of coke and a bottle of tequila.

We shouldn't have gotten in the car.

I remember Eric laughing behind the wheel. I remember that the lights on the highway were so bright and that they were streaming past us, like we were on a carnival ride. I remember feeling so alive.

And then everything changed. It was fast. There was a car coming at us. Apparently, Eric was in the wrong lane. I saw it. I screamed. He screamed. I squeezed my eyes shut and—

Then I woke up in the backseat of my father's car in a hospital gown. He was driving and babbling stuff at me. Stuff I didn't understand.

He said that Dewhurst-McFarland was developing this serum to make supersoldiers. It boosted healing ability, making a person nearly indestructible. My dad had stolen some and given it to me. Without it, he said, I would have died.

I didn't know he cared.

Of course, he didn't help Eric. My boyfriend died back there in Boston. And I didn't even get to go to the funeral.

Apparently, the people at Dewhurst-McFarland were not happy that my father had stolen the serum to give it to me. Not happy at all. And apparently, in addition to being an arms corporation, they were in the side business of killing people. They used the test subjects for the serum as for-hire assassins. And they'd sent them after my dad. He knew too much. Apparently, Dewhurst-McFarland didn't exactly color within the legal lines, and my dad could expose them. Apparently, they wanted us both dead.

My dad went on the run. He hid me here.

We only communicated once a month. There was a cell phone in a safety deposit box in Cumberland, Maryland, which was about an hour and a half away from where I lived. Close enough that I could drive there, but far enough away that if the phone got traced, it wouldn't lead anyone bad to me. Dad called the phone at an appointed time. I had to be there to answer it.

This morning, I was late.

* * *

Twenty minutes late. Even driving like a speed demon up Route 220, I hadn't been able to shave off more time. Now I was in the bank, alone in the room where the deposit boxes were kept, holding the phone.

No one had called it.

Sure, I'd missed the exact time that I was supposed to be here to get the call. But the phone should show the missed call. I'd reassured myself that I would see the missed call, and I would call the number back. And that I'd talk to my dad before he got rid of the cell phone he was currently using. We'd set up a time to talk next month.

And he'd say the words to me that he always used to be too busy to say.

"I love you, Leigh."

I liked it when he said that.

But no one had called the phone. I scrolled through the previous calls.

Maybe I should try the last phone number he used? I knew he didn't keep phones for too long. But I needed to talk to him.

Suddenly, I was worried.

I selected the number and hit send.

It rang.

And rang.

And rang.

The voicemail that picked up was generic, the one recorded by the phone company. I hung up the phone.

And then I waited. Maybe I'd gotten the time wrong. Maybe he was going to call me in an hour. I waited. Time passed.

A woman who worked at the bank came in and asked me if I was finding everything okay. I told her I was.

And I waited a half hour after that.

He didn't call.

I couldn't stay there forever. I put the phone back in the safety deposit box. I used the key to lock it. I left the bank and went outside.

It was a brilliantly sunny day, and the sky was a deep shade of blue. The hedges surrounding the bank were bright green. Flecks in the concrete of the sidewalk reflected sunlight, twinkling like tiny jewels.

There was a strong arm tight around my waist and something sharp at the back of my neck. "We've got your father. Make one bit of noise, and he's dead."

I sucked in breath. I twisted to look at the guy who'd grabbed me. He was wearing a black suit, complete with a black tie. He wore sunglasses. His hair was cut in a military-style buzz cut. He was blank and expressionless. "Are you from Dewhurst-McFarland?" I said.

"Shut your mouth," he said. "We're going to walk slowly and casually to the parking lot. You're going to cooperate if you want your father to live. Nod if you understand."

What was I supposed to do? I nodded.

"Good," he said. "Let's walk."

There was a sharp poke at the back of my neck, and I moved my legs. I realized I was shaking. Was this guy serious? Had they captured my father? My dad always said that if they found either of us, they would kill us. Could I really believe it when this man said my father was alive?

Even if he was, did it matter? I was almost sure that they would kill him anyway, no matter what I did.

Maybe I should scream my head off.

But what if he was telling the truth? What if I screamed, and they killed him? I'd be responsible for killing my father. He'd never been the best dad on earth, but that didn't mean I didn't care about him. I didn't want him dead.

I took one shaky step after another, trying to decide what to do.

"That's right," said the guy. His breath tickled my ear. "Nice and easy."

There was nothing nice or easy about this. I didn't want to do what he said. For all I knew, he was taking me someplace private so that he could kill me and dump the body. Whatever he was going to do with me, it wouldn't be good.

My father had risked his life to save me. He'd gone up against a powerful corporation. He'd gone on the run. He'd given up everything. I suddenly was certain that he wouldn't want me to give in easily. He'd want me to fight.

I took a deep breath. "Help! Help me! Someone help me!"

The man's hand went to my throat, cutting off my air, choking off my words. "Fuck," he said. "You couldn't keep your mouth shut, could you?" He looked around at the parking lot.

There were only a couple people there. A man and a woman. They'd both stopped moving and were looking at us with terror on their faces.

They weren't going to be any help.

And the man was strangling me.

Of course, I'd be okay, even if he did. The serum that my father gave me made me next to invincible. I healed pretty fast. If I suffocated, I'd be okay. There were very few ways to kill me.

I flailed at the man, driving my fist into his midsection.

He was solid, like the trunk of a tree. He didn't even react. Actually, it kind of hurt my hand.

He laughed. "You made things messier, but that's all." He released my throat, grabbed me around the waist, and threw me over his shoulder. People did not pick me up very often. I wasn't fat or anything, but I was fairly tall for a girl—about five feet nine inches. Being slung over a man's shoulder like a sack of potatoes was disconcerting.

I shrieked, beating ineffectual fists against his back. The world was upside down now, and blood was rushing to my head.

The man hurried across the parking lot, one arm holding me tightly against him.

"Put me down, now," I said.

He was still laughing.

Until he stopped. Cut off in mid-chuckle, the man suddenly stopped everything. He didn't take another step. His grip on me loosened. He seemed to be losing his balance.

A blur of denim and muscles flashed in front of my vision.

In two seconds, I was standing upright, and the man who'd been holding me had crumpled to the ground. His suit jacket fell open, and I saw a gun on a shoulder holster.

Another guy was kneeling over him. He had a similar buzz cut—his dark hair was barely visible against his bare skull. He was wearing jeans and a white t-shirt. It clung to the muscles in his back and shoulders. Jesus, he must work out a lot.

Muscles turned to me. He had piercing gray eyes, a straight nose, a firm jaw. He was probably the most beautiful man I'd ever seen apart from magazine models. "You okay, blondie?"

"Blondie?" I said.

Muscles took Suit's gun and tucked it under his jeans at the small of his back. "He didn't hurt you, did he?"

"No," I said. Who was this guy?

Muscles felt along Suit's body, pulling out other weapons. Two more guns. A knife. "As long as you're safe, doll."

"Doll?" I didn't know this guy.

He grinned at me. "You might want to look away for this part."

"What?" I was realizing that he had some kind of urban accent.

Muscles turned Suit over onto his back. Muscles used the knife he'd taken away from Suit to slash the back of Suit's neck. There was blood.

I did look away. What the hell was going on?

Muscles stood up. Whoa. He was tall. Probably six four at least. "All right, let's get out of here."

"Let's?" I said. "As in you and me? I don't think so."

"I just saved you, doll," he said. "Now, where's your car?"

"Saved me?" I hugged myself. Okay, so maybe that was technically true. But he also had just really, really killed this guy right in front of me, and he was being overly familiar, and... "Who says I needed saving?"

"Um, you did yell for help," he said.

I did, didn't I? "But you... you cut him. And he fell down, and... what happened?"

"I shot him from over there," said Muscles. He pointed. "I would have shot earlier, but I couldn't get at him without you in the way."

"I didn't hear a shot."

"I used a silencer," he said. "And he's been given the serum, so unless I severed his spinal cord, he wasn't going to be really dead."

I didn't say anything. This guy knew about the serum? Was he from Dewhurst-McFarland too?

"You know about the serum, right?" he said. "Your dad said he explained it to you."

"My dad?"

"Yeah," said Muscles. "Maybe I should have led with that. I knew your dad. He sent me here to protect you."

"Knew?" As in, past tense.

Muscles' face fell. "Right. You don't know yet." He jammed his hands in his pockets. "They got him, doll. He's dead."

I put fingers to my lips.

"Look, we have to get out of here," he said. "The police are going to show up. Or worse. Operation Wraith will figure out they've got an agent down. Where's your car?"

I shook my head. "I don't believe you."

"Don't believe me about what? Don't believe he's dead? Don't believe I know him?"

"Don't believe any of it." My voice cracked. I was going to start crying.

He rubbed the top of his head. "Okay, okay. Uh, he told me to tell you something. It was, um..."

I took a step back from Muscles and the bloody body. This wasn't happening to me. This couldn't be happening.

"When you were five your dad got you a pony for your birthday, but you were afraid of it. And you wouldn't touch it until he showed you it was safe." Muscles spread his hands. "Would anyone else know that?"

I swallowed the lump in my throat. "Fine, you talked to him."

"Where's your car, doll?"

I pointed. "Two blocks that way." My dad made me promise never to park my car in the bank parking lot. I'd seriously considered doing it today because I was so late. But now I was glad that I hadn't. I understood why he'd made that rule. If my car had been close, then the guy from Dewhurst-McFarland might have seen it. They'd have been able to use it to track me down.

* * *

"My name's Griffin Fawkes," said Muscles. He was behind the wheel of my car. I couldn't begin to even think about driving right now. He said it was better to take my car, because he was driving a stolen car, and it was best to ditch it. I was trapped inside a confined space with a car thief. "How do we get out of here? We get on I-68? East or West?"

"I don't know," I said, buckling my seatbelt. I was feeling numb. I knew my dad had been in danger, but it had never seemed real before. It had all been away from me. There hadn't been guns and knives and dead men in suits. "Where are we going?"

"Back to wherever your dad has you hidden," said Griffin.

"Back there?" I said. "But don't they know where I am now?"

"No," he said. "You called one of Frank's old phones. They tracked that call. I did too. I didn't know where you were. I only knew that Frank was gone. And he made it clear to me that if anything happened to him, he wanted me to keep an eye on you. But he never got around to telling me where you were. So, I tracked the phone. I assume Op Wraith did too. So, they only know you're somewhere near Cumberland. You should still be safe wherever he's got you settled."

I had called one of the old numbers, hadn't I? So this was my fault? My head hurt. And he'd used the word 'wraith'? What was he talking about?

"So," said Griffin. "Where to, doll?"

"Thomas, West Virginia," I said. "We need to get on 220 South."

"I saw signs for that on I-68," he said.

"Well, you don't have to get on the interstate," I said. "You could..." I thought about how to explain it.

"What?"

I shook my head. "Never mind. Cumberland's confusing. Just get on the interstate."

"Okay." He started the car. "You doing okay?"

"No," I said. "Not really." I leaned my head against the window. "What's Op Wraith?"

"You don't know about that? Really?"

"Should I?"

"Well, you know about the serum," he said. "Op Wraith is a group of assassins-for-hire. They all have the serum."

"Oh," I said. "Actually, I did know about that. I just didn't know the name."

"I used to be Op Wraith," said Griffin. "But I happened to be breaking out the same night your dad was stealing the serum. We helped each other out that night, and we've been helping each other since."

"You were an assassin?" This was the guy that my dad sent to look out for me? I guessed he was scary enough. As long as he only messed with other people, not me.

"Well, it's not like I enjoyed it or anything," he said. "That's why I'm not doing it anymore. But Op Wraith is after you, and I'm not going to let them hurt you."

I chewed on my lip.

"I'm here to keep you safe, doll."

"My name isn't doll," I said. "It's Leigh."

He glanced at me sidelong from the driver's seat. "Right."

"Where are you from anyway? The Bronx?"

"Jersey," he said. "Ocean City."

He was like a thug or something. A thug. A tall, muscled, threatening, really attractive thug. "So, you're just going to come back to Thomas with me. And then what?"

"And then I watch you," he said. "And if anyone tries to hurt you, I hurt them first."

"Uh huh," I said. Watch me. What did that mean exactly? Would he be following me everywhere? "And where are you going to stay?"

"I don't know, on your couch or something."

"For how long?"

"I don't know," he said. He was merging the car onto the interstate, but he glanced at me again anyway, and it nearly gave me a heart attack that he wasn't watching the road. "Look, I promised your dad. He helped me get out of Op Wraith. I owe him. He never shut up about you, you know."

"Really?" I said. I wanted to believe that.

"He always went on about how sweet you were."

"Sweet?" That's funny. Maybe we never really had a chance to talk about my coke-fueled car accident, my dad and me. But nobody who knew me would describe me as sweet. Nobody.

"Yeah," said Griffin. He made a face. "I guess I'm really freaking you out here, huh? A guy like me."

He was, actually.

"I'm not a bad guy, you know," he said. "Really, I'm not. And I meant it when I said I'd keep you safe. So, don't worry. Everything's going to be okay."

"No," I said. "It's not. My dad is... gone."

He was quiet.

I'd lost my father, and I'd never had a chance to really know him. He hadn't known me. He'd spent most of my life avoiding me for one reason or another. And now, we'd never get that back. I'd never have a relationship with him.

This time, when the tears threatened, I didn't squelch them. I let the sobs erupt out of me.

Griffin reached over and awkwardly patted my shoulder.

I pulled away.

He put his hand back on the steering wheel. "I'm sorry, doll. I really am."

* * *

There was basically only one way I wanted to spend the evening after I found out that my father had been killed. It involved a bottle of marshmallow-flavored vodka and a shot glass. (I really liked flavored vodkas. They made getting plastered a lot more easy.)

I didn't know what I was going to do with Griffin during that, but maybe he'd want shots of marshmallow-flavored vodka too. He couldn't crash on my couch forever, like he seemed to think he could. I was going to have to figure something else out.

My apartment was a pretty tiny one bedroom in town. The kitchen and living room were one room, and neither of them was big. There wasn't a bathtub, only a standup shower. It was too small of a place for two people to live in. Way too small. He'd have to find his own place to live.

But I could let him stay until we got it figured out. He had saved my life after all.

I showed Griffin where to park, and he pulled my car into the gravel parking lot. Without waiting for him, I got out of the car and started up the steps to my apartment. The stairs were rickety wood things that clung to the siding and groaned when you walked on them. The railing was a little bit of a joke, because it had come apart from the steps in a few places. My apartment had its own outdoor entrance, though, so that was something.

Griffin got out of the car. "Hold up."

I stopped. "This is my place."

"Yeah," he said, "but you should let me go first just to make sure that it's safe in there."

"I thought you said they didn't know where I was."

"As far as I know, they don't," he said. "It's still better to be cautious." He jogged up the stairs ahead of me, pulling out one of the guns he'd taken from Suit. The stairs emitted a series of strained squeaks.

I went after him more slowly.

He tried the doorknob at the top of the stairs. He looked down at me. "The door's unlocked."

"Yeah, because I left it that way." I caught up to him. Now we were both on the landing to the steps.

"You don't lock your door." He gave me a look as if I'd just admitted to not washing my hands after I used the bathroom or something.

"It's Thomas," I said. "There's never been a crime here like ever." I reached for the doorknob.

He put out his arm to stop me. "No. You don't know who's in there. I'm going first."

I rolled my eyes. "Look, you don't have to—"

"Shh!" He flattened himself against the doorway, holding the gun up against his chest like he was in a 1980s action movie or something. He burst through the door and raised the gun in one fluid motion.

There was a scream from inside.

I hurried past Griffin.

"There's someone in here, doll," said Griffin, gun trained on the guy on my couch.

"That's Clint," I said. "Put the gun away."

"You know him?" said Griffin.

"Oh, God, Leigh, why is there a guy in your apartment pointing a gun at me?" said Clint.

"You're scaring him," I told Griffin.

Slowly, Griffin put the gun back at the small of his back. He eyed Clint warily. "How do you know Leigh?"

"Are you a cop?" said Clint.

"No," I said. "He's, um—"

"Leigh's bodyguard," said Griffin. "Her father hired me."

"Whoa," said Clint. "Your dad really is paranoid."

"Listen, Clint, it's not a good time."

He got up off the couch. "I was just here to get you back." He pulled a baggy of white powder out of his pocket. "I owe you."

"What the hell is that?" said Griffin.

"I thought you said he wasn't a cop," said Clint.

I snatched the bag from him. "He's not." To Griffin. "It's drugs, mmmkay?"

Griffin took the bag from me. He opened it, touched it with a finger and tasted it. "Cocaine?"

I rolled my eyes.

"I guess I should be happy it's only coke," he said.

"Give it back," I said.

"You do a lot of drugs?" he asked.

"No," I said. I turned to Clint. "Thanks. I appreciate it."

"No problem," he said. "I guess I was just thinking we'd do a line together before I left."

I glared at him. Greedy son of a bitch. He wasn't here to give me back anything. He wanted to put half of what he owed me up his nose. I wasn't spotting him any coke, ever again. "It's not a great time."

He looked at Griffin. "Yeah. Okay." He gave me a hug and a peck on the cheek. And then he left.

After the door closed, I held out my hand to Griffin. "Give it back."

"I don't think so."

I put my hands on my hips. "What?"

"Who was that guy? Your boyfriend?"

"No," I said.

"He kissed you."

"Maybe we slept together once or twice. But there's nothing between us. We're friends."

"You're drug buddies."

"Give it back."

He shook his head. "Coke makes you dumb. You think it makes you more alert, but actually it makes you too cocky too notice if anything's going wrong. And you blab stuff too. Someone like you really needs to keep her mouth shut. If the wrong people find out about you, you'll be in a lot of trouble."

I winced, thinking about Rough Hands this morning. I'd told him all about my dad and the phone. I should have kept that to myself. "It doesn't hit me nearly as hard since I got the serum. I don't get nosebleeds anymore. And I don't even do it that often."

He laughed. "Yeah, I've yet to hear of someone who got nosebleeds from snorting coke who wasn't doing it a lot."

"Just give it back. This is none of your business."

"Keeping you safe is my business," he said. He stalked over to the kitchen sink and began moving dirty dishes out onto the counter.

"What are you doing?" I said.

He dumped the bag into the now empty sink and turned the faucet on.

"Have you lost your mind?" I screamed. I dove for the sink. Maybe I could save some of it.

He caught me by the wrists and held me back. Jesus, he was strong.

"Stop," he said. His voice was a quiet growl.

"Fuck you," I said. "Who do you think you are?"

He pushed me up against the refrigerator. He let go of my wrists, but his body blocked me from moving. He rested one hand against the fridge, bending down his face so that it was close to mine. "Your father didn't want anything to happen to you. He gave his life to keep you safe. He couldn't have known that you were throwing your life away on a really dangerous, stupid drug. A highly addictive piece of poison."

"Shut up," I said.

"He wouldn't have wanted that for you."

"You don't know anything about it."

"I know the way he talked about you. I know how his wallet was filled with pictures of you, from the time you were a baby, clear up to now. You should be glad he never saw you like this. It would have broken his heart."

I put my hands on his chest and shoved as hard as I could.

It didn't do anything. He was as solid as Suit had been earlier. But he did back up and let me move.

I was crying again. "My father never gave two shits about me until I almost got myself killed in that car accident. Then, suddenly, he's risking his life to keep me alive. If he would have just noticed me before that, maybe I wouldn't have had to get so drastic."

"Hey, I'm sorry," he was saying. "I guess I could have said that in a different way."

I yanked open the freezer and took out the bottle of vodka. Screw the shot glass. I went to my bedroom and closed the door.

Even the marshmallow flavor didn't seem to taste that good right now. I clutched the open bottle, leaned up against my bed, and cried.

* * *

He was knocking on the door.

"Go away," I said. I wasn't sure how long I'd been in here, but it was dark outside, and it hadn't been when I closed the bedroom door. Probably a long time.

"I'm sorry."

I put the lid back on the vodka. I held up the bottle. After all that, I didn't think I'd really managed to drink that much of it anyway. I got to my feet and opened the bedroom door. "Sorry?"

He was leaning against the wall opposite my bedroom door. He was good at leaning. He looked absolutely gorgeous. He was a jackass, but he was a pretty jackass. "It's been awhile since I spent much time with anyone who wasn't either trying to kill me or helping me stop the guys who were trying to kill me. I kind of forgot how to be polite."

"You think?" I said.

"Not that I'm saying it's okay for you to be doing coke," he said. "It's not. But I was out of line with what I did and what I said to you." He looked down at his hands.

And I realized that he had blood on him. I grabbed his hands. "Is this from Suit?"

"Who?"

"The guy you killed earlier," I said. "I called him Suit in my head."

"Oh." He pulled his hands back. "Yeah, I guess so."

Now that I was closer, I could see that there was a fine bit of spatter on his arms and shirt. "You need to take a shower."

"No, I'm fine."

"Are you kidding? You saved me from that guy. I don't care how tough you are, having his blood on you can't feel good."

He stared at the floor. "It never does."

"So, you should take a shower," I said. "And I think I might even have a shirt big enough for you."

"I've got clothes," he said. "I brought a pack. It's in the living room."

"Okay, great."

"I don't want to impose," he said. "It's obvious that you don't want me around. I can watch over you from outdoors. I can crash in the car or something."

"Don't be silly," I said. "I'm being a brat. You saved my life. I'm grateful."

He shrugged self-consciously. "Look, I hate Op Wraith. I'd probably have killed that guy anyway."

"But you did it for me," I said. I looked into his gray eyes. "Thank you."

He blushed.

Seriously. Mr. Big, Bad Muscle guy blushed. I looked away, feeling my cheeks heat up too. Why were we both blushing? "The, um, bathroom's over there."

He nodded. "Thanks."

He closed himself in.

And I realized he didn't have a towel. I went to my linen closet and got him one. I knocked on the door. "I've got a towel."

He opened the door. He wasn't wearing a shirt anymore. I gazed at his bare chest, which was rippling and taut and tan and... whoa. He was too good looking. It was distracting. My gaze swept over his shoulders and followed down over his pecks and belly...

He had a crudely drawn tattoo on his stomach. It was a circle with a cross in the middle of it.

I gaped at it. "You're tattoo, um... what is it?"

He snatched the towel from me, covering it.

"Is that a prison tattoo?" I said.

He closed the bathroom door in my face.

* * *

He took a quick shower, but I felt bad about it the whole time. Here he was, this guy who'd risked his life to save me, who didn't owe me anything but still wanted to keep me safe. And I was prying, making him feel uncomfortable.

When he came out, he wandered into the living room without looking at me.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I'm not judging or anything . You just poured out my coke, so, obviously, I don't exactly live by the letter of the law. I figure that the only reason I've never been locked up is luck."

He turned to me. "Really?"

"Yeah."

"That's open minded of you." He sat down on my couch. "But, you know, they don't usually lock people up for possession. Unless you're possessing a lot, and they can get intent to distribute."

"Oh," I said.

He sighed. "Sorry. You were trying to apologize, and I just stomped all over it, didn't I?"

"You didn't."

"I might have a little bit of a chip on my shoulder about the jail stuff." He shrugged, looking uncomfortable. "I got locked up in an adult facility when I was sixteen years old, and those guys ate me alive. I had to survive. The tattoo was just part of it."

"It's okay," I said. He had been in jail. "You don't have to explain."

"No," he said. "I do. Because there's no other way you're going to trust me. You're going to be afraid of me. You'll think I'm a dangerous convict."

Man. Dangerous or not, he was really nice to look at. He was still a little bit wet from the shower. There was a droplet of water running down his neck. I bit my lip. "Uh, it's okay. Seriously. It's not my business."

He seemed interested in the armrest of my sofa. "I did a stupid thing when I was a kid. I robbed a store with a toy gun. I didn't think I'd get any money, but I tried it anyway." He shrugged. "It worked."

I had to admit it sounded like something a sixteen-year-old boy would try.

"That was armed robbery as far as the state was concerned," he said. "I got tried as an adult."

"Geez," I said. It seemed extreme.

"Well, I was the idiot who did it," he said. "I'd still be in jail if it weren't for Op Wraith and the serum. I got beaten up real bad once—well, I got beaten up a lot on the inside. But this time it was over-the-top bad. I might not have made it. I was dying in the hospital, and Op Wraith took me and doped me up."

I knew about Dewhurst-McFarland doing stuff like that. My father had told me. "You were a test subject."

"Who cares what happens to a criminal, right?" said Griffin, bitter. "Especially a criminal who's probably going to die anyway."

"They gave you the serum to see if it worked," I said. "When it did, they turned you into an assassin."

He nodded.

That was a pretty horrible story. So Griffin had dumped my coke down the sink. That had been a dick move, but he'd also saved my life and was spending his time making sure no one else tried to hurt me. He was right. He was a good guy. "You weren't a criminal," I said. "You were an idiot kid. They had no right to do what they did to you."

He raised his gaze from the sofa to my eyes. "You mean that?"

"Of course."

He looked away again.

CHAPTER TWO

"I thought you were going to class," said Griffin. He was standing in my living room, arms folded over his chest.

"I am," I said.

"Wearing that?"

"What?" I looked down at my outfit. I had on a tiny jean skirt and a pink t-shirt that said, "I Heart Bad Boys."

"Can you just try not to stand out so much?" he said.

"How am I standing out?" I said.

He sighed. "Listen, doll, there are people out there who are trying to kill you. Serious bad guys, all right? They know you're a pretty blonde girl. Now, if they walk into your classroom, who do you think is going to jump out at them?"

"Should I dye my hair?"

"Can you put on something that's a less bright color?" he said. "Something less tight? And short?"

"Go to hell," I said. "You sound like the father I never wanted." I picked up my back pack and slung it over my shoulder.

He rubbed his head. "I'm not going to be able to convince you to change, am I?"

"No," I said, swinging open the front door and heading down the steps.

"Hey," he called from behind me. "You gonna lock the door?"

"I lost the key," I called back. "Besides, you can't tell me those Op Wraith guys can't pick locks."

"That is true," he muttered, coming down the steps after me.

I paused, opening the door to my car. "What are you doing?"

"I'm coming with you."

"What?" I said. "But I'm only going to class."

"I'm going to be coming with you everywhere, doll," he said, opening the passenger door. "You might as well get used to it."

Seriously? I sagged against the car door.

"Better get going," he said from inside.

I ducked my head into the car. "There's no way I'm going to be able to convince you not to come, is there?"

"Nope," he said.

I got in the car and slammed the door shut.

He didn't go into class with me, but he did sit outside the entire time, and I saw him pacing in front of the door occasionally. He was like a stalker or something. He did it all day. After every class, he'd be waiting outside for me. "Where do we go next?" he'd say cheerily.

He followed me across campus, from my math class to my English classes to my art appreciation class. He followed me to lunch. There was a cafeteria on campus, but it was mostly for the kids who lived in the dorms. Instead, I usually went to The Wolves Den, which was this little sandwich place that was run by the college. It was only open for lunch during classes. Griffin followed me there too.

There were a few girls from my art class that I usually ate with.

"You want me to sit at a different table?" said Griffin.

"Yes," I said. It was really annoying to have a shadow.

But I wasn't fooling anyone.

"Who's that guy?" said one of my art class friends.

"He's been following you all day," said another.

"He's seriously so cute," said another.

I sighed. "He's Griffin. My dad hired me a bodyguard." The lie seemed to work as well as anything else.

"You lucky slut," said the first of my art class friends.

"Oh yeah, he can guard my body any day."

They all giggled. I seethed. He was everywhere, all the time. It was annoying.

* * *

By the end of the week, I'd had enough. He'd followed me to every class, chased off any of my friends who happened to come by the apartment, and insisted on going everywhere I went. I mentioned off hand that there was a band at The Purple Fiddle that night and that I wanted to go.

"What's The Purple Fiddle?"

"It's a restaurant. They serve beer and stuff. And sometimes they have bands," I said. It was the most charming little pub I'd ever been to in my entire life. It was the best thing about Thomas, in my opinion.

"So, it's a bar."

"Kind of," I said. They didn't actually have a bar. They sort of had a counter.

"Bad idea."

"Not a bad idea. A good idea. I need a night out to relax."

"There will be too many people. I'll lose track of you. I won't be able to see if someone tries to hurt you. The crowd will work against me. You'll be drunk, and you won't be thinking properly. Overall, just a really bad idea."

"Great," I said. "And how long am I going to be banned from bars?"

"Until you're safe."

"I might never be safe."

He took a deep breath. "Listen, doll, what's more important? Having a few beers or staying alive?"

I glared at him. "I hate you."

He shrugged.

But he took a shower later, and I left without him.

The Purple Fiddle was eclectic and warm and kooky. The chairs and tables inside were mismatched. There were different kinds of salt and pepper shakers on each of them. On one table, the shakers were shaped like little teapots. On another, they were black and white cats. On yet another table, they were two peas in a pea pod. They were really adorable. When I walked in, I could see a row of shelves to my right, with everything from old instruments to antique typewriters sitting in them. Behind the counter, the beer specials were written in flowing chalky handwriting on a chalk board. The guy working had a scraggly beard and a paisley shirt.

I grinned. Being here always made me feel happy.

The Purple Fiddle wasn't a place to get fall-down drunk. They prided themselves on their family-friendly atmosphere. Generally, for a crazy Friday night, this was a good starting point. I'd get a few beers, chat with friends, maybe do a few lines together in someone's car or in the stalls of one of the bathrooms (which were closed in with old screen doors with colorful fabric draped over them so that no one could see through them). Sometimes, we'd go up to the brewery, but they usually closed around midnight, which meant leaving when the Fiddle was still kicking. Once in a while, I went to a bar in Davis, which was a five-minute drive away.

But usually, if I wanted to get crazy, I went to someone's house afterward.

Someone would throw an impromptu party after the Fiddle. I'd done it myself.

Even though the college I went to was only fifteen miles from Thomas, very few of the people who went there hung out in town. Lots of them lived on campus. They didn't seem to want to leave.

I didn't get it. I'd lived in a dorm in Boston. It had sucked.

Even as a freshman, before I could get into bars, I'd spent most of my time not on campus. It was way cooler to hang out in an actual town.

Of course, I wasn't sure Thomas quite qualified. It was very, very small. A far cry from Boston. Still, I liked it here. There was something warm about the town, something inviting. I felt like I belonged.

There was a small group of people in town who didn't live on campus and went to school and a group of people who'd never seemed to make it out of Thomas after either graduating from the college or from dropping out. Those were the people I hung out with.

I got a beer at the counter, and I spied Clint dancing to the band. They were some bluegrass band that I hadn't seen before. Sometimes, there was some repeat action with bands at The Fiddle. But not these guys.

I actually liked bluegrass. I didn't think I was going to at first. I thought it would be like that country western stuff you hear on the radio, with all the whooping and talk about cowboys and stuff. But bluegrass was high energy and fast. It sounded more like Celtic music than country. And most of the songs were about falling in love or killing your girlfriend. Seriously. They were called murder ballads. Anyway, I dug it. Who knew?

He waved at me. I went across the place to join him.

He stopped dancing. "Hey, did you bring anything with you?"

Anything meant any coke. I shook my head. "Griffin washed it down the drain."

Clint clutched his heart. "You're kidding me."

"No, I'm not. He's taking this 'protecting me' thing way too seriously."

"Where is he?" asked Clint.

"I snuck away," I said. "I'm free, and I want to stay that way. Is anyone doing anything at their houses tonight?"

"I don't know," he said. "But, hey, if you want to, we could go back to my place. I've got Red Bull and vodka."

"Marshmallow vodka?" I asked.

He grinned. "You know it."

"Sold," I said.

* * *

Clint lived outside of town, so we'd have to drive there. Together, the two of us left The Purple Fiddle.

We bumped into Griffin on the street as soon as we walked out. He folded his arms over his chest and glared at me. "I told you no."

I grabbed Clint's hand. "Run!" I said, giggling. I took off down the street in the opposite direction of Griffin, dragging Clint with me.

We ran all the way to Clint's car.

"Get in," said Clint.

I wheezed, looking around for Griffin, who I couldn't see. It seemed weird that he wouldn't have run after me. "No, I want my own car to get home." If not, I'd have to wait until Clint decided to drive me home, and I didn't like feeling trapped.

"I'll give you a ride back later," said Clint. "Come on. Your bodyguard could show up at any minute."

Where was he? Had we really outrun him? "Okay," I said. "But you promise you'll take me home when I ask?"

"Yeah, yeah, I promise," he said. "Get in."

Casting one last look around for Griffin, I got in the car with Clint. We drove back to his house.

I met Clint months ago when I first got to Thomas. We'd immediately bonded over our shared love for various substances, but we also had similar tastes in movies and stuff. (We both loved Quentin Tarantino and 1980s monster movies.) Clint was also one of the few guys who I'd managed to stay friends with after I broke my two-night rule. The only other guy was my friend Axel in Boston.

Generally, I couldn't be friends with a guy if I'd had sex with him more than once. If it was only one time, I could brush it off as a passing craze. More than once meant that there was something else going on, and it usually meant that one or both people were developing feelings for the other. And that meant someone—probably me—was going to get hurt. I wanted to avoid that at all costs.

But Clint and I had slept together a few times, and it had never mattered. He didn't get jealous of me sleeping with other guys. I never cared whether he gave me the time of day or not. I would have thought that made him the perfect man if I didn't suspect that he only used me for cocaine.

"Whoa," I said as we walked into his apartment. Clint lived in a two-bedroom that was the upstairs of an old house that had been cut up into four apartments. Usually, his place was messy. Tonight, it was straightened and clean. "What happened?"

Clint plopped down on the couch. "I got a roommate. He's anal about everything staying clean, and he's sort of bigger than me, so I'm afraid he'll beat me up if I'm my usual messy self."

I giggled. "That would suck." I made my way through the living room into the kitchen. Clint and I hung out so much that I felt comfortable helping myself in his house. "You want a Red Bull and vodka?"

"Totally," he said from the couch.

I opened his refrigerator. "You have Monster, not Red Bull."

"Same difference."

It really wasn't the same difference, but there was no changing it now. I mixed us some drinks and brought them back out to the sofa.

"You're so cool, you know that, Leigh?" said Clint, accepting his drink.

I settled down next to him. "Why thank you."

"No," he said. "I mean it. You're a girl, and you're really hot, but... you're like a guy."

I raised my eyebrows. "Excuse me?" Okay, maybe I had a tomboy phase before I grew breasts. What ten-year-old girl didn't climb trees and go to karate class? (Not that I got past being a white belt.) But these days, there was not a shred of butch in me. I hated football, I cared about personal grooming, and I so did not belch audibly.

"I mean because you aren't clingy," he said. "You just take what you want. You're like a player, but a girl."

I took a drink of Monster and vodka. The marshmallow flavor wasn't quite as complimentary. "Is that cool, though?" Didn't they have a word for girls like that? It wasn't as nice as "player," either. It was "slut," wasn't it?

"Totally," said Clint. "Because it's awesome to know where I stand with you." He leaned over and kissed me.

I kissed back for a second, and then I pulled back. "I don't always just take what I want."

He laughed. "Of course you do. You don't think about stupid stuff like how a guy feels or whether he might want more than sex. You just go for it, and if he doesn't like it, he has to deal with it. It's really great."

It didn't sound great to me. It sounded like I was kind of a bitch, like the guy had called me the morning my dad...

I gulped at my drink. I wished I had someone to talk to about my dad's passing. But I couldn't tell anyone that it had happened. It would open up too many questions. Was I going to his funeral? Where was it? And I couldn't afford to draw attention, because I wasn't even here under my real last name. If people went looking for a Mr. Dunn, they wouldn't find him, because he didn't exist.

And it made it worse to know that there wouldn't be a funeral, that I wouldn't ever see his body and get to properly say goodbye. I felt like I might start crying. I didn't want to do that in front of Clint. "I wish we had some blow."

"Your bodyguard is an ass," said Clint. "That was premium stuff he got rid of."

"You don't have anything?" I said.

"Completely out," he said.

I set my drink down. "I have money. Let's drive to Morgantown and get some."

"That's like a three-hour round trip," he said. "I've got a better idea. I know where my roommate hides his stash."

"No," I said. "That's a bad idea."

"We won't do all of it," said Clint. "Just a little. He won't notice."

I chewed on my lip. What Clint was proposing here was an impossibility. There was no doing a little coke. Once anyone started, she'd keep going until it was all gone. It was a law of nature or something. "I really don't think..."

He was already getting up from the couch. "Don't worry, Leigh. It's cool."

* * *

I couldn't stop laughing. "You're an idiot!"

"I am not," said Clint. "I'm a fucking superhero. Everyone knows it, so just shut the hell up."

"With like a cape?" I said. "A red cape?"

"A big, flowy red cape."

"I want to be a superhero too," I said. I looked around. "Is there any more blow?"

"Yes," said Clint. "He has a crap load. I'll be right back." He got up.

"Oh my God," I called after him. "We're going to do too much of it. I knew this would happen. Because once you start snorting cocaine, you can't stop. It calls to you. It says, 'Leigh, if you want to be a superhero, snort me.'"

He laughed. "Getting amped is the way to be a superhero. You are so right."

"When I'm a superhero," I said, lying back on Clint's couch, "I'm not going to have a cape. I'm going to have super great boots though. Red boots."

"What's up with you and red?"

"It's a great color, that's what."

"Shit."

I sat up on the couch. "Shit? What's wrong? We did all the coke, didn't we?"

"Not all of it," he said, coming back into the room, holding up the bag. "But way more than half. There's no way he won't notice."

"Shit," I said. "But I want more."

"I know. Me too."

"He's already going to be pissed, right?"

"Yeah," said Clint.

"Well, let's just do the rest of it, and I'll pay him back."

"I don't know," said Clint. "He's going to be really mad."

The door opened. "Mad about what?"

I jumped to my feet. "Rough Hands?"

Rough Hands looked at me. "Leigh? What are you doing here?"

"What did you call him?" said Clint.

"This is that bitch I was telling you about," said Rough Hands, pointing at me. "She kicked me out at the ass crack of dawn."

"Whatever," I said. "It was like 9:30."

"He's my roommate," said Clint. "His name's Rusty. But I guess you guys already met, huh?"

Rusty seemed to register what Clint was holding for the first time. "Dude. Is that my stash?"

Clint set it down on the coffee table in front of the couch. "Look, Rusty, I'm really sorry and—"

"It is, isn't it?" Rusty balled his hands into fists.

I got between Rusty and Clint. "Hey, Rusty, look, I've got money. I'll pay you back. Whatever you think it's worth."

He pushed me out of the way. "I don't want money. I want my stash."

I landed on the couch, twisted a little, so that my weight fell on my arm. I cried out in pain.

Rusty stepped around the coffee table, got in Clint's face, and pulled back his fist.

"Hey, man," said Clint. "I'm really sorry." He tried to back away, but the coffee table was in the way.

Rusty punched Clint.

Clint howled, doubling in on himself.

Rusty grabbed him by the front of his shirt and pulled him upright. He punched him again.

Clint's nose started bleeding. Gushing really. Maybe it was already screwed up from all the coke he'd been snorting.

I got up. "Don't hit him."

Rusty rounded on me. "You shut up, you little cunt."

I swallowed. "I know you're mad, and I know we shouldn't have—"

He had me by the shoulders, propelling me up against the wall. "I said to shut up."

"Stop it," I said.

He slammed me up against the wall. "I know your type. You're nothing but a cheap drug-addled whore, and I can't believe I actually put my dick in you."

My head glanced painfully. I yelled.

He knocked my head into the wall again. "Thank God I was wearing a condom."

Pain bloomed in my skull. "Please," I whimpered.

The door flew open. A blur of muscles and denim swept across the room, tackling Rusty.

When they stopped moving enough that I could make things out, Griffin was on top of Rusty, his hands wrapped around Rusty's neck. Rusty lay flat on his back. His face was purple.

Griffin's face was inches from Rusty. "What the hell is your problem?"

Rusty's eyes bulged.

"You get a charge out of hurting women?"

Rusty's tongue protruded from his mouth, blue and swollen.

Griffin let go of him and stood up. "Don't ever touch her again." He turned to look at me. "You okay, doll?"

I knew that hours ago, I'd been annoyed with him. I knew that I'd thought he was ruining my life and I'd only wanted away from him. But right now, I'd never been so grateful to see anyone in my life. I nodded, tucking hair behind my ears. "I'm okay." I tried to step away from the wall, but my knees buckled. I felt shaky.

Griffin was next to me in a second, holding me up. He looked at Clint over his shoulder. "You know, maybe you're not such a great influence on her."

I leaned against Griffin gratefully. He was so solid. It was strange to be close to something as firm as marble, and have it be radiating heat, have it be skin.

He looked down at me. "You wanna go home?"

"Yes, please," I said in a tiny voice.

He took a step. I tried to take a step too. For some reason, my legs weren't working. I felt so shaky, and my heart was beating way too fast, probably a combination of the adrenaline and the cocaine. I stumbled.

Griffin's arms came under my knees. He picked me up like I was a tiny child and walked out of the apartment with me. It was the second time in a short span of time that I'd been picked up, but I kind of liked it. It made me feel small and safe, and I hadn't felt that way in a long time.

He carried me through the moonlight to my car.

"You took my car without asking?" I said.

"I said I was going to watch you, doll," he said. "I had to do what I had to do."

I lay my head against his chest. For some reason, when he said it this time, it seemed less suffocating and more comforting.

* * *

My knees were shaking. I'd just gotten out of the shower. My hair was wrapped in a towel, and I was wearing my pajamas. The sky was lightening. It was nearly Saturday morning. I sat on my couch. Griffin was lounging against the wall in my kitchen. His gray eyes looked troubled.

"I can't have you working against me. What were you thinking?"

I picked at my pjs. I didn't answer. I was ashamed.

"What if that hadn't been some college guy? What if it had been someone from Op Wraith? I was watching from outside, but I was trying to stay far enough back to give you privacy. It took me way too long to get in there. If it had been a professional, you'd already be dead."

I bit my lip. "I'm sorry."

"You could be in danger. And you're making it easier, not harder, for the bad guys to get you."

What else could I do but apologize? Should I do it again?

He sighed. "I'm genuinely curious, here, doll. What were you thinking?"

I couldn't look at him. "I was thinking I wanted to have fun. I was thinking I didn't want to brood over what happened to my dad. I was thinking..." I shrugged. "I was thinking, 'What's the point?'"

"What?"

"It's a big joke. I mean, here I am, going to college, pretending like I have a shot at a normal future. But I don't, do I? Dewhurst-McFarland is a huge company. They aren't going to forget I exist. I'll spend the rest of my life like this. Hiding out. And I don't see the point of even trying anymore. It's easier to just numb everything."

"Look, that isn't true," he said.

"It is," I said. I stood up and began straightening the pillows on my couch. "Do you know why my dad gave me the serum?"

"You were in a car accident."

"You know why I was in a car accident?"

"I thought the definition of an accident was that there was no reason," he said.

"How about a bottle of tequila and a lot of coke?" I said. I fluffed a pillow. "Sometimes, I think that maybe I've been trying to kill myself for a long time." I punched the pillow. "And then he went and gave me that serum." I looked at Griffin. "Now I can't kill myself."

He rubbed the top of his head.

He didn't know what to say to me now. I thought about the things that Clint had said about me earlier that night. That I was unfeeling. That if a guy didn't like my behavior, he had to deal with it. I thought of the things Rusty had said to me. They weren't very nice, and he didn't have the right to hurt me, but where they really that far off? What was I doing?

I sank back down on my couch. "Maybe my life has gotten a little out of control."

Griffin came into the living room. He sat down on the couch next to me, but he didn't look at me. Instead he rested his head in his hands. "I felt like killing myself before."

"Yeah?"

He leaned back. "I'm glad I didn't. I'm not saying my life is peaches and cream now, but it's better than it was."

I looked into his gray eyes. He was such an enigma. He was so together most of the time. Then he'd pop out with stuff about his tattoo or tell me something that made him seem vulnerable. But almost as soon as he'd opened up, he'd close back up again, pulling back into himself. Why was he hiding from me? What didn't he want me to see?

I hugged my knees to my chest. "So, say I try cooperating with you. What are we talking about here? I mean, what do I have to do? Stop going to bars? Let you come everywhere with me?"

"That'd be a good start."

I took a deep breath. "Okay. I can handle that."

"That's not all, though."

"I know," I said. "I have to stop doing coke."

He nodded. "You do."

"But it's like addictive, and I don't know if I can just stop."

"I'll help you," he said. "It's not like heroin, you know. You're not going to go through physical withdrawal or something."

"That's true." If I thought about it, I routinely went for days, even weeks, without doing blow. Sometimes I just couldn't score it. I could probably lay off. It would be good for me. It mostly made me want to do it more anyway. I sometimes wasn't sure if I liked coke, or if the effect of cocaine was simply to make me feel as if I wanted more. I thought that if I wanted it more, I must like it. But maybe it was only the drug screwing with my head. "Okay. Well, I'll stop. No more coke. No more bars. No more running away from you."

"Good," he said.

I smiled at him.

The corner of his mouth tugged up. I guess that was his version of a smile. "Sun's coming up. Time for bed."

CHAPTER THREE

Griffin sat up groggily on the couch. "It smells like bacon." I could swear there was a note of suspicion in his voice.

"That's because I'm cooking bacon," I sang from the kitchen. I was making what I liked to call Big Breakfast. I didn't bother cooking breakfast most of the time. I skipped it. I wasn't generally hungry when I first woke up, and I wasn't a big fan of most breakfast foods. Too sweet. But every now and again, I liked to make breakfast. Big Breakfast meant bacon, scrambled eggs, and hash browns with jalapenos, onions, and tomatoes. The whole thing was a bit of an undertaking.

I'd barely gotten started. I'd hoped to be further into the ordeal before Griffin woke up, but he seemed to be a light sleeper. I guessed, overall, that was a good thing.

"You cook?" He looked skeptical.

"I cook," I said. "I cook very well, as a matter of fact."

"Sure," he said. He ducked into the bathroom.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I yelled after him.

He emerged a minute later. "Nothing. Just that I've been here for two weeks, and I've never seen you cook."

"Well, I don't cook every meal or anything," I said. "It's work, and I'm very busy with my classes."

He laughed.

"I am!" I glared at him. "Haven't you seen me studying a lot this week?" It had been a week since he'd rescued me from Rusty at Clint's house. I'd been a very good, very boring little girl for days now.

He shrugged. "You've been reading a lot."

"That's my class work."

"Okay, okay," he said. He peered over my shoulder at the stove, where the bacon was sizzling away. "I guess it smells okay."

I shoved him. "Step back, all right? I am going to deliver the best Big Breakfast you have ever eaten. You are going to be kissing my toes after you taste this."

He grinned at me, probably the biggest smile I'd ever seen on his face. "We'll see."

"You will see. You're never going to forget this."

"Anything I can do to help?"

I shook my head. "I've got it under control."

He lounged up against the wall next to the refrigerator in his usual spot. Man. He was really an expert at lounging. I tore my gaze away from him. Why did he have to be so beautiful, anyway?

I chopped onions, trying to put any thought of his relative attractiveness out of my head.

"So, what made you decide to cook breakfast?" he asked.

I transferred the onions into the skillet with the hash browns. "No reason."

"Uh huh."

He didn't trust me, did he? "Go amuse yourself. I'm cooking here."

Within twenty minutes, I was finished. I arranged our plates—a generous helping of eggs and hash browns for each of us and four pieces of bacon each. I carried them into the living room and handed one plate to him.

I set my plate down on my coffee table and went back to the kitchen for forks. When I brought them back, he was already eating bacon, holding a slice in his fingers.

"I brought you a fork," I said, handing it to him.

"I can't eat bacon with a fork," he said. "It crumbles when you try to spear it."

Maybe he was right. I settled down in a chair and picked up my plate.

Griffin dug into the plate of food right away.

I watched him eat, smiling. There was something kind of satisfying about cooking food for someone. I hadn't made Big Breakfast for anyone except Eric. He'd been a vegetarian, though. No bacon, which was really a tragedy, if you asked me.

I had to admit, Griffin was eating with a gusto I'd never seen before.

"You like it?" I asked.

He nodded, mouth full. He swallowed. "It's all right."

"All right? You're eating like it's going out of style."

"I always eat fast," he said. "If you didn't in prison, the other guys would assume you didn't want your food and take it."

I made a face. I kept forgetting everything he'd been through.

He misinterpreted my face. "I'm teasing, doll. It's delicious. But I do eat fast."

Maybe he did. I hadn't watched him eat all that often. I'd been ordering take out and nibbling while I did my reading for class. I had noted that we never seemed to have leftovers.

"You do like it?"

"Yes," he said.

"So, you're in a good mood?"

He set down his fork on his plate. "I knew you had some ulterior motive for making this for me."

"No, it's not like that," I said. "Not exactly."

"So, what's it like?"

"I was just thinking that I might throw a little party tonight."

He set down the plate. "Party? Tonight? No way."

"Not a crazy, raging party," I said. "A civilized party. I'm only inviting people I know from class. None of my friends from town. There will be wine and beer. No drugs."

He sighed. "You just don't get it. Your life is in danger—"

"No, I do," I said. "I get it. That's why this is different. For one thing, it's here, in this apartment, and you can keep your eye on everyone who comes through the door. No surprises. And for another, it will be totally chill. It's a celebration of me changing my ways and becoming a good girl."

He groaned. "I'm sorry, doll. You can't do it."

"But I've already invited everyone."

"Then call them and tell them it's off."

"I'm not doing that," I said. I took a big bite of hash browns and chewed.

"You have to."

I kept chewing.

"I'm not budging on this," he said.

I swallowed. "Jesus, Griffin, don't you ever have any fun? I mean, like a normal person?"

He flinched. He looked away from me.

Sensing I'd scored a point, I kept pushing. "I mean, have you ever even been to a party? How do you even know what they're like?"

He picked his plate back up. He took a bite of scrambled eggs.

"Someday, you're going to wake up," I said. "And you're going to be thirty years old. And someone's going to ask you how you spend your twenties. And you'll say—"

"Okay," he said. "Fine."

"Really?" I said.

"Yeah," he said. "You can have the party here. But no drugs. And if I decide that it's over, at any point, I'm kicking people out. You got that?"

I nodded. "Absolutely. You'll see, Griffin. It'll be really low key. I promise."

He glowered at his plate. "I'm kind of out of bacon here."

"I'll get you more," I said, leaping to my feet. "How many pieces do you want?"

"How many are left?" he asked.

I brought over the skillet. He took them all.

"I really appreciate this," I said to him.

"Yeah, yeah." He seemed very interested in his bacon.

I threw my arms around him. "Thanks."

He stiffened. "Um, doll..." He turned his head. Our faces were inches from each other. "You're welcome." His voice was different. Deeper. Scratchier.

* * *

My art appreciation classmates encircled Griffin, hanging on every word he said. He kept trying to get away from them, but they followed him everywhere.

He managed to shake them long enough to pull me aside. "How am I supposed to watch the door with those girls in my way?"

I shrugged. "They think you're interesting."

He rolled his eyes. "You did it on purpose, didn't you? You're trying to distract me."

"No!" I said. I turned away from him and raised my voice. "Let's play some drinking games, everyone."

There were only about five guests at the party. We could easily play something all together in a group.

"That will keep them occupied and off your back," I said. "And I'll be doing something with you, so you won't be distracted."

He gave me his suspicious look, but he let it slide.

Everyone gathered and squeezed onto my couch and chairs in the living room.

"So," I said. "What do you guys want to play? I've got cards. We could play Asshole. Or King's Cup. Or Never Have I Ever."

One of my art class friends giggled. "Why don't we let Griffin decide?"

We all turned to Griffin, who was perched on the couch, glaring at the door. "Look, uh, I don't even know what those games are. Play whatever you want."

"What?" said my art class friend. "How can you not know?"

"Haven't you ever played a drinking game before?"

"Have you been living under a rock?"

Griffin's jaw twitched. "Kind of, I guess. That a problem?"

The girls drew back at the sharpness of his tone.

Griffin saw their reaction. "Sorry," he muttered.

"Clara, you pick," I said.

"Well," she said, "we should definitely play Never Have I Ever. Griffin can start, and he can say that he never played Never Have I Ever."

He turned to me, looking lost.

"It's kind of like the truth part of truth or dare," I explained. "Someone tells the group something they've never done, and anyone who has done it has to drink."

He shrugged. "Okay. So, that's my turn, then. What Clara said."

Everyone else drank.

It went to the next person. She grinned. "Okay, um... never have I ever... had a threesome."

I drank a swig of my beer. No one else did. I forgot that I was playing with the goody-goodies from school. Oops.

They all gasped.

"Leigh! You did not!" said Clara.

One of the guys from my math class grinned. "So was it like two girls and a guy or two guys and you?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," I said.

Griffin gave me a vaguely disgusted look.

I blushed suddenly. "Um, it's someone else's turn, right?"

Clara waved her hand. "Me." She sat up straighter. "Never have I ever given a blow job."

I drank. Most of the other girls did too. Good. I was glad I wasn't in a group with that many prudes.

"What the hell, Clara?" I teased. "How do you keep a boyfriend?"

"Shut up," she said, sticking out her lower lip in a mock pout.

"She is a freshman," said one of the other girls.

"That's no excuse," I said. "What about high school?"

"Leave her alone," said Griffin in a low voice. He was staring at his drink, not at the door. "I don't know if I like this game."

"Don't be silly," I said. "It's all just fun." I turned to Clara. "You know I was teasing, right?"

"Oh yeah," she said. "It's okay, Griffin." She beamed at him. "But thanks for taking up for me."

His nostrils flared, like he was angry. He didn't say anything.

"Who's turn is it?" I said.

The guy from my math class spoke up. "Uh... never have I ever gone bungee jumping. Sorry, it's lame."

"It's fine," I said. No one drank, though. I looked around at the group. "I guess none of us have, huh?"

"My turn," said one of the other girls from art class. "Never have I ever punched someone."

I drank. So did Clara, the guy from my math class, and a few others. Griffin didn't. I nudged him. "You've so done that. I've seen it."

He turned his eyes on me. They were hollow and intense. "I don't think I want to play."

I felt an urge to back away from him. "Okay. You don't have to."

"It's just for fun," said one of my art class friends.

"Come on, Griffin," said Clara, grinning at him.

He got up. "You guys play without me. Seriously." He stalked over to the other side of the room, to his spot next to the fridge in the kitchen.

We were all quiet.

Clara twisted in her chair to face him. "Hey, we can play something else if you want."

"I'm fine," he said. "Just ignore me, really."

Clara turned back, hunching her shoulders. "Was it me?" she whispered. "Did I say something?"

I shook my head. "Don't mind him. He can't really get drunk anyway. He's sort of on duty all the time. You know, since he's my bodyguard and all."

Another girl from my art class got up and went over to him. "Well, I didn't want to play either. I agree with you."

He didn't look at her.

She reached out her hand. "Do you mind if I rub your head? Every time I see a guy with a shaved head, I just want to touch it."

He grabbed her wrist. "I'd rather you didn't, if you don't mind." His voice was devoid of emotion, almost robotic.

"Sorry," she said, looking a little frightened.

He let go of her. He turned away from her, his expression blank.

Jesus. He was ruining my party. "Um, it's got to be somebody else's turn. Who's next?"

"I think it's you," said the girl next Griffin. "Since I dropped out." She cast one last glance at him and then came back over to us.

"Me," I said. "Right." Damn it. I was remembering why I didn't like this game. "Um... let me think."

"Come on," said Clara. "There's got to be something you haven't done, Leigh."

Not really, no. I tried to smile. "Never have I ever been to China."

No one drank.

* * *

Around two in the morning, I closed the door behind the last of my guests. It was an early night for me, honestly, since I usually didn't stop partying until dawn, but I was sort of glad they were leaving, because I was worried about Griffin.

He'd spent the rest of the party lounging against the wall, staring blankly at the door. It was as if he'd dropped right out of his body, leaving a statue behind. The guests thought it was weird too. They kept asking me questions in whispers, wondering if he was okay. I didn't have any answers for them. I didn't know what to say.

Now that they were finally gone, I went to him. "Okay, Griffin, you can move now. Everyone left."

He didn't acknowledge me.

"Griffin," I said. "What the hell?"

Still staring straight ahead, he said, "If I was really your bodyguard, I'd be invisible, right? I'd follow you around, but nobody would talk to me. No one would know who I was, or why I was there. Right?"

"Maybe," I said. "I don't know. I've never had a bodyguard before."

"Well, that's all I'm doing," he said. "I'm watching. I'm not going to try to interfere anymore."

I furrowed my brow. "I don't get it. Did I do something wrong? Because I thought things went exactly like I told you they would. I thought the party was appropriately low key."

Nothing.

"Damn it, talk to me. Don't stand there staring into space. It's creepy."

He shut his eyes. "It wasn't your fault, doll. It was me."

"Come sit on the couch and talk to me," I said.

He shook his head.

"Please," I said.

"There's nothing to talk about."

I wrapped both of my hands around one of his biceps. It was bigger around than I could grip with just one. I tugged on him. It was like tugging on a mountain. He didn't budge. "Come on."

He sighed and straightened. He let me lead him to the couch. He sat down. I sat down next to him. He sat with his feet on the floor, staring at his knees. I turned sideways, sitting Indian-style, looking at him in profile. His features were chiseled.

"I'm not... good at stuff like that," he said finally.

"What stuff?"

"Talking to people."

"You were fine," I said. "Everyone thought you were fine."

He half-laughed. "Don't lie to me, okay. I was out of place. I know it and so do you." He looked at me. "I can't play truth games. I can't tell the truth about myself."

I supposed that was true, given the fact he was an ex-assassin for a secret branch of an international arms corporation. "Well, you could tell the truth about the stuff that wasn't dangerous for people to know, I guess. And lie about other stuff."

"Which works well when you're saying that I need to drink because I do that all the time."

"Sorry."

"No, it's not your fault." He studied his fingernails. "I didn't realize it was going to be all about sex, either."

"Does that, um, make you uncomfortable?"

"No." But maybe his response had been a little too sharp and too quick.

"Look, that threesome thing was just once. And it was awful. I left in the middle of it. I hated it."

"You don't have to tell me anything about that," he said. He was blushing again.

"Okay," I said. "I mean, it's not like..."

He lifted his gaze to meet mine.

Whatever words I had been about to say died on my lips. God. He was gorgeous.

I leaned closer, searching his eyes with my own.

He didn't stop me.

I closed my eyes. I pressed my lips against his.

His lips were warm and full. They were soft. This close to him, I could smell him. He had a kind of woodsy, male smell—nothing artificial like aftershaves or colognes. He smelled raw and wild. I put my hand on his cheek, ran my fingers over the faint stubble on his jaw.

He responded to me, moving his lips against mine. His arm came around me, his hand on my back. His touch was impossibly gentle, so light I could barely feel it through my shirt, a tantalizing hint of pressure moving over my shoulders down to my waist. Tingles traveled all through my body.

I opened my mouth to him, let my tongue dart out to find his.

And he pulled away. He had a look of terror in his eyes.

"I'm... I didn't mean..." I tried to say.

He stood up. "This is a bad idea, doll."

I stood up too. "I don't know that it is. I mean, thus far, it felt like a good idea to me. A really good idea." I reached for him again.

He moved out of my reach. "No."

"Why not?"

He looked at the floor.

"It's because I was too forward, right? You think I'm some kind of slut, and you'd never be with anyone who acted like that, would you?"

"No," he said. "I'm not judging you."

"You're not attracted to me?"

He looked at me. "Doll... you are very attractive."

"So are you," I said. "You might be the most beautiful man—"

"Stop," he said. "It's not appropriate. I can't do my job properly if I... if we..." He swallowed. "Besides, what about your dad? I don't think he'd like this. Me taking advantage of his daughter."

"Taking advantage?" I said. "I kissed you."

He held up a hand. "Just drop it, okay?"

I started to say something else, but I realized that tears were forming in my eyes and that a lump was growing in my throat. I went to my room. I wasn't going to let him see me crying over him.

* * *

Stupid. I was an idiot. What kind of weakling cries when a guy rejects her? Some kind of dumb young thing with no experience, maybe. But I'd been around the block a few times. I should be able to handle some guy saying he didn't want me. I should be able to take it.

Although, maybe, if I was honest with myself, the truth was that I was never really good at hearing that.

I'd perfected my two-night rule specifically so I never had to feel rejected. I did the rejecting.

And there was Griffin, rejecting me before he'd even had the chance to sleep with me. He didn't even want the chance to sleep with me.

Maybe it was for the best. I mean, what did I think was going to happen? I'd hook up with Griffin and we'd settle into some kind of domestic bliss together? That was impossible. I couldn't settle down, and even if I could, Griffin was way too weird.

I wiped tears from my eyes and hurried into the bathroom, where I splashed my face with hot water. My eyes were a little bloodshot, but hopefully he wouldn't be able to tell I'd been crying.

I headed out the front door, shrugging into my jacket.

Griffin was across the room in a second, blocking my path. "Where do you think you're going?"

"On a drive," I said. "I need to clear my head."

"No way," he said.

"I need some space."

"Then I'm coming with you."

"You're the one I need space from."

He sighed. "I'm sorry about that. But you can't be on your own. You know that."

"I don't want to be around you," I said.

"That doesn't matter," he said. "It's my job to—"

"Fuck your job," I said. "That's all you care about. Keeping me safe. Ruining my life is more like it. I can't stand you. You're a freak."

I wasn't sure why I said it. He'd been vulnerable with me. Not a lot, but enough to see where his weak spots were. I knew that if I said it, I'd hurt him. And I wanted to hurt him. Because if he was hurt, I'd get a head start on getting away from him.

He blinked.

I pushed past him.

He didn't stop me.

* * *

Griffin didn't call me for at least ten minutes, but once he started, he wouldn't stop. I had to shut off my cell phone. (I had a brand new number since the incident in Cumberland. It was a pain, since none of my friends had my phone anymore, but Griffin said it was better to be cautious.)

I'd intended to just go on a quick drive around. But I ended up out on Route 50, and I started driving west. And then, when I came to the intersection with 92 North, I took that. And then I was just obviously on my way to Morgantown, so I decided to go the rest of the way.

Morgantown, West Virginia was a really big town compared to Thomas, West Virginia. It was where West Virginia University was. WVU's claim to fame was that it was a big party school. I guessed people actually went to class there and learned things, but the atmosphere in Morgantown was anything but, um, collegiate.

Morgantown, like everything in West Virginia, was built on a hill. I drove through the streets, going further and further uphill as I did. On each side of the street, the houses clung to the ground, and looked like they might tumble into each other like dominoes if the right person pushed.

I had to go up pretty high before I got where I was going.

I parked my car on the side of the street and walked up to the door. The lights were on inside. But then the lights were always on. Middle of the night was a great time to show up at this house. Afternoon? Not so much.

The door opened. A guy stood there. "Yeah."

"Hey, Shane," I said.

He seemed to be having trouble focusing on me. "Do I know you?"

"Yeah, it's Leigh," I said.

He shrugged. "Whatever. You here to see Benton?"

"Yep."

He let me in.

Inside the house, it smelled like dog shit. Benton had about five dogs, all purebred beagles. But he neglected them something awful. He didn't clean up after them. He yelled at them. He only fed them junk, and he did that irregularly. I felt really bad for them, but I didn't dare say anything to Benton about it.

You don't piss off your drug dealer if you can help it.

"Who is it?" came Benton's voice.

I followed Shane into the living room. There was a big screen TV on one wall. Stacked beneath it were at least five different game consoles, every kind you can think of, all brand new.

Benton was lounging on a leather bean bag chair, holding a Playstation controller in his hand. He was shirtless, revealing his skinny arms and torso. He wore a backwards baseball cap. Several dogs lounged around his feet.

"It's Leigh," I said.

"Holy shit!" Benton dropped the controller and jumped to his feet. "I have been fucking waiting for you."

The dogs all jumped to their feet, barking.

"Shut up," screamed Benton.

The dogs quieted immediately. Tails between their legs, they slunk out of the room.

"That's right," said Benton, eyes wide, nodding. "That's right, boys. You keep your mouths shut."

Benton was always a little tweaky. He dealt crystal meth too, and I wasn't sure that he didn't dip into that a little too often. But he seemed a more hyper and strange than usual. He had lots of people he sold dope too. Why would he have been waiting for me?

"Well," I said. "I'm here."

He held his arms out. "Hells yes, you are."

Did he think I was going to hug him? I was so not going to hug him. "Uh, I was just wondering about, um, some of the big C, you know? You got anything?"

He let his arms drop. "Yeah." He dragged the word out to about four syllables, all the while bobbing his head. "Yeah, I can hook you up, girl. I can definitely hook you up. You know me. I'm good for it."

What was going on with him? He never paid this much attention to me. Usually, I had to sit around for twenty minutes until he got to the next level of whatever video game he was playing.

He pointed at Shane. "Go get some product for the lady, why don't you?"

Shane backed out of the living room.

Benton bounced on the balls of his feet. "So, Leigh, where did you say you were living these days, huh?"

I narrowed my eyes. Why was he asking me that? "I don't think I did." I didn't tell random people my business. I was in hiding in Thomas. Benton didn't need to know that I drove an hour and a half one way to buy coke. It was the easiest, most reliable place to get it. And I'd hoped that if anyone tracked me to Benton, they wouldn't be able to tell where I lived.

"So where do you live?"

"Here in town," I lied.

"What part?"

"On campus," I said. I could be living on the WVU campus, couldn't I?

"Oh," he said. "Cool."

I tried a smile. "Why do you care?"

His eyes got big, and he looked really uncomfortable. "Just making conversation."

Shane came back with my "product." I paid. I left.

I was pretty shaken up as I walked back to my car. I peered around in the darkness, expecting a guy in a black suit with sunglasses to jump out at me at any second.

I walked past hedges and porches. Past fences and flower gardens. I glanced over my shoulder every few seconds.

The first time I turned, I saw a stop sign behind me, out of the corner of my eye.

The second time, I saw a dog.

I was three feet from my car before I saw the man. I could barely see him because he was dressed in black, but I saw the white of his shirt.

I turned around and started running for my car, yanking open the driver's side door.

I dug in my pocket for my keys.

They came out too fast, slipping through my fingers and landing on the pavement.

Shit.

I went down on my hands and knees, looking up to see how much the man had gained on me.

There was no one there.

What I had mistaken for an Op Wraith agent was a pile of garbage bags, three bags on top of each other. The middle bag was white.

I swore at it.

Then I picked up my keys, got in my car, and started it.

"Calm down, Leigh," I whispered to myself. "You're okay." But my heart was beating in my chest, and I was feeling ready to jump out of my skin.

For two seconds, I contemplated doing a little bump.

"Don't be an idiot, Leigh."

"It'll make me feel good," I responded.

"No, it won't. It'll make you more nervous."

Fuck. I was talking to myself. I was answering myself. I locked the car doors, and I pulled the car out. I had to go up to the next street to turn around. I leaned forward, peering anxiously through the windshield.

Same old Morgantown at night. There were some young people walking along the streets smoking cigarettes. There was a car ahead of me, going super slow.

"Kids smoking weed," I murmured.

I checked my rearview mirror.

No one was behind me.

I wanted to pass the super slow car ahead of me, because I wanted to get out of here as soon as possible. But I couldn't just pass on a residential street like this. I'd be breaking the law. If a cop saw, then I'd get in trouble, and I had drugs in the car.

I checked my rearview mirror.

There were no cops around.

Should I do it?

I couldn't do it. I crept along behind the car for four or five blocks.

Man, they were really going slow. I should pass.

I checked my rearview mirror.

Headlights.

I screamed.

"No," I whispered. "It's okay. It's just a car behind you. It's not a cop car. It's not an Operation Wraith car."

I hoped, anyway.

In front of me, the slow pot-smoking car put on its blinker and turned right.

I sped up to a normal speed.

The car behind me sped up too.

I rocked back and forth, gripping the steering wheel as tight as I could. "Turn," I begged the car. "Turn off."

But then it was time for my turn. I turned onto Grafton Road. Now, I'd be okay.

The car behind me turned too.

Fuck. What were the odds?

I had to stay on this road for fifteen minutes. Surely the car would turn off soon.

I kept driving. I slowed down. If I went slow, the car would pass me, right?

It didn't pass me. I slowed down further.

It slowed down too.

I drove that way for a long time, creeping along the road, my gaze flitting from the road to my rear view mirror. Certainly, they'd pass me soon. Or they'd turn off onto another road. They couldn't keep following me forever.

Unless...

The car behind me was following me on purpose. I gulped.

Finally, I got close to my turn for 29. Now, I'd lose the car behind me. I'd realize how silly I'd been. It would all turn out just fine.

But when I got to the next turn, onto 29, the freaking car behind me turned too.

CHAPTER FOUR

"Oh fuck," I muttered. "Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck." There was only one reason that Benton would ask those weird questions. Op Wraith had gotten to him. He must have called them after I left, and the car behind me must be Op Wraith agents. I just knew it.

Why had I ditched Griffin again? When had that ever seemed like a good idea?

Griffin!

I scrabbled to find my phone and turn it on.

I tried to dial, but I kept messing up. I was having a hard time driving with only one hand.

The phone rang.

I screamed.

It was Griffin. I picked up. "Griffin?"

"Where are you?"

"I'm leaving Morgantown. There's a car following me."

"Morgantown? Where the heck is...? Hold up, this car's got GPS. I'll program it in."

"This car? How do you have a car? Did you steal it?"

"You ran off on me. What else was I supposed to do? Besides, I'm more borrowing it, really. I'm not going to keep it."

"I'm sorry," I said. I was close to tears. "I'm so sorry. I'm really—"

"Spare me, doll. Just tell me exactly where you are, please."

"I..." I looked around in the darkness. "I'm on 29."

"There aren't any landmarks, cross streets?"

"This is West Virginia," I said. "There are trees. And hills. And—"

"Okay, okay."

"There's a car following me, Griffin. I think it's Operation Wraith."

"Why would you think that?" he asked.

"Well, because when I went to see my dealer, he was asking all these questions."

"You went to see a dealer? You ran off on me to go buy cocaine?"

"Yes," I said in a small voice.

He sighed. "I don't believe you."

"I'm sorry!" I said. "But you were—"

I broke off, because the car behind me was pulling into the lane next to me to pass. I watched as its taillights disappeared in the distance in front of me.

"Doll?"

"N-never mind," I said. "The car passed me. It wasn't them."

"They wouldn't be obvious about following you," said Griffin. "They're trained not to be seen. You wouldn't know they were there."

That didn't make me feel better. Here I was, starting to bask in relief because the car had passed me, and I wasn't in danger, and Griffin had to rip the rug out from under me like that.

"Tell me what your dealer was asking."

"He wanted to know where I live," I said. "He's never cared about stuff like that before. He was really interested in me, and usually, I'm nothing to him. He doesn't even know who I am, really. So..."

"Did you tell him where you live?"

"No. I'm not that stupid."

"Good," said Griffin. "Okay, here's what we're going to do. I can get to 29, I think. I can meet you at the intersection of 29 and 92. Do you know where that is?"

"Uh huh," I said. "I'll be there in like five minutes."

"Okay. Well, you wait for me there. I'm going to be a little longer than that."

"Do you think that Operation Wraith—"

"Don't think about that right now, okay? You just get there, turn the car off, lock your doors, and wait for me. Got it?"

I chewed on my lip. "Got it."

* * *

There was a gas station at the intersection of the two roads. It was shadowy and dark, closed this late at night. I pulled into the empty parking lot anyway, turned my car off, and locked my doors.

The only light in the parking lot came from a buzzing, flickering light on a pole at the edge. It illuminated a broken, empty sign above the sign that gave the list of gas prices. Another sign next to it proclaimed that there was Mario's Pizza inside, with a picture of a cartoon character flipping a pizza crust. It the scant light, the bright reds and yellows of the signs looked sickly and sinister.

I slid down in my seat, clutching the steering wheel. I didn't like this.

Griffin had asked if I told Benton where I lived. He'd only asked that to be cautious, right? Or did he think that there was something to my idea that Op Wraith was after me?

If he did, he wouldn't tell me to sit in my car, would he?

I peered out my windshield at the night sky, wondering.

Outside the gas station, there was an ice chest next to two vending machines. I stared at the Pepsi logo for a long time. It seemed like I'd been at this gas station for hours. It had only been a few minutes, but I was tense and frightened. I wasn't sure what was going on. There were signs on the glass in the front of the store advertising the prices of cigarettes.

Where was Griffin? Had he told me when he'd be here?

He'd only said it would be a little longer than five minutes.

God. I should have asked him where he was when I called him. I should have found out. Because then I'd know. And it would be better to know than to be stuck here, all alone, confused and afraid, waiting.

Maybe I should get out of the car.

No. Griffin had told me not to. He'd said to stay inside with the doors locked. But would locked car doors be any barrier to these guys? I didn't think they would. They could get to me if they wanted. Griffin must know that. So, why had he told me to lock my doors, if it wouldn't make any difference?

They were after me, weren't they? And close? Maybe they were outside now.

I lifted up, peering over the back of my seat, looking into the darkness. I couldn't see anyone out there.

But I wouldn't see them, would I?

I turned back around. Screw this. I was only making myself paranoid. There was no one there. Griffin had probably told me to lock the doors in order to make me feel better. If I thought I was behind locked doors, he figured I'd feel safer.

But he didn't know me very well. When I was a little girl, I'd learned that I never felt safe unless I proved to myself that I was. If I thought there was a monster under the bed, I had to look and make sure. That's what I needed to do now. Reassure myself that there weren't any monsters out there. What would make me feel better right now was if I could get out of the car and get a can of Pepsi out of that machine. I took a deep breath. Yeah, if I did that, I'd know everything was okay. I dug through my purse and got out the change.

Holding the cold coins in my hand, I gazed at the vending machine again. I guessed I could wait until Griffin got there. He'd have to get out of his stolen car, anyway, right?

I looked around again. There was no one here.

I was freaking myself out for no reason.

I unlocked the driver side of my car.

I looked around again.

"Get a grip, Leigh," I said. The only way I was going to be able to shake this fear was to prove to myself that everything was okay.

I opened the door and got out of the car.

I didn't hear the bullet, but I felt it.

It punctured my chest. It felt like being hit by a train. It pushed me back into the car. I fell back, and my head glanced against the emergency brake. For some reason, that pain seemed sharper and more intense than the one in my chest.

I was bleeding. I was bleeding a lot.

I wanted to scream, to call out. I wanted to laugh at my own stupidity. Why had I gotten out of the car when Griffin told me not to? But all of that was fading quickly, swirling away from me. I was being funneled down into a dark hole, like... Alice in Wonderland...

I smiled. I liked that story.

But no. I needed to be thinking about doing something. I'd been...

What had happened?

Everything was warm. And dark. And quiet.

That was all I knew.

CHAPTER FIVE

I woke up with a start. I was lying crumpled in my car, my legs dangling out of the open door. There was blood all over my shirt and the seat. It was on my hands. It was spattered on the inside of the windshield.

If it weren't for the serum that my father had given to heal me after that car accident, I'd be dead right now. But the serum made me invulnerable. I could be shot in the heart and still live. I'd known this intellectually. Experiencing it was something entirely different.

But the people in Operation Wraith knew that about me too. Why bother shooting me, when the only way to kill me was to sever my spinal cord and keep it from healing?

I sat up shakily.

That was when I saw Griffin and a man in the black suit in the parking lot in front of me.

They were circling each other, both holding knives.

I got out of the car. Oh God. Griffin had to fight this guy now, and it was all my fault. If I hadn't run for cocaine, he wouldn't be in this situation.

I bit my lip. I had a problem, didn't I?

The man in the suit poked at Griffin with his knife.

I let out a little cry, worried about him.

Griffin turned at the noise. He saw me, but it meant that he was distracted long enough for the other guy to stab him in the shoulder.

Blood poured out.

"Sorry," I called. I was really screwing everything up, wasn't I?

"Sit tight and let me handle it, doll," said Griffin.

The man in the suit smirked. "Doll? You were always too soft when it came to women, Griffin. It's your biggest weakness."

Griffin feinted left. "Your biggest weakness is falling for fake-outs, Matt." Matt blocked Griffin's feint.

Leaving him wide open on the other side. Griffin stuck him in the neck with his knife. It was a quick motion, in and then out. Blood flowed out of Matt onto Griffin's hand.

Matt stumbled, moving away. He put a hand to his neck, wincing. "You had everything, bro. You had the chance to do whatever you wanted, with no consequences, and you threw it all away."

"The chance to be a killer?" asked Griffin. "No thank you." He advanced on Matt.

Matt recovered, bringing up his knife. "How is Beth, anyway?"

Beth? Who was Beth?

Griffin charged Matt. "Leave her out of this."

Matt sidestepped. "You're a killer, anyway, you know. We saw what you did to James in Cumberland."

Griffin caught Matt's wrist and twisted, forcing Matt to drop his knife.

Matt swore.

Griffin tugged Matt's body against his. He brought up his knife and slashed the back of Matt's neck.

Then Griffin let go. Matt's body fell to the ground, lifeless.

Griffin nudged Matt's head with his foot, pushing it so that it bent forward, touching his chest.

I turned away. "What are you doing?"

He didn't look at me. "I have to separate the wound or it will heal."

I didn't understand. "What?"

His shoulders rose and fell. He was breathing heavily. "If I cut off your finger, and I put it right back where it belonged afterward, it would heal. But if I didn't, if I kept the flesh separate, you'd lose a finger."

I thought I got it now. He was making sure that Matt was actually dead.

He turned to me. "Your car okay?"

I nodded. He'd saved my life. He'd killed a man, someone he knew by first name, and he didn't seem the slightest bit upset about it. He frightened me. But I was also really grateful. If it wasn't for him...

"We'll take that, then," he said. "I'll put the body in the car I stole and hide it somewhere."

He was all business. Two minutes ago, the broken, bloody thing on the pavement had been Matt. Now, it was "the body." Of course, Matt had been trying to kill me. I guessed Griffin hadn't had much choice.

"Get back in your car and lock it," he said. "And this time stay there."

"What does it matter if it's locked?" I said. "That's not going to stop a bullet."

"No," he said. "But if there's someone else out here and he shoots you, it will make it harder for him to get at your body and cut your neck."

I gulped. I got in the car and locked the door.

* * *

Griffin pounded on the window of the driver's side of the car. I was sitting on the passenger's side because my blood was all over the other side. I reached over and unlocked the door. He opened it, yanking a plaid blanket off his shoulder. He arranged it over the seat.

"Where'd you get that?" I asked.

"The car I took," he said. "It was in the trunk. I grabbed it because I didn't feel like sitting in blood. We'll clean your car up properly later." He sat down on the blanket.

"You think of everything, don't you?" I said. The blood on my shirt was stiffening. Everything felt surreal. I could hardly believe that this had all happened. My life hadn't been normal since I woke up after that car accident, but with every passing day, it got weirder and weirder. And Griffin didn't help matters. He made things extremely weird.

He shrugged, starting the car. "I do my best." He pulled out of the parking lot.

"You're going the wrong way," I said.

"I know that," he said. "I can't be sure that Matt was alone. Someone else might be following us as well. I'm going to drive off course a bit. If we have another tail, I'll lose it."

"So, you knew that guy? The one you just killed?" I felt a little sick at the thought of it.

"We were both Operation Wraith," said Griffin. "Doesn't mean we were friends."

I twitched. "Does that make it easier? The fact he wasn't a friend?"

He didn't answer.

I stared straight ahead. The narrow road disappeared beneath the car. I watched the white line.

"They trained us to disconnect," Griffin said suddenly.

I looked away from the road, at his perfect profile. His Adam's apple bobbed.

"They taught us how to turn off our emotions," he continued. "When your life is in danger, you can't afford things like guilt or sentiment. You have to be sharp. You can't let anything else get in your way."

"Makes sense," I said. "You planned for me to get shot, didn't you?"

"I knew it was the best way to draw out the Op Wraith agent," he said. "I knew it wouldn't hurt you. If you'd been in the car, it would have gone a lot smoother. As it was, I was almost too late."

"Sorry," I said. And then I started to laugh.

"What's funny?"

"Just the fact that I'm apologizing to a guy who got me shot. That's kind of funny."

"You're fine."

It was as though he'd turned off. The way he had at the party earlier. He'd shut down, become stone. It was as though he was two different people. My laughter grew more bitter. "I don't think I'm fine."

"Sure you are."

"No," I said. "No, I don't think so. My father's dead. I'm being chased by the men who killed them. I'm being protected by a guy who has no problem getting me shot, who's able to turn off his guilt whenever he wants. I'm not fine."

There was another long silence. I heard him draw several breaths, as if he was getting ready to say something. Then he would let them out, not saying a thing.

"I would never let anything happen to you," he said, finally. "I need you to believe that. Do you believe it?"

"Why should I?" I said. "I don't mean anything to you."

"I promised your father," said Griffin. "I owe him. He helped me get out of Operation Wraith, and I hated it there. You have no idea what that place was like."

"Worse than prison?" I asked.

"Yes," he said. "Worse than prison, because in prison, you knew why you were getting fucked with. Everyone's motives were clear. But in Op Wraith, they wanted to use me. They wanted to change me into someone else. Strip away who I was so that I could be a killing machine for them. They didn't only teach us how to fight and how to fire guns. There was this psychologist we had to go to. She'd break us down, find out all our secrets, all the things we were ashamed of, everything that made us tick. And she used all that information to control us."

"It sounds horrible," I said.

"I came in there with memories," he said. "People who hurt me. Op Wraith taught me how to turn any target into an old bully. So that when I took down the man they told me to take down, it felt personally satisfying every time. Like I got to kill that bastard over and over." His knuckles tightened on the steering wheel. "I fight that. If I have to kill, I want to feel like I'm killing the person I'm actually killing, for the reasons I have to."

I wasn't sure what to say. I felt for Griffin. Not for the first time, I thought that his life had been needlessly difficult. I wished there was a way I could sooth him, make things better for him. But I had no idea what to do. I put my hand on his arm.

"Don't." His voice cracked.

"You killed just now because of me," I said softly. "I know that. I know I can't ever repay that. Thank you, Griffin."

"You don't gotta say things like that." He pulled his arm out of my reach.

"I'm not saying it because I have to." I leaned back in my seat. "All of this was my fault. I threw a tantrum, and I put myself in danger. All so I could get this." I took the bag of coke out of my pocket.

It was stained in my blood. I found myself wondering if I could wash it off somehow. If the drug would still be good.

"I have a problem," I said.

"The coke?" he said. "Yeah. You could say that."

"I think I need help," I said. "I don't want to live like this anymore. If you're going to keep saving my life, I want to have a life that's worth saving."

"That mean you're going to stop fighting me on everything?"

For a guy who was feeling all uncomfortable with my gratitude, he sure bounced back quickly. But he was right, I did make things harder for him. And I was realizing that only made things harder for myself. "I promise I'll stop fighting. I'll wear boring brown clothes to class. I'll come straight home. I won't go to bars. And I'll do my best to stop using cocaine. I want to be officially done. Go to Narcotics Anonymous meetings or something."

"Okay," he said. "I know some people it's worked wonders for. Let's lie low for a little bit, and we'll figure out where the closest meeting is."

* * *

I fell asleep in the car before we got back to Thomas. Griffin took us on a winding, roundabout course all over the area, apparently so that if there was anyone besides Matt there, they wouldn't be able to follow us home.

Even so, once we were back in my apartment, we had to be careful. From the phone call they'd traced in Cumberland, they'd figured out the general area where I was. Griffin didn't think that they'd narrowed it down too much, not if they only knew that I'd been buying drugs in Morgantown. But it was always better to be cautious, according to Griffin. So, we didn't leave the house for two days. He said that if they knew where we were, they'd strike during that time, and if nothing happened, I could go back to class.

We spent that two days getting everything out of the apartment that had anything to do with cocaine.

Luckily, blow is not one of those drugs that requires a whole lot of accoutrements to use, so it wasn't like getting rid of my whole life. But it wasn't easy either. I did have two cute little coke spoons I'd gotten in Boston. They had to be thrown away. And I found lots of tiny bags stashed around the house. They were my emergency stashes, and I'd put them there a long time ago. They were there for the times when you get to the end of a bag, and you're like, "Damn, I wish I had more coke. Just another hit or two." I had made it so I always had another hit. Somewhere.

It took forever to find all of them.

Griffin helped. He wasn't angry or anything, and he didn't make fun. He just helped me clean things up. And when I reminded him, he helped me look for a Narcotics Anonymous meeting.

The closest place was Grafton. They had meetings on Thursdays at 7:30 at the Blueville Church of God.

We went.

The meeting was in a room they used for Sunday School or something. It had one of those felt boards up on the wall, with little pictures of felt Jesus and Mary and a whale. Maybe the Jesus was actually Jonas. Or whatever the guy's name was who got swallowed by the whale.

There was a table in the middle with chairs. When I came in, only two people were sitting in them. They were two ladies in their forties or fifties. I wasn't sure how old they were. They were both wearing too much makeup and clothes that were too tight for them. They smiled at me when I came in. One of them was missing teeth.

Okay. Wow.

So, when I moved to West Virginia, I have to admit I was a little worried because I'd heard stories about what this place was like. I thought it might be like Deliverance or whatever. But then I got settled in and everyone was normal. They were just regular people like me. They didn't even have really strong accents. I figured it was bad press.

I was about to find out that, um, for stereotypes to exist, there has to be some truth to them.

There weren't very many people at the meeting. Maybe five of us, not counting Griffin who stood at the back of the room and didn't talk to anyone. The two women dominated the meeting, chatting in thick redneck drawls about how they were tempted to do crystal meth (of all things) while chewing tobacco.

I'm not kidding. Those two women both had little spittoon cups, and they shot thick streams of brown saliva out of their mouths every few minutes.

I'd never seen a real person chewing tobacco before.

I knew I shouldn't judge. They seemed like very nice ladies, and I was glad that they had made a decision to clean up their lives and stop doing drugs. It was great. But... I had to admit, I didn't feel like I had much in common with them. I wasn't in such dire straits that the only way we could pay for food for my kids was for my husband to cook up meth and sell it. My teeth weren't rotting out of my head.

I was fine. Okay, maybe I had a little problem with blow. But it wasn't ruining my life or anything.

When they asked me if I wanted to say anything, I shook my head.

There were two other people there, both around my age, a girl and a guy. They were holding hands. The girl had dyed her hair bright cherry red. Both she and the guy had a lot of piercings in their faces. Nose, lips, eyebrows. When she spoke up, I saw the glint of something metal on her tongue.

"I'm Stacey," she said, and she had a voice like bubblegum. It clashed with her appearance. "And I'm an addict. I've got six months sober." She beamed, looking like a punk Cabbage Patch Doll.

The guy next to her shook his head.

"He does too," she said. "He's just shy."

After the meeting, I wandered out of the church, feeling a little dazed. Stacey and her boyfriend were right in front of me. The minute they hit fresh air, they both lit up cigarettes.

Griffin and I had to walk through a cloud of their smoke to get to our car.

"Hey," said Stacey, "I've seen you before on campus."

"Me?" I said. Like there was anyone else around.

"You go to school with me, don't you?" she said. "You live in Thomas, like we do." She pointed at her boyfriend.

I felt Griffin go rigid behind me. They recognized me? What did that mean? I backed up so that I was almost touching him. "Maybe."

"I thought so," she said. "I remembered your boyfriend. I see you guys walking all over campus together. He's so sweet. He only has eyes for you."

"Oh," I said, laughing. "Griffin's not my—"

"I'm her bodyguard," said Griffin.

Stacey raised her eyebrows. "Really?"

"Yeah," I said.

"Well, cool," she said. "You know, Jack was going to be a bodyguard." She slung an arm around her boyfriend. "But he found out you have to work with the police sometimes."

"Yeah, not cool," said Jack.

They seemed harmless. But were they?

"I'm trying to start a chapter of NA on campus," said Stacey. "But no one except me and Jack ever show up. If you come, it would save us all a drive." She grinned.

* * *

"Mmm," said Stacey, her head thrown back in ecstasy. We were sitting inside The Purple Fiddle. Her, me, Jack, and Griffin. We'd just had our second NA meeting all together on campus. It had gone pretty well. Better than talking with the meth heads in Grafton. "I love tofu."

I shook my head. "I can't believe you just said that." I looked at Griffin. "That's totally gross, isn't it?"

"I'm not a big fan of tofu," he admitted.

"You ever eaten it?" said Jack.

"Yes," I said. "My ex-boyfriend, who was a vegetarian, made me eat it once. It was horrible."

"Well, who cooked it?" said Stacey. "Was it him?"

"Yeah," I said. "So?"

"So, just try this." She shoved her half-eaten burger at my face.

I cringed. She wanted me to take a bite of something she'd already eaten. That wasn't sanitary.

"Go on," she said. "I don't have cooties."

I took a tentative bite and chewed. I hoped I wasn't ingesting a trillion germs. As I chewed, I realized that what I was eating didn't taste half bad. "Hey. It's not awful."

"Not awful? It's amazing," said Stacey. "So good. Jack and I would barely survive here if it wasn't for The Purple Fiddle. Do you know how hard it is to be vegan around here?"

"You're vegan, huh?" I asked.

She smiled. "Yeah. Six months now."

"Isn't that the amount of time you've been sober?" I said.

She nodded. "Yup. Jack and I gave up meat, eggs, milk, and blow all at the same time."

"Whoa," I said. "Sounds intense."

"Definitely," said Stacey.

"I couldn't do that," I said. "I mean, I think that would be too hard."

"Yeah, well, we were going to quit smoking too," said Jack, "but we decided it would be too much to handle."

"We're going to quit eventually," said Stacey.

"You guys want to be healthy, I guess," I said.

"It's more than that," said Stacey. "I mean, while I was doing drugs and stuff, I really just wanted to stand out, you know? My dad left when I was a kid, and I guess I was looking for attention somewhere. I wanted people to see me, and always notice me." She tugged on her hair. "That's why, you know, I do stuff like this."

I smiled. "I get that. I know what you're talking about."

"When you're all fucked up," she said, "you're free, right? You don't have anything holding you back. You can be as loud or as noticeable as you want."

"Yeah," I said. Wow. Stacey and I might have more in common than I had ever thought.

"So, when I quit, I didn't want to lose that. I was afraid of being nobody. Like if I wasn't the crazy party chick with weird hair and piercings, then who would I be, you know? But I decided that instead of using my appearance to validate myself, I'd used it for good. So, now I'm the crazy chick who's vocal about being sober and making better food choices and all of that."

I surveyed her. She was actually really together, in her own strange way. I liked her. "I think that's cool."

"Plus, being vegan is like effortless weight loss." She gestured at me with her sandwich. "Not that you need to lose weight or anything."

I took a bite of my jalapeño turkey wrap. "Well, every girl wants to lose weight."

"I know, right?" she said, taking a drink of her soda. She inclined her head. "And all guys universally hate it when girls start talking about that."

Griffin and Jack both seemed really interested in their food.

"They're a lot alike, Griffin and Jack," said Stacey.

I set down my wrap. "How do you figure?" They didn't look very similar to me. Jack was skinny and pierced. He had long, blue hair. Griffin was the complete opposite of Jack.

"They're both quiet," she said. "They both keep things to themselves, especially bad things. They don't open up about their pain to just anyone."

That was true, I guessed, as far as it went.

Stacey sucked on her straw. "Jack hates cops, for instance. Hates 'em. Won't tell me why."

"They just bug me," said Jack, eating a French fry.

"Something happened," she said. "He'll tell me eventually." She stole one of his fries.

"Hey," he said. "You got a plate full of your own."

"I know, but yours just look crispier than mine," said Stacey.

"You know," said Griffin. "I think Jack and Leigh got crispier fries." He took one off my plate and popped it in his mouth.

I glared at him. "I get one of yours, then."

"So, when are you two going to admit that you're totally smitten with each other?" said Stacey.

Griffin choked on the fry.

* * *

"Look," said Griffin as we walked up the stairs to my apartment. "What she said, it's not... It's important to me that you're safe, but not because of anything... you know, like that."

I opened the door to the apartment. "Believe me, I know that. She doesn't know what she's talking about. I mean, she doesn't even know us. We just met her. She strikes me as the kind of person who says whatever floats to the top of her mind anyway."

He laughed, closing the door after me. "Yeah, she sure does talk, doesn't she?"

I went to the refrigerator to put my leftovers from The Purple Fiddle in there. "Besides, I know exactly why you follow me everywhere and watch me constantly. It's because of my dad. Right?" I closed the refrigerator door and looked up at him.

He didn't have a takeout box. He stood next to the window. It was afternoon, and the sun was streaming in behind him, giving him a halo. "Uh, right."

"You're like a guardian angel," I said.

"Trust me, doll, I'm no angel." He moved away from the window, across the room to the couch. He slept there, and usually he was good about folding up all the blankets. But he must have forgotten this morning, because it still looked like a bed. He picked up a blanket and started folding it.

"Well, you're not interested in me. Because that one time I tried to kiss you, you got really freaked out. You weren't into it at all."

He continued folding the blanket, making it smaller and smaller. "Yeah. It's, um, not like that."

"Trust me. I get it. It's all about my dad. You owe my dad for saving you. It has nothing to do with me. I mean, you probably don't even like me. Why would you? All I've done is cause you problems. If I were you, I wouldn't want to be involved with me either."

He set the blanket on the couch. He picked up the sheet and began to fold it. "Of course I like you, doll."

"You do? Because I kind of got the impression that you wanted to murder me."

He chuckled. "I'm trying to keep people from murdering you."

I smiled. "Well, I like you too. You're a pain in my ass, but you're kind of right. About everything. And I'd be dead if it weren't for you."

He set down the sheet. He caught my eye. He was smiling too. We stood like that, in the afternoon light, smiling at each other across the living room. It was nice.

I took a step towards him.

He broke eye contact. "So, I just wanted to make sure you understood that."

"Understood what?"

"That I don't have feelings for you," he told the couch.

Oh, right. That was what we had been talking about. I had been distracted. When we were looking at each other like that, it had seemed as if... But he was saying... I straightened a pillow on my recliner. "No. Of course I understand."

"It's not because I don't like you. You've been through a lot. And dealing with drugs is tough for everyone. I think you're great. I really do." He sat down on the couch. "It's just because of your dad."

"That's what I said before." I straightened the pillow more. I wasn't sure how much straighter I could actually get it.

"And because it wouldn't be appropriate," he said. "Because if I got involved with you, then I wouldn't be as good at protecting you."

"I totally understand," I said. "I never believed Stacey anyway, you know? We don't have to keep talking about this."

"Right." He looked at his hands.

I wasn't sure where to look either. Things had gotten really awkward all of the sudden. I sat down. "So, what was my dad like, when you were spending time with him? Because I didn't really see him much."

"What do you mean, what was he like? He was freaked out. He was worried about you. He wanted you to be safe. You were all he talked about."

"Really?" I said. "That's funny. Because before that accident, he almost never talked to me at all."

"That can't be true. He was crazy about you."

"When I was thirteen years old, my dad gave me a card wishing me a happy tenth birthday."

Griffin winced. "That's harsh."

"He never came to see one of my school activities, like other parents did. By the time I was in high school, I stopped doing school activities. I figured, what was the point?"

"That when you started messing with drugs?"

"Yeah. It just didn't seem like it was that big of a deal. And I didn't think anyone would notice."

"He did care about you, doll. I know that."

I shrugged. "I wish he would have shown me that instead of you."

"He risked everything to save your life."

I realized I was crying again. Damn my dad. He didn't deserve this many tears from me. I wiped my eyes with the heel of my hand. "Like you do. Because he asked you too. How can you be so loyal to him?"

He leaned back against the couch. "Look, I don't want anything to happen to you."

"Because of my dad. Yeah, we've established this." Why were the tears coming faster now?

"Not just because of that." He stood up and went to the window, putting his hands in his pockets. "I don't want you to die. I mean, how could I sleep at night knowing there was a girl out there who was willing not to judge me about my past? She said I was a confused kid, not a criminal. And she had a big heart. She worked hard to change. She was willing to do whatever it took, even if she hated it. If I let a girl like that die, I'd never be able to live with myself."

I went to him. I put my hand on his shoulder.

He closed his eyes.

"Griffin, that was the sweetest thing anyone has ever—"

He moved away from me. "I can't, okay?"

CHAPTER SIX

"So your dad seriously hired you a bodyguard?" said Stacey from the other stall in the clothing store.

"Seriously," I said.

"Are you in that much danger?"

Griffin and I had talked about how to lie about this. "It's my dad's job. He works for an international arms corporation. He thinks I could be in danger."

"Oh, whoa," she said. "So, you might be."

"Maybe," I said. "Hopefully not."

"And Griffin lives with you?"

"Well, he has to watch me."

"All the time? Like while you're in bed, too?"

I giggled. "Stacey, he can hear you."

"I sleep on the couch," said Griffin. He was outside the dressing room.

"He can always hear me," she said. "He's always around. How are we supposed to have a proper girly conversation about him behind his back, when he never turns his back?"

I laughed.

I could hear that Griffin was chuckling too.

"I'm serious," she said. "You're my best friend, or at least the closest thing to one I have since I got sober. And Griffin is ruining our ability to bond."

"Well," I said, "we can always go to the bathroom at the same time. He doesn't come in women's restrooms."

"Perfect!" she said.

I surveyed myself in the mirror. "I don't like this dress. I'm going to take it off."

"No, you don't. Not until I see it."

"Fine," I said. I opened the door. "I'm showing you. What do you think?"

Stacey popped out of her dressing room. "Oh! Gosh, it's way too frilly, isn't it?"

"Told you," I said.

Stacey turned to Griffin. "What do you think?"

He eyed me. "Um, I like it."

Stacey rolled her eyes. "Boys. They're useless. You'll have to try on something else."

"Okay," I said. "I like yours, though."

Stacey preened. "Thanks! I like red. Matches my hair." She darted back into the dressing room.

I went back into my side. "I don't know why we're trying on these dresses anyway. I don't have anywhere to wear it. I can't go out anymore. Too easy to get tempted or to run into the regular crew."

"They're sober dresses," she said. "A reward."

I tugged a different dress over my head. It was yellow. Really yellow. How had this ended up in my pile of clothes to try on? I didn't think I'd picked it out. "But what use is a reward if you can't use it?" I opened the dressing room door. "I've got another one to show you."

"Okay, give me a second," she said. "You know, Griffin, if you're bored, you could go hang out with Jack in the arcade."

"I can't do that," said Griffin, grinning at me. "I have to stay close enough to watch Leigh."

Stacey came out of the dressing room. She had on another red dress. It was cute.

"Oh, I like that one," I said.

"Me too," she said. "But yours is so... yellow."

"I know," I said. "I swear I didn't pick this out. You did, didn't you?"

"Maybe," she said. "But it looks yellower now that you're wearing it." She squealed. "Oh my God, I just had a really awesome idea!"

"Is it about making it not so yellow?"

"No," she said. "Don't be silly. It's about where we can wear our fabulous new dresses."

"Where?"

"A party."

I shook my head. "No, I can't. It's a bad idea. The last time I had a party, I ended up going straight to my dealer afterwards."

"It'll be a sober party," said Stacey. "A party to commemorate your one-month sober. Isn't that awesome?"

"I can't," I said. I looked at Griffin. "Back me up, here."

"Where would the party be?" asked Griffin.

"At Jack's and my place," she said.

"How many people are we talking about?" he said.

"I don't know. Just NA people," she said. "People our age. Not the meth ladies from Grafton or anything."

I laughed. "Still..."

"I think it's fine," said Griffin.

"You do?" I said.

He shrugged. "Sure. As long as it's small and contained and you're not strung out on cocaine."

"But I thought that you would think it was a really bad idea."

"Well, I don't," he said.

Stacey clapped her hands together. "Awesome. This is going to be so cool, you'll see. Jack and I are going to the Morgantown NA meeting next week, and we'll invite all our friends from there."

"This is really going to happen? I haven't found a good dress yet."

"Try on the blue one," said Griffin.

"The blue one?" I ducked back into the dressing room to look through the dresses that were hanging up there. There was a blue one. I took it off the hanger. "Okay, I'll try it."

It was periwinkle blue, with sparkles. It was simple, but nice. It had thin straps, and it hit about mid thigh. The color looked nice with my skin. I pushed my way out of the dressing room.

"How'd you know?" I asked him.

He looked me up and down.

"Seriously, Griffin, do you have fashion talents that I don't know about?"

He shrugged. "I noticed that you look good in blue. And, I, uh, I like that dress." He was still taking me in.

As his gaze swept my body, I felt a little tingle every place his look settled. I drew in a breath.

"You should buy it," he said.

I nodded. "I think I will." And then I stood there gaping at him like an idiot until Stacey came out of the dressing room to gush over the dress too.

* * *

Thanks to Stacey, being sober wasn't boring in the slightest. I spent most of my time with her and Jack. Griffin seemed to like them too. At least he didn't complain. I didn't go out trying to score cocaine. I didn't have crazy, wild parties. I went to bed at a decent hour, and I got up with plenty of sleep. I went to class. I ate lunch with Stacey and Jack at school. I came home and did class work. Sometimes, we went to their place for dinner or to hang out. Sometimes, I asked them to come to my apartment.

My party was scheduled for the end of spring break, which was when I'd have been sober for a month.

I could hardly believe so much time had passed. It had gone quickly, and it had been easy.

A lot of that was because of Stacey.

She was my best friend. If I was honest, I hadn't had a best friend since elementary school. I didn't know how it happened exactly, but I'd somehow missed out on having friends that were girls. I remembered that my last best friend had been named Jackie. We'd been thirteen when Jackie stopped speaking to me.

It was over a boy.

She liked this guy. I don't even remember his name. But he was the heartthrob of our class. Everyone liked him. The way I saw it, it wasn't like she had any kind of dibs on him.

But she still got mad when I made out with him.

I don't even know why I did it. I guess it seemed like it would be cool.

But whoever that guy's name was had only made out with me because I let him feel me up. It didn't go anywhere. I kind of thought it would. I always thought guys were going to be more interested in me than they were.

I'm not saying that I used sex to try to get the attention of guys.

Well. Maybe I am. I was pretty young when I lost my virginity, and the guy I did it with—Aaron—was a few years older than me. He didn't care that I was fourteen, though. He was a senior in high school. I was a freshman. It wasn't like he was taking advantage of me. I knew what I was doing. But it was kind of the same thing.

I gave it up.

And then he promptly lost interest.

It wasn't always like that. I did have several boyfriends in high school and, of course, there was Eric in college. So not all the guys were jerks who were just after one thing. Some of them were really nice guys. (Of course, I wasn't always nice back. I had some issues in high school.) But there were enough of them only interested in sex that I should have learned my lesson. I should have realized that having sex with a guy was not the way to make him like me.

But I guess the problem was that it did kind of make them like me. Not always for a very long time. But for at least a few minutes, sometimes a few weeks if it took a while for them to get bored. When they were having sex with me, they weren't paying attention to anything except me. That was a cool feeling. I liked that feeling. So, I guess I had sex with a lot of guys.

I sort of got a reputation.

And for some reason, I didn't have a lot of friends that were girls after that. They all thought I'd steal their boyfriends, or at least make out with them.

The sad thing was, they were probably right.

When Stacey talked to me about doing everything in her power to get noticed, I identified. I hadn't pierced my tongue. I'd spread my legs. You couldn't see what effect that had on me on the outside, not like Stacey's piercings. But...all in all... I thought piercings might have been a tad healthier than what I'd done.

I was glad to have her around. She was awesome, and I felt better than I had in a long time. Almost... normal. Which is weird, because here we were, two chicks who'd both done scads of cocaine and spent our adolescence doing whatever we could to get people to pay attention to us. We were the opposite of normal.

Stacey constantly teased me about Griffin. She said that there were definite sparks between us, that the air was thick with tension when we were close. She said this in front of Griffin, because he was always there. But occasionally, when we were all hanging out in her house, she and I would manage to get one room away from the guys. Close enough that Griffin could hear me scream if something bad happened, but far enough that I could talk without him hearing.

And that was the only time I could talk about how I felt about him. I didn't know what it was. It might not have been anything. Maybe it was just the fact that he was swoon-worthy and that he'd saved my life a few times. (I couldn't tell Stacey that, of course.)

But I thought it might be something big. I thought I might really like him.

And I didn't know what to do. "I don't want to screw it up. Because, you know, in the past I've gotten physical really quickly."

"There's nothing wrong with getting physical," said Stacey. "Nothing at all." She shrugged. "But it is cooler when you do it with someone you love."

"And you love Jack?"

"Totally."

"And you always loved him? Even before you had sex?"

"Well, maybe not before we did it the first time," she said. She grabbed my hands. "Look, it feels different with Griffin because it is different. When it's a big deal, you know. I knew with Jack. You know now."

I squeezed my eyes shut. "But I don't know anything. All I know is that Griffin is really attractive, and that when I look at him, I feel a little weak all over. And that I'm really glad he has to be around me all the time."

"So, there you go," she said. "That means something."

I pulled my hands away from hers and ran them through my hair. "Maybe it does, maybe it doesn't. We don't even really know each other, Griffin and me. I don't know anything about his family or his past. I don't even know what year he graduated from high school."

"You're around him all the time. Ask him."

"No, I can't. It never feels like the right place or time to ask him those things. And besides, I'm always busy with school work."

She grinned. "But it's spring break next week. No school work."

I raised my eyebrows. "What college are you going to? I've got two projects to work on over spring break."

"So get them done now, and you and Griffin can go do something romantic."

"Like he's going to go for that," I said. "He's completely against anything happening between us because he says it's unprofessional."

"And sleeping on your couch isn't unprofessional?" Stacey rolled her eyes. "He's making up excuses. The boy has it bad for you."

I shrugged. "I don't know."

"He calls you doll."

"That's just his New Jersey slang thing. He calls all girls that."

"He doesn't call me that. He likes you."

I didn't know if he did. He'd made that little speech about me, about what kind of girl he thought I was and why he wanted to keep me alive. But that didn't mean he had romantic feelings for me. Why would he? "He doesn't have a reason to 'have it bad' for me. It's not like something happened one night, our eyes met, and fireworks were going off in the distance."

"Do you have a reason for liking him?" said Stacey.

"Well..." I thought about it. "I guess not."

"That's not how love works," said Stacey. "It's not back and forth like in romance novels. It's not bursting in at the last minute, stopping someone before they get to the altar. It's not a slow burn. It's an explosion. You meet someone. You talk. You feel something. Or you don't. It's simple."

I groaned. "If it's so simple, then why has nothing happened between us?"

"You guys did kiss that one time."

"Yeah, and then he rejected me, and I went and got more drugs. It was my hitting bottom moment. Not romantic at all." I sighed. "I thought that when a guy liked you, you didn't have to chase him everywhere. I saw that episode of Sex and the City, 'He's Just Not That Into You.' If a guy's playing hard to get, it means he doesn't want to be gotten."

"That's a television show, not real life," said Stacey. "And besides—"

"What are you girls talking about in here?" Griffin's head appeared in the doorway. He was grinning, and he looked so good.

"Nothing," I said, standing up. When Griffin came to find us, it meant girl talk was over.

We joined Griffin and Jack in the kitchen, where the two of them were eating vegan cheesecake. It was actually really good, even though Stacey had made it from tofu. We sat down at the table.

"How many pieces of that have you had?" said Stacey.

Jack shrugged. "I don't know."

"Because," she said, "I did make it, and I kind of wanted there to be some left for me tomorrow."

"Sorry," said Griffin. He set his fork down. There was half a piece of cheesecake on his plate. "You can have the rest of this piece."

"Oh, I wasn't talking to you, Griffin," said Stacey. "I meant Jack." She narrowed her eyes at him.

He held up his hands in surrender. "Geez. I'm sorry."

"Good," she said. "As long as you're remorseful." She smoothed a flyaway piece of crimson hair. "So, Leigh and I were just talking about what she and Griffin were going to do over spring break."

Griffin looked confused. "We're doing something?"

I didn't know where she was going with this, but I imagined it had something to do with the idea that Griffin and I needed to do something romantic.

"Yeah," said Stacey. "Don't you think it would be neat to do something together, just the two of you?"

Griffin ate a bite of cheesecake. "Look, Stacey, I don't know how to tell you this, but this matchmaking thing you're trying to pull off between me and Leigh? It's not going to happen."

I felt like I'd been punched in the stomach. The air went out of me.

"Oh, whatever," said Stacey. "I'm just trying to help you plan something fun. That's all. You can read into it whatever you want, but there's nothing else to it."

"We don't need to make plans," said Griffin. He finished up the cheesecake. "This was delicious, by the way."

I tried to catch Stacey's eye, to tell her to let it go, but she wasn't looking at me.

"You're a city boy, right? Leigh says you're from New Jersey. I bet you've never been camping."

Griffin actually grinned. "Camping? Actually, I haven't. Not exactly."

Stacey rubbed her hands together. "Great. Then you and Leigh should go to Blackwater Falls. It's right down the road. And we have everything you might need. Tents, sleeping bags, coolers."

"Camping?" I said. "Like outside? With animals and bugs?"

Griffin turned his grin on me. "I take it you've never been camping either."

I made a face. "I don't know that I've ever wanted to."

"It's so much fun," said Stacey. "You guys are going to have a blast."

I wasn't so sure. And it didn't sound particularly romantic to me.

* * *

I sat on the ground, sorting through the various things that were in the bag that Stacey and Jack had given us. "I don't understand how this is going to be a tent."

Griffin was still pulling things out of the back of my car. "How much crap did you bring, Leigh? We're here for two nights, not a month."

"Sorry," I said. I had never been camping before, so I didn't know what to expect and what to bring. When I felt like that, I usually overcompensated. We probably wouldn't be able to use half of the stuff I'd brought and wouldn't need it. But you never knew. It made me feel better to have it. I eyed several foot-long metal poles. "I don't see how those are going to be big enough to hold up the tent."

Griffin dropped one of my duffel bags on the ground. "I think those are stakes."

"What?" I said.

"You pound them into the ground to keep the tent from blowing away," he said.

"Oh." That made sense. I set them down. "How do you know that? You've never been camping either."

"I'm a guy," he said. "I pay attention to things like tents."

"What does being a guy have to do with it?" I said.

"I don't know," he said. "I just think that guys are more process-oriented than women. When I was a kid, I was interested in how to steer a car and in the gearshift. My sister was only interested in what color it was."

I glared at him. "That is so sexist." Then, "You have a sister?"

He knelt down next to the tent, facing away from me. "Not anymore. Not really." He handed me several pieces of metal that were connected to each other by a stretching string. "You can put these together."

I looked at them in confusion. "Did something happen to your sister?"

"No," he said.

I waited for him to say something else. He didn't. I guessed he didn't want to talk about it. But this was the kind of thing I was telling Stacey about. I wanted to know about his life and his family. If he wouldn't tell me anything, how was I supposed to get close to him? "So then, why isn't she—"

"You want me to demonstrate?" He took the metal pieces from me and showed me how to put them together.

I took them back and did what he'd showed me. I didn't finish my question. He didn't want to talk about it. Fine.

There were two of them like that. They made two long flexible poles. When I was finished, I looked over at Griffin, who'd unfolded the fabric that would make up the tent. "Now what?" I asked.

He stared down at the tent. "I'm not exactly sure. Those poles are going to hold it up somehow, but I don't know where they go."

I crawled over to inspect the tent. It was bright orange. There were zippers all over the place and little loops. It was the most confusing thing ever.

"I wish we had a picture," said Griffin. "I don't even know what it's supposed to look like."

"It's one of those dome-type things, right?"

"You think so?" he said. "Well, then maybe the poles..." He shook his head. "No. That won't work."

"Do they go in the little loops?" I asked.

He looked up at me. "Maybe. Bring one over here."

I did. Griffin threaded it through the loops on top of the tent. "Yeah, this is right," he said. "The other one crisscrosses it."

I couldn't picture it until he did it, and the tent suddenly stood up. Then it all made sense. I helped Griffin stake it into the ground. We secured the rain fly. (But if it rained, I was seriously going to get in the car and drive home. That tent didn't look like much protection from the rain.) Then we stood back and surveyed our handiwork.

"It's really kind of a small tent," said Griffin, sighing. "Trust Stacey to try to push us close together."

I was thinking the same thing but with excitement. I scuffed my toe on the ground sourly. Trust Griffin to rain on my parade.

Maybe he really didn't like me. Maybe I had some kind of pathetic crush, and I should just get over it.

"At least we've got separate sleeping bags," he said. He picked them both up. They belonged to Stacey and Jack, and they were KISS sleeping bags. "You want Paul or Gene?"

"Gene, obviously," I said.

"Obviously?"

"Because of his tongue," I replied primly.

Griffin face was frozen for a second, and then he busted out laughing. "I swear to God, doll, sometimes you surprise me." He gestured at the tent. "Would you unzip that for me?"

I did. Then I crawled into the tent. Griffin tossed the sleeping bags in and came in behind me.

Inside, it didn't seem that small, but we hadn't set up the sleeping bags yet. There seemed to be lots of room for both of us to stretch out without touching each other.

"Why does that surprise you?" I asked.

Griffin untied his sleeping bag. "It's not something I'd expect you to say."

"Why not, though?"

"Because you usually don't say things like that," he said.

Didn't I?

"It's not a big deal," he said. "It was funny." He flashed me a dazzling grin.

"Griffin..." How to put this? "You don't think that I'm... innocent and pure or anything, do you?"

He rolled his sleeping bag out. "What kind of question is that?"

"That isn't the reason you don't want anything to happen between us, is it? You aren't afraid of corrupting me, are you?"

He paused midroll. "You saying that you're pretty corrupted already, is that it?"

I cringed. Crap. That was a turn-off, wasn't it? Now he really didn't want me.

"Doll, I told you why. It's... not appropriate. It would distract me." He finished rolling out the sleeping bag and crawled out of the tent, leaving me alone.

I rolled Gene Simmons out, staring at the cartoon representation of his very long tongue. I felt like an idiot.

* * *

Griffin got the fire going outside our tent. I had no idea that starting a fire was such an ordeal. With matches, even. I figured matches made the whole thing a piece of cake. You held the match up to the piece of wood, and it just burst into flame. Like a candle wick or something.

It didn't work that way.

Griffin showed me how to stack the wood properly, starting with paper and tiny twigs, which were easy to get going. Then, once we had a nice blaze, we added bigger pieces of wood.

Which put the fire out pretty much completely.

Then we had to start all over again.

It took three tries to get the fire to be an actual burning, raging fire. Not raging, really. It was contained to our little campsite. But, like a fire with flames, not just red coals at the bottom.

And the fire didn't stay burning unless we tended it constantly. We had to add more wood and move wood around and everything else.

It was tons of work. It made me so glad not to be a caveman. I mean, no wonder it took them so long to invent the wheel. They must have spent all their time tending fires and trying to keep them from going out.

Once the fire was doing relatively well, I dug in the cooler for the sausages I'd brought. Stacey had given us metal skewers, and we used those to hold them over the fire. There were marshmallows here too, somewhere, but they were for later.

Eventually, it got to be a big pain to hold the sausage over the fire.

Because the thing about cooking over a fire? It's a lot slower than using the microwave. Or even the stove. After I complained about it, Griffin rigged up something with sticks, so that we could set out skewers up over the fire and not have to hold them anymore.

"You're awesome," I told him.

"Why?" he said. He was on the opposite side of the fire. The light reflected on his face, illuminating his gray eyes. The firelight made everything seem different somehow, a little unreal. I liked it. I was exhausted. Camping was work. But now that we were settled around the fire, I had to admit that it felt good to be relaxing after all our effort. We'd earned it.

"Because you made these things and now we don't have to hold up our sausages. I'm impressed."

He laughed. "What was I saying about guys and processes?"

"Stop being sexist," I said, sticking out my tongue. "Just because I wouldn't have thought of it doesn't mean there aren't tons of girls who wouldn't."

"I agree," he said. "There are girls who could make much better sausage stands than me."

I smiled, leaning back and resting on my hands to hold me up. I stared into the fire. It was beautiful, bright, and warm. I gazed deep into its glowing heart. This was nice.

Griffin turned his sausage over. "My sister is fine, you know. It's one of the perks of Operation Wraith."

I sat up. He was going to tell me something about himself? "Perks?"

"Yeah. When they took me out of jail and healed me, they offered me a choice. They could kill me, or I could work for them. If I worked for them, they'd make sure my family was taken care of. They fixed it so that my mom 'inherited' money from a relative she never knew she had. My family has a great life now. But as far as they're concerned, I'm dead. And if I ever let them know otherwise, I'd put them in danger."

I hugged my knees to my chest. "Every time you tell me something about yourself, Griffin, it's so sad. When I think about what you've been through, it breaks my heart."

He was quiet for a minute. Then he shrugged. "It's not that sad, doll. My mom's a millionaire. And I got away from Op Wraith."

That was true. And then I had a horrible thought. "But what if Op Wraith goes after your family? You know, to get to you."

"That won't happen."

"You trust them?"

"No, it's only that I have no idea where my family is, and if I tried to find them, Op Wraith would know. As long as I stay clear, they're safe."

"So they hid them from you, and if they hurt them, you wouldn't even know?"

"Yeah. It would be a useless move on their parts to try to hurt them."

"Still," I said. "You must worry."

He sighed. "Sometimes, I guess. I mean, they know I'm protecting you. But they want me dead. They don't want to torture me."

"They might want to draw you out," I said.

"They're so close now," he said. "They know you're somewhere in West Virginia. I doubt that's the route they'd go."

I felt cold, suddenly. I scooted closer to the fire. "They're going to find me at some point, aren't they?"

"I don't know, doll," he said. "Maybe they'll just give up eventually."

"You don't really believe that, do you?"

He didn't answer.

We sat in silence for a bit. I turned my sausage. Griffin turned his. I dug out the rest of our meal. Hot dog buns for the sausages and a cold potato salad from the store. I set out paper plates. I spooned out the potato salad.

"You think the sausages are done?" I asked him.

Griffin used a piece of foil to squeeze his. "Pretty much."

We assembled our sausages, putting mustard and pickle relish all over them. And then we sat next to the fire we'd built and ate. The food tasted really good.

"I like camping," said Griffin.

"I do too," I said. At that moment, I did, even though everything had been kind of a pain in the ass up to that point.

* * *

I shivered in my KISS sleeping bag. Griffin and I had thought it might be dangerous to leave the fire going, so we'd put it out after roasting marshmallows and deciding to go to bed. Now it was cold. I had on a sweatshirt and jogging pants, plus thick socks, but it wasn't enough. I remembered that I'd brought more blankets, but I wasn't sure what bag I'd put them in out of all the stuff we'd brought. I was going to have to get up and find them soon, though, because I was freezing.

I sat up and started to unzip the door to the tent.

"What are you doing, doll?"

"Going to look for more blankets." My voice shook from my shivers.

"You cold?"

"Uh huh," I said. "Aren't you?"

"Not really." There was the sound of the sleeping bag crinkling, and I realized he'd sat up. Then I heard a zipper.

"What are you doing?"

"Unzipping my sleeping bag," he said. "You unzip yours too. We'll use one as a blanket and lie on the other one. All you need is body heat to warm up."

Body heat? Like from Griffin's body? "Won't that be inappropriate?" My teeth were chattering.

He chuckled. "Get over here."

I did. It took a few minutes to get everything settled, but then we both lay back down again. We weren't touching, but just being under the same blanket with him did make everything a little warmer.

Another rack of shivers went through me.

"Jesus," said Griffin, his voice deep and rumbly. "Are you really that cold?"

"I don't feel so cold anymore," I said. "I'm just shivering still." As I said it, I started shaking again. It was involuntary and violent. I felt like I was having a seizure.

Without warning, I felt Griffin's arm slung over my torso. He slid close. "You do feel cold," he murmured.

His body pressed up against me. He was a solid block of heat, a furnace of a man. I turned and snuggled close.

"Better?"

"Yes," I whispered. "Much."

His arm tightened around me. His hand rubbed my back. He drew in a sharp breath and dropped his hand.

Instantly, I felt guilty. "You don't have to do this, you know. I mean, I know you don't want to get distracted, and I don't mean to be cold—"

"Shh," he said. He was talking right in my ear, his voice rich and thick. "Go to sleep."

Right. Okay. I'd do that then. I buried my face in Griffin's hard, hot chest, and I tried to go to sleep. But I could hear his heart beating through the shirt he was wearing. And he was so close. It energized me, excited me. I couldn't just sleep.

He wormed one arm underneath my neck, so that I lay on it like a pillow. That seemed to make him comfortable. His breath grew slow and steady.

Was he asleep?

Dammit.

I should go to sleep too. Maybe the reason that I couldn't was because I wasn't comfortable. One of my arms was kind of pinned against Griffin's body, after all.

I rolled over on my back. That was better, but my arm was still trapped. I tried to scoot out a little bit, but then I wasn't as close to Griffin, and I was cold.

I rolled onto my other side, so that I was the inside spoon and Griffin was bent around me.

"Stop squirming all over the place," he rumbled. He grabbed me by the hip and tugged me against his body, holding me there.

I gasped. I couldn't help it. The way he touched me just seemed so intimate.

"Doll..." I could hear him swallowing.

His entire body caressed mine, enveloping me from behind. I could smell him again, his wild, untamed, male scent. My heart sped up, racing in my chest.

Griffin's hand moved slowly over my hip, tracing its way up to my waist. His touch was feather light. I could barely feel it through my sweatpants.

And all of my rolling around meant that my sweatshirt had hiked up just a little, and there was maybe a half an inch band of bare skin between my shirt and pants.

His fingers touched it.

I let out a little noise, kind of a half-whimper, half sigh.

And I heard him let out a breath too.

His fingers eased under my sweatshirt, splaying over my bare belly.

Shivers ran up my torso again, but these weren't bad shivers. They were delicious and exciting. If it was possible, my heart beat even faster. I turned in his arms.

I put my hand on his cheek. I turned his face to mine.

And our lips met.

The kiss started out sweet and slow, like a piece of kindling just beginning to catch fire. The heat of Griffin's and my desire was a timid ember, first just glowing, and then eventually bursting into flame. He rolled on top of me, his mouth assaulting mine, his body pressing onto me, over me.

I ran my hands over his head, his short-cropped hair, moans building in my throat. We were kissing like crazy, like we were desperate for each other.

He pulled away, gasping for breath. "Look, doll, you have to understand that it's been a really long time since I've... done anything like this. And when I did, I was a different person. I don't know if I can even..."

"It's okay," I said, breathless myself. "It's more than okay." I sought his lips again.

His mouth met mine hungrily. His hands thrust inside my shirt on either side of my body.

Thrills ran up my rib cage from the sensation of his fingers on my bare skin.

Fingers traveled higher, finding the walls of my breasts.

I choked.

He broke the kiss. "Okay?" he whispered.

"Definitely," I said.

He shifted so that his weight wasn't settled on me, propped himself on one arm. "You are so soft." He kissed my forehead. "So sweet." He kissed my nose. "So small."

I closed my eyes, drinking it in. He was perfect.

He put one hand inside my shirt again, sliding over my skin slowly, his touch a whisper of a caress. His fingers brushed the swell of my breast and traveled higher, inch by inch.

I could hardly breathe. He was so gentle. And it felt so nice.

His fingers grazed my nipple.

Pleasure exploded through me. I moaned.

He kissed me, still exploring my breast, cupping it in one hand.

I writhed against him, arching my back to feel more of him.

"You sure this is okay? I really haven't—"

"Perfect," I whispered. And, not wanting to seem greedy, I reached over and grabbed his crotch. He was hard inside his boxers. I wanted—

Griffin grasped my wrist hard. "Stop." His voice was like slate.

He was crushing my hand. "Ouch?"

He let go of me.

Instantaneously, he was across the tent, leaving me alone under the sleeping bags. "You can't just—"

"I'm sorry," I said in a tiny voice. "I thought..."

"I knew this was a bad idea. I knew it."

Bad idea? But two seconds ago, he'd seemed really into it. He'd called me sweet and soft. And the way he'd kissed me... "You touched me first."

"You pretended to be cold."

"Pretended?" Did he really think I could fake spasms like that? He had to be crazy. "I was going to get more blankets. You're the one who started the snuggling."

He didn't respond. He sat there, in the dark, far away from me, and I could still taste him on my lips. "Damn it."

"Griffin, please." I knew he wanted me. He couldn't have faked kisses like those. The way he was touching me, that was the real deal. No one had ever touched me like that.

He was unzipping the tent. "I've got to get some air."

"But—"

"Hopefully, you're warmer." He crawled out of the tent and zipped me inside. "Stay here, okay? I won't be far."

I lay back on the sleeping bags, pulling the covers tight around me. The residual heat from Griffin's body meant that it was still pretty warm. I lay awake, waiting for him to come back, but as much as I fought it, eventually, I fell asleep.

CHAPTER SEVEN

I awoke sweating. I was swathed in all of the blankets that I'd brought, at least four of them. I was alone in the tent, but I could smell coffee percolating.

I unzipped and tumbled outside.

Griffin already had a fire going. He had rigged up something similar to his contraption for sausage cooking for a coffee percolator, and flames licked the bottom of it. He smiled at me. "Good morning."

"Morning," I said. So, he was going to pretend like last night had ever happened, huh? Great.

"So, what did Stacey tell us that we should do today?" he asked.

"Hiking," I said. "She said we have to go look at the falls."

"Sounds good to me."

Was it me, or was he being overly cheery?

* * *

"They didn't just make assassins there," Griffin said from ahead of me on the trail. "They were really interested in all kinds of ways to kill people."

"Really?" I said. I didn't think I was crazy about hiking. Sure everything was pretty out here, but it also all kind of looked the same. Maybe I'd feel differently once I got to the waterfall. I kind of hoped so. That would mean that all of this walking had been worth it.

"Yeah," he said. "They're an arms corporation. I mean, did you think they made mannequin arms or something?"

"No," I said, "but I thought they just made guns."

"And tanks and chemical warfare too."

"Chemical warfare? But no one does that anymore. Not since World War I."

"Well, Dewhurst-McFarland figured that would last only until someone used them again. And then people would use them back. It's the way war works."

I made a face. "That's horrible."

He shrugged. "Maybe."

I trudged after him. "Can we take a break soon?"

He looked over his shoulder. "Oh come on, doll. Keep up."

I rolled my eyes.

"You know," he said. "If we were suddenly being chased by Op Wraith, then you—"

"Would get shot whether I was in shape or not," I interrupted. "Besides, I have no problem with running while I'm being chased. It's just the exercising for fun that I don't really understand."

He laughed.

"So, Dewhurst-McFarland," I said. "They did other stuff besides guns."

"Yeah," he said. "Crazy stuff. All of which they used on the people who they tried the serum out on to make sure that it works. Those poor sods got shot and cut and gassed—"

"Gassed? Like Hitler?"

"Yeah," he said. "They had this room where they would gas people. And they still use it for people who have the serum. It's an easy way to subdue them and make it easier to cut their spinal cords."

"They gas people?" I was feeling sick. "And my dad worked for these guys? Did he know about this stuff?"

"Know about it?" said Griffin. "Of course he did. When we were breaking out of Op Wraith together, he told me that the gas room wouldn't work on him. He said he knew the password to get out."

"Wait," I said. "My dad worked for Dewhurst-McFarland. Not Op Wraith."

"No, he worked for both," said Griffin. "He brought one of his Dewhurst-McFarland projects into Op Wraith. It was this injection that caused memory loss."

"What?" I said. "My dad made things to make people lose their memory?" I sighed. "You know, the more I know, the more I think I was right about him all along. He was not the world's greatest guy."

Griffin considered. "He did some shady things, I guess. But in the end, he did the right thing. He saved you, and he opposed Dewhurst-McFarland."

"Maybe it was the right thing."

"You'd rather be dead?"

"No, of course not." I took a deep breath. "Anyway, that still doesn't make any sense. Why were the two of you escaping Op Wraith together?"

"Well," said Griffin, "I was on my way out. Your father had to get some of the serum, so he came into headquarters. We were both on our way through to the exit when we saw each other. At first, we thought the other one was going to turn us in, but then we realized we were both running. We decided to help each other out."

"Oh," I said. "Well, I guess that makes sense."

"Your dad saved my ass," said Griffin. "More than once. I owe him."

Right. The part about owing my dad again. "Is that why you stopped things last night?"

Oh my God, had I just said that out loud? From the way he'd just halted in his tracks, I must have. I felt my face grow hot. I picked my way around him on the trail. "Never mind," I mumbled. "Forget I said anything."

I kept walking.

Was that the noise of rushing water up ahead? I quickened my pace. Maybe we were close to the waterfall. I rounded a bend. Yup! There it was. I turned. "Griffin, the waterfall!"

He was several feet behind me, walking slowly.

I grinned, forgetting all about asking embarrassing questions. "Hurry up!"

I turned and skipped down the trail, getting closer to the waterfall.

It wasn't a tall or majestic thing like Niagra Falls or anything big. But it was very regal, in its own way. I stood staring at it, close enough to feel the spray on my face.

Griffin's hand settled on my shoulder. "Listen, doll, I guess we should talk."

I turned to him. "Yeah?"

He shifted on his feet. "See, the thing is, I haven't been with a girl since I was a teenager. And that was... you know, a really long time ago."

I remembered that he'd seemed overly worried about not doing things properly last night. "You stopped because you were afraid you weren't good in bed? Because that's silly. You're amazing."

He laughed, looking embarrassed. "That's nice of you to say, but that's not..." He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked at the ground.

I waited, watching him. He didn't say anything. I touched his arm. "Griffin, you can talk to me."

He shook his head. "That's the thing, doll, I can't. I want to, but I don't..."

I wished I knew how to reassure him. But I didn't know what was wrong. "I don't think you should worry about my dad. My dad's dead, and the way I figure it, he owes me more than I owe him. And I like you, Griffin. A whole lot. It's big, and I never felt anything quite like it..." It was my turn not to finish and to seem embarrassed.

"It's not about your dad."

I bit my lip. "Then because you think you'll get distracted?"

He rubbed the top of his head. "Well, I do worry about that. I mean, doll, you're kind of distracting."

I couldn't help but smile. "You really think so?"

"You looked in the mirror lately?"

My smile widened.

He touched my cheek with the back of his knuckles. "You're beautiful."

I couldn't look at him, and I couldn't stop smiling. "You can't say stuff like that and then tell me we can't do anything because you'll be distracted."

He groaned. "Damn it, I'm already distracted."

I moved closer, looked up at him. "So, then what's the problem?"

He tucked my hair behind my ear. "Someone like you, you deserve it all to be right, to be good. And I'm messed up. I'm gonna disappoint you."

"How do you know that?" I said. "You're amazing, Griffin. You're strong and deadly, and you've been through so much."

"Going through stuff changes you. I won't ever be what you need."

"That isn't true," I said. "At the very least, I should get to decide that myself." I kissed him. Not one of the intense, passionate kisses we'd shared in the darkness last night, but just a quick, soft pressing of my lips on his.

He grabbed me, pulling me close. He kissed me again, harder and longer this time. "Look, maybe if we just took things slow."

My eyes were closed. I was still reveling in the aftermath of his kiss. "Slow?"

"Yeah," he said. "Like we could work up to certain things. You know?"

I opened my eyes. "I can do that."

"Yeah?" He looked so hopeful.

"Yeah," I said.

"Well, then, maybe I can too." He crushed me against him and kissed me again, teasing his tongue into my mouth. I clung to him for dear life. The water crashed over rocks behind us, spraying up in little white bursts, hurrying over stones, frothing and brilliant. And I kissed Griffin until all I knew was the sound of the water and the feel of his body.

* * *

"So what's slow mean?" I murmured into Griffin's mouth. We were lying in our tent. He was lying on top of me, my shirt was pushed all the way up, and his hands were assailing my breasts. "Because this—" I gasped. "Doesn't seem so slow."

He laughed low and deep. He was pressed against me, and I could feel his laughter vibrate through me. He kissed my eyebrow. "This is slow. It's, you know, above the waist stuff."

I giggled. "Oh, so that's the definition, then. Slow means above the waist."

"It can," he said. He ran a finger over my nipple.

My breath caught in my throat.

"I could have sworn you were enjoying it," he said.

"You could say that," I said.

He growled. "If you can still speak, I'm not doing it well enough." He lowered his head and captured my nipple in his mouth.

I groaned.

His other hand found the breast he wasn't suckling, and I was lost in sensation. I felt like I was floating in a sea of pink perfection. Each touch, each caress pushed me further into this world of pleasure. I closed my eyes and surrendered to it.

"Enjoying?" said Griffin.

I could only pant.

"That's more like it," he said, kissing my nipple.

"It's only that it's not very fair, is it? I mean, what about you?"

He raised his head to look at me, but his fingers still traced lazy trails over my breasts, making it hard to think. "I want this to be perfect for you."

"It is," I said. "I want it to be perfect for you."

He slid an arm under me, pulling me against him. "I don't mean to talk about the past while we're being intimate, but I, um, I didn't really do this right the last time through."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I had sex when I was in high school, but I was a typical idiot guy, you know? I didn't have a clue about foreplay. I kind of just... went for it."

I laughed. "Yeah, that's high school."

"So," he said, "this time, I want to make sure I please you. I want to make up for every time that I might have used someone in the past and only worried about my own pleasure. It's not cool. I know that now. And I want to make you melt."

I was grinning again. I touched his chin. "Are you real? Are you a robot or something? Did someone make you to be my downfall?"

"What?" He looked confused.

"You keep saying these perfect, wonderful things," I said. "A real guy would never say something that awesome. Ergo, you must be a love robot."

He laughed. "A love robot?"

"Yeah," I said. "It could happen. Dewhurst-McFarland made you to seduce and destroy me."

"That seems like an awful lot of work. Why bother seducing you?"

"I don't know," I said.

His hands were on me again. "I'm not a robot."

"Mmm," I said. "You feel real enough."

He slid his hand over my stomach, easing his fingers under the elastic of my jogging pants.

I gulped. "I thought you said above-the-waist stuff."

His fingers slid lower. "Maybe we're speeding up just a little bit."

My mouth was dry. I tensed up. I wasn't sure why it seemed like such a big deal. When I took guys home from the bar, they usually had their hands in my pants in five minutes. But this was different somehow.

Maybe it was because he was moving so slowly, inching down further and further.

With each new place he touched, my heart pounded more quickly, my breath grew more shallow, and it grew warmer and warmer between my legs. I'd never anticipated a touch more than this one.

His fingers grazed me, and strong shocks traveled up my body. I cried out.

He kissed my earlobe. "You're going to have to help me. I never did figure out where I was going down here."

I just moaned. He was doing fine.

He stroked me, his touch delicate and faint. "Here?"

I bit my lip. "Um, a little higher."

And then he was sliding over the most sensitive part of my body. I made a sound of surrender, of giving myself over. I felt my body open to him, relaxing.

I writhed against his fingers, drowning in exquisite sensation. He had his hand right on the center of everything, and he was parting me, unwinding me, unraveling me, taking me apart strand by strand.

And I wanted him to. I wanted to help. I slithered and squirmed, making sure he had access, making sure he was able to do just what he wanted with me.

His mouth was against mine, and I was whimpering into it.

One of his hands was on my breasts, and that seemed to peel away yet another layer of me, laying even more of myself bare.

I don't know how long it lasted. It seemed like ages. It seemed like I'd been transported again, that I'd fallen into some other place, a place where I was nothing more than a collection of sensitive parts, and those sensitive parts were swelling and gushing and opening and allowing and—

Detonation. Everything ruptured.

I came, and it was like he'd finally gotten to the center of me, like he'd massaged aside all the tension, all the things in the way. I was completely undone, splayed open, vulnerable and accepting. It was like he'd taken me completely apart. But I felt safe in his arms, lost and disembodied, but trusting and perfect at the same time.

I kissed him afterwards, clinging to him, running my fingers over his firm body, wanting him.

He stopped my hands, whispering to me to hold on, to wait, just...

He held me close.

I fell asleep in his arms.

CHAPTER EIGHT

"Do you think it's weird for a guy not to want to have sex with you?" I asked. Stacey and I had managed to grab a private moment while the guys were unloading the camping gear. We were bringing it back from Blackwater Falls. We'd been back for a day or so, but we'd had to wait for Stacey and Jack to get home from visiting friends in Morgantown.

Her eyes got big. "What happened? You have to tell me what happened!"

"Like everything but that happened," I said.

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying, he doesn't want to do it. He basically told me that he's cool with anything except that."

"Except sex?"

I nodded. "But he totally like..." I looked around to make sure we were still alone, and I lowered my voice. "He got me off. More than once. And it was... earth shattering."

She giggled. "That's awesome."

"Yeah," I said. My eyes rolled back in my head. "No, it's completely awesome. I mean, he's fucking fantastic, but do you think it's weird?"

"That you're having orgasms? No, contrary to popular belief, it's actually quite normal for women to climax."

I shoved her. "Stacey. You know what I mean."

"I don't know if I do," she said. She smiled mischievously. "I don't want to get overly detailed, but, I mean, are you getting him off?"

"That's the thing," I said. "He won't let me. He barely lets me touch him. Do you think that's weird?"

Stacey considered. "Well, it's out of the ordinary."

"That's what I thought," I said.

"Hey," she said, nudging me. "I didn't say it was bad." She tapped her bottom lip. "Actually, he sounds like the perfect man. He serves up multiple orgasms and asks for nothing in return?"

I giggled. "Good point."

"You should count your blessings."

"No, I am. I mean it, I think he's great, and I'm so happy that you sent us on that camping trip, because it was awesome, and everything worked out perfect." I bit my lip. "But I want to reciprocate, you know?"

"You need to talk to him about it."

My lips parted. A little bit of air came through them.

"What?" she said. "Can't you talk to him?"

"No," I said.

"Why not?"

"Because... I wouldn't know what to say."

"Well, I would start by telling him he shatters the earth for you, and go from there," she said. "Men take all sex talks better when they're peppered with a lot of compliments about their prowess."

I suddenly flashed on a mental picture of Jack and Stacey in bed. It made me feel sort of ooky. "Maybe we shouldn't talk about this anymore."

"Why? Because I said you should talk to Griffin?"

"No," I said. "Because maybe it's really weird for me to be telling you this stuff."

"Oh come on," she said. "I'm not gonna say anything. Not even to Jack, I swear."

I hugged myself. Everything seemed complicated all of the sudden. "He is too perfect, isn't he? There's something wrong with it. All guys want to get off too." I looked at her. "Don't they?"

She lifted her shoulders. "I don't know."

"Maybe he's like... not really a guy. Like in that movie Boys Don't Cry, about that girl who dressed up as a guy and got murdered?" Of course, I had grabbed his crotch the first night, and I had definitely felt something there.

"I think he's a guy," said Stacey. "He has an Adam's apple."

"Good point," I said. I took a deep breath. "That makes me feel better."

"Have you tried to just jump him? Like go for it and grab it, you know?"

"Yeah," I said. "He stops me."

"And what does he say?"

"He says not yet," I said. "He says for me to hold on. He says we'll get there."

"So. Maybe you will?"

"Maybe," I said.

"Maybe he wants to make sure he's given you an intense amount of pleasure before he even tries to get any," said Stacey.

"He actually said something like that."

"Maybe it's true." "Do you really think so?"

"I think you should talk to him," she said.

I made a face.

"But if you don't want to, maybe you could just wait a little bit and see what happens. You might be getting worked up over nothing."

I nodded. "Yeah. I hope you're right."

* * *

Griffin handed me the gun. "Since you're being so distracting, I'd feel better if you had some idea how to take care of yourself."

It was heavy. I weighed it in my hand. "Isn't the gun kind of a waste? I mean, it won't kill someone with the serum."

"You saw what happened to you when you got shot," he said. "You were helpless for minutes. And every minute counts."

I raised the gun. "I guess that's true."

"I'll teach you some self-defense moves too," he said. "But I want you to get used to having a gun in your hand. How's it feel?"

"Heavy," I said. "I didn't think it would be so heavy."

"Everyone says that." He demonstrated. "That's how you take off the safety, okay?"

I nodded.

"Show me," he said.

I turned the safety on and back off again.

"Good," he said. He took a deep breath. "Okay, first thing. You want to make sure that you're holding the gun right. You want to place it squarely within the web of your thumb and forefinger, so that when you hold it out, it's perfectly in line with your arm."

I rearranged a little, holding the gun out. "Like this?"

He inspected and adjusted me. "Good. Like that. See how your thumb's right here on the safety and your forefinger is extended right here?"

"Uh huh."

"You're not touching the trigger, but you could, right? Your finger's right there."

I nodded.

"Okay, bring up your support hand and wrap your fingers around your other hand."

I brought up my other hand.

"You ever play basketball?"

I raised my eyebrows at him. "You're asking because I'm tall, right?"

"You're tall?" He kissed my forehead. "You're short as far as I'm concerned."

I stuck my tongue out at him. "Maybe in middle school. Why?"

"Well, when you're shooting basketball, you've got a support hand, and it's the same principle. You don't want to let the support hand do anything other than support. If you rely too much on it, it's going to throw your aim off."

"Okay," I said. I did kind of remember trying to shoot lay-ups and having my other hand push the ball the wrong direction. But I'd been twelve. I wasn't sure how much the analogy was really going to help me.

He stood behind me, running his hands over my arms and shoulders.

"Ooh," I said, wiggling my butt against him.

"Stop," he said.

"What?"

"This is serious, doll."

"I know. It's seriously hot when you put your hands on me."

He pushed on my shoulders. "Loosen up here. Square your shoulders, spread your legs."

I couldn't help it. I giggled. "Spread my legs, huh?"

"Leigh, I mean it, stop fooling around."

Whoa. He'd called me by my first name. He was obviously in a bad mood. I stopped giggling.

"Feet shoulder length apart," he said.

I moved my feet.

He walked around me, so that he was standing next to the gun. "Okay, you want to use the pad of your forefinger to push the trigger, not this inside knuckle. You see what I'm saying?"

I moved my finger and ran it over the trigger.

"Exactly like that," he said. "Now take your finger off the trigger."

I did.

"You see the target?" he asked.

The target was an empty marshmallow vodka bottle. I thought we were being a tad ambitious with something so small, but Griffin thought otherwise.

"Okay, you've got three posts to line up. Those are your sights. You see what I'm talking about?"

"Yeah."

"The front post needs to be horizontally centered and vertically level with the rear posts. You line up the front post with the target, you line up the rear posts on either side of the front post, you look back at the front post, and then you pull the trigger."

I bit my lip. "Um."

"Try it," he said. "Don't pull the trigger. Just try lining up the posts."

Once I had the gun aimed at the bottle, I saw what he was saying. Looking down the barrel, I could see the three sight posts. I did what he had advised. "Okay, I think I understand."

"One more thing," he said. "You're holding your breath. You don't want to do that. You want your body loose and relaxed. Breathe through it."

I nodded.

"Go ahead," he said. "Give it a shot."

I squared my shoulders, took deep breaths, put the pad of my finger on the trigger, lined up my sights, and squeezed the trigger of the gun.

It kicked in my hands, I nearly dropped it. "Jesus!"

Griffin laughed at me.

"You could have warned me it was going to do that!"

"I thought you knew," he said, still laughing. "I'm sorry."

I peered at the intact vodka bottle. "I didn't even come close, did I? I told you I wouldn't be any good at this."

"Loosen up. It was your first try. If you did well the first try out, you'd be exceptional. Practice, doll."

My shoulders slumped.

We practiced.

Eventually, I did start shattering vodka bottles. My ratio wasn't exactly great, though. I think I missed more than I hit. But Griffin said I was improving, and that was all that was important.

* * *

Saturday night was my one-month sober party at Stacey's place. I was excited about it, even though she'd invited all these people who I didn't know from other NA meetings. She said it would be cool for me to meet other addicts. I was a little nervous. I used to be really good at meeting people, but I didn't know if I still was. How much of that had been me, and how much of it had been cocaine?

The morning of the party, I woke up alone in bed, which was strange, because I'd gone to sleep snuggled up against Griffin. We'd been sleeping in the same bed ever since camping, but we still weren't doing the deed, just messing around. And he still wasn't letting me touch him much. I knew Stacey was right, and I was going to have to talk to him about it, but I hadn't. I couldn't figure out quite how to bring it up. And it wasn't as if things were going so badly, anyway. Griffin seemed happy, and he was making me very happy.

I got out of bed, put on some slippers, and padded out into the kitchen, where Griffin was busy dicing potatoes on the kitchen counter.

"What are you doing?" I said.

"Well, I was going to make you breakfast in bed," he said. "But you're not in bed anymore."

"Breakfast? You?" I said. "You cook?"

He grinned at me. "I cook quite well, thank you very much."

"But why?"

"Because you've been sober for a month," he said. "And I'm proud of you."

"I could get back in bed," I said.

* * *

I wound through bodies, my fingers entwined with Griffin's, who was behind me.

His voice at my ear. "I don't know about this, doll. I didn't realize she was going to invite so many people. This isn't cool."

We were at Stacey's house, and we'd arrived to find the party already in full swing. The driveway was glutted with cars. The house was packed full of people. As I'd predicted, I didn't know any of them. "You think there are Op Wraith people here?"

"Probably not," he said. "Probably I'm being paranoid and ruining your night."

"It's your job to be paranoid," I said. "If you're paranoid, I'm paranoid."

He squeezed my hand. "You deserve to have fun."

Stacey spotted me through the crowd. She was on the opposite side of the room, and she squealed. "You're here, you're here!"

I waved.

"Get your butt over here and have a Red Bull and vodka," she said.

Griffin nudged me. "Go ahead. I'll be watching."

"But what if it isn't safe?"

"It's fine," he said. "Have fun. Go nuts. Let me worry about it." He let go of my hand.

I walked across the room to Stacey. She handed me a drink, and raised her glass. "To one month sober!"

I clinked against her glass. "To one month!"

I sipped my drink. I wasn't sure if I should get too drunk. I looked around for Griffin and saw him in the corner, his face blank, his eyes alert. He said I should have fun, right? I took another drink.

* * *

I yanked off my strappy shoes. "I can't dance in these anymore!"

Stacey and I had been dancing in the middle of the living room for a long time. I'd had three drinks in that time, although I'd had to stop it with the Red Bull. It made me feel too cracked out now that I didn't get amped on blow.

She pointed at me. "You took off your shoes." She pointed at herself. "I'm going to take mine off too." She pulled off her shoes and flung them at the far wall.

Giggling, I threw mine too.

A new song started on the stereo.

Stacey cheered. "I love this song."

"Me too."

We started to dance again. There were other people dancing too, but they gave us a wide enough berth that we had the center of the room to ourselves. Stacey was fond of shaking her hips and tossing her bright red hair. I was much more of a bouncing dancer. I was always bopping on my toes.

The song finished.

Stacey threw her arms around me. "I love you, Leigh. I'm so glad I met you."

"I'm so glad I met you. You're the best. I love you too," I said. "Thank you for my party."

"Are you having fun?"

"The most fun ever!"

"Do you need another drink?"

I considered. "Maybe. But first I need to go to the bathroom."

"Okay," she said. "Meet me in the kitchen, and I will make you a... what do you want?"

"Maybe just beer?"

"Just beer?" She shook her head. "We'll talk about this when you get there. Go pee."

I scampered out of the living room and down the hall in my bare feet. The bathroom was occupied, so I slouched against the wall across from the door and waited.

When the door opened, I was completely shocked to see Benton, my dealer from Morgantown, coming out of the bathroom.

He was surprised too. "Leigh? What are you doing here?"

"Um, this is my party," I said. "What are you doing here? This is a sober party. I mean, no drugs."

"Yeah," he said. He dug something out of his pocket to hand to me.

I took it. It was a two-week-sober chip. "Oh. Congratulations."

"I had to quit," he said. "I was tweaking too much. I was sitting in my living room one day, and I'd been awake for like a week. And there were like, these men coming out the walls. They were trying to eat me. And no matter where I went, I couldn't get away from them. And that was when I was like, 'Dude, I gotta get off this stuff.' You know?"

"I think so," I said. There was a reason I'd never gotten into meth.

"They call that, um, hitting bottom," he said.

"Right," I said. I nodded. "I've been there."

"Anyway, I started going to meetings, and then that Stacey chick said she was throwing a party here in Thomas, and I figured it would be safer to hang out here than to be with the people that I used to party with all the time. So I came. Congrats on a month."

"Thanks," I said.

"So, uh, you don't actually live in Morgantown, do you?" he said.

I was confused. Then I remembered the last conversation I'd had with him, when I'd lied to him about where I lived. Afterwards, the Op Wraith guy had shot me in the chest. My eyes narrowed. "Why do you care?"

"Just curious," he said.

"Did some men in black suits come to talk to you about me, Benton?"

He made a confused face. "I don't know what you're talking about. I was just wondering if you lived here, that was all."

Maybe he hadn't told the Op Wraith guys about me. Maybe that had all been a coincidence. "Yeah." I pushed past him into the bathroom. "See you around, I guess."

I wanted to tell Griffin about seeing Benton and get his opinion on whether or not it was something we should worry about. But Stacey intercepted me in the kitchen and talked me into having a pina colada or some coconut drink. It was really tasty.

Then we danced more.

By the time I got to see Griffin, it was hours later, I was pretty tipsy, and I had forgotten all about Benton.

The party was thinning out. I was sprawled on the couch in the living room, with Stacey next to me.

"I can't find my shoes," I said, staring at the ceiling.

Griffin appeared above me, dangling the shoes. "I got them."

I sat up. "Oh, you're awesome."

"You are awesome, Griffin," said Stacey. "And I'm so glad that I was right about the two of you. Wasn't I right?"

"You were," I said.

She pointed at Griffin. Stacey was a little bit tipsy too. "You were all, 'It's not going to happen, Stacey.' And now look at the two of you. I am a matchmaker."

Griffin laughed. "Yes, you're on top of it. I admit I was wrong."

"Good." She sniffed, raising her chin.

I giggled.

"You ready to go home, doll?" asked Griffin.

I lifted up my arms to him. "Take me home."

He handed me my shoes. "Hold these." And then he reached down and picked me up.

I shrieked. "Put me down! Put me down now!"

Stacey laughed. "How come you never pick me up, Jack?"

"Because I'm a weakling," came Jack's voice from somewhere close by. I couldn't actually see him because Griffin was in my way.

I was laughing. "Put me down, Griffin. I didn't get to say goodbye to Stacey."

He swung me around to face her. "Say goodbye."

"I can't hug her," I protested.

Stacey waved. "Bye, Leigh. I'll hug you tomorrow when you guys come over to help clean up. Which you're going to do, right?"

"We are?" I said.

"Of course," said Griffin.

He carried me all the way to the car.

* * *

"It's just that I've been thinking," I said to Griffin as I walked up the steps to my apartment. "And we need to talk about some stuff."

He was behind me. "Maybe we should save the heavy topics for another time, doll. I doubt you're in any condition for in-depth conversation right now."

I was a wee bit on the drunk side, it was true. But it wasn't making me think unclearly. It was making me feel more bold. And I needed courage to broach this topic with Griffin. "I have to talk about it now. If I don't, I'll never bring it up again because I'll be too scared."

"Okay, you're making me nervous," he said.

I opened the door and flicked on the light. "Don't be nervous. It's not bad."

He shut the door after himself. "Isn't it? Because I've never had a conversation that started out with, 'We need to talk,' that ended well."

"It's only that..." I twisted my hands together. "I want to make you feel as good as you make me. And you won't let me, and I don't know why."

He drew a hand over his face. "Oh, doll."

"I know you don't want to talk about it, but I think we should. Because I keep thinking about how much I want to touch you, and I want you to want me to do that too."

He turned away from me. "I do. Just... not yet."

I grabbed him by the shoulder, forcing him to face me. "But how can this be enough for you? I'm getting all the pleasure. And you're not getting any."

He shook his head. "That isn't true."

"It is."

"No." He put his hands on my shoulders. He bent down and kissed me. "Just looking at you gives me pleasure."

"It's not the same thing," I said.

"You don't know," he said. "You don't know how I feel."

"So, tell me."

He ran his hands over my shoulders, the tops of my arms. "When I see you in this dress, I feel overwhelmed by how beautiful you are."

I placed my hand on his cheek.

He covered it with his own. "And I can't believe that I actually have the chance to touch something so beautiful. That you would allow someone like me to kiss you."

"Griffin, why do you think that something's wrong with you?"

He looked away, his smile bitter. "Because there is, doll. But I can't talk about it."

"I don't think—"

"You don't know." His voice was sharp.

I sighed. I wandered into the kitchen. I picked up a fork that I'd left on the counter and put it in the sink. "That's my point. You won't tell me what's going on."

He was behind me, his hands on my hips, the tips of his fingers brushing against the bare skin of my thighs where my dress ended. "Let it go for now, please? I can't talk about it."

"It's not like it's just about liking to look at me. We're talking about sex." Maybe I felt so bold because I wasn't facing him. "We're not doing it. And I'm having climaxes, and you aren't."

He planted a line of kisses down my neck. "I don't need to. All I need is to know you're having a good time."

"I don't believe that."

"Take off your panties."

My breath caught in my throat. "What?"

"Just do it," he growled in my ear.

I was too surprised not to comply. I slid my underwear down until they were pooled around my ankles, and then I stepped out of them.

"Good," he whispered, turning me in his arms, so that I was facing him. I was pressed against his unyielding body. He kissed me. "Do you have any idea what simply knowing that you're wearing nothing under that dress just did for me?"

"N-no." I felt taut and tense, but eager for whatever came next.

He reached into the bodice of my dress, cupping my breast and pulling it out so that it was exposed. He did it with the other breast as well. The air in my kitchen was chilly, and goose bumps quivered over my bare skin, my nipples pulling tight. I drew in breath.

He surveyed me, his eyes half-lidded in satisfaction. "Seeing you like this is very nice."

I was still feeling tight all over, but I was starting to feel warmth as well. It was a very enjoyable, tense feeling. And I liked the way his gaze roamed over me greedily.

His hands on my waist, he lifted me so that I was sitting up on the counter. He pressed up against me, his body strong and hard, his hands on my thighs, pushing my dress up over them, higher and higher.

My mouth found his, and we kissed hungrily until he broke away from me, stepping back.

He looked at me, just looked at me.

His breath was ragged, his expression ravenous.

It was almost too intense. I started to pull my knees closer.

"No," he rasped. "Open for me."

My heart stuttered in my chest. I did as he asked, spreading my legs, presenting myself to him.

"Oh, doll," he groaned. "Can you really think I don't enjoy myself?"

I was having trouble breathing. I wasn't sure what to say. I reached for him, wanting him close again.

He came to me. He kissed my lips, the tip of my nose, the hollow just beneath my ear, both my breasts, and then he sank to his knees in front of me.

I felt his lips on my inner thigh, tracing his way to his destination.

And when he got there, I lost myself to him. He demanded, and I submitted to the sweet torture of his mouth.

* * *

It was the fifth time my phone had rung. I was snug against Griffin's bare chest in bed, my skin gloriously just as bare, and he felt like hot, liquid marble against me. I didn't want to move.

"Can you turn that off or something?" Griffin grumbled.

"Mmph." With effort, I rolled away from him and slid out of bed. It was cold outside of the covers. I missed being close to him already.

My legs felt shaky, probably because of the things Griffin had been doing to me before we went to sleep. I smiled wickedly at the thought. I managed to make it out of the bedroom and into the hallway. Where had I left my phone?

I wasn't sure if I was completely satisfied with his answer to the question I'd posed to him. I said that I wanted to touch him, and he basically responded by going down on me? It had been amazingly wonderful, don't get me wrong. I shivered at the thought of it. So good.

But the thing was, I could tell that he was only trying to distract me.

I was beginning to wonder if he wasn't horribly wounded or something. I wasn't sure how that could have happened, considering he'd been given the serum and all of that, but I did remember what he explained to me about cutting off fingers....

I shivered again, but this time not out of pleasure. That couldn't even happen, though, could it? I mean...

Plus, I'd felt his... you know, boy parts. We slept all jammed up against each other, and he sort of poked me sometimes. In the leg or the thigh. It seemed like everything was functioning okay down there.

He wasn't broken.

At least, I didn't think so.

He'd said something was wrong with him.

I wished he'd just tell me. Even if he was horribly wounded, I wouldn't care. If that was the way things were, fine. I was sure there had to be something that we could do to make him feel good, and I wanted to do it.

I banged into my recliner. "Ouch." The thing hadn't moved hadn't it? No, it was because it was dark.

My purse was out here somewhere, and my phone was in it. By this time, it had stopped ringing, but I needed to turn it off so that it wouldn't ring and bother me again.

Maybe it was on the couch.

Blindly, I felt along the wall until I got to the couch. I blinked hard, trying to make my eyes see better in the dark.

No use. I couldn't see much at all.

I felt along the couch.

Ah. Jackpot. Purse. I reached inside, found my phone, and pushed the button to turn it off.

Then I made my way down the hallway and climbed back into bed.

"Who was it?" Griffin asked.

"I don't know," I said. "I didn't look. I just turned it off." I snuggled close.

He wrapped his arms around me. "That's weird, though, isn't it? I mean, no one calls you except Stacey. And who would call that many times in a row?"

Was it weird? I was tired. I didn't care. "If it's Stacey, I'll talk to her in the morning."

Griffin shifted next to me, sitting up. "You need to check, doll."

I moaned. "Why? I'm comfy now."

"I'm thinking about it, and it's weird. No one calls that many times in a row if it's not urgent. And not very many people even have your phone number."

I sat up too. "Fine." I got out of bed again.

He did too. He went into the living room ahead of me, turning on the light.

When I got down the hallway, he handed me my phone.

"Why are we doing this?" I said, flopping down on the couch.

"Because it's better to be cautious."

I turned the phone on. "Six missed calls," it said. I clicked on the notification.

They were all from Stacey. "It's Stacey, all right."

"Call her back," said Griffin.

I selected her number and dialed.

It rang.

"Is she answering?" said Griffin.

And rang.

"I'd be talking if she was answering."

And rang.

He rubbed his head. "Man..."

And went to voicemail. I hung up. "She didn't answer."

"Did she leave you messages?"

I checked. "Yeah. Three."

"Play them," he said. "Put them on speaker phone."

"Do you really think something bad happened?"

"Play the messages."

I did. I put the phone on speaker and set it on my coffee table.

"You have three new messages," said my phone. "First new message."

Stacey's voice came over the speaker. She was a little high-pitched. "Hey, um, Leigh, it's me. I'm freaked out. Jack and I heard something outside. I think someone might be trying to get in the house. Jack won't let me call the police. You know how he is about that stuff. Do you think Griffin might come over? He's a trained bodyguard and all, and Jack trusts him. You heard Jack earlier. He's a weakling." She paused. "Okay, well, call me back when you get this."

I looked at Griffin. "It could be nothing, right? She just heard a noise. Right?"

He started to pace in front of the coffee table.

"Next new message," said the phone.

Stacey again. Her voice was different now. Even higher. And it sounded like she was crying. "Leigh, there's a guy here, and he's making me call you, and he says if you don't come he's going to..." She broke off into sobs. "He's got a gun, Leigh."

CHAPTER NINE

I clutched the arm of my couch, listening as Stacey's voice kept going. "He says you have to come. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

I put a hand over my mouth.

Griffin stopped pacing.

"Next new message," said my phone.

This time there was only noise. Then there was a muffled voice. Stacey. "She's not picking up. It keeps going to voicemail. I can't make her pick up the phone." A long pause, a distorted deep voice in the background. Stacey screaming. "Oh God! Please don't—"

"That was your last new message," said the phone. "Check erased messages? Press four."

Griffin and I both stared at the phone, neither of us saying anything.

"Check erased messages? Press four. If you are finished, you may hang up."

I jammed my finger on the end button. I suddenly knew why this had happened. "Benton."

"What?" said Griffon.

"Benton," I said. "My dealer. The one asking me all the weird questions before that guy shot me on the way home from Morgantown?"

"Yeah?"

"He was at the party. He asked me if I lived there." I slid my hands into my hair, grabbed handfuls of it and tugged. "This is all my fault."

Griffin held up a hand. "Doll, don't do that. That doesn't help anything."

I stood up off the couch. "Benton must be in contact with Op Wraith. He saw me, he told them where I was, and they sent people to Stacey's house and they hurt her." I dashed back the hall. I needed to get dressed. "We have to go there."

"That's stupid," said Griffin. "We know they're there. They have the advantage."

"Stupid?" I demanded. "It's Stacey and Jack." I wriggled into a pair of jeans and threw on a shirt.

Griffin stood in the doorway to the bedroom. "Doll, we might get there, and they could be..."

"What if they aren't?" I said. "What if we can save them?"

He fished a shirt off the floor. "If we're going in there, you are going to listen to everything that I say. You're going to do what I tell you, and you aren't going to ask questions. You got that?" He pulled the shirt over his head.

"I got it."

"Go find the guns and make sure they're loaded."

"All of them?" I said.

"Yes, all of them."

Griffin kept guns hidden all over the apartment. Inside the couch, behind the toilet, under the bed. I began gathering them up. The ammunition was in the kitchen. Once I had all the guns, I sat on the couch, loading each of them with shaking hands.

Griffin sat down next to me, handing me a pair of sneakers and a roll of socks. "I've got this now. You're going to need good shoes."

"Okay," I said. I started to pull them on. Everything seemed overly bright for some reason, kind of washed out. And Griffin's voice was a little bit far away. It sounded like he was talking to me through a tunnel. I couldn't quite grasp the fact that something was happening to Stacey. Not Stacey. She didn't deserve that. She was my best friend, and this was what my friendship had brought her.

"They wouldn't hurt them," I said with conviction. "They're keeping them alive to lure me there. When we get there, Stacey and Jack will be fine." I turned to Griffin. "Don't you think?"

"Sure do, doll," he said, loading the last gun. But he sounded distracted, and I wasn't sure he'd even been listening to me.

I followed him out of my apartment. We made our way down the rickety stairs. They groaned under our weight.

We got in the car, Griffin in the driver's seat. He handed me a gun. "Keep your eye out, okay? They could be anywhere."

I swallowed, struggling to remember how he'd taught me to hold it.

He pulled the car out of the parking lot. We drove in silence. Stacey and Jack lived about a ten-minute drive away. It was still dark outside, but it was the wee hours of the morning, so it was silent and still. There wasn't even a breeze ruffling the new spring leaves on the trees.

I gripped the gun tightly, gazing out into the black early morning. The moon hung low in the sky, tired and bloated. The stars looked faded as well.

Griffin parked the car on the side of the road about a quarter mile away from Stacey and Jack's house. He got out and motioned for me to do so as well. "Walk behind me, doll, and try to stay quiet."

Stacey and Jack's house was in the middle of the woods. It was on a hill (of course) and the driveway wound down the main road. We climbed up the hill, into the woods. We were going to walk down on the house from the opposite direction.

The woods were difficult to navigate in the dark. There were sharp branches sticking out every which way, clinging barbs that stuck to my clothes, keeping me from moving forward until I detangled them.

"Quiet, doll," said Griffin. He seemed to move like a cat, silent and fluid. And it wasn't fair, because he was so much bigger than I was.

I did my best to go more quietly.

We crossed over a tiny stream. It gleamed through the branches, reflecting the night sky in a speckled pattern. My shoes got wet.

Griffin's didn't.

Shortly after the stream, we came to a rusty barbed wire fence stretching through the woods. It was probably an old property marker. This all used to be farmland a long time ago. This might have been the edge of some farmer's land.

It might have still been the edge of farmland. It wasn't like there weren't still farms around here.

Griffin halted when he saw it. He carefully stepped on the bottom line of wire, making sure to avoid the barbs and lifted the top wire, making a gaping hole. "Climb through."

I surveyed the gap. "I don't know." It didn't look big enough to fit through. I was afraid of getting punctured by the rusty barbs.

"There's no other way unless we turn around," he said. "And we've lost a lot of time as it is."

I bent down and crawled through the fence. My hair got stuck on it, but not bad. I yanked it free.

"You grab it," said Griffin.

I replaced his foot with my own and his hand with mine, holding it open for him.

He managed to get through without touching the fence at all.

Then he was in front of me again, leading me through the woods.

Within the next few minutes, we could see the lights of the house through the trees. There was a clearing that the house sat in, a yard of about an acre that surrounded it. The land was hilly and rocky.

Griffin crept up to the edge of the woods, kneeling behind a tree trunk. I did the same thing.

All the lights in the house were still on. It had a wraparound porch, and it sat on a garage. We could see that there were still leftover cans of beer and overflowing ashtrays littering the porch from the party.

There was a stack of crumpled cans on top of their grill.

At the other side of the porch, I could see half of their porch swing.

It wasn't moving.

Everything was still. Quiet.

If it weren't for all the lights being on, it would seem normal.

But the house was glowing. The indoor lights on, the outdoor lights on, casting a bright yellow circle out onto the lawn.

Griffin swore. "There's no cover. No way to get up there without being seen."

I couldn't believe that they'd gone to sleep. Not with all those lights on.

But if they were awake, then why weren't they making any noise? It was so quiet out here, we would hear the murmur of conversation if anyone was talking.

"Do you know where their breaker box is?" Griffin asked me.

"I think in the garage," I said.

"Okay," he said. He pointed. "We're going to walk around the house, down the hill, to the left. Stay out of sight, stay back, stay quiet. Keep your gun out. Take the safety off. You understand?"

I nodded.

Griffin went first.

I followed him, gingerly picking my way through the underbrush.

He seemed to be going more slowly too. It was important that they didn't hear us.

When we were right across from the door to the garage, Griffin halted. He pointed to a tree trunk. "Squat down right there," he whispered.

I did.

"I'm going into the garage, and I'm turning off the lights. When you see the lights go out, you run for the door. Okay?"

"Okay," I said. Suddenly, I felt very cold. It was as if I hadn't noticed the chilly night air before. But my voice shook when I spoke, and I realized that I was shivering. The air was pressing in on me, like cold water.

"Safety off?"

I nodded.

Griffin planted a quick kiss on my forehead. "Hold it together for me, doll." And then he was gone, darting across the lawn so quickly I barely saw him move.

I waited.

How long would it take for him to find the breaker box and turn the lights out?

I heard the sound of a car on the road, in the distance.

A car? This late? Was it Op Wraith, returning to see if we'd shown up?

I saw the headlights then. They cut into the woods, illuminating me where I hid behind the tree trunk.

I scrambled the other way, so that the trunk blocked me from the road.

But now I was close enough that the lights from the house illuminated me.

I clung to the tree, going motionless. I would play dead, like a small, wild animal. They wouldn't see me if I didn't move.

The car roared down the road, and I heard a snatch of Beatles music floating to me where I crouched.

I let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding.

And the lights went out.

I jumped, startled. I'd nearly forgotten I was waiting for it. I ran for the door into the garage. But it was pitch black, and I'd been recently blinded by car headlights. I couldn't see where I was going.

I thudded into the outside wall of the house and began feeling for the door.

For several seconds, I only felt siding. Where was it? Was I feeling in the wrong direction?

And then my fingers touched the cold smoothness of the door. I found the knob and threw myself inside.

Griffin caught me just inside the door.

I knew it was him because I could smell him. I wanted to hold him and beg him never to leave me alone again, but I figured it would be a bad idea to talk. So I didn't say anything.

He took my hand, gripping it tightly.

We started up the steps to the upper level of the house.

To me, our footfalls were abominably loud, echoing through the garage. But I don't know if they were in actuality. My own breath also sounded as loud as a steam engine to me.

Griffin tugged me close to him when he opened the door at the top of the stairs.

It creaked as it swung out.

I held my breath, waiting for the Op Wraith guys to jump out at us.

But everything was silent and dark.

We stepped out into the kitchen, which was where the steps from the garage came up. The sky outside was starting to lighten, and enough light came in through the windows that we could see the familiar outlines of the inside of Stacey's and Jack's house.

The kitchen counter was cluttered with liquor bottles and glasses. The blender was still out, sticky remnants of some sweet concoction stuck to the inside of the glass. The sink was cluttered full of dirty dishes.

I felt Griffin's hand pull on mine.

We walked into the living room.

The couches hadn't been moved back yet. They were still pushed up against the wall, and the wide dance floor that Stacey and I had taken advantage of yawned before us, gray and empty. The stereo was dark and silent, a hulking shadow against the far wall. Its "on" button didn't even blink. Griffin had turned off the electricity.

I turned to the hallway where the bedroom was.

Griffin yanked on me, trying to move me away.

But not before I saw it.

There was one tiny hand sticking out of the hallway, illuminated by the light through the window, white skin glowing. I could see that the fingernails were painted.

I made an involuntary peep, and Griffin tugged me against him, his hand letting go of mine to cover my mouth.

That hand belonged to Stacey.

Her nails had been painted.

Why was she lying in the hallway like that? She wouldn't have fallen asleep there, not with her hand sticking out. She wouldn't have voluntarily lain down in the hallway.

My eyes were pricking.

No.

I had to see.

I wrestled with Griffin, but he held me tight.

No. Not Stacey.

He walked with me, moving us both closer.

With each step, the hallway was easier to see.

I saw more of her arm. I saw her shoulder. I saw her red hair, scattered backwards. I saw her forehead. Her eyes—wide open, glassy, staring at the ceiling. And then I saw her throat.

Bloody, messy, gory, exploded, destroyed—

I buried my face in Griffin's chest.

One of his hands went around me. The other held out his gun.

My gun. I was pressing it into Griffin. And the safety was off.

I straightened. I didn't have time to think about Stacey, did I? I squeezed my eyes shut, got a better grip on my gun, and I turned around to look again.

Stacey was lying on the floor, shot through the throat.

Jack was behind her, slumped over lifelessly. I couldn't see where he'd been shot, but I could tell he was dead just looking at him.

The scene was too real. The colors were too saturated. And the fact that I could look at it without losing it—

Maybe it was better not to think about that.

There was a noise. A muffled noise, like pulling the cork out of a wine bottle.

Griffin gasped.

I turned to look at him.

His hand was at his shoulder. Blood was pouring out of it.

I screamed.

And then I raised my gun, searching for movement.

And when I saw it, in the kitchen, just a blur of black coming for us, I pulled the trigger.

CHAPTER TEN

My bullet splintered into the wall of the living room. It hadn't hit anything.

But Griffin was turning, stretching his shoulder, lifting his gun.

The black streak was closer.

Griffin's shot took him down.

He ran to the dark figure and turned him over on his stomach with one foot.

Another corking noise.

I felt something streak by me, moving quickly. I touched my cheek. Blood?

"Down!" Griffin screamed. "There's more than one. They're shooting with silencers."

I hit the floor. I'd been grazed by a bullet. It had been right next to my cheek.

He turned, taking shots in the direction that the bullet that had nearly hit me had come from.

Bullets kept coming.

I crawled across the floor, raising my gun to send shots after Griffin's. Maybe I wasn't hitting anything, but maybe I was. I didn't know what else to do.

Griffin grabbed me, and we stumbled for the door to the garage, his body between mine and the bullets.

He yelped.

"Griffin?"

He hurled us inside the door. We tumbled down the steps.

"Under the steps, doll," he gasped. "Lie down and don't move. I'm going dark."

He'd been shot. There was blood trickling down his forehead. "Going dark?"

He pulled me under the steps. There was a tarp lying there, and we crawled under it. He lay on his back.

"Give me a couple of minutes," he said.

And then he went motionless. It was like when I'd been shot before. When I'd been pulled down into Alice and Wonderland world for a few minutes. It was like death, only he wasn't dead.

He wasn't dead.

I clung to his inert body.

Someone on the steps. I heard the noise.

I froze, afraid to even breathe.

Under the tarp, I couldn't see anything. I had to wait in the stifling darkness, holding tight to Griffin. I heard footsteps on the concrete. Then a door opening and closing.

Did that mean whoever was out there had gone? I didn't know.

I let out a cautious breath, trying to be as quiet as possible.

More footfalls on the steps.

I tensed up again.

The door opened back up.

"You're awake," said a voice.

"Yeah, he got me good," said another voice. "He was always a good shot, wasn't he?"

"Lucky I was there. He was about to cut your neck open."

"Thanks." A beat. "So where is he now? Where's the girl?"

"I don't know. I saw them go down the steps, but when I got down here they were gone."

"Don't tell me that. If we go back in, and we botched the job, they're gonna murder us. It would be better to die out here."

If only I could see them. If only I was a better shot. From the sound of their voices, they were close. If I could be sure, I could shoot them both right now. But I couldn't be sure. I might not hit them. And all that would do is give away my hiding place. I didn't move.

"I looked outside. They might have gone back into the woods," one of the Op Wraith agents was saying.

"The woods? Seriously? You think we should go after them?"

"I don't know. Like you said, we show up at headquarters empty handed, it doesn't look good for us."

"You're right. I know it. But damn it all. The motherfucking woods."

"Come on. The longer we sit here talking, the farther away they're getting."

I heard the door open and close again.

I let out a noisy sigh of relief. They were looking in the woods. That was a good thing, right?

Griffin gasped beside me. "Doll?"

I kissed him. "You're okay."

* * *

I took the stairs to my apartment two at a time, Griffin urging me on from behind.

I felt numb and cold, like I was deep inside a refrigerator and the world was running past me too fast. Everything had been turned upside down. My best friend was dead. It was my fault. Op Wraith knew where I was. I wasn't safe here in Thomas anymore.

And Stacey.

If it weren't for me, Stacey would still be—

"Move it, doll." Griffin's voice was strained. "We've got to be in and out of here in no time."

I threw the door open and hurtled inside.

"Pack food, pack clothes," said Griffin from behind me. "And do it in ten minutes."

"Leigh?" said another voice.

I turned on the light. "Who's there?" I yanked my gun out, flipping off the safety.

Clint was in front of me. At the sight of the gun, he raised his hands. "Jesus, Leigh."

I lowered the gun. "For fuck's sake, Clint, what is your problem? Get the hell out of here."

"You got a gun, Leigh," he said. "You got a gun."

"No shit," I said.

Griffin glared at Clint. "I didn't think you were still friends with this guy."

"I'm not." I strode into the apartment, flinging open one of cabinets and knocking out a jar of peanut butter and some applesauce. That was good road food, right?

"Leigh," said Clint, "we're still friends. Of course we're still friends."

I turned to face him. "Get out."

"You're different now, aren't you?" he said.

"Get out."

"I thought maybe you might have some blow. I'm out. I know I bother you for this all the time, but—"

"I haven't seen you in over a month, Clint."

"Really?"

"And you show up now trying to be friendly, when I haven't seen you in weeks?"

"Well, it's not exactly—"

"We were never friends. You used me for drugs," I said. "Now get the hell out of my apartment before you get yourself killed."

"I'd listen to her," said Griffin, opening the door wide.

Clint put his head down, and he slunk out the door. Once he was outside, he yelled, "Well fuck you very much."

"Ignore him," said Griffin. "Now we've only got eight minutes to pack."

"Shit," I muttered.

I dashed back to my bedroom, got a bag from the closet and began tossing clothes in it. I didn't look at what they were or if they matched. I just shoved stuff in, zipped up the bag, and came out into the living room, where Griffin was zipping up the same pack he'd had when I first brought him to Thomas.

"You were always prepared to leave, weren't you?" I said to him.

"That's life these days, doll," he said. "We've got to go."

I looked around at my apartment. All my stuff was here. Not just my clothes, but my movies and my music and my computer. And other things, like the cool plates I'd found at a thrift store, or the nifty pillows I'd bought for my couch. But I'd rather not have that stuff and be alive than keep it and be dead. I nodded. "I'm ready to go too."

He crossed the room to me, folding me in his arms. "It won't be like this always. I promise you. I'm going to figure something out, so you can stay in one place and still be safe. I promise."

I pulled away. "You can't promise that."

He wouldn't let me get away. He held me tight. "I will do whatever I can to keep you safe. Whatever I can."

* * *

We had to steal a car. I didn't want to, but Griffin said it was necessary. He said that we couldn't take a chance that the Op Wraith guys had seen my car. He stole one that was parked on the street and off we went. I didn't feel great about stealing the car, but then I didn't feel great about anything.

Griffin drove east on Route 50. It was early morning, and the sun was climbing high into the sky. It was going to be a warm spring day. But I still felt cold. Like my insides had turned to ice. I felt like everything was ruined.

He told me to try to sleep.

I scrunched down in the passenger seat and closed my eyes, but whenever I did, all I could see was Stacey's eyes staring wide at the ceiling, and the red mess that was her throat.

So, I didn't sleep. I watched the foliage outside the window instead.

Route 50 was a scenic drive but also very turny and twisty. We couldn't go fast, because the road never flattened out. I was glad no one was following us.

Wait. Could I be sure that no one was following us?

I turned in my seat.

"What are you doing?"

The road was empty behind us. At least as far as the last turn, it was. I couldn't see farther than that. "Making sure no one's following us."

"If someone was following us, we'd know it," said Griffin. "They'd have shot us by now."

I wasn't sure if he meant that to be comforting. It wasn't.

"We don't have any money," I said.

"I've got money," said Griffin.

"How?" I said. "Were you working a job before you came to rescue me or something, saving up?"

"No. Not that I wouldn't work. I was too busy running from Op Wraith. I have money because your dad gave me a good chunk of change when we agreed to watch each other's backs."

I folded my arms over my chest. "So he paid you off. That's why you're doing this."

He shot me a quick, confused look. "Really, doll? You think I'm doing all of this for money?"

"Maybe."

"Because the money is there to help you survive. To help us both. Your dad managed to get some of his cash when he left Dewhurst-McFarland. Not everything, you understand, but some. He gave me money, but not in payment, just because he had more than he needed, and because he wanted me to have it."

I sighed heavily. "I'm sorry." I studied my fingernails. "I guess I'm just angry."

"At me?" he asked. "At your father?"

"At everything," I mumbled. I closed my eyes. Stacey was staring at me again. Her expression didn't look blank anymore. It looked accusing.

"Anger's good," said Griffin. "It keeps you sharp. Fear, sadness, guilt? They're paralyzing. So stay angry, doll."

Without warning, I was crying.

"Doll?" He reached for me with one hand, the other still on the steering wheel.

I pushed him away. "I'm angry at myself."

"There's no reason for that."

"I made friends with her!" Talking while crying made me sound like a whiny six-year-old, and the fact that my stupid body couldn't muster something more appropriate, given the gravity of the situation, made me sob even harder. "I knew there were people after me. I knew that I was in danger. But I did it anyway."

Griffin was quiet.

"If I'd left her alone, she'd still be alive."

The car was completely silent, except for my sobs.

When he finally did speak, his voice was hesitant. "It's hard to know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything. I killed my best friend. The only best friend I've had since I was a little girl. The sweetest, nicest, most outgoing girl in the entire world. And I killed her."

He reached for me again and grabbed my hand this time despite how I struggled against him. "That isn't true."

"It is. I made friends with her. And when I did that, I marked her for death. I can't have friends anymore."

Griffin's grasp on my hand was a vice grip. "No, no, doll, that's not the way."

"It's the only way."

"No, it's not," he said. "When I was in Operation Wraith, I was trained to kill people. And you know what they taught us? They taught us to disengage. Trust no one, befriend no one. Because you never know who you're going to have to kill. See, the higher-ups used us assassins to keep each other in line. Someone became a liability? The word would come down that he was supposed to die. And that could be the guy who was your buddy, who you'd been working with for weeks. You'd be assigned to kill him."

"That's horrible," I said.

"Yeah," he said. "It was. But you learned pretty quick not to form bonds. Not to make friends. And you know what? It made all of it easier. Because you started to forget what it was even like to have friends. And you killed people all the time, so you started to forget why it was that people were even important."

I wasn't sure I understood how this was connected, but I let him finish.

"You have to have friends, doll, and you have to lose them," he said. "Because, if you don't, you forget why life is precious, and why it's important for people to be protected. Caring about people makes them matter. If you don't care about anyone, then nothing matters."

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The thing about Boston is that it was cold. Even in April. I mean, it wasn't Canada cold or Alaska cold or the North Pole cold. But compared to West Virginia, in which April meant seventy-degree weather, descending to the mid-fifties was a bit of a shock.

I was prepared for it. I'd gone to school in Boston for two years before my car accident with Eric. I used to joke that forty degrees was balmy. But I wasn't used to it anymore. The mid-Atlantic had spoiled me. I was shivering in the north.

When Griffin told me we were going to Boston, I asked him if that wasn't actually a really, really bad idea. After all, I was familiar with Boston. Wasn't it stupid to hide someplace where you actually had ties to people? Weren't you supposed to run someplace out of the way and foreign?

He said that was why Boston was perfect. Because it was so obvious, they'd never look here. It was also right under their noses, since Op Wraith was located outside of Boston. Furthermore, Griffin had a friend here, someone who could hide us, and who'd been hiding in plain sight from Op Wraith successfully for some time.

I figured Griffin knew what he was doing.

He didn't want anyone to be able to trace us by the stolen car, so we switched a few times, taking different cars from various shopping centers off the interstate. Finally, we ditched cars altogether and picked up a bus outside of New York City that took us straight to Boston. Once there, we could take the T, the Boston subway, to Griffin's friend's apartment.

I wasn't sure what to expect of this friend. Griffin didn't tell me much about him, and I didn't bother to ask. I knew that this guy was also someone who'd run from Op Wraith and that he was hiding out in Boston. I didn't know anything else. I guess I simply wasn't curious. I was too exhausted to care, and I was still a wreck over what had happened to Stacey and Jack.

Whether I blamed myself for it or not, it still hurt. I'd lost my father and my best friend within months of each other. I'd been chased, had my life threatened, and been forced out of my home. I guess that thinking about Griffin's friend wasn't high on my priority list.

If there was a place where we could stop traveling and lay low for a while, I was all about it.

I should have asked some more questions.

Because when we arrived at the apartment, five floors up in South Boston, the person who greeted us at the door was not a guy.

She was a woman. A very pretty woman. She had blonde hair, like mine, only hers hung in perfect, floating waves that reached halfway down her back. She had sparkling blue eyes, and when she saw Griffin, she started glowing, like some kind of perfect angelic being. I swear, the woman was basically the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

"Griffin!" She threw her arms around him. "You could give a girl a heads-up that you were in the neighborhood."

Griffin wrapped his burly arms tightly around her, grinning wider than I'd ever seen him grin. He planted a kiss on top of her head. "It's so good to see you, Beth."

Beth. Wait a second, I had heard that name. That Matt guy had said something about a woman named Beth when he and Griffin had been fighting with knives in the gas station parking lot at the intersection of 29 and 92. What had Griffin said about her?

Leave her out of this.

I swallowed. But Griffin had said they were friends, hadn't he? Just friends?

I looked at the way they were clinging to each other.

I bit my lip.

Griffin pulled back. "Sorry I couldn't call ahead, doll. We were in a bad spot. Didn't know where else to go."

Doll? Had he just called her doll? But... that was what he called me. I'd told Stacey that it was his slang word for women, but I had thought... I bit down harder on my lip.

"We?" said Beth, peering around Griffin to see me. Her smile immediately faded as she looked me over. "You brought someone." She folded her arms over her chest. Her voice had gotten very bright and cheery. I could tell it was false, though. She wasn't happy I was here.

Great.

Griffin tugged me forward. "This is Leigh. She's Frank's daughter."

I offered Beth my hand. "It's nice to meet you."

Beth blinked at my hand for several seconds. Then she shook it, smiling tightly. "Likewise." She dropped my hand and turned to Griffin. "So you're looking out for her. That's why you're on the run?"

"Yeah," he said.

"Because you still think you owe Frank," she said, and I could tell that she didn't think Griffin owed anyone.

I clasped my hands in front of myself. I wanted to disappear. This woman did not want me here. At all. I'd just lost my best friend, left everything I owned behind, driven across the country, and now this woman hated me on sight. Could things get worse?

From within the apartment, I heard the sound of a baby crying.

Oh, yeah. Worse.

* * *

Griffin was sitting at the kitchen table, holding the baby, who was gurgling in his arms, grabbing for his fingers as Griffin tickled her tummy. The baby didn't have blonde hair like her mother. Instead, she had dark curls wreathing her face. Dark curls the color of the stubble on Griffin's head.

I stood in the corner of the room, my hands in my pockets, just watching. I was at a complete loss. That baby couldn't be...

Did she look like Griffin?

Dear God, she kind of did.

But he would have told me, wouldn't he? Wouldn't he?

"Are you hungry, Griff?" said Beth. Her kitchen was small, but there was just enough room around the round table where Griffin sat that she could open the refrigerator.

Griff, huh? He had a nickname. But that didn't mean that he and Beth had... what? Been in a relationship? Had a baby together? I couldn't... He would have told me, wouldn't he?

I was hungry, but I didn't dare say anything.

"Don't go to any trouble, doll," said Griffin, making silly faces at the baby.

"No trouble," she said. "I've got leftover mac and cheese." She laughed a little. "Sorry. That's about as gourmet as I get these days. Little Dixie runs me ragged."

Ugh. She'd named her baby Dixie? What kind of name was Dixie?

"She sure is beautiful," said Griffin. "You're doing an amazing job." He touched Dixie's nose. "You're getting huge, aren't you? I keep missing everything. I'm very, very bad, yes I am."

He was talking in that tiny little voice people use to talk to babies. He was... I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream.

No. I wanted to kill him.

I needed to talk to him. Maybe I was jumping to conclusions. Maybe I wasn't in an apartment with Griffin's ex and their child. Maybe there was an explanation.

But why did he say he was bad?

"Well," said Beth, "we're glad you're here now. We would love to see more of you."

Was she even his ex? She wanted to see more of him? What the hell was going on?

He sighed, standing up and shifting the baby. "I really am sorry. But Frank—"

"It's always Frank," she said. She laughed a little, like it was a joke, but I could tell she was annoyed.

I would be too. Who did he think he was? How dare he leave this woman here with this baby? How dare he share my bed for the past week? How dare he make me think that he—

I was going to cry. I sucked in my breath and forced myself to stop thinking about it. He'd explain everything. I had to give him a chance.

Beth got a casserole dish out of the refrigerator. "I'll heat up some macaroni for you."

"You don't have to do that."

"I insist." She opened a cabinet and took out a bowl.

"Uh, maybe Leigh wants some too."

Griffin and Beth both turned to look at me.

I opened my mouth to speak, but I knew suddenly, that if I did, I would lose it. I nodded.

"Sure," said Beth briskly. She got out another bowl.

Griffin beckoned to me. "Why don't you come sit down at the table, doll?"

Beth stiffened.

Oh. She wouldn't have reacted that way if there wasn't something between them. It was true. It had to be true. I swallowed. I walked across the room and sat down. It was easier than trying to say something.

"You okay?" he asked me.

"Fine," I managed. My voice was a croak.

Beth popped the bowls into the microwave. She turned to me. "So, um, what are your plans?"

"My plans?" I said, still sounding like a frog.

"Yeah," she said. "I mean, you can't expect Griffin to watch out for you forever."

"No. I guess I can't." I couldn't look at him.

Griffin raised his eyebrows at Beth. "Why can't she?"

Beth pressed her lips together in a firm line. "Well, it's not a life, is it? Eventually, you've got to stop running. You've got to... settle down."

"Maybe eventually," said Griffin.

Beth put the casserole dish back in the refrigerator, banging it. She slammed the fridge door.

He went to her and put a hand on her shoulder. "Hey. I know it's tough for you. I know that having Dixie means you can't run all the time."

She gazed up into his eyes.

"But you're alive," he said. "You're alive, and that's what's important."

"Is it?" she said. She sounded bitter. She reached for the baby, and Dixie practically crawled out of Griffin's arms into Beth's.

He looked out of sorts suddenly, as if he didn't know what to do with himself now that his arms were empty.

The microwave beeped.

He looked at Beth, her arms full, and then he opened the cabinet and took out two bowls. He set them on the table, one in front of me, the other on the opposite side of the table. "Where are the forks?"

She pointed at a drawer.

He opened it. He handed me one. He faced her. "Look, if you don't want us here, we'll go somewhere else."

"I didn't say that," she said. "Of course you're welcome to stay. You're always welcome here." She touched his cheek. "You're the reason I got free from that place." She rounded on me. "Did he tell you that? Did he tell you that I was the reason he left Op Wraith?"

I shook my head slowly. "He really didn't mention you."

Her features hardened. She sat down next to me at the table. "When Op Wraith found out I was pregnant, they told me I had to terminate the pregnancy. I didn't want to. So, I refused. They decided I wasn't much use to them, and they ordered Griffin to kill me."

I recoiled. "That's the worst thing I've ever heard."

"I wouldn't do it," said Griffin, sitting down. He took a bite of his mac and cheese. "I helped her get out. I got out too." He turned to her. "And we never would have made it without Frank."

She rolled her eyes.

"Thanks for this." He gestured with his fork. "It's really good."

"No problem," she said.

I took a bite myself. He was right. It was good. I'd almost wanted her to be a terrible cook or something.

No. That was awful. I didn't wish her pain. Obviously, she had enough of that. But I was devastated, and it was hard not to want to blame her instead of Griffin.

When he was clearly the bastard here. How could he have abandoned her like this? No wonder she was so angry.

It was quiet except for the sound of Griffin's and my chewing. I ate the macaroni greedily. It was delicious, and I was hungry.

Was there any other way to see this? Griffin and Beth had history. There was no denying that. She hated me. That was obvious. The baby looked like Griffin. But...

Would he really have kept that from me? There had to be something I wasn't seeing here.

Dixie started to wail in her mother's arms.

Beth stood up. "She probably needs changed."

Griffin stood up. "You know what? Let me do it. It's the least I could do after everything."

After everything? He was admitting it, wasn't he? He was admitting that he had abandoned his own child.

Beth surrendered the baby to him, and he left the kitchen.

I watched him leave the kitchen, my heart breaking. I fought tears.

Beth sat down next to me. "What is going on between you and him?"

Oh God. I sat back in my chair. "I'm so sorry. I swear I didn't know."

She put a hand over her mouth. "There is something. I knew it. There was something about the way he looked at you."

"I'm sorry," I said again. "If he would have told me about you, about everything, I swear that nothing would have happened between us."

"What did happen?" she said. "Did he kiss you?"

I stood up. "Maybe you should talk to Griffin about this."

"He did, didn't he?" She shook her head as if she couldn't believe it. "What did you do to him? How did you make him do that?"

I felt like my head was going to explode. "Obviously, it's a really bad idea for me to be here. I don't know why he brought me here." I couldn't bear to look at her. I felt guilty, even though it wasn't my fault. And my heart was shattering into a million pieces. Griffin had betrayed me. He'd betrayed both of us.

I ran out of the apartment, down the stairs as quickly as I could. I ran and ran. I had to get away from him.

CHAPTER TWELVE

It had been a while since I'd been in Boston, but I found that I still knew my way around. I thought about hitting up some of the bars I used to frequent, but I realized I'd run off with no money at all. Griffin had all the cash. It wasn't particularly intelligent, was it?

Well, it was hard to make intelligent decisions when the guy I'd been falling for turned out to be a first-rate bastard.

I didn't know what to do.

I rode the T. (Thankfully, Griffin and I had bought passes earlier, and I had mine on me.) I thought it was random, that I was just riding anyplace.

But I ended up in a familiar neighborhood.

I rode the elevator to an apartment I knew.

He probably wasn't even there anymore. He'd probably moved.

He answered the door. "Leigh?"

I smiled ruefully. "Hi, Axel." Axel was an old friend. He was one of those trust-fund babies who was flunking out of the Ivy League but seemed to always land of his feet because his dad had enough money to make it go away.

He and I had sort of had similar approaches to life back when we were close. I partied with him a lot, and we were even kind of fuck buddies before I met Eric. But it was never really romantic or anything. Just convenient.

If I'd had a best friend besides Stacey, maybe Axel counted.

Sure, he was snobby, self-absorbed, and a train wreck, but we had history. I could count on him.

"Come in here," he said, opening the door wide. "Where the fuck have you been?"

I groaned. "You don't want to know."

He laughed. "Okay. Well, I guess all that matters is that you're back."

I smiled. "Yeah. I guess so." I rubbed my face. "I could really use a drink."

"You okay?" he said, ushering me inside his apartment. "You look a little lost."

"Not okay," I said.

"Some guy do you wrong?"

"How'd you guess?"

He slung an arm around me. "I know you so well, Leigh. I can't count the times you've shown up at my door post break-up."

I guessed it was kind of a habit.

"Don't you worry your pretty little head. Axel's got just the thing for that broken heart of yours."

* * *

Axel was wearing plaid pants, a white dress shirt, and a sweater vest. Somehow, he made this look like the cutting edge of fashion. He was a very good-looking guy. He had inherited his mother's cheek bones and features. His mother was a model from Sweden or something. She was like forty years younger than his dad.

Axel lounged on the plush couch in his enormous den, a martini glass in one hand. He was shaking his head. "I don't believe it. A secret kid and a baby-mama? How utterly trailer trash."

"Tell me about it," I said.

"And you're saying she thought they were still together?"

"Yeah, she did," I said. "The worst thing is that he took me to her house like it was no big deal. Like it didn't even matter."

Axel arched one eyebrow. "I really thought you usually went for men with more intelligence, Leigh."

I threw my hands in the air. "So did I."

He sipped his drink. "Because he really is absolutely idiotic, isn't it?"

"He is," I said. "Did he think I'd be okay with it or something? Did he think I'd still want to be with him after I knew what a jackass he was?"

"He probably thought you wouldn't notice."

I laughed.

Axel tittered as well. "I'm serious, Leigh. He's obviously that dim-witted."

"Obviously," I said.

"You know what you need?" he said.

I leaned forward. "What?"

He opened up a wooden container on an end table. It was filled with white powder. A tiny, jeweled coke spoon sat on top of the mounds of the drug. "A little bump."

I raised my hands. "Oh, no. I kind of quit, actually."

"So what?" he said. "This is a time of crisis." He heaped up the spoon. "Just a tiny bit is all you need. To make you feel better."

"I do feel like crap."

"This will help."

"I don't know." I really was proud of my sobriety. Hadn't I realized that cocaine had done nothing but ruin my life? But I did feel awful. Everything in my life had completely disintegrated in a matter of days. I could hardly believe I was functioning at all. If I slipped up a little, who could blame me, right? "Just a little bump."

"Right," said Axel. "Tiny." He put the spoon under my nostril. "Breathe deep, babe."

I blocked the other nostril and snorted. The drug stung the back of my nose, painful and comforting all at the same time. I closed my eyes, allowing it to do its work. Energy surged through me. Oh. I had forgotten how fucking exquisite that was. Damn, that felt good. I opened my eyes.

"Better?" said Axel.

"Much," I said.

He gave me a lopsided grin. "You know, Leigh, I remember what we used to do for each other after bad breakups."

Oh. I did too. I shook my head. "That's cool, Axel. I think it's too soon." I was feeling bubbly, alive, ready to take on the world. But there was an edge to it, I was noticing. I was falling over that edge, and the feeling was fading quickly.

His hand shot out, caressing my jaw. "You're really gorgeous."

I grinned, brushing him off. "Thank you." I sat up straight. "You think I could have another bump?" As usual, the minute I had some blow in my system, I wanted more. I needed more. I wanted that feeling back. Now.

"How about you give me a kiss, and then I give you another bump?"

I sighed. "All right, fine." I leaned forward and pecked him on the cheek. "There."

Axel grabbed me by the chin, twisted my face, and pressed his lips on mine.

I pushed him. "Axel, I said not to do that."

"What's the big deal, Leigh? It's not like we haven't done way more than kiss before." He leaned against the couch lazily. "Tell you what, babe. I'll give you one line of blow for every article of clothing you're wearing." He wiggled his eyebrows. "What do you think?"

I actually considered it for a half a second. That was a lot of lines.

Then I got up off the couch, disgusted with myself. Disgusted with him. No. I didn't want to be dependent on a stupid drug like that. I wanted to be free of it. I didn't care how good it felt, it wasn't worth losing my common sense over another few lines. Lines that wouldn't even satisfy me anyway. Not for long. "Fuck you."

"What?" He looked wounded. "We're only playing around here."

"I need a friend right now, not someone trying to get in my pants."

He rolled his eyes. "Don't be stupid, Leigh. The whole reason we were friends was to get in each other's pants."

I grimaced. "That wasn't why I was your friend." I headed for the door.

"Where you going?"

"Goodbye, Axel." I strode through his apartment.

"Don't go," he called after me. "I was only trying to have fun. Geez, Leigh, when did you become so tight-assed?"

I let myself out.

And then I was alone again. I didn't know what to do. I walked the streets, but it was dark now. And cold. So cold. I didn't have a warm enough jacket. I huddled inside my thin coat, thinking of Stacey, thinking of my father, thinking of Jack. Everyone I cared about was dead. Or else they had turned out not to be worthy of my feelings for them. Like Axel. Or Griffin.

And my father was dead.

My father who'd never had time for me. Who'd never acknowledged me. Who'd pretended like I didn't exist.

I missed him, and I'd never really known him.

It felt like the tears froze on my cheeks, even though I knew it wasn't that cold outside.

Eventually, I ended up back on the T. Out of habit, I went the way I would have gone when I lived in Boston. Back to my dorm.

That was where Griffin found me.

He was at the station, watching people get off the T, and he ran at me the second he saw me. He grabbed me by the shoulders. "What the flying fuck?"

His gray eyes flashed. His teeth were clenched. He shook me, and I let him. "You idiot. You should never have come here. If I can find you here, then Op Wraith can find you here."

I didn't offer any resistance.

His hands moved from my shoulders to cup my face. "I didn't know where you were. I was terrified."

And then he was kissing me.

I wanted to melt and give in to it, let my knees buckle, let him support me. His lips were as sweet as they ever were.

But I didn't respond. I stood stock still until he let me go.

"Doll?" he asked.

"Don't call me that," I said.

"What's wrong?"

I laughed at that. "What's wrong? You really are dim-witted."

He let go of me. "Leigh, you run off for no reason, and then I go insane looking for you, and when I find you, you start insulting me. You're trying my patience."

"Well, we wouldn't want to do that."

He looked into my eyes. "Fuck. You're high, aren't you? You ran off to find drugs, didn't you?"

I felt ashamed. "I didn't mean to."

It was his turn to be sarcastic. "Right. I'm sure you accidentally shoved it up your nose."

"I was upset. And it was there." I squeezed my eyes shut. "It's your fault, anyway."

"My fault?" He snorted.

"Don't act innocent," I said.

He sighed. "Let's go." He gestured to the T. "We'll talk when we get somewhere private."

"I don't want to go anywhere with you." But I didn't know what I was going to do if I didn't. "Maybe if you could just give me some money—"

"What?" He was confused. "Why are you acting like this?"

"You should have told me about Beth," I said.

"Should I have?" he said.

"Yes. I was completely blindsided by her."

"I don't see why it's important," he said.

"You don't see why..." I shook my head in disbelief. "You are more of a bastard than I could possibly imagine."

He pointed at his own chest. "I'm a bastard?"

"Yes."

"You mind telling me why?"

"Ha. You need it spelled out. After everything you've done to Beth."

"What have I done to Beth?" He folded his arms over his chest. "I saved her life. I saved her baby's life—"

"So it's only her baby, then? It doesn't even have a father?"

"Not really," said Griffin. "What does that have to do with anything?"

I glared at him. "Oh, nice. You think I'm going to fall for that? She looks just like you."

He furrowed his brow. "Who does?"

"Dixie."

He took a step back. "You think that... that I'm..." He lifted both his hands, palms out. "No. Doll, absolutely not. You have this all wrong."

"You can't get out of it that easy," I said. "Beth basically laid it all out for me."

"Beth gave you this idea?"

"She was upset that we were involved." I lifted my chin in triumph. Let him try to wriggle out of that.

"She was?" Griffin scratched the top of his head. "Okay, well, I don't know. But there's not a thing with me and Beth like that."

"Bullshit."

"Goddamn it, doll, I'm not lying to you. I told you that I hadn't been with a woman since I was sixteen years old. You think I made that up?"

He had said that hadn't he? I didn't meet his gaze.

He took me by the arm. "We're going back to Beth's apartment, and we're going to clear this all up." He dragged me toward the train.

I could have struggled, but he was stronger than me. And... I don't know. It didn't exactly seem like he was lying.

* * *

"Oh," said Beth as she let us back into her apartment. "You found her. That's great." From her tone, it was anything but great.

"What's that?" said Griffin, annoyed. "You got some problem with Leigh? Is that why you told her that I was Dixie's father?"

Beth's jaw dropped. "I never said that. I never said anything like that."

"She says you did."

They both looked at me.

My mouth felt dry. Damn it, I really wished I could get another bump of coke. "She didn't really say that, Griffin. I guess I assumed that."

"This is not what you said to me before." He crossed his arms.

"It is, though," I said. "She was obviously upset because you and I are..." What were Griffin and I? Were we dating? Was he my boyfriend? Was he just the guy who fingered me? "Whatever we are."

Beth stalked across the room and sat down on her couch.

Griffin followed her. "Is that true? Did you chase her off?"

"I didn't mean for her to leave," said Beth.

"I apologized to you," I said, "because I thought Griffin had abandoned you and Dixie. I thought he had no right to be with me."

"He did abandon us," said Beth.

"I did not," said Griffin.

"You did," said Beth.

"You really feel like that?" He settled in a chair across from her.

She looked away.

He rubbed his head. "I don't think that's fair, doll."

I gritted my teeth. I did not like him calling her that. I didn't like it at all.

"You think you owe Frank so much," said Beth. "But you don't think you owe us anything."

"I don't do what I do for you out of obligation," said Griffin, clearly offended.

"But you do for me?" I said. "Because I'm Frank's daughter?"

He turned to me. "That's not what I meant."

"It kind of sounded like—"

"Hold it, doll." He held up a hand in my face. "Just wait until I clear this up with her."

My face twitched. "We can't both be 'doll.'"

"I call everyone doll," said Griffin.

"No, you don't," said Beth. She was glaring at him.

He spread his hands. "I do."

Beth drew in a noisy breath, avoiding his gaze.

I glowered at him.

He lay back in the chair, covering his face with his hands. "What the hell is going on?"

Neither Beth nor I responded.

Finally, he sat back up. "Okay. We're going to sort this out." He gestured to me. "Dol—Leigh." He sighed. "Sit down."

I perched on the opposite side of the couch from Beth.

"What did you say to her?" he asked Beth.

"I wasn't trying to make her run away," said Beth. She turned to me. "I wasn't. I mean it."

"Okay," I said.

"What did you say?" he asked.

"I wanted to know what was going on with you two," she said. "I saw the way you looked at her, and..."

"And what?" he said. "What does it matter how I look at her? Why do you care?"

She laughed in disbelief. "You bastard."

"Would both of you stop calling me names, please?" he said.

She shut her eyes. "Could you and I talk alone, Griff?"

That fucking nickname again. It made me seethe.

"I don't think so," he said. "Not when you've somehow managed to make my girlfriend think I have something going with you. I'm not going to do that to her. You say whatever you need to in front of her."

Did he just call me his girlfriend? My heart surged.

She took a deep breath. She picked up a pillow and began to squish it nervously. "All right. You remember last fall, that time in the car, when I kissed you?"

He nodded slowly. "But you were pregnant, and you were lonely, and that wasn't about me, Beth. You know it wasn't."

"You can tell yourself that, if you want, I guess," she said. "But I'd just been working up the courage. I thought maybe you might... you saved me, you know. I thought maybe it meant something."

"I saved you because it was the right thing to do," he said.

"Yeah," she said. "And you told me that you didn't kiss people anyway. You said you were asexual. That you were broken."

Griffin looked at his feet. His Adam's apple bobbed.

"So what's different about her, huh?"

He rubbed the top of his head. "When I said that to you, I swear to God, I thought it was true."

"And she changed your mind? Why? Because she doesn't have a baby? Because her hair is long and straight, not wavy like mine? Because she's Frank's daughter?"

"I just never thought about you that way," he said. "And I didn't think you thought that way about me. Not really."

"Well, I do," she said. "I'm in love with you, Griffin. I always have been."

He stood up. "What?" His voice was very soft.

"I'm not saying it again."

He drew a hand over his face. "I need some air." He turned and walked out of the apartment.

Beth put the pillow over her face. "Shit, shit, shit."

I didn't feel like I belonged here anymore. I got to my feet and went to the door as quietly as I could.

"Did he fuck you?" she said from behind me.

I froze and turned. "That's not your business."

She narrowed her eyes. "He didn't, did he? Well, that's something. Maybe he's not a raging liar after all."

"Listen, I'm sorry—"

"Save it," she said. "Your father was just like the rest of them, you know that? He was as corrupt and as cowardly and as obsessed with money as everyone else there. He wasn't any kind of hero, no matter what Griffin thinks."

"I know that," I said. "I think my dad wanted to change, though. But I think it was too late."

"Maybe it's always too late," she said. "Or maybe people don't actually change."

I shrugged. "Maybe."

"Like Griffin," she said. "He's going to let you down. He lets you think he's superman, that he can handle everything. But he's not. He's far from perfect. And he will abandon you, just like he abandoned me."

I fled from the apartment.

There was an outdoor landing here. The night air skittered over the concrete stairs. It was cold.

"Oh no," said Griffin. "I'm not ready for you to attack me too."

"I wasn't going to," I said. I paused. "I'm sorry. I guess I jumped to conclusions."

"Yeah, well, she didn't make it easy for you," he said. "I should have explained the situation better to you before we got here."

"That would have been good," I said.

We were quiet. I shuddered in the cold, my teeth knocking against each other.

Griffin pulled me against him. "You're always cold," he murmured.

I was grateful for his warmth. And for how solid he seemed. He could hold me up.

"You really think I would have done something like that?" he said. "Run off on my own kid?"

"I..."

"You don't think very highly of me, do you?"

Guilt surged through me. "I didn't want to think it. It didn't seem right. But it seemed like it was true. It seemed like there was all this evidence."

"I wouldn't, you know," he said. "I don't know if I'll ever have children, but if I did, I would never leave them behind."

Never have kids... "Griffin, did you tell her you were asexual?"

He sucked in a sharp breath.

I waited.

"Yeah."

"A-are you?"

"Obviously not," he said. He kissed my forehead. His voice was a low rumble. "You woke me up."

"How?"

"I don't know." His mouth found mine. "But you did." His tongue teased its way against mine.

I sighed against him. His kisses were fluid and too, too sweet. But this was what he always did. He used them to distract me. I pulled away. "You can't keep running from this."

"Running from what?"

"From whatever you won't tell me," I said. "She asked if we were having sex."

"That's none of her business," he said.

"You told her, didn't you? You told her whatever it is. Whatever you won't tell me."

He let go of me in frustration. "No, doll, I didn't. I don't talk about it. I've never talked about it. And this is hardly the time."

He was right. I was pestering him about why we weren't having sex, and that wasn't the most pressing problem we had. We were in much worse shape than that.

I sighed. "Well, we can't stay here."

"No," he said. "I guess we can't."

* * *

"What are you doing, Griff?" said Beth.

Griffin was grabbing his pack, the one he always carried, and throwing it over his shoulder. I picked up my duffel bag too. "We're leaving."

"Leaving?" she said. She wedged herself in front of him. "Look, forget I said anything. You can't stay on the run. You need to lie low for a while. They're going to catch you."

"What do you care?" said Griffin. "She's just Frank's daughter, right?"

"That's not fair," she said. She turned to me. "I want you both to stay. At least for the night. Where are you going to go right now?"

"I don't know," said Griffin. "We'll figure it out. Don't worry about it."

"Of course I'm worried about it."

He pushed past her. "Well, don't."

She put a hand to her forehead. "I'm sorry. I never meant—"

"Drop it," said Griffin. "You've said enough."

Tears appeared in her eyes.

Despite myself, my heart went out to her. She wasn't a bad person. She just had it bad for Griffin. If he'd never wanted me back, might I have become just like her?

He started toward the door.

"When will I see you again?" she asked.

"Don't know," said Griffin.

"Griffin, you promised you would keep Dixie and me safe."

He stopped moving. "I picked up a phone yesterday. I don't know how long I'll have it, but I'll give you my number. If you need me, you call."

"Thank you," she said.

He looked at her. "Don't call unless there's trouble, okay?"

"Griffin," I said. He was being a little harsh with her.

"You freaked Leigh out," he said. "I'm not cool with people who hurt her. You got that?"

* * *

"You really think we'll be safe here?" I whispered. There was no reason to whisper, but the empty house seemed to demand it.

"It fits with hiding in plain sight, doesn't it?" Griffin's voice was soft as well.

This Nantucket house belonged to my father. I hadn't been sure that it wouldn't have been sold since his death, but it was still sitting empty, and the key was hiding in the place it always had been.

The spacious living room was furnished, but all the couches and chairs had been covered in white sheets. They squatted like oddly shaped ghosts against the wood floor.

I tried the light switch. The light came on. "The electricity's still working," I said in a regular voice. Somehow, the light meant that I didn't have to whisper. "I wonder about the water."

I scampered into the kitchen, also massive, and tried the faucet. Nothing happened. I wrinkled up my nose.

"We can probably turn it on," said Griffin. "I'll look outside." He disappeared back out of the house.

The refrigerator was unplugged and sitting open. There was nothing inside it. I stuck my nose inside to smell. It didn't smell bad. I plugged it in. It hummed to life immediately, a comforting, civilized sound.

I began opening the cupboards. There wasn't much there, but I did find some cans. Crushed tomatoes, chicken noodle soup, corned beef hash. I set the corned beef hash on the counter and hunted down a can opener.

Griffin came back in. "Try the water now."

The faucet sputtered and coughed at first. Then a stream of brownish water came through. Then the water ran clear.

I grinned. "Awesome."

He picked up the can on the counter. "What's this?"

"Breakfast," I said. "It would be better if I had eggs to scramble, but this will have to do."

"Sounds great," he said. "I'm starving."

There was a breakfast nook in the corner of the kitchen, just a small table with three wicker chairs. The dining room was bigger, but I'd never eaten in there, even though I used to come here every summer. Griffin settled down in one of the chairs. "So your dad owns this house?"

I got out a skillet and put it on the stove. Luckily the stove was still plugged in. There was an old can of Pam on top of the stove. I sprayed the skillet and set it on the burner. "Yeah. He never made it out here, though. Or at least, very rarely."

"That's too bad," said Griffin. "It's a nice house."

"I came," I said. "My nannies would bring me. And I got to come alone after I was eighteen. Not last year, obviously."

"All alone in this big place?" he asked.

"Well, I used to bring people," I said. "But it wasn't that much fun. I always wanted to have an honest-to-God family vacation."

He groaned. "Oh, you don't know what you're asking, doll."

"You don't like family vacations?"

"The worst," he said. "My sister would get on my nerves on the drive down. My mom would scream constantly at the top of her lungs. All I would want to do is get away from them. They wouldn't let me."

"I guess that's how my dad felt," I said. "Only I couldn't stop him from getting away from me." I used the can opener to open the corned beef hash.

"I'm sure he wanted to be with you."

"He said he did," I said. "He said he couldn't leave work, and he always apologized and bought me consolation gifts. But that wasn't what I wanted. I wanted him to show up."

"You never had a family vacation here?"

I dumped the hash into the skillet and began to stir. "He came maybe twice. Every other year, he would promise to come but back out at the last minute. I'd be on the phone with him, begging him to come see me, and he'd always say, 'Tomorrow for sure, Leigh.' He'd say that every day until the last day, when I'd be coming home tomorrow, and there wasn't any more time."

"That sucks," said Griffin.

"But he was awesome to you," I said. "That's why you're so loyal to him. That's why you protect me."

"You know, I have a confession to make. And I hope you're going to forgive me afterwards, because it makes me sound a little creepy."

"Creepy?" I said.

"I saw you one day," he said. "Back before I left Op Wraith."

"Me? How?"

"You must have come to see your dad for some reason. It was his birthday, I think."

"Oh yeah," I said. "I was determined to have dinner with him. So I came to his office. And he was mad."

"I wouldn't have been there normally, but I was in a briefing with some of the big guys, and they wanted me to come to their offices instead of coming to me. I saw you arguing with the secretary on my way out. You were so adamant that you were taking your father out. I remember you standing there, your hands on your hips, yelling that he worked too hard, and he needed to take a break, and that it was his birthday for God's sake."

I remembered that. It had been a few weeks before my car accident with Eric. "I didn't see you."

"Well, I said it was kind of creepy. I hid and watched. I wouldn't have had anything to say to you. You were so together and pretty."

"I was?"

"I guess I kind of got a little crush on you. I could tell how much you cared about your dad. And I knew that anyone who cared that much was good deep down. And it didn't seem like anyone around me was good at that time. I felt like I was surrounded by soulless people."

I smiled at him. "It's not creepy. It's sweet."

He got up and came over behind me, winding his arms around my waist. "You're only saying that because you happened to like me back. If you hadn't, then I'd be creepy."

I leaned into him, enjoying the way his body felt wrapped around mine. I stirred the hash. "Maybe, maybe not."

"Anyway, it wasn't just about your dad. He did help me and Beth, and I do owe him. But you always intrigued me. I wanted to know you."

I turned my head to get a look at him. "If that's true, then why were you completely against being involved with me?"

He kissed my neck. "I wasn't against it."

"What?" I disentangled myself from him, facing him, my hands on my hips. "I seem to remember someone going on and on about how it wasn't appropriate and how I would 'distract' him."

"Oh," he said, grinning. "That stuff." He shrugged. "Well, I meant it. I wasn't trying to come here and move in on you while I was trying to protect you. It seemed sleazy." He pulled me against him again. "And you are distracting, you know." He rained kisses down my jaw.

I giggled. "But you knew I was into it. I kissed you."

He lifted his head and gazed into my eyes. "You're pushing again, doll."

"Pushing?" I didn't know what he was talking about.

He heaved a sigh and turned away from me, going back to the breakfast nook.

"Griffin, what the hell?" He was moodier than a teenage girl sometimes, I swear.

"You scared me," he said, tracing the wood grain on the table. "I hadn't... You weren't the first girl to try to kiss me since high school, but you were the first girl who kissed me, and I liked it."

Oh. This was about the asexual thing. The thing that kept him from going all the way with me. I didn't say anything. I didn't want to spook him. I stirred the hash, but it was basically heated through at this point. I turned off the stove.

He didn't say anything else. I watched him stare at the table.

"Griffin?"

He shook his head.

I got out some plates from the cabinet and dished up our breakfast.

"I can't find the words," he said as I put the plates on the table. "I don't even know how to talk about it."

I took his hand. "It's okay. You'll figure it out."

He drew me into his arms, pressing me tight against him.

* * *

"That guy." I pointed. Griffin and I were standing behind a stack of Nilla Wafers in the grocery store, peering at a man in a black suit. He was putting peanut butter in his cart.

"I don't recognize him," said Griffin.

"Does that mean he's not Op Wraith?" "He's probably not," said Griffin. "But I don't know everyone who works there."

"Right," I said.

"We can't keep hiding behind the Nilla Wafers," he said. "It looks suspicious. Move the cart."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure. If he's Op Wraith, I'll take him out. But we'll wait for him to make a move."

I inched my cart out, casting glances over my shoulder. The suit disappeared at the end of the peanut butter aisle. I let out a breath.

"Chances are that they don't even know where we are," he said. "Chances are we're safe."

"For now," I said. "But maybe they've got spies or something. Maybe someone will see us at the supermarket and report that I'm here. People might recognize me around here."

"Maybe," said Griffin. "But I don't think so." He strolled ahead of the cart, and I had no choice but to follow him. He picked up a pack of ground beef. "How do you feel about hamburgers?"

"Get the 90/10," I said.

"It's more expensive."

"It's got less fat. Therefore more meat. And it's better for you."

He exchanged the packages. "Should we have made a grocery list?"

I looked around for the guy in the suit. I didn't see him. I didn't see anyone suspicious. But that didn't mean they weren't watching.

"Come on," said Griffin, "stop doing that. You look scared to death. Now, we are a normal couple, shopping for groceries on a romantic trip to Nantucket. Act natural."

"Okay," I said. I took a deep breath. "Let's get pasta. You like pasta, right?"

He smiled. "Love it."

I turned the cart, and we headed to the pasta aisle. I scrutinized the options. "What shape?"

"I'm a big fan of spaghetti," said Griffin.

"Boring," I said.

"Classic," he said.

I picked up a box of rotini. "How about this?"

"Fine with me," he said.

"Now we just need sauce," I said. "Do you like chunky or—"

The man in the suit appeared at the end of the aisle. I couldn't breathe.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

"How about Prego?" said Griffin, picking up a jar.

"Sure," I said in a tiny voice.

He took the cart from me. I followed him.

"Leigh," he whispered, "you are not acting natural."

"I'm sorry," I said. I couldn't help it. I kept picturing that guy in a suit whipping out a gun and opening fire on both of us, jars of tomato sauce getting hit in the crossfire, splattering the floor.

It would be red. Like blood.

And then I thought of Stacey. Her blank eyes.

I felt like throwing up.

Griffin was pushing the cart ahead of me. I had to catch up.

"We need milk and eggs," he said as I drew close to him. He seemed cheery and loose. I hated that he was so good at that. I was a knot of tension.

"Let's just get this over with," I said. "Buy whatever you want, but buy it fast. I want to go back to the house."

He kissed my temple. "Trust me, doll. I won't let anything happen to you."

* * *

"Geez," said Griffin, "you really did make too many French fries."

"I know," I said, surveying the cookie sheet that sat on top of the stove, still piled with fries. We'd finished gorging ourselves with hamburgers and potatoes, but there were all these remaining. "I guess I thought it would be better to have too many than not enough."

"Should we put them in the refrigerator?"

"I don't think so. Have you ever had warmed-over fries? They really don't reheat well. They're all soggy and funny tasting."

"So I should toss them?" he said.

"I think so."

He shook his head. "What a waste."

"I'm sorry."

"I'm teasing." He took the cookie sheet to the trash can and dumped the contents inside. Then he handed it to me.

I loaded it into the dishwasher. "I love having a dishwasher. If my apartment in Thomas had a dishwasher, it would have been perfect."

He smiled. "When were there dishes in Thomas? You cooked food that wasn't in a prepackaged disposable container a whole two times while I was there."

"I cooked more than that."

"Nope. You didn't. I noticed, because you happen to be a really good cook, and I was looking forward to more cooking."

I beamed. "You were?"

"Absolutely."

I leaned in close and kissed him.

He put his arms around me and trapped me against him, deepening the kiss.

His mouth against mine awakened longing within me. I pressed myself against the length of his body, wanting to be as close as possible.

He made a growling noise in the back of his throat, his fingers sliding under the hem of my shirt.

I pulled back. "Let's take this upstairs. I want to use that big bed for something other than crashing." Last night, we'd been too exhausted to do anything more than put sheets on it. The minute we'd lain down, we'd been asleep.

Griffin laughed, a deep rumble. Without warning, he picked me up.

I shrieked. "You have to stop doing that."

"Really?" he said. "I could put you down."

On the other hand, it was nice to feel so small and safe. "Okay, I lied. Never stop doing that."

He carried me up to the bedroom and tossed me on the bed. I screamed with laughter as I bounced on the mattress.

He crawled on after me.

I raised myself on my knees and met him halfway. I kissed him and thrust my hands inside his shirt, over his smooth stomach.

He made a strangled noise. He caught my hand. "Hold it."

I groaned, pulling my hand back. "Griffin, what's going on with you?"

He clenched his eyes shut. "It's fine. You can do that. It's fine."

"Really?" I said, smiling.

He opened his eyes. "Yeah."

I put my hands back, exploring the planes and angles of his body. He was powerful and firm, but also silky under my touch. I ran my fingers over him, pulling off his shirt, pushing him back on the bed. I seized the front of his pants, undoing the button.

And I was on my back suddenly, the wind knocked out of me.

Griffin stood at the edge of the bed. He'd thrown me off him.

I sat up.

"This was a bad idea," he said. He looked anguished.

Guilt stabbed me. "I'm sorry. I pushed. I shouldn't have tried to—"

"You should be able to do that, though," he said. "You should be with someone who will let you touch him."

I reached out and took his hand. "Come here."

He sat on the edge of the bed. "It's not your fault, doll."

"Can't you talk to me? I don't understand."

He swallowed. He took a deep breath. He fiddled with his hands. He looked down at his stomach, staring at the crude tattoo there. He closed his eyes. "I can't."

I touched the tattoo.

He recoiled as if he'd been burned.

And then, abruptly, it made sense. A horrible, repellent sense. "Oh God," I whispered.

He raised his gray eyes. They looked wounded and destroyed.

"Griffin, did something happen to you?"

His jaw twitched. His gaze flittered away from mine.

"Did something happen to you in prison?"

"Yes," he choked out.

"Oh God," I said again.

He stood up. The bedroom had two inlaid dormer windows that looked out over the water. He walked away from the bed, over into the alcove that contained one of the windows, and he rested his forehead against it. "Not some thing, though. It wasn't like it was once."

"Oh God." I didn't seem to be able to say anything else.

"I told you that I was a minor, but that they sent me to an adult facility, didn't I?"

"Yes."

He was still staring out the window. "I was a scrawny kid back then, and I'd never spent any time learning to defend myself. I didn't need too. No one had ever tried to hurt me before. I was weak and tiny. I was their wet dream."

"Griffin." I wanted to go to him. I wanted to say something. A comforting thing. But what could I say to something like this? I had no idea how to comfort him. And there was no way I could make it better.

"It happened the first day." It was like he'd somehow been released, like the words were tumbling out of him. "And it wasn't just one guy. There were a bunch of them. They held me down, not that I could really fight back. I didn't know how to do anything like that. I tried, but I couldn't do anything. That was the worst part of it, I think. Fighting so hard and being completely helpless. There was a moment when I realized that I couldn't do anything about it. That they were in control of what happened to my body. Them. Not me. It was like something in me snapped. It broke me."

I flinched. It was the worst thing I'd ever heard.

"They forced me to do things. They..." Only now did he seem to falter for words. "Raped me."

The words hung there in the bedroom with the both of us. He was half-naked, silhouetted in the window, and he suddenly looked so vulnerable.

I got up off the bed and went to him. Hesitantly, I wrapped my arms around him from behind. I waited for him to stiffen, or to stop me, but he didn't. He put his hands over mine.

"I'm so sorry," I said. It was inadequate. It was stupid. It didn't even come close to making up for the horror he'd been through.

"It's not your fault," he said.

"I meant that I..."

He lifted my fingers to his mouth. He kissed them. "I know what you meant."

I lay my head against his back. He breathed.

"It wasn't just once either," he said. "The tattoo was a mark. Who I belonged to."

"Jesus."

He shivered. "You know, when we were playing that drinking game at your house. Never have I ever given a blow job."

Oh. Oh, God. I shut my eyes against it.

"I should have taken a drink."

"No," I said, and I moved around to face him. "Because it's not the same thing. You didn't give anything. People just took it."

His eyes looked bright, like there were tears trapped in them.

I wanted to hold him, to engulf him. But he was too tall, too much bigger than I was. I led him back to the bed. I pulled him down with me, and he crawled into my arms, his head against my breasts, his arms wrapped around my waist. I cradled him, trying to hold as much of him as I could.

His shoulders shook.

But he didn't make any noise.

And when he lifted his face, his eyes were dry. He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. "I want to make love to you, Leigh. I want it so bad."

Tears sprang to my eyes. "Don't worry about. You've been through too much to ever worry about me."

"But sometimes when you touch me, I don't know why, but... it's like I'm back there again. Like I'm trapped there and it's all I can see or think or taste or smell and—"

"You don't have to ever—"

"And I don't want that with you. I don't want to feel like that with you."

"Griffin, please. I won't ever try to do anything again."

He pulled away. "That's not what I want."

I was surprised by the forcefulness of his words. "Okay."

He softened. "No, I mean, I want you. I want you to touch me, and I want to enjoy it. I don't want to give that up."

"Of course you don't," I said, understanding. "Because then they never stop taking things from you."

"Exactly."

I caressed his jaw, his cheek. "What do we do, then?"

He ran a thumb over my cheekbone. "I don't know." He shook his head. "I don't know." He kissed me. "But you're the only woman I've been able to kiss. I thought I'd never be able to be intimate at all." He kissed me again. "You chase it away."

I clung to him.

He pawed at my shirt, urgent hands at my skin. "I want to lose myself in your body."

I let him.

* * *

I awoke to the sound of a crash. I struggled to move, but I was tangled in Griffin's limbs. When we'd gone to sleep, it had been comfortable, but now we were both vaguely sweaty, and the air had gone cold—an unpleasant combination.

Griffin was awake too. "Did you hear that?" His voice was urgent and quiet.

"Yes."

"Downstairs?"

"I think so."

He pushed aside sweaty sheets and climbed out of bed. Noiselessly, he pulled on a pair of jeans. "Stay here, doll."

"Okay."

He padded out the door, quiet and lithe.

I pulled the covers up to my chin and waited.

Minutes passed. I didn't hear anything else.

I couldn't call out to Griffin, because then I'd give myself away. And there might be someone downstairs. They'd know where I was then. So I had to keep quiet.

I peered across the room. Outside the window, it was dark, but I could make out water droplets against the glass. It was raining outside.

Lightning flashed, illuminating the bedroom in brightness for half a second.

I jumped, startled.

In the distance, thunder.

The air was thick and muggy, but frigid. I held the covers tighter.

Where was Griffin? Shouldn't he be back by now? Maybe I should go down and check on him.

But, no. He'd told me to stay put. The last time I hadn't listened to him, I'd ended up shot.

But where was he? Why hadn't he come back?

I thought of the Op Wraith agents. The silencers on their guns made their gunshots quiet. What if I never heard it at all? They could have shot Griffin as he came down the stairs. They could have already cut his spinal cord.

He could be dead.

I clenched my hands in fists, digging my nails into my palms.

No. Griffin couldn't be dead.

But he could. Everyone else I cared about was.

Should I go and see?

No. Because if he was dead, they'd be waiting for me. I couldn't let them get me.

What defense did I have, though? They'd find me up here at some point. I didn't even have a weapon up here. I was naked in the bed, wrapped in covers, cringing.

Lightning flashed again.

I let out a tiny noise.

Oops. Had they heard me? I tensed, waiting for someone to come up the steps, gun at the ready.

Well, I wasn't going to let them find me naked. I wanted to die clothed, thank you very much. I pushed back the covers and began searching for clothes on the ground.

It was dark. Griffin hadn't folded them and put them in a nice pile when he was undressing me. He'd thrown them all over the place. I managed to find my bra and my jeans, but not my underwear or shirt.

It would have to do. I pulled that on and then got down on my knees to keep looking for my shirt.

"What are you doing?"

I yelped.

Griffin was standing in the doorway.

"Looking for my clothes."

He fished my shirt off the doorknob, where it was somehow hanging. He tossed it to me. "There's a broken window downstairs."

"There is?" Oh God, they were inside.

"But if you haven't noticed, it's also windy and raining outside." Thunder exploded, as if to prove his point. "It could have been a tree branch. It looks like it was."

I sighed in relief. "We're okay."

"I think so," he said. "But it's always good to be cautious. I did a sweep of the house, and I didn't see anyone. I think I should check outside too."

I shrugged into my shirt. "I'm coming with you."

"You don't need to. It's probably nothing."

"What if it is something? What if you get shot out there? I wouldn't even know."

He sighed. "Okay. Well, we're going to get wet."

* * *

Outside the house, there were a string of nearly identical houses. They sat in a long row, battered by the storm winds. This morning, they'd all been empty. It was a little early in the season for most people to arrive.

Now, there was a car in the driveway of the house next to us.

Griffin was crouched next to the house, rain pelting his face. He squinted. "Was that there before?"

"No," I said.

He leaned against the siding. "Would they be so obvious?" He shook his head. "They wouldn't be so obvious."

I wasn't sure.

He nodded at my position. "Stay right here. Take the safety off your gun. I'm going to check out the car."

I could see the car from where I was, so I didn't protest. I disengaged the safety. The gun felt slippery in my wet hands. The rain out here was very, very cold, and I was drenched through, chilled to the bone.

Griffin crept between the tiny trees that formed the barrier between our house and the neighbor's and made his way to the car. He tried the door.

It opened.

He closed it, straightening.

The light in the other house came on and the front door opened.

"Hey, you!" yelled a male voice. "What do you think you're doing to my car?"

Griffin turned. "Sorry, sir. It's a misunderstanding."

"Do you have a gun?"

Griffin tucked his gun away. "A gun? No. No, sir. I'm just leaving." He started to back away.

"I saw a gun! I could swear it."

"No gun." Griffin kept backing up.

* * *

"Must have come down early," I said, handing Griffin duct tape.

He had a towel draped around his shoulders as he held a piece of cardboard over the broken window. "Yeah, just regular neighbors, I guess."

"We're safe."

"We are." He taped the cardboard down. "You know, this cardboard isn't going to hold forever. And if we don't get it fixed, it might be suspicious."

"Should we pay to get it repaired, then?"

"That seems like a waste of money. I think we're going to have to think about going someplace else soon."

"But we just got here," I said. "And we have all those groceries."

"Well, I'm not saying tomorrow," he said. "But this can't be permanent, you know."

"Nothing's permanent, is it? They're always coming for us."

He sighed.

I watched as he finished securing the cardboard over the broken window.

"I don't want to have to run forever," he said. "That's no kind of life." He turned to me. "But it's better than being taken by them. Being killed."

He was right.

"I'll find a way, though," he said. "For you. I know I could hide you someplace."

"For both of us," I said.

He kissed my forehead. "I'm a little harder to hide than you, doll."

Beth's words came back to me. He'll abandon you too. But she was just bitter and angry, wasn't she? "I want us to be together."

"I want that too," he said. "If it's possible, then we will be." He shrugged. "If you still want me."

"Why wouldn't I want you?" I said.

"I don't know," he said. "Maybe at some point, you'll get sick of me."

"I doubt it." I kissed the tip of his nose.

"Maybe you'll get sick of my issues. You'll see me for what I am. Half a man. Damaged. Broken." His shoulders slumped.

Where was this coming from? I didn't understand why he was saying this again. "I would never think that. Besides, we're going to work on it, right? You said that you didn't want them to steal things from you."

"Let's talk about something else," he said. "Like where you want to go next."

"Where I want to go next is out of these wet clothes and into the shower," I said.

"Sounds good."

I winked at him. "You want to come with me?"

He blushed. It had been a while since I'd seen him do that. "I don't know, doll."

I took his hand. "Come on. It'll be fun." I gave him my best naughty grin.

He eyed me appraisingly. My shirt was clinging to my chest and the outline of my bra was pretty visible through the wet fabric. "Well..."

I tugged on him. "Come on."

He let me lead him into the bathroom. It was decorated in lighthouses and sea shells. Griffin looked around. "This is like a grandmother bathroom."

I laughed. "It's always looked like this. I think my dad bought the place furnished." I yanked my shirt over my head.

His eyes widened, taking me in. "For some reason, I'm not nearly as interested in the bathroom décor all of the sudden."

I giggled.

He reached for me.

I danced out of his reach. "No, not until you're out of those wet clothes." I took off my bra.

He pulled his shirt off.

I smiled at the sight of his chest. I unbuttoned my pants and wriggled out of them. Then I raised my eyes to Griffin.

His hands settled on his fly. He looked nervous. "It's only that I've never been totally naked with you."

"Do you want me to turn around?"

He licked his lips. "Maybe?" He laughed a little.

I turned my back, opened the shower curtain, and turned on the water. I put out a hand to test it. Cold.

The water began to get gradually warmer. I adjusted accordingly, until the temperature was just right.

And then I felt Griffin press against me from behind, his skin still damp from the rain. His lips tickled my ear. "You're cold, doll."

I twisted in his arms. "I need you to warm me up."

And then we were face to face, both nude. My breath caught in my throat. It felt magnificent.

He kissed me, cupping the curve of my ass, pulling me against him.

I felt him pressed against me, stiff and warm. I looked down, and I saw it for the first time, between our bodies, standing up straight, like an exclamation point.

I wanted to touch it. But I stopped myself. I drew in a long, slow breath, and I looked into his eyes.

He gazed back at me.

"You, um, want to get in the shower?" I said. Steam was starting to pour out behind the curtain.

"Okay."

I stepped into the tub. I deliberately didn't watch him get in after me. Instead, I stuck my head under the warm jets of water, letting them run over me.

"Shower hog," said Griffin, pulling me out of the way and getting in front of me.

"No fair," I said. "You're way huger than me. And you block everything."

"You were blocking everything too, doll," he threw over his shoulder.

"I was not. I'm smaller than you are."

He whipped around, laughing. He pinned me up against the wall, water gushing over both our bodies. His mouth found mine. He tasted wet and warm, and his hands moved over me, slippery against my breasts, between my legs.

I moaned, surrendering to him, letting his expert caresses pull me into rapturous pleasure.

His lips moved over me, nibbling and tasting. The hot water made everything seem hazy and languid.

I ran my fingers over the stubble on his head, over his neck and broad shoulders, down his back.

He sighed into my skin, seeking out one of my nipples, suckling me.

I gasped, electric thrills shooting through me. I touched his stomach. It was flat and defined. He was slick with the water from the shower.

His fingers flicked me, teased me, rubbed me. It was bliss. Elation. I let my touch move lower on his body, searching with one hand...

Until I grasped him. Wrapped my fingers around the rigid girth of him.

He let out a strangled noise.

My eyes had been closed, but they flew open.

He was staring back at me. His jaw was clenched tight, and he looked like he was concentrating.

"It's okay," I murmured. "It's only me."

But I was losing him. He was softening, deflating in my grip.

I let go.

He turned into the stream of water.

"It's okay." I kissed his neck. "It's a step. It was more than you'd done before."

He moved away from me. "Please don't do that again, Leigh."

"What?"

"Don't touch me there."

"I'm sorry. I thought—"

"Did you?" He turned to me, his gaze fierce. "Because I don't think you did. After what I told you, I can't believe that you would do that. Weren't you listening to me at all?"

I was taken aback. "I thought that I could help you. I thought you wanted—"

"No," he said. "I don't want you to do that. Ever. Okay?"

"I'm sorry."

He shoved aside the shower curtain and vaulted outside.

"Griffin, wait."

He wrapped himself in a towel. "No. I need to be alone for a minute. Stay there." He yanked the curtain closed on me.

I heard the door to the bathroom open and slam.

Damn it.

I hadn't meant to hurt him. I never wanted to do that. But now I realized that what I'd done had been cruel. He'd trusted me, allowed himself to be completely vulnerable with me in a way that he'd never been before. And I'd betrayed his trust by going too fast.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid," I whispered.

I wanted to make him feel good. That was the only reason I'd put my hands on him. I wanted to bring him pleasure. But all I had done was make him frightened and angry. I felt horrible. I felt ashamed. I wanted to apologize to him, but I didn't want to bother him.

He'd told me he needed to be alone.

Still, I couldn't let him think that I'd meant to hurt him.

I turned off the shower.

I stepped out, wrapped a towel around my head and one around my torso, and left the bathroom.

He wasn't in the living room.

He wasn't in the kitchen.

He wasn't in the den or in the dining room.

He wasn't downstairs.

I went up the steps and opened the door to the bedroom.

He was sitting on the bed, still wearing the towel.

"Griffin, I didn't mean—"

"Alone, Leigh," he said. "Do you know what that means?"

Great. He was still mad.

I retreated from the bedroom. But now I was standing out here wrapped in towels, and all my clothes were in my duffel in the bedroom. I was going to have to get in there eventually, but I guessed—

My thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of a phone.

Griffin had made me ditch my phone. But he'd picked up one. But no one called Griffin. Who even had that number? He'd barely had it for a few days.

I pushed the door open again.

Griffin was standing up, a look of confusion on his face.

"Who would call you?"

Then his eyes widened. "Beth." He dove for the phone, picking it up. "Hello." He listened, his expression hardening. "Fuck you, Knox. How do I know you even actually have her?" He was quiet, stony-faced. "Beth?... I'm coming to get you.... No, I'm—" He ripped the phone and dashed it against the floor. "Motherfucker."

He threw his towel off and began getting dressed quickly.

"What happened?" I said.

He didn't answer me. He tied his shoes.

"Griffin, who called you?"

"Op Wraith," he said. "Guy named Knox. The fuckwad who knocked up Beth. The fuckwad who didn't give a shit when I told him I was supposed to kill her and his unborn child." He got up, throwing his pack over his shoulder, and stalked out of the bedroom.

"Griffin," I called after him. "Where are you going?"

No answer.

I picked up my duffel bag. I darted down the stairs.

He was heading out the front door.

I ran after him, grabbing him by the shoulders. "Wait!"

He turned to me.

My towel was falling off. I struggled to tuck it back in. "Where are you going?"

"He's going to kill her," said Griffin. "I promised her I would keep her safe."

"How did they even find her? I thought she'd been there safe for months?"

"I don't know. But I talked to her. And he got my phone number out of her. She begged me not to come. She said they'd kill her anyway. But I have to go. I promised her." He went through the door.

"Griffin, wait for me," I said.

He didn't stop. He just walked out into the rain.

I was still in my towel. I didn't have shoes on. It was cold outside.

And he was going without me.

I hurried out into the rain, clutching my duffel bag tight against my chest. Maybe my clothes wouldn't be ruined.

Griffin was inside the car next door, the one he'd checked out earlier.

I dashed over to the passenger side. It was unlocked. I crawled inside.

Griffin had the wiring out underneath the dash. I'd seen him do this before.

I pulled the door closed. He didn't even acknowledge me.

The door to the house opened. The same man leaned out. "What are you doing?"

Griffin got the engine to start. He closed the door and backed out of the driveway.

"You're stealing my car!" the man yelled after us.

Griffin ignored him too.

* * *

I changed out of my towel on the road. I combed my wet hair with my fingers. If Griffin noticed that what I was doing was strange, he didn't let on. He wouldn't talk to me. He ignored every question I asked him. He drove eighty miles an hour, swerving around slower cars. His face was set and firm, his gray eyes steely.

He didn't say a word until we made it back to Beth's neighborhood.

Then he seemed to notice me again.

"They'll know I'm coming," he said. "They'll be waiting for me. They probably did this because they know we're together. They want to draw you out. You're what they're after. They don't care about me. You should probably stay in the car."

"No," I said.

"You should have stayed in Nantucket," he said. "Why are you here?"

"Griffin, I'm not going to be separated from you. I want to help. Tell me what to do."

He shook his head. He seemed different than I'd ever seen him. Colder. "Every second I waste here is a second she doesn't have. They don't need her anymore. You understand?"

"No," I said. I had no idea what he was talking about. And I had no idea why he was acting the way he was acting. He was almost a different person.

"They needed her to talk on the phone to me," he said. "Once she did that, they knew I was on the way. They could have killed her right after we hung up."

I grimaced. That was awful.

"That's why she told me not to come," he said. "That's why she told me she was as good as dead." He rubbed his forehead. "God damn it. They used her to get to me."

No. If what he was saying was true, they had used her to get to me, hadn't they?

Griffin parked the car. He didn't bother to hide it like he had when we'd checked out Stacey and Jack's house. He parked right in front of the apartment complex in a handicapped parking space. "Stay here," he told me, jumping out of the car.

I watched him sprint across the sidewalk to the landing. He'd have to climb the steps to get to Beth's apartment.

I found his pack and looked through it until I found a gun. I loaded it, disengaged the safety, and went after him.

He was already up the first set of stairs, cresting over the second landing.

I picked out Beth's apartment door, fifth floor. It didn't look completely closed.

It looked like it was moving.

Sure enough, the door opened and the nose of a gun appeared out of it.

"Griffin!" I yelled.

I was too late. Whoever was at the door of Beth's apartment had already pulled the trigger.

Griffin stumbled, faltering on the steps.

I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders, lined up my sights, and squeezed my trigger several times in succession.

There was a cry.

The door to Beth's apartment opened, and a body fell out of it, motionless.

I'd hit him. Whoa.

I started up the steps. "Griffin!" I yelled.

"Nice shot," he said.

"You okay?"

"It's my leg," he said. "It's healing." He was starting to limp up the steps.

I caught up to him as quick as I could. "The guy at the door? You think there are more of them?"

"Probably," he said.

"Give me a knife," I said. "He's healing right now. I need to get to him before he wakes up."

He shook his head, laboring up the steps. "You don't know how to do it."

"Fine," I said. I pushed past him.

"What are you doing?"

"I'll cover him with my gun until you get there. You're limping, and I can go faster than you." I scrambled up the steps.

"Leigh, wait!"

But I wasn't about to listen to him. He hadn't listened to me, had he? He'd just barged out into this, with no plan, no caution. He wasn't himself.

Wheezing, I arrived just outside Beth's apartment. I pointed my gun at the man who laid half out the door and half in it.

From inside, I could hear a baby wailing. Dixie.

They weren't going to hurt the baby, were they?

"Well, well, well," said a voice. "Leigh Thorn, right on the doorstep. This is better than delivery."

I whirled in the direction of the voice.

Pain exploded in my cheekbone.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

I pulled the trigger of my gun without aiming. The shot was loud, and the guy who'd just punched me doubled over.

"Shit," he muttered.

I took better aim. I shot him in the head.

It drove his body into the wall. He slid down onto the floor, leaving a smear of blood behind him.

There were two bodies in front of me now. They were probably Op Wraith agents, which meant that they were both healing. They'd wake up at any second, ready to hurt me.

"Beth?" I called. "Are you in here? Are you okay?"

No answer. The baby was still crying.

"Leigh!" shouted Griffin from below.

I peeked out of the door. "I'm okay. I shot them both."

He was one floor down, coming up the steps faster now. His leg must be healing from the gun shot. "Good. That's good."

"Beth isn't answering, but the baby's crying. I want to go look in the apartment and see if I can find them both."

"No, stay there," he said. "And get their guns before they wake up."

Oh. That was a good idea. He was good at this. I knelt down next to the first guy, the one lying out the door. I took the gun out of his hand and threw it further into the room, out of his reach.

Then I went to the other guy. He wasn't holding his gun, so I had to pat him down, which was really weird, because he wasn't moving at all, and I didn't like it. He felt dead. I knew he wasn't, but he felt like he was.

Eventually, I found his gun. I threw it out of his reach too.

Griffin came in the front door. He kicked the first guy inside, and he shut the door after himself. "Stay here and cover these guys," he said.

I nodded.

"Beth," he bellowed, hurrying into the apartment.

I glanced after him.

And one of the guys woke up. I didn't see him until it was too late. He was on his feet before I could bring my gun around.

He grabbed my wrist, twisting, forcing me to drop the weapon.

I cried out.

He shoved his hand over my mouth.

I flailed, trying to hit him, to hurt him.

He laughed. I was no match for him. He took me by the throat. He made a quick motion. I heard a snapping noise.

Everything went dark.

* * *

When I opened my eyes, all I could hear was the baby, still screaming. The guy who'd shot Griffin in the leg was standing over the body of the man who'd broken my neck. That man was dead. His head was practically severed from his body. He lay in a pool of crimson liquid on the carpet.

The other guy had his hands up, a knife dripping blood dangling from one. "Just wait a second, Griffin."

Griffin was behind him with a gun against the back of his head.

"Look, I took care of Finn down there, see?" said the guy. "I saved the girl."

"Shut up, Knox," said Griffin, his voice tight.

"Finn's the one who did Beth. I didn't want to do it. Every day since she's been gone, I've thought about her. I tried to stop him, but I couldn't."

"I said shut up."

"Why do you think I only shot you in the leg, man?"

Griffin pulled the trigger.

The left side of Knox's head caved in. Blood spattered onto Griffin's face.

Knox crumpled to the ground.

Griffin wiped his face with the back of his hand. He grinned—baring his teeth like a wild animal. "I think I might let him heal so that I can kill him again."

I got to my feet. "Griffin?"

He didn't look at me. He nudged Knox's body with his toe. He laughed, a high, hysterical sound.

I made my way out of the living room, into the kitchen. It looked undisturbed. I went further back the hall. I hadn't been this far into the place before. I opened the first door I came to.

A bathroom. Blue tile. A mirror over the sink. A rubber ducky sitting on the lip of the tub. Plush blue mats in front of the toilet and the shower.

I went to the next room.

She was lying on the bed, face down. Her neck was bloody, her head tugged away from her motionless body.

Beth.

She was dead.

And the baby was still in her crib. Looking at it.

I swept Dixie up into my arms and hurried from the room, making soothing noises.

* * *

I stayed in the kitchen with the baby. It was the only place that there wasn't any blood besides the bathroom. I had to change her diaper on the table, but I didn't figure anybody was going to be eating off of it any time soon.

Griffin was in the living room. He had Knox tied up and gagged. Routinely, Knox woke up. Griffin "killed" him again.

It was sick, and I told him so.

Griffin wasn't listening to me.

"We have to do something about Dixie," I said.

He wandered into the kitchen. "Like what?"

"I don't know. But she's lost her mother, and somebody's got to take care of her."

Griffin knocked over the chairs. "Fuck."

Dixie started to cry again. I'd just gotten her quiet.

"You're scaring the baby," I said. And me. He was scaring me. Ever since that phone call, I felt like I had no idea who he was anymore.

"Don't care," said Griffin. He kicked over the table too.

"Please don't," I said. I was at the edge of crying myself.

"I failed her," he said. "I failed Beth."

"This wasn't your fault," I said. "You told me that you can't blame yourself. Remember when I was upset about Stacey—"

"Not the same," said Griffin. "You didn't promise Stacey you'd keep her alive."

"That's not a promise you can really make, though, is it, Griffin? I mean, people die sometimes, and—"

"Shut up," he said.

I took a step away from him, stung.

Griffin sat down on the floor of the kitchen. "She was so afraid when she knew that they wanted her dead. She was terrified. And when I told her we'd get out of there, she looked into my eyes, and she believed in me."

"Griffin, you couldn't have known—"

"The last thing I said to her was ugly," he said. "I yelled at her."

"It's not your fault."

He buried his face in his hands. "Before Beth, I didn't think there was one other human being in the entire place. I knew she was a rebel. She was sleeping with Knox, and they really looked down on us assassins having affairs with each other. They'd rather pay for prostitutes, seriously. They didn't want us attached to each other. I knew she was a rebel, but I didn't know she was still a person deep down until she wouldn't terminate the pregnancy. She wanted a baby. Killing machines don't want babies. But she did. So she was still a human being. And if she was one, then I was one too. And I swore to her that I would keep her safe, that I would keep her alive."

I swallowed hard.

"I didn't keep her alive. I basically killed her." He looked up at me. "What if she hadn't had my phone number? If she hadn't known how to contact me, would they still have done it?"

Carefully balancing the baby, I sat down next to him. "Griffin, I'm so sorry." I rubbed his upper arm.

"Don't touch me," he snarled.

I recoiled. "Why are you being like this to me?"

He sneered at me. "This is what I am. Didn't you realize? All I'm good at is killing. I can't save people. You're not safe around me."

"That's not true."

"It is," he said. "It's true."

"Please..."

"Hold on," he said. "I think I hear Knox in the other room." He got to his feet and wandered out of the kitchen. There was a gunshot.

Dixie started to cry again.

I got up and began to walk with her, rocking. "We have to do something about the baby, Griffin." As soon as he got through whatever he was going through, he'd be okay again. He was only grieving. He was only blaming himself. Obviously, Beth had been very important to him. Maybe if I could distract him, get him moving again, then he'd start to snap out of it sooner.

"Do whatever you want with the baby."

"We should take her somewhere."

"You take her somewhere," he said.

"I need you to come with me."

He appeared back in the kitchen. There was more blood on his skin and clothes. "I'm not going anywhere. Don't be ridiculous. I've got Knox here to play with. And let's face it, doll, this is no place for a baby."

He mocked his pet name for me, made it sound stupid and sordid.

I bit my lip. Could I do this without Griffin? "Where should I go?"

"A hospital or something. There's got to be someplace you can take a baby."

Maybe if I left for a little bit, when I came back, he'd be better. Less freaked out. He was scary now, and I supposed that I didn't really think I liked the idea of being around him. So maybe I should go.

"You saved this baby," I said. "Maybe you didn't save Beth, but you saved the baby. Are you sure you don't want—"

"Get it away then," he said. "I might kill it."

"You would never—"

"Things I try to keep safe die," he said. "I won't be able to keep you safe either. You'll die too."

"You can't know what's going to happen."

"You should both get away from me," he said. "You and Dixie. Get the flying fuck as far away from me as you possibly can."

"If I take Dixie someplace, I'm coming back."

"You shouldn't," he said.

"Well, I will," I said.

"Don't," he said. "I don't want you too. I want you to get away from me, because you'd be better off without me. I can't keep you from getting hurt. I only make it worse."

"I'm coming back," I said. "Because I love you, Griffin Fawkes." Oh God. I'd just said that out loud, hadn't I?

He flinched, as if I'd just punched him. For one moment, I saw something soft swimming to the front of his expression, the old him coming back. But then the stoniness slammed back down in its place. He laughed harshly. "That's pretty idiotic of you, isn't it?"

* * *

"This child is too old to be taken in under the Safe Haven law." The woman at the desk in the hospital was chewing gum. She had on cat-eye glasses, like a cafeteria worker from the 1950s. "You can only drop off unwanted babies up to seven days after they're born."

Dixie was sleeping in my arms. Her mouth was open, and she looked so peaceful. "Look, it's not really that she's unwanted. It's just that her mother is dead."

"You're not the mother of the baby?"

"No," I said.

"Then you have no legal right to leave the baby anywhere. Only the parent can do that."

Was the woman deaf? "But her mother's dead. She's an orphan."

"What do you mean her mother's dead?"

What did I mean? "I mean she's no longer alive."

The woman glared at me as if I were particularly stupid. "I mean, how do you know the mother is dead?"

"Well..." What was I supposed to say here? The activities of Op Wraith were not within the confines of legality, but they were powerful, rich, and connected enough that they were able to make sure the law looked the other way. Would admitting I knew something about a crime make me get detained or something?

"The reason I ask," she said, "is that in most situations, there would be someone official available on the scene of the death of a young mother. Someone who would know to call the proper people within Child Services—"

"So, you're saying that I need to take the baby to Child Services?"

"I'm saying that I don't understand why you're carrying around a baby whose mother is dead." She cracked her gum. "Look, sweetheart, if it really is your baby, there's no reason to lie that the mother's dead."

"It's not my baby," I said. Did I look like a woman who'd given birth within the past few months? I didn't think so.

"How'd the mother die?"

I hesitated.

"That's what I thought," she said. "Look, you can't drop the baby off out of nowhere at that age. You'll need to actually go through the legal steps to put the baby up for adoption."

"I can't do that," I said. "I don't have the time."

"What?" said the woman. "You got some new boyfriend who wants to whisk you away, but not if you still have a baby?"

"She's not my baby!" I yelled.

Lots of people in the hospital lobby looked up.

A woman in flower-printed scrubs came over to me. She was probably a nurse, I thought. "Hi there," she said in a soothing voice. "You want to tell me what's going on?"

"That kid's too old for Safe Haven," said the woman behind the counter.

The nurse smiled at her. "Yes, thanks, Deloris. You're very good with understanding the law. I appreciate that." She turned to me. "Come with me for a minute so that we can talk." She led me to a waiting area. We sat down on seats with vinyl cushions. "Now, are you trying to drop off this baby under the Safe Haven law?"

"I don't know what that is," I said. "This baby's mother is dead, and rather than leave her alone with a dead body, I tried to find someplace to take her. But I guess I can't do that." I rubbed my face. "But I can't take care of her. I don't know anything about babies, and I'm not in a position where a baby would even be safe around me, and—"

"It's okay," said the nurse. "Calm down." She patted my shoulder. "Was the mother killed? Violently?"

Was I supposed to lie? I didn't say anything. I fidgeted with the bib that Dixie was wearing.

"I see," said the nurse. "Why didn't you call the police?"

"It wouldn't have helped," I said.

"Did you know the person who killed her?"

"No," I said.

She gave me a disapproving look. "I'm not here to get anyone in trouble."

I didn't say anything.

She reached out her arms. "You want to give me the baby?"

"You'll take her?" I said.

"I'll make sure that someone does, yes," she said.

I handed Dixie over. She murmured in her sleep, but thankfully, stayed still.

"Listen," said the nurse. "I appreciate that you came here with the baby today. That was a good thing to do. But if your boyfriend or husband is involved in something illegal, like a gang or some other kind of organized crime, and he routinely puts you in situations like this, then you need to know that there are places you can go that will help you. Even if he has all the money, and you have nowhere else to live. You can get away from him."

I shook my head. "It's not like that."

"Even if he isn't responsible directly for the death of the baby's mother," she said. "He still put you in a violent situation."

"No," I said. "It wasn't him."

"You do have a boyfriend," she said.

I got up. "I have to go."

"No matter how sweet he seems at other times," she said, "underneath all of it, you have to realize what he's capable of."

"Really," I said. "You've got it all wrong. There's no gang or anything like that." I turned and walked, afraid I'd said too much as it was.

I took the T back to Beth's apartment.

When I got there, I noticed that the car Griffin had stolen from Nantucket was gone. I thought that was a little strange. My clothes had been in there. Not that I had a lot of clothes. My packing skills when we left Thomas had not been top notch. I went up the stairs to the apartment. The door was unlocked.

"Griffin," I called as I went inside.

No answer.

The living room was empty. The bodies that had been in there were gone, including Knox. Someone had cleaned up the blood on the walls too. The carpet was still stained, but the furniture had been rearranged to cover most of it. At first glance, I'd never have known what had happened in here.

I went into the kitchen. My duffel was sitting on the kitchen table, holding down a note and a wad of cash.

I picked up the note. "Leigh," it said. "Here's some money. You'll be better off without me. I'd only let you down in the end."

It wasn't signed.

I set the note back down.

Beth's words echoed back to me, from days ago. He will abandon you, just like he abandoned me.

* * *

At first I couldn't believe it. After everything Griffin had done for me, after all the promises he'd made me. He wouldn't do this. He wouldn't leave me on my own with no idea where to go or how to take care of myself.

But he had.

Obviously, losing Beth had been really hard on him. If I were with him, maybe I could help, but...

Then I was angry. He shouldn't have done this to me. I'd followed him all over the place, done everything he asked, completely changed my life for him. How dare he leave me alone?

I snatched the money, stuffed it in my pocket, took my duffel bag, and stalked out of the apartment. This was fine, really. I'd been on my own before Griffin showed up. I could do it again. I didn't need him. I didn't need anyone. That was the way my life worked, anyway. I took care of myself. I'd been doing that ever since I was a little girl, and I could do it now.

I made my way back to the T. I wasn't sure where I was going yet, but it wasn't like I didn't know my way around Boston. I had money, since Griffin had given me the cash, and I could find someplace to stay for the night while I figured it out. Maybe I'd end up back in Nantucket in the house we'd been in. That had seemed safe.

A guy bumped into me as I was getting on the train. He accidentally brushed against my breast, turned bright red, and said he was really sorry.

I was too mad to reassure him. For all I knew, he'd done it on purpose.

I pushed farther into the train, away from him. But I shouldn't have worried. He got off on the next stop.

Two minutes later, I reached into my pocket and realized the cash that Griffin had given me was gone.

The guy had taken it, of course. Touching my boob had been a good distraction. I hadn't even noticed I was being pick-pocketed.

I sank down onto one of the hard seats on the train. This was bad.

Griffin was gone. I was alone. I had no money. There were people after me who wanted to kill me, and they probably knew I was in Boston since they'd almost gotten us at Beth's apartment. What the hell was I going to do with myself?

I sat there, stunned, the reality of the situation really penetrating my brain. Things were not good. Not good at all. I was in very bad trouble.

Without money, I had nowhere to sleep. I couldn't get back to Nantucket. I couldn't get anything to eat. I was screwed.

And I wasn't angry anymore.

I don't know if there are words to describe the emotion I felt. I was terrified. I was devastated. I was hurt and betrayed. But mostly, I felt numb, like I'd been dipped in ice water and lost the feeling in my limbs. I knew I should be feeling something, but I wasn't feeling anything. I was frozen and unable to move forward.

I sat in my daze for a long time. I don't know quite how long, but the T kept making stops, and people kept getting on and off. I watched them, and time passed, and I still didn't feel anything.

After a while, my brain started to clumsily try to figure out what I was going to do. I needed food and shelter first, and I needed to be someplace safe, where they wouldn't be able to get to me.

I doubted there was anywhere safe, not really.

But an apartment building with security was probably the best bet that I had.

Axel's apartment had security.

We hadn't parted on especially good terms. I knew that. He'd actually been a total ass to me. But I didn't have a lot of choices. In fact, if he was angry with me because of the way that I'd acted, I was going to have to grovel.

I had nowhere else to go.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

But when I got there, Axel was asleep. He stumbled out of bed to let me in and told me to take the guest room. "You look awful, babe," he said, giving me a hug and kiss on the cheek. "We'll talk later."

I didn't know when I had slept last. I didn't even know what time it was.

I realized that everything that had happened with Beth had just been this morning.

Right.

A few hours and my whole life was ruined and destroyed. That seemed to be a running theme with me lately.

I fell into the bed in Axel's guestroom gratefully and slept for hours.

When I woke up, it was dark outside, and Axel was standing over my bed with a spoonful of blow. "Need a pick-me-up?"

I sat up, shaking my head. "No more coke." I needed my head clear. Doing it only made me want more coke. It fucked me up considerably.

Axel shrugged. "Your call." He snorted it himself. "Get yourself in the shower, chica. We're going out."

"Out?" I said. I thought Axel would be angry with me because of the way I'd left. He didn't seem to care at all.

"Yeah," he said. "I bought this little club, and I want to show it off. Plus, you can tell me all about why you appeared on my doorstep looking disheveled."

* * *

"You bought a strip club?" I said. It was called The Golden Key, and it was a classy looking place with dark wood accents and low mood lighting. The girls inside were all wearing turn-of-the-century corset things.

"It's a burlesque gentleman's club," he said, leading me over to a table in the corner. It was circular with red velvet padding on the seat.

"Does your dad know?"

He sat down. "Of course my father knows. If I make a go of this place, then he's going to trust me with bigger amounts of investment money. This is all the beginning, Leigh."

I peered around at the place. There were three stages, each in separate parts of the room, all of various sizes. The largest was front and center. There were two women writhing up there on poles. The other stages were full as well. "What's the difference between a burlesque gentleman's club and a strip club?" I asked.

"Well, burlesque is an art form," said Axel.

"It is?"

"Mostly the clothes," he admitted. "We did have some variety shows here, like traditional burlesque shows. But they weren't as profitable as the straight-up stripping, so I discontinued them."

A waitress came over to our table. She was a little bit more dressed that the girls on stage. She had a tiny skirt on under her corset, instead of just a thong. She was carrying a bottle of champagne and two glasses. "Hi Axel," she said when she arrived.

He smiled at her. "Sometimes you gotta go where everybody knows your name."

The waitress winked at him as she poured our champagne.

"I thought you were going to law school," I said. "Why are you investing in strip clubs?"

"Gentleman's club," he said.

"Whatever," I said.

"I switched to business," he said. "My dad said it was just as good, and I don't have to go to law school now. I might get an MBA, but that's not nearly as much time as the hassle of getting a law degree, you know?"

I shrugged. I changed my major a lot. In Thomas, I'd been majoring in English, but I'd already been through theater, graphic design, history, and elementary education. "I guess so."

"You don't like it," he said.

I was watching one of the girls on stage. She was hanging upside down on the pole. "How do they get those corsets off?" I'd worn a corset before. They were made up of about thirty hooks and latches. They weren't easy to remove.

"Oh, that's the best part," he said. "The girls help each other take them off. It's our claim to fame."

I nodded. Right. I took a drink of my champagne.

"Your turn," he said. "Tell me what the heck you're doing showing up at my door again."

I sighed. "I need a place to crash for a little bit."

He raised his eyebrows. "Couldn't make up with the boyfriend, huh? Did he pick his baby mama?"

For a second, I didn't know what he was talking about. Then I remembered that the last time I'd seen Axel, I'd thought that Griffin and Beth had a relationship.

"Actually, that turned out to be a misunderstanding," I said.

Axel took out a bag of coke and a small mirror, brazen as you please, and began cutting up lines. "Really? That's interesting. I did some checking after you ran off a few days ago, Leigh. It's the strangest thing. You've been missing for months. So has your father."

My heart sank. He was starting to ask too many questions. "Look, Axel, I can't really talk about this."

He leaned forward. "Is it illegal?"

"No," I said. "Not exactly."

"Too bad." He worked on perfecting his lines of blow. "So, how long do you need to stay with me?"

I chewed on my lip. That was a good question. I really had no idea. Until the guys from Op Wraith found us and killed Axel as well as me? I needed a plan. "I guess I haven't thought that far ahead."

He offered me the mirror. "Sounds like you're in trouble, babe. Do a line. It'll make it all better."

"No thanks," I said. I remembered the way I'd reacted to it before. It was too much. I couldn't risk it ever again.

He shrugged. "Fine. More for me, then." He sucked up the white powder through a rolled up bill. He leaned back, his eyes closed. "Leigh, you don't know what you're missing."

I did know, though. And I was afraid of feeling it again. I liked it too much. I clasped my hands together in front of me.

Axel grinned a Cheshire Cat smile at me. "Are you in trouble?"

I nodded. "Yeah, I think I am."

"And you need me to help?"

"Yes."

He laughed. "I'm like Prince Charming, then." He bent down for another line.

Prince Charming? I surveyed him, his cocky smile as he wiped his nose. His expensive clothes, his well-groomed fingernails. Maybe he was a kind of prince, but he was a spoiled one. Still, he was the only thing I had right now. I did my best to smile. "I guess you are."

He leaned across the table. "Do I save you with a kiss?"

God. Why was he still harping on that? Axel and I had messed around a lot, but we'd never been serious. I didn't think he actually liked me. Besides, he was in a room full of half-naked chicks, and he was a rich guy. Certainly, he could find someone else to kiss him.

But what would he do if I didn't acquiesce?

"Axel," said a male voice behind me.

I turned. It was a man I'd never seen before, probably in his thirties.

"Hello Daniel," said Axel. To me, "Daniel's the manager here."

"Got a minute?" said Daniel. "I want to run a few things by you."

Axel got out of the booth. "Sure thing."

* * *

I giggled, flopping down on a plush couch. "What's this place?" The room was covered in mirrors. It had a thick, red shag carpet.

"It's a VIP lounge," said Axel, shutting the door after us. He handed me the champagne bottle.

I took a long drink, the fizzy liquid making fizz of my brain as well. I was a little drunk. "Does that mean I'm a VIP?"

"Definitely," said Axel, settling down next to me. He threw an arm over my shoulder.

I gave him the champagne. "Well, good. Because I feel very important."

He drank. "And well you should, Leigh Thorn. Well you should."

I leaned back against one of the mirrors. "Oh, Axel, I missed you. I really did."

He nuzzled my neck. "I'm glad to hear you say that."

I pulled away from him, annoyed. If I hadn't been so drunk, I might not have done it so abruptly, but all the champagne I'd poured down my throat had completely annihilated my inhibitions. "Why do you have to do that? Like you're trying to put moves on me?"

He took a thoughtful drink of champagne. "Well, I suppose because I want you."

"Oh," I said.

He set the champagne down. "You don't want me?"

"Not really," I said. It was true. Even though I was drunk and lonely, I had no desire to have sex with Axel. It used to be that the combination of those two things was all I needed to be ready to go with any likely partner—as long as he was relatively attractive and easy to get along with. But for some reason, I didn't feel like that right now.

"Ouch," he said.

"Sorry," I said. "It's not because of you or anything. I mean, you're exactly the same. But I'm—"

"Right. You're not doing coke, and you're still hung up on that dude you were crying over last time." Axel sucked in breath through his nose. "You're different."

I didn't say anything. Everything was starting to spin.

"It's only that I missed you, too," he said. "You were different than a lot of the other girls I've been with. With you, I was pretty sure I didn't matter."

"What?" I said. I tried to sit up straighter.

"It was refreshing," he said. "You weren't... clingy."

"Seriously?" I said. "You like me because I'm not into you?"

"I like you because you're wild and crazy and willing to try anything," he said. "Well. You were. You're different now. Like you said."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be," he said. "I'm a big boy. I can handle it." He gave me the champagne bottle. "But it does cause a little bit of a problem for you."

"Problem?" I set the bottle down on the floor. "I don't want any more of that."

He stood up, surveying himself in one of the mirrors. "Well, you wanted to crash with me."

"I thought you said that was okay," I said.

He shrugged. "I don't mean to sound selfish, babe, but what would really be in it for me?"

My jaw dropped. "You can't be serious. You're not going to let me stay with you because I'm not sleeping with you?"

"It's not like that," he said. "I just made a decision based on a faulty assumption. Now that you've given me all the data, I've concluded that it just doesn't seem like a prospect that interests me."

Great. I buried my face in my hands. "You jackass."

He laughed. "Sometimes, yeah. But you always liked that about me."

I lifted my face. He was grinning. I took a deep breath. "Okay. Okay, fine, I'll sleep with you, just don't—"

"No, don't be silly, Leigh. I told you it wasn't like that. I don't want you to sleep with me if you don't want to. What would be the fun in that? I can find willing girls easily enough."

"So, you're going to kick me out."

"You're so dramatic," he said.

I wanted to cry. I really did. But that feeling from before came back—that numb, frozen feeling, like I had no real emotions. So I only got to my feet. I stumbled a little. I'd had a good bit of champagne. "I have nowhere to go and no money, Axel."

He raised his eyebrows. "You really are in trouble."

I shook my head. "You really are a jackass."

"I don't see the problem, babe. Your dad isn't my dad. I know he doesn't have that much money. But he wouldn't let you starve or live on the streets either."

"He's dead," I said. I thought I'd cry then. Admitting that would make me cry. But nothing happened. I was ice.

Axel winced. He took a swig of champagne. "That's tough."

"And you still won't help?"

"Well, you see," he said. "That almost makes it worse. Because now you're a charity case. If I let you stay with me, you'd probably never leave. You don't have any money at all?"

"No," I said dully. He was right, though. He was horrible, but he was being honest. I had nothing to offer him, and I would burden him if I stayed with him. "Please, just one night. In the morning, I'll figure out—"

"Nothing's going to be different in the morning," he said. "You're still going to be in this pathetic situation."

"You're going to make me sleep on the street," I said.

"I'm not making you do anything," he said. "I'm just not taking you home. Your life is your business." He considered. "I guess you'll have to get a job or something. That's what people do, isn't it?"

A job? Like I could just— I looked at him sharply. "You could hire me."

"Hire you?"

"At your club," I said. "You could do that. It wouldn't hurt you."

"You want me to hire you? Doing what?"

"Stripping, of course," I said. I could make enough money in a week to get out of here. It was a good idea. It wasn't exactly a classy idea, but what did I care? I didn't mind guys looking at me. I was good at being the center of attention. And it would give me a goal. For the first time since the pick pocket took my money, I felt a tiny bit of hope.

"What do you know about stripping?"

"What's to know? I mean, I have to take off my clothes."

He considered. "I guess you're good at that."

"Fuck you."

He laughed. "So touchy all of the sudden."

"Look, you obviously want to see me naked anyway," I said. "It's a win-win, isn't it? I'll even give you a lap dance."

He folded his arms over his chest. "All right. We can try it. There's generally a fee that girls payout to the club for working, but I'll front it for you. You pay me back after your first shift. I'll also front for the clothes you're going to need. You pay me back for that too."

"Of course."

He slid his hand behind my neck. "And I am going to want a lap dance."

"Okay," I said. "I'll make sure I get right on that once I'm working."

"No," he said. "Right now."

I shut my eyes.

"Consider it your audition."

I forced myself to smile. "Fine. You got it." Axel was such a dick. I sort of wished he was dead right now. But I took a deep breath, because if I was going to be a stripper, I was going to have to get used to playing nice with guys I didn't like.

Okay, okay. How did you give a lap dance exactly?

Maybe I didn't have to start in his lap. Maybe I could work up to that. I backed up against the far wall, my back against the mirrors. I closed my eyes. I could hear the music of the club in the background. This would be like dancing anywhere, right? Just feel the music?

I started to sway my hips.

"I'm waiting here," said Axel. "Thus far, I'm not impressed."

I really did hate him. "I'm a little drunk. Give me a second to concentrate." I leaned my back up against the wall, my legs still out. I swung my hips in a wide circle, so that my butt brushed up against the wall. I closed my eyes again. I didn't need to see Axel. I needed to get this right.

"Better," he said.

I wished he'd shut up. I reached up and unbuttoned the first button on my shirt.

I slid down the wall, my back arched, my eyes still closed. When I got all the way down, I opened my eyes and fixed him with my sexiest stare.

He didn't laugh. That was saying something.

I rocked away from the wall and planted my hands on the floor. Languidly, I moved so that I was in a crawling position. Keeping eyes contact, I crawled towards him slowly, like a cat.

He licked his lips. "Not bad, Leigh."

I stopped in front of him. On my knees, I bounced up and down as I unbuttoned the rest of the buttons on my blouse, slowly, watching him the whole time.

He swallowed, eyeing me with interest.

I pulled my shirt over my shoulders, leaving it on the floor. I was down to my bra now.

I climbed up to straddle him, grinding into his pelvis, rubbing my body against his.

He caressed my hips.

"I don't think you're allowed to touch strippers," I said.

He dug his fingers into my skin.

I pulled away, scrambling to my feet. "That's enough, Axel."

He curled his lip. "You're not done."

"You broke the rules."

I swept my shirt off the floor.

"Hold on," he said. "Don't stop. I promise to be good."

"Just... do I get the job or not?" I said. "Try and be a decent human being for once in your miserable existence."

"Ouch. Babe, that's harsh," he said.

"You deserve it," I said.

His gaze flitted over me. I was still holding my shirt, but I'd brought it up against my body so that it was covering me a little bit. "Tell you what, Leigh. Take of your bra, and I'll help you get a job at my gentlemen's club."

"What does it matter, Axel? It's not like you haven't seen my boobs before."

"Not in a while," he said. "Not like this."

And it felt wrong somehow. I felt like I was in the spotlight, and I didn't like the way he was greedily eyeing my bare skin. How had I never noticed what a jerk Axel was before?

"Just take off your bra," he said. "If you want to be a stripper, you have to be able to strip, babe."

I let my balled up shirt drop back on the floor. He was right. I needed to get used to greedy eyes on me. I needed to get used to being looked at the way Axel was looking at me. Maybe it was worse because I thought he was my friend. I wasn't sure. But I did know that I didn't have any other options here. I was on the run, all alone, with no money and no place to stay. Axel was the only friend I thought I could turn to, but he hadn't turned out to be much of a friend.

I needed to toughen up. The world wasn't a bed of roses, or—if it was—they had thorns. This was about my survival here. This was about doing what I had to in order to take care of myself.

I reached back and undid the hooks on my bra. I slid the straps over my arms. I let it drop.

Axel smiled. "That wasn't so difficult, was it?"

The air felt cold. I watched as my skin reacted, my nipples tightening. Under his gaze, I felt exposed and cheap. I lifted my chin. Damned if I was going to let it show.

* * *

Sheena was pressed up against my back, writhing against me as she undid the hooks on the front of my corset. A group of men had gathered around the stage, whooping at the two of us. Axel had been right. Girls taking each other's corsets off was a big draw. I did my best not to roll my eyes, to pretend like I was enjoying this. After all, I needed the damned money.

Her fingers were deft and quick. She'd had some practice with this. And the corset took so damned long to get off that even moving fast, it still seemed like a long, drawn-out seduction.

At the edge of the stage, the gathered men were already stuffing dollar bills in our garters.

Sheena smiled at them, and I tried to as well.

But it was hard for me, like always. I had thought that I'd be good at a job like this. That I'd enjoy the attention. But there was something in their eyes that I didn't like, and I didn't know how much longer I was going to be able to handle it. They looked at me like I wasn't real. Like I wasn't really flesh and blood. It bothered me.

Sheena pulled apart the last of my hooks, opening my corset. She moved away from me and let me slowly remove it, mugging for more money from the men at the front of the stage, now that I was down to my thong, garter belt, and stockings.

I would have my own slow, seductive dance here, and then I'd help Sheena take off her corset. She faded over to another pole while I crouched down to shake my bare breasts in the faces of the customers.

More money got shoved into my garter. I tried not to look them in the eyes as I did it. I focused on their foreheads instead. I didn't want to see their expressions.

So, I didn't recognize him when he grabbed me by the wrists and yanked me off the stage.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

I cried out.

Then I saw his face.

Griffin.

Heck, maybe not recognizing him had nothing to do with looking at his forehead. I don't know if I would have anyway. His hair had grown out a bit. There was a shaggy half-inch all over his head. He hadn't bothered to shave either, and he had a jagged looking mustache and beard as well. His gray eyes were glassy, and he didn't seem steady on his feet.

"What are you doing?" he said. There was a slur in his voice. He was drunk.

By this time, two of the bouncers in the club had approached the two of us. One wrapped his arms around Griffin in a bear hug. The other got in his face. "You can't do that, sir."

"We're going to have to escort you out," said the bouncer holding Griffin's arms down.

Griffin shifted on his feet, crouched, and, in a blur of movement, freed himself from the bouncer, tumbling the guy onto his back.

The other bouncer moved forward, but Griffin drove his fist into the man's face.

He grabbed me by the arm. "Come with me." His fingers dug into me painfully. I had no choice but to let him drag me along.

We were met in the lobby by three more bouncers, led by Axel.

"Let go of her," said Axel, raising his chin arrogantly. I rolled my eyes. Still trying to be Prince Charming, after everything.

Griffin did let go of me. He lifted his fists and charged at the first bouncer.

Axel hurried over to me. "Leigh, are you all right?" He threw his arms around me.

I pushed him away. I was half-naked. "Don't touch me."

Griffin had knocked the first guy out.

He was jamming an elbow into the face of the next guy and aiming a kick for the third.

"Stop!" I yelled.

No one listened.

Griffin's elbow collided with the bouncer's face. He started bleeding.

"I know him," I said. "I'll go with him. Just stop it."

The third bouncer backed off.

Griffin inclined his head, stepped over the knocked-out bouncer, and came for me.

"You can't just leave," said Axel to me.

"Why not?" I said.

"Because you haven't paid me back for buying you all those corsets and heels and tights," said Axel. He put his arm around my waist. "Now, come back inside, and get back on stage—"

"Don't touch her," said Griffin, ripping me away from Axel.

"Leigh," said Axel, "if you leave here, you can forget about this job. I won't help you anymore."

"I..." I looked at Griffin.

He was wearing a black hoodie. He pulled it off and draped it over my shoulders. "Come on."

"Sorry," I said to Axel. I followed Griffin outside, clumsily trying to zip up the hoodie to cover myself.

Griffin could hardly walk straight. He stumbled into buildings as he yanked me down the street. I had no idea how he'd fought all those guys so effectively when he was clearly hammered. We walked for a block until we were past the club. My high heels made loud noises on the sidewalk. The air was cold, and I was barely dressed.

Then he grabbed me by the shoulders and slammed me up against a brick wall. "What the hell, Leigh?"

"Ouch," I said.

"You were stripping."

"The money you gave me got stolen by a pick pocket," I said. "It was my best option."

He laughed, and it was a bitter rattle. "Selling your body was your best option."

"It's not like I was a prostitute or something," I said. "I only took off my clothes."

"Only took off your clothes? Are you listening to yourself? Don't you have any respect for yourself at all? I'm away from you for a week, and this is where I find you?"

I glared at him. "You shouldn't have left me."

He turned away from me. "I had to leave you." He rummaged in his pocket until he came out with his wallet. He took all of the money out of it and pressed it into my hand. "Don't let it get stolen this time." He staggered down the sidewalk, away from me.

What? He was just leaving? I went after him. "You're not one to be on a high horse. What were you doing in a strip club, anyway?"

"Drinking," said Griffin, not looking at me.

"There are other places to drink."

"Most of them don't have naked girls in them, though."

I grabbed him by the shoulder. "So you've got no problem looking at girls doing that, but you don't want me to do it? If you think stripping's so awful, shouldn't you boycott it?"

He stopped. He took me by the chin. "It's not that I think it's wrong. It's that I don't want them to see... I don't want you to..." He let go of me in frustration. "If you're showing your tits to everyone, then it's not exactly like letting me see them was anything special, was it?"

I swallowed. Being with Griffin had been special. I thought it had. And then he'd left me. He didn't have any claim over me after what he'd done. I felt anger rise inside me. "Special? Jesus, Griffin. What are you, twelve? There's nothing special about any of it."

"Right," he said. "Right, because God knows how many guys had already been there before I put my hands on you, right? You had threesomes and every single one of your friends was also fucking you occasionally."

"Not every one of my friends."

"How many guys have you slept with since I left?"

I drew back, hurt. "None."

He laughed again. "I saw how that guy touched you. The pretty one in the suit. Casually running his hands over you. Like he hasn't had a piece of you."

"It wasn't—"

"I knew it," he said. He started walking again. "Stay away from me, Leigh."

"It was a long time ago," I called after him. "And besides, if I owed you any kind of faithfulness, it stopped the minute you abandoned me."

He kept walking.

"You said you would keep me safe," I said, my voice cracking.

He slowed.

I hurried after him, as fast as I could with my high heels. "You changed things, Griffin. When you were around, I felt like..." Damn it. I looked down at the money in my hand. I'd better put it someplace safe. Griffin was running off on me, and I couldn't go back to the club.

"Like what?" he said.

I looked up. He had stopped walking and turned to face me.

I closed the distance between us. "Like maybe my life was worth something. Because if you wanted to keep me alive, then... maybe it meant that I was important."

He shoved his hands in his pockets.

I gazed into his eyes, and all I saw there was anger and pain. I looked at my shoes. My toe nail polish was chipping. "Look, I guess I used to sleep around a lot. I liked... feeling important. Like, if I was with a guy, then for that little bit of time, I was the most important thing to him. And I liked that feeling."

"That's the most fucked-up thing I've ever heard."

I hung my head. "I guess so."

"I can't be that, Leigh," he said. "I can't be the only reason you take care of yourself. I'm going to let you down, and when I do, you can't fall apart."

"That's not... what you are," I said.

"No?" he said. "I leave you, and you start working in a strip club."

"Just because I needed money," I said. "Not because I don't respect myself."

He shook his head. "You don't have any idea what that was like. No man on earth wants to see a roomful of guys staring at the woman he loves half naked. That was horrible."

"Did you just say—"

"Don't," he said. He took me by the arm. "I'm no good for you, you understand that?"

My heart was soaring. "You just said you loved me."

He started walking, dragging me along again. "You don't want my love."

* * *

"Do you really think you should be driving?" I was standing outside a car as Griffin tugged open the door. "I mean, you've had a lot to drink."

"You're right," he said. "I'm unsafe. Run along. Being around me is dangerous."

"I could drive," I said.

"In those heels?" He snorted.

Okay. He had a point. I opened the passenger side door.

"Seriously," he said. "Be a smart girl. Get the hell away from me."

I sat down in the car and pulled the door closed.

"Last chance, Leigh," he said.

"I don't want to be away from you," I said. "I didn't want it before, and I don't want it now."

"Because I make you feel like you're important," he said in a mocking voice, yanking out wires underneath the dashboard.

"No," I said. "Because I love you. Are you stealing this car?"

"I've already stolen this car. Days ago." The engine roared to life. He put it in reverse. The tires squealed as he pulled out of his parking spot.

I buckled my seatbelt, cringing.

Griffin drove one handed and way too fast. "Let me know if you want out."

"You're just doing it to scare me," I said.

"Maybe it's like this," he said, settling back in his seat. He grinned at me. "I'll play armchair psychologist."

"Watch the road," I said.

We soared through a yellow light just as it changed to red. "Obviously, you have daddy issues. He never loved you, so you sought the attention of all kinds of boys, but you were so much of a slut that none of them wanted you."

"Griffin, please don't call me names."

He screeched to a stop at the next light. "Funny how you fell for the one guy on earth who can't screw you. What do you think that's about?" He turned to me, eyebrows raised.

I swallowed. "Just because you haven't doesn't mean that you can't."

The light turned green. We rushed forward, pushing me back in my seat. I clutched the arm rest.

"Anyway, at this point, you're so messed up in the head over guys that you can't tell who's good for you and who isn't. You'd take anyone, as long as he made you feel important, the way daddy never did. And that's why you're staying with me now, when it's painfully obvious that I'm falling apart here."

"I thought I was falling apart," I said.

Abruptly, he turned the car into the parking lot of a hotel and careened into the parking lot. He squealed to a stop in one of the spaces and put the car in park. "Guess we're both falling apart."

"Because you're drinking and going to strip clubs?"

He chuckled. "That's just the tip of the iceberg, doll." He leaned over me and unbuckled my seatbelt. "I've got a hotel room, and Knox is inside."

"You didn't kill him?"

He unzipped the hoodie, baring my skin. "I'm torturing him." His hand closed over my breast. "I'm doing it for you." His thumb ran over my nipple.

A little jolt ran through me. I had to admit, I felt afraid.

"He's going to tell me everyone who knows that you got the serum. Once he does, then I can go find those people and kill them." He looked into my eyes. "And then you'll be safe. Like I promised."

He squeezed my breast. It hurt.

"Griffin—"

"What?" he said. "I thought you loved me. I thought you'd stay with me no matter what."

I bit my lip.

He lowered his mouth to my nipple, and he was gentle. I closed my eyes, warmth and arousal washing over me.

"If you stay," he whispered into my flesh, "your body is for my eyes only."

"I wouldn't—"

But he was out of the car, slamming the door.

I zipped up the hoodie and hurried after him. "Griffin, you can't torture people. Not for me, not for anyone."

He laughed, swinging open the door to the hotel.

I barely caught it before it closed. He was walking too fast, and my damned heels made it hard to keep up. I would have lost him, but he stopped at the elevator. I made it there just in time for the doors to open.

We went inside, the doors closed. Griffin pressed a button for the third floor.

"Besides," I said, "even if you killed every person that knows I have the serum, then Op Wraith would still know about you. I'd be safe, but you wouldn't. We couldn't be together."

He leaned up against the wall. I'd forgotten how good he was at leaning. "You sure you want to be anywhere near me?"

I hesitated.

"That's what I thought." The elevator doors opened. Griffin ambled out. He walked down the hallway, stopped in front of a door with a do-not-disturb sign, and went inside.

I followed him, closing the door behind me.

Griffin switched on the light. "Knox doesn't mind. Do you, Knox?"

Knox was lying face up on one of the room's two double beds. He was tied down, spread eagle, and he wasn't wearing anything except a pair of boxers. His skin was covered in dried blood, but he didn't seem to be hurt anywhere anymore. He'd healed, I supposed.

"Why isn't he dressed, Griffin?" I said, feeling sick.

Griffin smiled at me. "Because not having clothes makes people feel vulnerable." He looked at Knox. "Well, most people, anyway. Not Leigh here. She loves to take off her clothes for strangers."

"Oh, for God's sake," I said. "I had nowhere to go, you jerk."

Griffin ignored my outburst. He nudged Knox. "Knox was just telling me this morning about how he deserved everything I was doing to him. He said he hated himself for what he did to Beth, and that if I killed him, it would be too good for him, because he'd have peace. Weren't you, Knox?"

Knox swallowed, looking terrified. "Griffin, you gotta believe me. I tried to stop Finn. I never wanted Beth to die. I wanted to help her."

"But you didn't help her," said Griffin. "Did you?"

"No," said Knox. "It was all my fault."

"Sure as fuck was," said Griffin. He pulled out a gun with a silencer and put it against Knox's head. He pulled the trigger.

I looked away.

Griffin threw the gun on the other bed. "Except that's not true. Not exactly. It's partly my fault."

Slowly, I raised my gaze to Knox. He was a bloody mess.

"He'll be fine," said Griffin. "He'll heal up in an hour or so." He ran a hand over his face. "Sometimes I'm not sure if I'm only hurting him the way I wish someone was hurting me."

I didn't know what to do. I couldn't stop looking at Knox's ruined face. I backed up until I hit the wall. And then I hugged myself.

Griffin looked at me. "Damn it."

"What?"

"It's harder than I thought having you see me like this."

"Don't be like this then," I said to him.

He crossed to me. He snapped my garter straps against my leg. "I don't want you wearing this stuff anymore."

"I don't have anything else."

"I'll give you a pair of sweatpants," he said. He got them out of his pack and handed them to me.

I started to go into the bathroom.

"Why is it a big deal to take it off in front of me? You were going to get totally naked in front of that whole room of people weren't you?"

I looked at Knox.

"He's dark," said Griffin. "It's like he's not here."

I tried to swallow, but my mouth was dry. "You want a strip tease, Griffin?" I raised my hand to the zipper of the hoodie.

He stopped me. "No." He closed his eyes. "I'm sorry." He rested his forehead against mine. "I'm sorry I left you. I'm sorry the money got stolen. I'm sorry you felt like you had to work at a strip club. I'm sorry I'm a complete asshole."

I reached up to touch his cheek. His beard prickled my fingertips.

"I'm so sorry." He let go of me and let me go into the bathroom to change.

When I came out, my feet were bare and Griffin's sweatpants were pooling around my ankles. I had pulled the drawstring tight around my hips or they would be falling down. Griffin was bending over Knox. He was untying him.

"Griffin?"

He looked at me. "I think he's telling the truth. I don't think he wanted Beth to get hurt. He did kill Finn." He went back to working at the knots. "He keeps saying he wants to help me take down Operation Wraith. After everything I've done to him, he keeps saying he wants to help me."

I sat down on the bed. "You aren't going to kill him?"

He let out a long, unsteady breath. "I don't want to kill people. They're the ones who wanted me to kill people." He massaged the bridge of his nose. "I can't stand the way you've been looking at me since we got in here. I don't..."

I reached out and touched his shoulder. "It's okay. I think... I think we're going to be okay."

* * *

We had to leave the hotel, because there was blood everywhere, and Griffin thought it was suspicious. Knox hadn't woken up yet, so Griffin bundled him up in sheets and took him down the stairs to the bottom floor. Then he found a different car to steal, because apparently, it was good to change it up.

We drove. I was quiet. I didn't know what to say or do.

Griffin pulled into a Wal-Mart and told me to go in and buy clothes. I shopped fast, picking up three pairs of pants and three shirts in my size. I grabbed some underwear and bras too. I didn't try them on. I just bought them.

When I got back to the car, Griffin was standing outside, leaning against it. He looked anxious. "Are you okay?"

"Fine." I walked over to the passenger side. The window was open. I threw the bag of new clothes in.

He followed me over to my side of the car and put a gentle hand on my shoulder. "I fucked up."

"We both did." I started to open the car door.

"No, wait."

I turned to look at him.

"I really fucked up," he said. "You didn't. This was all me."

I shrugged. "I guess I should have respected myself a little more than working at a strip club. You were right. I'm kind of slutty."

"You are not. I didn't mean that. When I said that..." He became very interested in his shoes. "I think I just switched off."

I tucked my hair behind my ears. "Like they taught you at Op Wraith?"

He nodded. "Yeah. Like I turned off all my emotions. And I might never have come out of it if I hadn't seen you." He touched me. "You woke me up."

I pulled away. "I... I don't know if I can be that for you, Griffin. I can't be pulling you back from the edge all the time."

He ran a hand over his head. He laughed. "Oh. Nicely done. You threw that right back in my face."

"Because you're right," I said. "I can't depend on you to make me a better person, and you can't depend on me—"

"Why not?" he said. "What if what I said back there wasn't right? What if it was bullshit? What if people can't be better if they don't have someone to be better for?"

I wasn't sure what to say.

He fidgeted for a second, and then he grabbed me by the waist and pulled me close. His gaze searched mine. "Is it so awful to think that you make me better? That I make you better?"

I shook my head. "No. It's not awful at all." I wrapped my arms around him.

And our lips came together.

"You two going to stop sucking face long enough to tell me what the hell's going on?" said a voice from inside the car.

Oh. Knox was awake.

* * *

Griffin was in the bathroom, shaving his head. We were in a new hotel now. I could hear the whirr of the electric shaver from the bathroom. Knox was standing in the doorway to the adjoining room where he was going to sleep.

"I don't get it," I said to Knox. "Why are you still here with Griffin?"

"Why are you?" said Knox.

"I'm in love with him," I said. "You can't be in love with him too, not after he tortured you for weeks."

Knox laughed. "Yeah, not so much." He shrugged. "I wanted out of Op Wraith. I'm out now. And, um, I want to take them down. I think Griffin's the guy to do it."

The whirring noise shut off. Griffin came back into the bedroom. He looked like himself again. His hair was cropped close against his head. His beard had been shaved off. "Take down Op Wraith? Like the whole thing? We can do that?"

"I think so," said Knox. "You, uh, you kept my pack, right? I saw it in the other hotel room."

Griffin sat down on the bed in the room, right next to me. "Yeah, it's in the car."

Knox nodded. He disappeared for a few minutes, and then came back in, a pack nearly identical to the one that Griffin carried slung over his shoulder. He grabbed a chair from the room's desk and dragged it over to the bed. Opening his pack, he took out folded-up paper and handed it to Griffin. "Check this out."

Griffin unfolded the paper. "It's an email."

"Look who it's from," said Knox.

"Gerald Norman," said Griffin. "The head of Dewhurst-McFarland. So what?"

Knox clasped his hands together. "That's an email from years ago, telling everyone to discontinue the Dura Project."

"So what?" said Griffin. "We know that project got discontinued."

"What is it again?" I asked. I couldn't remember what Griffin had told me.

"The project that created the serum," said Knox. "Norman told them to destroy all of the remaining serum."

Griffin furrowed his brow. "But they didn't do that. They used it to start Operation Wraith."

"Exactly," said Knox. "Without the knowledge of anyone in the organization."

Griffin straightened. "You're kidding."

"I'm not," said Knox. "The only people who know about Op Wraith in Dewhurst-McFarland are the four people who run it. Frank Thorn, Jim Bradford, Jolene French, and Bart Caldwell."

"Three people," said Griffin. "Frank Thorn's dead."

My dad. "My dad headed up Op Wraith?" I said. "I thought he just worked for Dewhurst-McFarland."

"Sorry, doll," said Griffin. "I thought you knew."

I looked away. My dad hadn't been a very nice guy. At least he'd saved me in the end.

"Do you realize what this means?" said Knox.

"Not really," I said.

"I've got the emails right here," said Knox. "I finally hacked into the server earlier. And Op Wraith was Bart Caldwell's brain child. He brought the others in to help. The idea was to train a group of invincible assassins and sell them to the highest bidder."

"We weren't part of the corporation?" said Griffin.

"No, we were Caldwell's dirty secret," said Knox. "He used us to make money. He hired us out to kill whoever he wanted killed. And he did it all without anyone in Dewhurst-McFarland knowing about it."

Griffin took a deep breath. "You're saying that if we kill the people who head up Op Wraith, then we kill everyone who knows about it."

"That's exactly what I'm saying," said Knox. "If we do this, if we kill just three people, we free every single person who's been forced into being an assassin."

"We shut it down," said Griffin.

"That's right."

"Wait," I said. "Does this mean no one would be after you?"

"Yes," he said.

I leaned against his shoulder. "I'm in."

Griffin kissed the top of my head. He turned to Knox. "No one would be after any of us."

"Yeah," said Knox. "I could, um, find my kid. The little girl that Beth had."

"You want to do that?" I said.

He looked at his hands. "I think so."

Griffin got up off the bed. "Okay, so what do we do? Who do we go after first?"

"Jim Bradford still works in a lab for Dewhurst-McFarland," said Knox. "It's not like he's behind bullet-proof glass all day. I'm thinking we get up in a building next door."

"Sniper him," said Griffin.

"Yeah," said Knox. "No muss, no fuss."

* * *

Light streamed in between the heavy curtains of the hotel. I opened my eyes to find that I was snuggled tightly against Griffin in bed, his arms crushing me against his chest. When we'd gone to sleep the night before, we'd kept to our own sides of the bed. Both exhausted, we'd been out immediately. But it seemed that our bodies had somehow come together in the night.

I shifted a little, doing my best not to wake him. In sleep, he looked like a little boy, innocent and vulnerable. I gazed at him, wondering at the fact that he could be so different. The Griffin who'd whispered to me that he wanted things to be perfect for me was the same man who'd engineered that I get shot in my car, the same man who'd called me names last night, the same man who'd apologized and claimed I made him a better person.

I sighed. I'd taken a class once—a women's studies class. It was all about the way that early romance stories portrayed women as needing a man to survive. One of the books we read was Emma by Jane Austen, and the teacher had gone on and on about how Emma only stopped doing all the nasty things she did after she fell in love with Mr. Knightley. He fixed her. She couldn't fix herself. My teacher had said that was the height of sexism, women didn't need men to change them, and this kind of thing sent a disturbing message to young women.

According to my teacher, the way to have a healthy relationship was to fix yourself before you fell in love and to expect your partner to have done the same.

But I wondered. After all, in the book, Mr. Knightley wasn't precisely perfect. He was jealous of that other guy—the one who was gay in the Clueless movie... (Our teacher had shown us Clueless afterwards, because it was based on Emma.) It didn't matter. The point was that being with Emma had made Mr. Knightley a better person too.

Oh, hell. What did it matter? It was a book. And the person who taught my women's studies class was divorced. What did she know, anyway?

I gazed down at Griffin. Did I need him to survive?

And if I did, did that make me pathetic and weak?

And after all the awful things he'd said to me last night, was I being a complete idiot to climb back into bed with him? Sure, we hadn't done anything but sleep, but there was a promise that came from sleeping in the same bed. And the way our bodies were entwined right now could only mean that we were together.

I sighed again. I loved him. That was all there was to it. Maybe it was stupid. Maybe I couldn't trust him. Maybe I should be fixing myself. Maybe he should be fixing himself. But. Well. That wasn't the way things were going.

Griffin stirred against me, pulling me even closer, and I could feel that he was hard.

But it was morning. That happened to guys every morning, right?

He grunted, plunging his hips against my skin, pressing his erection into me.

I giggled softly. What was he dreaming about?

His eyes snapped open, and he pushed me away. He sat up in bed, glancing around the room, wild terror on his face.

"Griffin?" I said.

He turned to me, taking a deep breath. "Fuck." He flopped back on the bed.

"Are you okay?" I said.

"Bad dream."

I reached out to touch his shoulder. "You want to talk about it?"

"No," he said. Abruptly, he pulled me back into his arms again, his grip on me almost suffocating. He buried his face in my neck. "It's nice that you're here. I missed waking up with you."

"I missed you too," I said. "But I can't breathe."

He loosened his grip. "Sorry." He kissed my forehead. "It's probably because we were talking about Op Wraith last night. About Jolene French."

"Who is that?"

"The psychologist I told you about," he said. "She's a nasty piece of work. She'd tease out all our fears, but she wouldn't help us work through them. Instead, she'd manipulate us so that the fears became permanent fixtures in our brains. And she knew how to trigger them. Whenever Op Wraith needed to take an assassin and turn him into a quivering ball of fear, she could snap her fingers, and it would happen."

I shuddered. "Griffin, do you have any nice stories from your past? That woman gives me the creeps."

"Yeah, she's pretty horrible." He lay back on his pillow, squeezing his eyes shut.

I propped myself up on one elbow. "You sure you don't want to talk about the dream?"

"Yeah," he said. "I haven't had one like that in a while. I used to get them all the time when I was working for Op Wraith."

I debated whether to let it go or not, and then decided that if I was the only thing that Griffin had to make him better, it was my job to dig. At least a little bit. "Was it about what happened to you when you were in jail?"

His eyes opened. "Doll."

"Was it?"

"Yes." His voice cracked. "I get them sometimes, and I wake up, and I'm always..."

"What?"

"Nothing," he said.

"You can tell me," I said. I lay my hand on his chest. "It's me. I love you."

He grimaced, and his voice was a jagged whisper. "I'm always turned on."

"But Griffin—"

"No, you don't get it," he said. "Because it didn't turn me on. I didn't like anything they did to me. None of it. But French said that subconsciously, I must have. She said I must have latent homosexual desires and that I should give in to them, and that..." He grasped my wrist, moving it off his chest. "That's what always scared me. That I'd have to go back to that willingly. That some part of me wanted it."

Tears filled my eyes. "No. That's not true. It wasn't your fault."

"Then why do I wake up like that?"

"Um, I'm a girl and all, so I don't know for certain, but I'm pretty sure that guys always wake up with hard-ons. Like... naturally."

He shook his head. "It's different."

"Is it different? Or is what that woman said to you making you think it's different?"

He was quiet for a minute. Then he released my hand, letting it rest on his chest again, and searched my eyes with his own. "You think that's really all it is?"

I nodded. "I do."

He tugged me close, folding me into his body. His lips murmured over the top of my head, and he spoke into my hair. "This is why I need you."

* * *

"Um, I really can't remember her name," I said to the guard at the door. The building next to Dewhurst-McFarland's lab also belonged to the corporation, but suits and businessmen worked there. The building didn't have super tight security, but there was a guard at the door. My job was to keep him distracted long enough for Knox and Griffin to get in and get onto the elevator.

"Look, lady," said the guard. "I have a list, and if you're not on it, then I can't let you inside."

"Oh, I totally understand that," I said. "I'm not trying to make you break any rules or anything. I'm just saying that the woman I'm supposed to meet with... I can't remember her name."

The guard was facing me, holding the door open, gripping a tablet that contained his precious list. I could see that Griffin and Knox were inching their way along the building, heading for the open door. If they were quiet and discreet enough, they'd be able to slip in right behind his back.

"Maybe," I said, "if you could show me the list—"

"I can't show you the list, ma'am," he said.

"Well, not to let me see the names of the people allowed in," I said. I laughed. "That would be stupid. Because it would tell me my own name, and I already know that."

Griffin and Knox were closer still. A few feet away.

"But so that I could see where my name was, and then I'd see who it was I'm supposed to be seeing, because this is really embarrassing. I'm going to get in there for that meeting, and—"

"You're not going to get into any meeting if you don't give me your name so that I can check my list," said the guard.

Griffin and Knox were almost there.

"My name?" I said. "Oh, gosh I didn't tell you that?"

"No, you didn't." He narrowed his eyes. "Did you hear something?" And he began to turn around.

Griffin and Knox were right behind him.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

I improvised. I grabbed the man by the shoulder, turning him to face me. "Okay, you got me. I'm not here because I have an appointment."

"I didn't think you were."

"The truth is," I said, "I walk past here on my way to work every day, and I always notice you." I batted my eyelashes. "I think you're really attractive."

Griffin glared at me, but he and Knox slid inside, undetected.

The guard looked taken aback.

I did my best to appear embarrassed. "I didn't know how else to start up a conversation with you. I guess that was really lame."

He squared his shoulders. "No, not lame. Not really." He tried a smile.

I smiled back. "You don't think so?" He shook his head. "It was kind of inventive."

Griffin and Knox halted at the elevator. Griffin was watching the guard with an annoyed expression on his face. Knox hauled him into the elevator.

Good. They were safe. They were in. We'd done it.

"You want to go out for coffee or something sometime?"

"Huh?" I said. "Oh! Yeah, definitely. Let me give you my number." He got out his cell phone, and I rattled off a totally fake number.

"That doesn't sound local," he said.

"Oh," I said. "Well, um, I just moved here. And I haven't changed the number yet."

"What's that area code?" he said.

"Florida?"

"What part of Florida?"

God, why was he harping on this? "Um, Miami."

"No, my grandma lives in Miami, and the area code there is—"

"Well, I'm going to be late for work," I said, scurrying away.

"Wait," he called after me. "You didn't tell me your name."

"Muffy," I called back, throwing out the first thing that came to my brain. I waved. And then I practically ran to the agreed-upon meeting spot.

* * *

"Jim Bradford, employee of Dewhurst-McFarland, was killed in an isolated incident this morning," droned the television in our hotel room. "He was shot through the head by an unknown gunman who managed to do so from a building across the street from Bradford's place of work. The weapons used were found abandoned, but there were no clues as to who might have perpetrated the crime. Police—"

Griffin muted the TV. We were sprawled on the bed together. "I still don't like that you flirted with that guy to get us in."

I rolled onto my back. "When are you going to let this go?"

He caressed my cheek. "It's not like that. I just keep thinking about it."

"Is this because of the stripping thing?"

He rubbed his face. "Sort of."

I sighed. "You don't trust me." And maybe he had good reason not to. Maybe because of my past, because of everything I'd done, it was tough to believe I would be faithful.

He drew back, offended. "I trust you."

"Maybe I don't deserve your trust."

"Doll, come here." He tugged me into his arms.

I lay my head on his chest. "I did things in the past that were trashy."

"So, that's the past. I'm sorry I ever said anything about that. I was out of line."

"You weren't. I'm ashamed of myself."

"Listen, you are important. And if I make you feel that way, then good. I should never have mocked your feelings. I trust you more than I've ever trusted anyone else." He ran his fingertips over my back. "You know more about me than anyone on earth. I trust you with all my secrets."

That was true. "So then, if you're okay with my past, then why does flirting with the guard bother you? I only did it to help you and Knox."

He stroked my hair. "I guess I worry. You say you're okay with things the way they are between us, but how long will that last? How long before you want more than I can give you, and I see you looking at another man like that for real?"

"I would never do that."

"I wouldn't blame you if you did. You'd be well within your rights. We don't have sex. That's got to be frustrating for you."

Oh. He was talking about that again. I slid one leg over him, writhing close. "Griffin, you are very good at pleasing me."

He raised an eyebrow, one hand coming up to caress the thigh I'd draped on his body. "And that's enough?"

I shifted, straddling him. "Who says you're never going to be able to do it anyway?"

He shut his eyes. "What if I can't?"

"You said you wanted to keep trying," I said. "You said you didn't want them to be able to steal this from you forever."

He nodded, his eyes still shut.

I ran my hands over his chest, my fingers brushing his defined muscles.

He grabbed me by the wrists, but he didn't stop my movement. He held on while I touched him, eyes slammed shut, breath rapid.

I eased my hands under his shirt. His skin was warm and sleek. I loved the feel of him under my fingertips. I pushed his shirt up, exposing his bare skin.

He opened his eyes. "I don't know, doll."

"Does it feel good?" I whispered. "When I touch you, does it feel nice?"

"Yeah, but I keep thinking about—"

"You're not there," I said. "You're here with me. I love you." I leaned over him. I kissed him.

He met my lips eagerly, kissed me with enthusiasm.

He let me take his shirt off.

Bare chested, he lay under me, searching my eyes with his gray gaze. He looked so afraid.

I touched his cheek. "Do you want me to stop?" I didn't want to push him. I didn't want to hurt him.

"Yes," he said. I started to move off of him. He stopped me. "No."

I leaned down to taste his lips again. "Maybe," I said between kisses, "if you didn't have to do anything. If you just let me... take care of you."

"Maybe," he said. His voice was faint.

"You don't have to do this," I said. "We can stop. We can cuddle. We can just kiss."

"No, I want to," he said. He closed his eyes again.

I placed my lips on his chest, kissing him as softly and sweetly as I could. Surely my light touches couldn't make him think of anything rough or ugly. I thought of the way they had used him, they way they had hurt him, and it made me ache for him. I kissed him tenderly, as if I could kiss that pain away for both of us. My mouth made its way over his chest, down his stomach, and all the way to the place where his jeans were fastened.

He gasped.

I raised my eyes to see him looking down at me. "It's okay. It's only me."

He nodded.

"Do you want me to stop?"

"No," he said, but his voice was insubstantial, barely there.

Carefully, gently, I unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans. I peel them aside, and I could see that he was aroused. He strained against the fabric of his boxers.

We hadn't been intimate in this way, not really, and the sight of him that way stirred a longing inside me. I wanted him. I wanted to give him pleasure. I wanted to see him and touch him and taste him.

My breath quickened as I pulled away the thin fabric, freeing him.

I'd seen his body before, but not this close, and in so much detail. I smiled at it. I always thought this particular part of the male body was neat on a level that I couldn't quite explain. I wasn't drawn to it aesthetically, not exactly, but it fascinated me, and it urged me.

He was thick and long and beautiful.

I couldn't stop myself. I knew I should have asked, but I felt something roused inside me, an impatient longing. And I put my lips to him, tenderly enveloping his length.

At my touch, he shrunk almost immediately, softening in my mouth.

Griffin groaned. "I'm sorry."

I released his sex, sitting up. "I'm sorry. I went too fast."

"No," he said. "You were..." He sat up, reaching for me. "Take off your shirt. Let me look at you."

I complied, but there were questions in my eyes.

"It'll help," he said. "You're beautiful, and you turn me on."

I unclasped my bra.

He covered my breasts with his hands and pressed his lips against mine. I straddled him, and he sat up against me. His tongue teased mine. His fingers coaxed my nipples. And almost at the same time, we both seemed to wake up between our legs. His hardness was pressing against my dampness.

He tugged at my pants. "Off." He pushed me backwards, so that I lay down, and he looked down on me.

I wriggled out of my pants, kicking them off the bed.

He lay down over me, and we were completely naked against each other for the second time ever. I moaned, relishing the sensation of skin against skin. Fiery desires worked their way through my body. I wrapped my legs around him.

He was pressing against my stomach, dragging the length of his hardness over the softness of my belly.

"Are you okay?" I asked him.

He raised hooded eyes to mine. "I'm okay. Better than okay. Is this bothering you?"

I shook my head. Maybe I had been wrong earlier. Maybe it wasn't better for me to take care of him. Maybe he needed to take the initiative. Maybe if things were in his hands, he'd feel more in control, not as if he were being forced or hurt. "Nothing you do bothers me."

He buried his face in my neck, trailing a scalding line of kisses over my skin. I felt ablaze everywhere his skin touched mine, as if the two of us were catching fire. I clung to him, readjusting my legs so that I pulled him even tighter against me there.

He thrust again, but his thrust went lower than my belly. I was squirming under him, and I guess I was hard to pin down. He brushed me between my legs.

Sizzling thrills of pleasure went through me. I moaned, and I twisted my body, wanting him to rub me there again.

He did. I felt him slick and rigid, sliding over my sensitive skin.

And with his next thrust, he plunged inside of me.

We both cried out. Neither of us had quite expected it, I don't think. He hadn't planned it. I hadn't been thinking of anything other than the fact he felt good.

He didn't move for a minute. He rose up over me.

I gasped. He was filling me up, completing me, and it felt wonderful.

Our eyes met. He swallowed. I touched his face.

He kissed me. And he moved inside me, easing into rhythmic thrusts.

I sighed. His strokes were making something deep inside me smolder. Something exquisite and blissful was building.

He was still kissing me. His lips fluttered over my eyebrow, my cheekbone, my forehead. "Doll." His voice was ragged. "You feel..."

"You feel amazing," I said.

"I love you," he heaved.

I undulated beneath him, joining his rhythm. "I love you."

* * *

Later, we lay together, our bodies sweaty and spent. Griffin ran his fingers lazily over my arm and shoulder. My back was to his front—we were spooning.

"I didn't think I could do that," he said.

"You were actually very good at that," I said. I liked the different way our voices sounded now—relaxed and lazy and dreamy. Every bit of fear or discomfort or shyness had been swept away.

He nuzzled the back of my neck. "It's because of you, doll. Thank you."

Why was he thanking me? "I didn't do anything. I mean, it was an accident. We just ended up... you know."

"Mmm," he said. "A very nice accident."

I snuggled into him, sighing. Content.

Neither of us spoke again for a while. There was nothing but the sound of our breathing, and we drew breath together, in the same rhythm. We would fall asleep now. And I'd wake up in his arms. We were connected now, bonded. I felt it, the invisible ties between us. I'd never felt something so strong before. Of course, I didn't think I'd ever slept with someone for the first time after I was in love with him. And I hadn't ever loved anyone quite the way I loved Griffin. It was intense and bright hot, like a raging fire. It consumed me.

Then I realized something. I tensed. "Shit."

"What?" said Griffin. "What's wrong?"

I twisted in his arms. "We didn't use a condom. And I didn't even think about it."

"So what?" said Griffin, kissing my forehead.

"So what?" I said. "So what? So... what if one of us has AIDs? Or syphilis? Or herpes? I mean, thank God I'm on birth control, so we don't have to worry about that, but—"

"Doll, calm down."

I sat up. "I can't. I mean, I could have AIDs. I could have just killed you."

He laughed. "Leigh. You were injected with the serum, and I was too."

Oh. He was right. "The serum cures AIDs?"

"It cures everything," he said.

"Even herpes, which isn't life threatening?"

"Lie down." He tugged me back against him. "You are the most beautiful, wonderful, amazing thing that ever happened to me, and all I want to do in this moment is keep you close."

I took a deep breath. "So, I'm like impervious to STDs."

"Stop talking about STDs. It's unromantic."

"Sorry," I said.

"You're fine," he murmured, his voice a low rumble. "I won't let anything happen to you." His strong arms wrapped around me, and I did feel safe. I closed my eyes, snug and surrounded by Griffin.

* * *

"No way," Griffin was saying from Knox's hotel room. Their voices drifted through the open adjoining door.

"Look," said Knox. "If you weren't so busy making the springs squeak over there, maybe you'd be thinking clearly. We have to go into Op Wraith. Neither Caldwell nor French leave often enough for us to be able to make a hit on them otherwise."

"I'm thinking clearly," said Griffin. "And how is what's going on in my bed any of your business?"

"Walls are thin, bro."

I hid my face in a pillow. That was embarrassing. I didn't like the fact that they were essentially arguing over me in the next room, and I could hear everything they said.

"Since when am I your bro?"

"Yeah, since never," said Knox. "I don't want to be around you anymore than you want to be around me. All I want is to kill French and Caldwell, and then we can part ways and never see each other again."

"Fine. You and me. We go into Op Wraith."

"That's not going to work, and you know it. The only way it works is if I show up with Leigh. She was my mission. I was supposed to bring her in alive. I can pretend to have gotten confused and bring you both in alive."

"Bring her in alive? What?" Griffin sounded confused. And I had to admit, I was convinced they were trying to kill me, not capture me.

"Those were the orders," said Knox.

"Why didn't they want to kill her?"

"I don't know," said Knox. "They didn't tell me."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"Maybe they want to question her before they kill her. Find out if she told anyone about the serum."

"Maybe," said Griffin. "But I'm not taking her in there. Once she's inside, we'd all be separated, and I couldn't keep track of her. I can't let anything happen to her."

I went to the open door. I cleared my throat.

Griffin was standing. Knox was sitting on his bed. They both turned to look at me.

"Is it true that this is the only way to kill Caldwell and French?"

"Yes," said Knox.

"No," said Griffin.

"Knox, you've been gone for a long time," I said. "Will they believe that you're still working for them?"

Knox folded his arms over his chest. "I'll say Griffin was torturing me, which is the truth, and that I finally got free."

"Then what?" said Griffin. "They'll kill both Leigh and me. Maybe they'll kill you too."

Knox spread his hands. "Well, we have to get to them before they get to us."

"How are we going to do that?" said Griffin.

"I don't know yet," said Knox.

Griffin shook his head. "Too dangerous."

"You got a better idea?"

Griffin didn't say anything.

"You said they'd want to question me," I said. "They wouldn't kill me right away, right? What if I could get free somehow?"

"Look," said Knox. "There's two targets, and there's two of us. If Leigh can get herself to safety, then all you've got to worry about is killing one person. Say you take Caldwell, and I'll take French."

Griffin massaged the bridge of his nose. "I don't like this." He looked at me. "How the heck are you going to get free?"

"You kept my pack, right?" said Knox. "I've got some of the schlafend capsules in there."

Griffin sighed heavily. "Maybe. Maybe it could work."

* * *

"Let's go over this again," said Griffin. He sat across the room from me at the hotel room's desk.

"Do we have to?" I said. I was sitting on the bed, wearing one of Griffin's t-shirts. It was late, and, in my opinion, it was time for us to be under the covers with the lights out.

"Yes," said Griffin. "You keep getting things wrong."

"I'm trying," I whined. "Maybe I'm distracted. I mean, there you are, sitting over there, all gorgeous and touchable, and I can't think about anything else. I think if you came over here and helped me get that out of my system, maybe then I'd be able to concentrate on going over plans."

He looked me over. "Tempting, doll. Very tempting." He raised a finger. "But this is important. You have to get this right. It could cost both of us our lives."

I got up on my knees. "Come on, Griffin, when have I ever been good with not doing fun stuff just because it could endanger my life? You remember when you first met me, and everything I did for coke? Well, I am about twenty zillion times more addicted to your body."

He smiled, shaking his head. "No. Not until we go over this a few more times."

I began to lift the t-shirt, slowly uncovering my thighs, then the bottom of my underwear.

He got up and was across the room in a flash, stopping my hands. "Wait."

I grinned. I had him close. I kissed his nose.

He pushed me down on the bed, pinning my legs with his legs, holding my arms over my head. He shook his head. His voice had gotten raspy. "Doll, behave yourself."

"Make me," I said.

"What do you do when we first get inside?" he said.

I struggled against his hands. "Run."

"No." He lowered his face close to mine. "Try harder."

"I'll be taken away by someone who'll want to ask me questions," I said. "You're giving me a capsule that will knock someone out. I crush it between my fingers and cover their mouth with it. They'll be out in minutes." I couldn't remember what the capsules were called. Knox had said it, but it was hard to pronounce.

He raised his eyebrows. "Oh. Very good. You get a reward." He lowered his lips to mine and assaulted my mouth, wrenching a low moan from the back of my throat. He pulled away, even though I was still straining for him. "Uh-uh. That was your reward. You won't get anything else until you get it right again."

I grinned. "Ooh. I like this game."

"Proper motivation for you?"

"Definitely."

"So," he said. "What do you do next?"

"Find you," I said.

"How are you going to do that?"

"Climb into the duct system," I said. "Get down a floor from where they're questioning me."

"Exactly right," he said. One of his hands released my arm and snaked across my skin to cup my breast.

I groaned. "And then we go through the ducts together to Caldwell's office."

"Right," he said, freeing my other arm and putting his hand on my other breast.

I writhed against his touch. He teased my nipples hard.

"Then what?" he grunted.

"Then you kill Caldwell," I said.

"Right," he said, kissing me again, rough and desperate against my mouth. "And then?"

"Um," I panted, struggling to remember.

He thrust his hands under the shirt I wore and slid my underwear off. "Come on, doll, if you don't know this, we're both going to be disappointed."

"We find Knox," I said, "who's been taking care of French."

"Good," he said, and his fingers stroked my clitoris.

I whimpered in delight. "Oh, Griffin."

He was fumbling at his zipper with his other hand, opening his pants.

"Then we get out, right?" I said. "They're all dead and we get out?"

"Yes," he said. "That's right. Very good, doll." And he entered me in one smooth stroke.

I groaned into his mouth as he kissed me.

"Very, very good," he breathed.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Knox checked our bound wrists again. We were standing along the side of the road. The car we were using was pulled over on the shoulder. The trunk was open.

"Knox," said Griffin. "We're tied up."

"Right," he said. His face was white. "You think they're going to suspect me?"

"They better not,' said Griffin. "Our plan for French hinges on you being free."

Knox took a deep breath. "They're going to believe me."

"Of course they will. You can pull this off," said Griffin.

Knox nodded, closing his eyes. He was quiet for a minute, and then he opened his eyes. When he did, he looked more confident, as if he'd somehow banished his nervousness. "Get in the trunk then."

I wasn't looking forward to this part.

"You go first," said Griffin. "I can absorb the force of the door closing on us."

I climbed into the trunk and Griffin got in on top of me. He covered my body with his own. Knox slammed the trunk closed.

It was dark inside. It smelled like gasoline. There wasn't a lot of room. Both my weight and Griffin's were settled on my bound hands, and that hurt quite a bit. Then the car started, and we were jostled around in the back for what felt like forever.

Griffin asked me if I was okay a few times, and I said I was. That wasn't strictly true, but if I said I wasn't, then there wasn't anything he could do for me, was there? I gritted my teeth and did my best to bear it.

Eventually, the car pulled to a stop.

The trunk opened, and Knox was standing over us, a gun trained on us.

We had to get out of the trunk on our own, which wasn't particularly easy with our hands tied behind our backs. Griffin managed to do it, but Knox had to help me out a little bit.

I peered at our surroundings. We were in the middle of the woods. There was a clearing where several cars were parked, but other than that, nothing but trees. This was Op Wraith?

I heard a whirring sound, and I looked up. There were cameras in the trees. I could see their red blinking lights. They swiveled back and forth. So. They were watching us already.

Knox put his gun in my back. "Move," he said.

I took unsteady steps forward, unsure of where I was going.

"Stop," said Knox. I did, and he moved in front of me, picking up what appeared to be a random square of forest floor, covered in leaves. But when he moved it aside, I realized it was man made, and it had been put there to disguise a set of metal doors in the ground. Knox knelt down and entered a code on a keypad. The doors swung downwards, revealing a staircase into the ground.

We descended down into the depths, underneath the forest. The doors closed above us, but it wasn't dark down here. The walls were poured concrete, sturdy and industrial, and they gleamed under fluorescent light fixtures.

At the end of a narrow hallway, we were greeted by a man with a gun. He was just as muscular as Knox and Griffin. He cocked his head to the side. "Knox? We figured you for dead."

"I'm alive, as you can see," said Knox. "I'm completing my mission. You might want to radio Caldwell."

"Who's this?" said the guard, reaching out to caress my cheek.

I jerked my head back.

Griffin clenched his teeth.

"That's classified," said Knox. "Need to know."

"She's pretty," said the guard. "Hope you got yourself a taste." Griffin surged at him, and the guard laughed as he sidestepped. "Well, if it isn't Griffin. Why isn't this asshole dead already?"

"Classified," said Knox. "You gonna let us in or not?"

"Oh, sure. Fine, fine," said the guard, pressing a button on the wall.

The doors behind him swung inward. We went through them.

As soon as we were away, Knox shoved Griffin up against the wall, face first. He spoke in a furious whisper, presumably so that any cameras or sound equipment wouldn't pick up his words. "What the fuck was that, huh? You trying to screw everything up?"

Griffin's jaw twitched. "He said—"

"I heard him. Control yourself." Knox let Griffin up. We all continued to walk down the next hallway, identical to the last. Bright, bland, institutional.

At the end of the hall was an elevator. We climbed inside, and we went down.

Finally, the elevator settled, stopped, and the door opened.

Someone was waiting for us there. He stood in a white lab coat, his face eager. "Leigh?"

I choked, suddenly unsteady on my feet.

"It is you," he said. "I saw you on the cameras, and I couldn't believe it. I didn't think we'd ever find you."

I was shaking all over. "Dad?"

* * *

I was in a small, white room, the lights brilliant overhead. I sat on one side of the table, my father on the other. He'd untied my hands. He was very excited.

"You're supposed to be dead," I said.

"I am?"

"Griffin said that they captured you and that they'd kill you," I said.

"Oh, when I was on the run, I did think they wanted me dead," said my father. "Burt Caldwell, the man in charge down here, he's a difficult man sometimes. He's quite committed to his ideas. And I had upset things for him. He was angry. I assumed he would have me killed." He leaned across the table, his eyes shining. "But I misjudged him. He allowed me to live, and he's willing to allow you to live as well."

"I don't understand," I said. "If you've been alive all this time, then why have I had to keep running?"

"Well, it took some time to negotiate the deal." He studied the table. "When they informed me that they had found you in Thomas, I suppose I was a bit easier to work with."

I didn't know if I liked the sound of that. "Dad, did they hurt you? When you say negotiate, do you mean torture?"

He reached across the table to pat my hand. "Of course not, sweetheart. I'm fine. I'm taking care of you. I wouldn't let anything happen to you."

"Look, you don't have to work with these people anymore. We have a plan, and we're here to dismantle this entire operation."

He leaned back in his chair and laughed. "Oh, I assure you, that's not going to happen. Operation Wraith is solid. There's no way you could hurt it. Besides, there's no reason to do that. Not when you and I are going to be working together now."

"What?"

"That's the deal," he said. "You've got the serum, so you're uniquely qualified for a position here. We'll be close, and we can spend more time together. I think it will be quite nice. I've missed you."

"A position...?" Then it dawned on me. "They're going to make me an assassin."

"Indeed," said my dad. "And you're going to do such a good job, sweetheart."

A gnawing horror was growing in my stomach. "Dad, no. Don't do this. You could help us. We could tear this whole place down. You'd be free."

"I'm telling you, that would be impossible."

"But Griffin—"

"Oh, let's not talk about him. I was watching the cameras and I saw that outburst he had on the way in, after the guard at the door made a comment about you." He made a face. "That was totally inappropriate, of course, sweetheart. I'll have a talk with that guard. But I have to say, I was flabbergasted that Griffin reacted that way. It was almost as if he thought the two of you—but that would be ridiculous."

"What are you talking about?" I said.

"Nothing," he said. "I'm quite familiar with Griffin Fawkes. He's not capable of seducing you."

"What?" I was confused. "Like you'd care, Dad."

"Of course I care. You're my daughter. I don't want a thug like that thinking he has the right to corrupt you."

"Corrupt me?" I sighed. "You don't even know me, do you? You don't know anything about me."

"Well, that's why it will be nice when we're working together, because we'll really get the chance to bond." He smiled at me.

I didn't smile back. "Griffin saved me, Dad. Before Griffin, I was on drugs. I was promiscuous. I was getting in car accidents. And I didn't even care about myself. Then he showed up, and everything—"

"Promiscuous?" He raised his eyebrows.

I looked at the table. Had I just said that to my own father? Yeah. I had. I lifted my gaze to his, defiant. "Yeah. Maybe you would have noticed if you were ever around."

"You're exaggerating, Leigh." He waved away what I'd said. "You spent your time with kids from good families, whatever was going on. That Griffin character, on the other hand, is a hoodlum. You may not know this about him, but he was in prison for armed robbery, and I hardly think he's a good influence on you."

"Hoodlum?"

"I know you've spent some time with him, and you've probably grown a bit attached," said my dad. "Heck, I liked him too. But he's really a liability, and you have to understand that. It's just business. And I don't like to think of the way he's warped your mind."

"Where is he?"

"Don't worry about it. The sooner you get him out of your mind, the better. We'll be starting your training soon. I suppose you'll want to see your new room."

"I don't want to be an assassin."

He sighed. "Listen, Leigh, please don't be difficult. Caldwell doesn't like difficult. I've done my best to protect you, but my influence only reaches so far."

"What did they do to you?" I said. "The last time I talked to you, you said Dewhurst-McFarland employed evil, greedy people. You said you were glad to be free of them."

"And free of all my money? And free of my job? Free of the respect my position accords?" He shook his head. "Sweetheart, I was putting a good face on a bad situation. And that's what you need to do about that Griffin boy. He's probably going to be killed, so it would be best if you put him out of your head and moved on to better opportunities."

I stood up, my chair clattering back behind me. "What? You can't kill Griffin. I love him."

"Love him?" My father shook his head. "No, that's not possible. He's not the slightest bit capable of that kind of interaction. I helped him escape precisely because I thought I could trust him with you. That he'd keep his hands off of you."

I reached across the table and grabbed my father by the tie. "You can't kill Griffin. If you can save me, you can save him too."

"Let go of me," he sputtered. "I most certainly won't save him. After what he did to an innocent girl like you—"

I pulled the tie tighter. "I was hardly innocent, Dad."

I was choking him. His face started to turn red. "Leigh, he's better off dead."

I remembered the plan, then. Griffin and I had gone over it so many times. I'd be taken away for questioning. I would use the capsule Griffin had given me to knock out my captor. I hadn't expected my captor to be my father, but here he was. Griffin's life was in danger. I had to save him.

I had the capsule. I crushed it in my fingers and covered my father's nose and mouth with it.

His struggles began to fade. Within minutes, he was completely passed out, a puddle on the ground.

I ran for the door to the room. It was locked. How was I supposed to get out of here? I looked back at my father's inert form. How long would he be out?

I wrung my hands. I didn't know what to do. What was the next step? The plan. Griffin had grilled me and grilled me.

I took a deep breath. Right. The plan was to get in the duct work. I looked at the wall, running my gaze over foot after foot of blank concrete.

Then I spied a grate. I needed to get in there. But I couldn't reach it by myself. I was tall, but not tall enough.

I glanced around. The table!

I pushed the table up to the wall, stood on top of it, removed the grate, and crawled inside.

* * *

I managed to get a floor down, like Griffin had told me. The plan was for Griffin to meet me here in the ducts, but if they were trying to kill him, then I didn't know if he'd make it.

And he wasn't there.

Of course, we'd always assumed that Griffin would be taken away to be killed, hadn't we? Maybe I hadn't paid attention to that part. How was he supposed to get away and meet me?

I hadn't thought of Griffin as vulnerable, I realized. Out there, in the regular world, Griffin was so lethal and sure of himself. No one had hurt him yet. I assumed that no one could hurt him. But that was stupid, I realized. Griffin could be hurt. He could be killed. These were the people who had made him what he was, and they knew all his weaknesses.

He must have told me to come to this level for a reason. Possibly, he knew he'd be brought here. I began to crawl through the ducts, finding grates and looking into each of the rooms.

They were all identical—small white rooms with a single metal chair in the middle of them. The chair had arms, with metal bindings that hung open over the arms and legs. I could see that the bindings would snap closed over a person's upper arms, forearms, legs, and feet. If someone was strapped into the thing, he wouldn't be able to move much.

I kept crawling and looking. Empty rooms.

Finally, I came to one that wasn't empty. There was someone in the chair.

But his head was slumped over, and his neck was bloody. He was dead.

He wasn't Griffin, though. His hair was the wrong color.

I kept going.

Another empty room.

Then I heard voices. "I'm telling you, I have a large batch of the serum hidden out there. If I don't check in, there are people who've been instructed to send it to news agencies all over the world. You'll all be exposed."

That was Griffin's voice. He was making a big bluff to keep himself alive. Smart Griffin!

I hurried down the duct until I found the room where he was being kept. He was bound in the chair, metal bonds digging into his skin. I peered through the grate at him. He seemed to be in pain. The chair was cutting into his skin. The bonds were sharp. He was bleeding. I covered my mouth with my hand, stifling the cry I wanted to let out.

"You don't have a batch," said a man who stood over Griffin.

"I was with Frank Thorn, wasn't I?" said Griffin. "He stole the serum. You think he only stole enough for his daughter? No way, he wanted insurance, and he gave it to me."

"Frank Thorn would have told us if that was the case."

"You think so?" said Griffin. "You think he would have admitted that he entrusted the serum to someone like me? Because I think he was too busy making sure he didn't look bad to do something like that. I think he wanted any knowledge of that batch buried. But too bad."

I almost believed Griffin. He seemed so convincing. But if we had something like that to work with, he would have told us, right? He was making it up, buying time. I needed to help him. What could I do?

The door to the room Griffin was in opened, and my father came in.

He was awake already? That capsule hadn't worked very well, had it?

Or maybe I hadn't held it over his mouth for long enough. Griffin had told me how long, hadn't he? I couldn't remember...

"Why isn't he dead?" said my dad.

"He's claiming you gave him some batch of the serum," said the man.

"He's lying," said my dad. He strode across the room, placing himself between the man and Griffin. He leaned over Griffin, his face close. "I asked you to protect my daughter."

"I did," said Griffin. "She's alive, isn't she?"

"French said you were some kind of eunuch," said my father. "She said you'd never touch her."

Griffin laughed. "That's what you're worried about? You don't know your daughter very well."

"I know it makes me sick to think you've contaminated her."

Griffin shook his head. "What happened to you, Frank? I thought you wanted to do the right thing? How can you be working with them again?"

"They'll keep Leigh safe," said my dad.

"And they'll let you keep your money?"

"Shut up."

"If you cared so much about Leigh—"

"Don't say her name." He turned away from Griffin, facing the other man. "Don't listen to another word he says. I want him dead. I want him to pay for violating my daughter."

"Violating?" Griffin laughed.

My father turned back around. He grabbed Griffin by the neck. "You slime."

Griffin was grinning. "She loved it Frank. It was all her idea."

My father slapped Griffin. "Kill him. Kill him now." He stalked to the door. He paused. "And if you see my daughter anywhere, contact me immediately. She's missing."

Griffin sat up straight in his chair, straining against his bonds.

I made a small wave from the grate.

He saw me. His eyes widened.

The door slammed closed after my father.

Griffin smiled at the man. "Well, I guess you're going to kill me now."

"You're a dead man."

"Come here and do it then."

What was Griffin doing? Why was he saying that? Did he want me to do something? How was I supposed to know what that was?

The man brandished a sharp knife and advanced on Griffin.

And jerked back, howling. Blood was trailing from his face, gushing.

Griffin spit. There was blood trickling out of his mouth. He'd bitten the man! Gross.

"Leigh," he said. "Jump on him."

Oh. Okay. I was part of his plan. I pushed the grate aside and leapt out onto the man.

I landed on him and the two of us rolled together on the floor. The man was struggling against me, kicking out hands and feet.

"Knife," said Griffin. "In front of you."

I spied it, gleaming and bright, just in front of my face. I reached out. I grasped it.

The man had blood all over his face. He couldn't see. Still, he managed to land a punch on my jaw.

I flinched, absorbing the impact. It had hurt.

"Back of the neck, Leigh. Back of the neck."

Right. If he had the serum, then the only way to stop him was to cut his spinal cord and keep it from healing.

I slashed.

Blood flowed.

"Deeper," said Griffin.

The man elbowed me. I stumbled backwards. I was going to have to cut him again?

I lurched forward, pushing him face down onto the floor. I put pressure on the back of his head. I held up the knife.

I cut him.

There was so much blood. It was everywhere, deep purply red, glistening in the fluorescent lights. I backed away, the knife falling out of my hand.

I killed him.

There was blood all over me.

I killed him.

I never killed anyone before.

"Doll." Griffin's voice was soothing, like a dark, winding river. But I couldn't look at him. "You're okay."

I stared at the dead man. "I killed him."

"Yes, you did," he said. "You did a very good job. And now you have to get me out of this chair."

I shook my head. There was so much blood.

"You can't think about it anymore, doll," he said. "You have to turn it off."

I looked at him. "Griffin."

"Come here," he said. "You have to get me out of the chair."

He was right. I had to do that. I had to get Griffin out of here.

I went to him.

The metal bonds on the chair dug into Griffin's skin. It looked painful. My fingers fumbled over the releases. My hands were covered in blood, and they were slippery. I was getting blood all over Griffin. I wiped them on my pants. Now my pants were bloody.

I grimaced, fighting tears.

When I looked at Griffin, his mouth was bloody from where he'd bitten the man. He looked like a vampire.

Finally, though, I got him free.

He dashed across the room to a sink and shoveled water into his mouth. He spit. More water. He spit again. He did it twice more. "Doll, get over here and wash your hands."

I couldn't move.

"Trust me, it will help."

I willed myself to go to him. The water did help. My clothes were still bloody, but it was good to have it off of my hands. Griffin used a paper towel on my face.

"It's on my face?" I might be hysterical.

"Not anymore, not anymore," he said. "You're fine." He took my hand. "Let's go." He was already dragging me across the room, back to the duct. He boosted me up so that I could climb back in.

He came up after me. "Shit."

"What?"

"I wanted to put the grate back, but it's way down there. They're going to know where we went."

"Should we—?"

"No, just go. They can always check the cameras anyway."

I crawled, Griffin right behind me, showing me where to turn.

"Where are we going?" I asked. I hoped we were going to an exit somewhere. I wanted out of this place, away from my father who wanted to make me an assassin, away from the body of the man I'd killed.

"Quieter," he whispered.

"Sorry," I said in a softer voice.

"We're going to Caldwell's office. That's the plan."

We were still following the plan? "But..."

"Nothing's changed, doll. Things are going as well as could be expected."

"My dad?"

"They're going to hear us talking," he said.

I got quiet. But the plan was to kill everyone who knew about Op Wraith that also headed it up. That included my dad, and he wasn't dead anymore. Was Griffin going to kill my father? I didn't know if I could handle that. He was horrible, but he was my dad.

There were voices drifting through an upcoming grate, and Griffin had me halt. Together, we eased up on the room. I looked down into it. It looked like a regular office room, carpet on the floor, a desk in one corner, overstuffed leather chairs in front of it.

There were two people in the room. One was a man in a suit, the other was a woman with her hair pulled into a severe bun on top of her head, her makeup artfully applied. She was beautiful, but there was something hard and frightening about her.

"Damn," said Griffin. "That's French. If she's alive, it means Knox didn't get to her."

The man was on the phone. He must be Caldwell. "Look, I'm not sure I want Griffin dead. He's really first rate. Why don't we just wipe his memory?" He put his hand over the receiver of the phone and addressed the woman. "How far back does the stage one memory injection wipe out?"

"Up to a year, sometimes two," she said.

"Leaving intact his early memories, then," said Caldwell. "The ones we can use."

French nodded. "Exactly."

Caldwell uncovered the receiver. "So go back down there, Thorn, and tell him not to kill him, just wipe his memory."

Thorn? He was talking to my dad? And it was about Griffin.

"I don't care that you want him dead. Do as I say," said Caldwell. A pause. "What do you mean your daughter's missing?" He sighed heavily and listened. "Okay, well, I'm going to have to come down there, aren't I?"

"I don't think so," muttered Griffin. He removed the grate and leaped out of the duck onto Caldwell's back.

Caldwell dropped the phone and went sprawling.

Griffin's hands encircled Caldwell's neck, squeezing.

The woman, French, clapped her hands together. "Oh, Griffin, it's so good to see you again. I've missed you." She reached into her purse.

Caldwell's fingernails scrabbled against the carpet.

Griffin continued to squeeze. He ignored French.

French pulled a syringe out of her purse.

"No," I yelled, jumping out of the duct and tackling her.

She shrieked, but she didn't lose her grip on the syringe. Instead she plunged it into my neck.

The world went blurry, swirly, and then dark.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

I awoke lying on cold stone. I opened my eyes to see that above me were the same fluorescent lights I'd seen elsewhere in Op Wraith. But now I was in a completely empty white room. Griffin was in the corner, his arms around his knees. That woman—Jolene French—was kneeling next to him, talking to him.

At first, all I could hear was the cadence of her voice, smooth and soft, musical. I couldn't make out what she was saying. But as I grew more awake, I could understand.

"I must say it was exciting to see you kill Burt. There you were pressed against him, his face on the floor. That must have been exciting for you too."

What was she saying to him?

"I knew it, Griffin. I knew you thought about Burt that way. What was it like, being behind him, your hands tight around his neck, squeezing him? Was it everything you hoped for?"

Griffin shied away from her.

She reached out and touched his face, running perfectly manicured red nails over his cheek. "Oh, Griffin. How many times did I tell you not to repress those feelings? How many times did I tell you that what happened to you in jail was a release for you?"

He was shaking.

"What did they make you say, again? Didn't they make you tell them how much you loved cock? Did you want Burt's cock?"

He shut his eyes.

"Why don't you say it for me, Griffin? Tell me how much you like to suck big, hard—"

"Stop it," I said, pushing myself to my feet.

She turned to face me. "Oh. Look at you, awake."

My legs were unsteady, possibly because of whatever she'd injected me with. I staggered across the room. "Get away from him."

She laughed. It sounded like sleigh bells at Christmas. "Oh. You're really adorable, aren't you? You have a crush on him, don't you?"

I stopped next to Griffin and knelt down next to him. He wouldn't look at me. He was holding his knees and shuddering. I glared at French. "You bitch."

"Must be frustrating, being with a man who catches for the other team." She smiled at him. "You do like catching best, don't you, Griffin?"

Griffin flinched as if he'd been slapped.

I seized his hand. "Nothing about him is frustrating." I turned to him. "Don't listen to her. She's just messing with your head. She doesn't know anything about you. She only wants to control you."

French lifted her eyebrows a little bit. "How could it not be frustrating? He's incapable of anything remotely sexual."

I shook my head. "No. He's quite capable. Trust me."

She looked surprised. "Impressive." She drew herself up to her full height. "I hadn't thought anyone could penetrate the mess I'd made of his brain."

I stood up too. "You were wrong."

"Capable of everything?" she said.

"Everything," I said.

"Is that true, Griffin?" she smiled down on him. "You manage to keep your little soldier standing tall with her mouth on you?"

"Shut up," I said.

"That's what I thought," she said. She shrugged at me. "He's still mine."

There was a creaking noise. I turned to see a large metal door on the far wall. It was slowly opening.

"French," yelled a voice from outside. I recognized it. "You let my daughter out of there!" It was my father.

French laughed her pretty, tinkling laugh again. "Oh, Thorn. You're so melodramatic. This is simply a secure location. I'm not going to gas them." She strode across the room to the door. "At least I don't think so."

My father struggled inside. He was sweating. "You let her go, Jolene. I won't let you—"

She put one finger on my father's chest and pushed him back through the door. "Let's not talk about this here, okay?"

The door slammed shut after her.

"Griffin?" I said.

He didn't speak. He was still shaking.

I went to him. I wrapped my arms around him. He didn't seem to notice I was there. "What did she mean about gassing us?"

He didn't say anything.

I remembered that Griffin had told me about a gas room when we were at Blackwater Falls, when my biggest problem was trying to figure out why Griffin didn't want to mess around with me. "Are we in that room you told me about?"

"Doll," he whispered.

"Are we?"

"Yes," he said. "They're going to kill us."

We sat there, huddled together against the wall, quiet and frightened. Neither of us spoke or moved for a long time.

"Maybe they aren't," I said. "Wasn't Caldwell saying something about wiping your memory?" I also remembered Griffin telling me about that back at Blackwater Falls—it was something my father had also worked on.

"It would be the same thing," he said. "If I lose a year of my memory, I lose all memory of you. It would be like we never met. And that would be like dying—to go back to being the man I was before I knew you."

I knew what he meant. Griffin and I had changed each other. I held him tight.

"Probably, they put us in here to decide what to do with us," said Griffin. "But either way, once that gas goes on, we'll be dead to each other."

"We should escape," I said. Then I peered around the room. "Or are they listening to us? Are there cameras?"

"They can't see or hear us," he said. "They're sick, but not so sick as to enjoy watching people die."

"Then, how do we get out of here?"

"We don't," he said.

I didn't want us to die. Honestly, when I tried to think about it, it was too big, too much. I couldn't even really conceive of the idea of just... ending?

I took Griffin's hand. "We're not dying."

He touched my face. "Oh, doll."

"This isn't the end." I kissed him.

He kissed me fiercely, his tongue claiming my mouth. Then he broke away. "It's not working."

"What isn't?"

"I can't get French's voice out my head."

"Griffin, she was—"

"She was right, you know. When you tried to go down on me, it didn't work."

"Don't listen to her."

He turned away.

I thought about being dead again. It made me feel crazy, like there were little needles inside me pushing on the inside of my skin. I needed to get out of here. I needed to live. I was alive. Griffin and I weren't dead. I wouldn't let us...

I moved his knees wider apart, settling in between them. I reached for his zipper.

"What are you doing?" Griffin tried to push me away.

I didn't let him. I unzipped his pants. I unbuttoned them. "I'm going down on you. We didn't get to do it. Not yet. And I don't want to die until I..." I yanked his clothes out of the way. "Besides she was wrong. You don't belong to her. You belong to me."

Griffin looked at me with terror in his eyes. "Leigh, that's crazy."

He wasn't hard. He was lying soft against his leg, but he wasn't covering himself either.

"You said they couldn't see us or hear us," I said.

"Yeah, but doll..." He swallowed.

I pulled my shirt over my head. I tugged off my bra. He liked to look at me. "If we're crazy enough, then we're alive, Griffin. Dead people don't do things like this."

The sight of my bare flesh was arousing him. I could see him lengthening. I put my hand on him, wrapping my hand around him, stroking him.

He stopped me. "No. I can't."

"You have to," I said. "Because if you don't, she'll always have this over you. Just let me try." I reached for him.

He clenched his teeth together.

I backed off. "Not like that, baby. Relax."

"I can't." He glared at me. "You don't know what it's like. You touch me, and all I can think about—"

I put my hand back, loosely holding him. "Shh. You aren't there. You're here with me. Don't let them stop this. Don't let French stop this."

He swallowed.

I stroked him slowly. Gently, gazing into his eyes. He looked back at me, tense, half-soft in my grasp. I didn't let go. I didn't stop.

His breath began to grow more and more shallow. I could see that he was relaxing at the same time as he was growing stiffer. Finally, he flung his head back, closing his eyes. "Shit."

He wasn't losing his erection. He was growing more and more rigid under my fingers. I lowered my head to him, ran my tongue over the head of him.

He made a gravely noise in the back of his throat.

I slipped him between my lips, sheathing him with my mouth.

He grasped my shoulders, his fingers digging tightly into my skin. I looked up at him, and his gray eyes met mine. I could see it all there, warring—desire and terror, fear and longing. But he was still immense and firm, filling up my mouth. He seemed to be getting even bigger. So I moved against his grip, dipping down to take him deeply, dragging back up. Tasting him thoroughly.

And his hands loosened. Moved, searchingly, for my breasts.

He gasped in surrender, in pleasure, and I took him in and out of me, pushing and pulling, over and over. And over.

I drifted into the rhythm of it, of his groans and sighs, of the power I could feel mounting in him. My body echoed it, building as well. We were one, connected, united, and I wanted his climax to explode within me, taking me with him—

He stopped me. "Wait." He was out of breath.

"I want you to come in my mouth," I said.

"No," he said. "If we live, again and again, but if we're going to die... I want to be inside you one last time." He pulled me over him. He clawed at my clothing. I was naked over him. He ran his hands over me, over everywhere, before he pulled me close, arranging me where he wanted.

I was wet, ready for him. And then he was pushing into me, forcing me open.

I cried out, pressing back against him, trying to take all of him.

He grabbed me by the hips, holding me in place.

It was quick for both of us. He speared me somewhere, deep and dark and thrilling. I moaned. And then there were only a few more strokes before I was convulsing around him, going into spasms, rippling out as he burst into me.

I collapsed against his chest, breathless.

He exhaled, tension leaving his body.

I closed my eyes.

"Well," he gasped. "I guess that was a good way to die."

* * *

It must have been hours that passed after that. There wasn't any way to be sure, but nothing happened for a really long time. We didn't die. We kept waiting for gas to come furling out of the ceiling, but nothing happened.

"So, this is what it's going to be like," I said. "I'm going to be so bored out of my skull that I'll want to die just to break up the monotony."

"Don't say stuff like that, doll," he said. "We don't know how much longer we have left."

"What do you think is happening out there? You think that French and my dad are arguing or something?"

"Maybe," he said. He paced the length of the room, rubbing the top of his head.

I wished I knew more about this place. All I knew about it was what Griffin had told me, and he'd only given me surface details. I remembered the things he told me near the waterfall, about the memory wipes and the gas room.

Wait. "Griffin, didn't you say my dad told you something about this room? That he knew the password to get out of it?"

Griffin stopped pacing. "He did tell me that."

We both turned to look at the door. There was a keypad next to it.

"The password would open the door, right?"

"Yeah," he said, coming over to me. "Do you think you know it?"

I really had no idea. "Well, I used to know the password for his bank account. You think it's the same?"

He shrugged. "Let's try it."

I went over to the keypad. There was a screen over it. It read, Input password, followed by the enter key.

I typed in the password I knew.

Incorrect, flashed the screen. Nozzles engaged. You have two more tries to enter the correct password or gas will be dispensed.

I stepped back. "Oops."

"Whoever programmed this thing is sick."

"Well," I said. "If we don't put in another password, everything will be fine, right?"

The screen blinked. Enter password in thirty seconds or gas will be dispensed.

"Crap," I said. I looked at Griffin.

"You don't know any of his other passwords?

"I..." I bit my lip. "No, I do know another one. He used this for all kinds of stuff. He tried to password-protect the internet with it." I keyed it in.

Incorrect, blinked the screen.

"We'll be okay, though," I said. "We'll wake up after we get gassed. Right?"

"I don't know," he said. "We'll go dark, that's for sure."

The screen started to count down from ten.

"Let me try something," said Griffin.

Eight. Seven. Six.

He stepped in front of the console and began to key in something.

Five. Four. Three. Two.

The doors opened.

I gaped at him. "You guessed it. You guessed the password."

"It was your name," said Griffin. "I guess your dad thought about you more than we knew."

* * *

Griffin and I crept through the hallways of Op Wraith, ducking into empty rooms when we heard anyone coming.

At the end of the hallway, we saw that French and my father were sitting inside one of the rooms. Along the wall were several rows of needles and syringes. One row was labeled, "stage one," the others labeled, "stage two."

"I won't let you hurt her," said my father. "Honestly, now that Caldwell is out of the picture, I don't see why we can't give her the memory wipe and send her back to her life."

"That would never work," said French. "Everyone would wonder where she'd been. She'd wonder where she'd been for a year."

"A full memory wipe then," said my father. "True amnesia. It can be accomplished with the stage two injection." He gestured to the needles on the wall.

"You'd do that to your own daughter?" French sounded amused.

"I want her alive," said my father.

"If alive is all that matters, then why is it a problem for her to be one of our assassins?" asked French.

Griffin touched my arm. "We've got to get in there. But we can't underestimate French. She's—"

There was a crashing noise from inside the room.

We turned back to look.

Knox was leaping out of the duct work, gun in hand. "Hands on your head," he snarled.

French and my father both complied, their eyes wide.

Griffin pulled me into the room.

Knox tensed, training his gun on us as we entered.

"It's us," said Griffin.

"Great," said Knox. "I've been having trouble killing French."

"We noticed," said Griffin.

French turned to Griffin, her voice urgent. "You're nothing but a cocksucking faggot. Now get the gun from Knox."

Griffin sneered. "Yeah, that's not going to work anymore."

She glared at me. "What did you do to him?"

I smirked.

French sucked in an audible breath and turned to Knox. "You. You didn't lift a finger to save the woman you loved."

"Shut up," said Knox. "I've got a gun to your head, in case you hadn't noticed."

French smiled. "You're adorable, Knox. Very sweet in your confident act. You think you'll be able to keep it up, though? You're just a coward, really, aren't you? You knew about the order to kill Beth, and you did nothing. And from what I understand, you didn't manage to save her when you left on your last mission either. You aren't very reliable, are you?"

Knox clenched his teeth. "Listen up, you bitch."

"Don't," said Griffin. "It's what she wants."

"Leigh," said my father, "tell Knox that I'm not part of this."

Knox swung the gun around to face my father. "That's the thing, Thorn, you are. You helped establish this place. You ran it. You didn't do anything to make it better."

French moved quickly, sweeping Knox's feet out from under him.

He stumbled. The gun went off. Knox fell into the wall, scattering "stage two" needles everywhere.

French wrenched the gun from his hands. "How convenient. A gun."

"Damn it," said Knox, getting to his feet.

French gestured with the gun. "All of you in that corner, please."

Griffin, Knox, and I did as she said.

"You too, Thorn," she said.

He pursed his lips. "But French, you and I are—"

"Move," she said.

My father joined us.

"Now," said French, "I've got to figure out what to do with all of you. You're all very interesting subjects, and I'm sure I'd have a lot of fun getting inside your heads, but I don't know if that would be wise."

Knox nudged Griffin and me. We looked down. He had one of the "stage two" needles in his hand. He must have gotten it when he knocked them off the wall.

"I just want you all to know," she said, "that your lives won't be given in vain. You'll be helping me to set up my new rule here at Operation Wraith, and you'll be dying for a good cause."

"Shut up," yelled Knox, brandishing the needle. He dove for her.

French shot him.

He landed on her, driving the needle into her skin. Then his body went still. Beneath him, French wasn't moving.

"Oh my," said my father.

I took a deep breath. Knox would be okay. He'd only gone dark.

Griffin knelt down and picked up the gun. He pointed it at my dad. "Frank, what did he give her?"

"Very concentrated," said my father. "Full amnesia, I'm afraid. She'll be unconscious for a few hours. When she wakes up, she won't even know her name."

I grabbed another of the syringes. "Sounds good." I advanced on my father.

"Wait," he said. "What are you doing, Leigh? I did everything for you."

"You killed people for money, dad," I said. "You would have had Griffin killed. And you wanted to make me a killer."

"Please," he said. "I'm your father."

"You're a terrible father," I said. I pushed the needle into his neck.

His eyes rolled back up in his head, and he slumped to the floor, lifeless.

Griffin was watching me.

I turned to him. "I had to do it."

He nodded. "You did." He pointed the gun at French. "Move Knox out of the way."

"Wait," I said. "She's not going to remember anything."

Griffin's jaw twitched. "She deserves to die."

"You don't want to kill, though, do you, Griffin?"

He wavered a little.

"She'll have amnesia. She'll be someone else."

He took a deep breath. "Okay." He looked at me. "For you, doll. For you, she lives." He bent down and hoisted Knox over his shoulder. "Let's get out of here."

CHAPTER TWENTY

Griffin, Knox, and I stood together in another anonymous hotel room. The lights were out, and we were gathered around a row of unlit candles.

Griffin took a deep breath. He struck a match, brilliant flame in the darkness. He brought the match to the wick of the candle. "For Beth," he said.

"For Beth," said Knox.

Griffin handed the matches to me. I struck another match, and then I lit the next candle. "For Stacey and Jack," I said.

I handed the matches to Knox. He struck a third match and lit the next candle. "For the other casualties. The assassins killed doing Op Wraith's dirty work."

Griffin took my hand. I reached out to take Knox's, and, to my surprise, he let me. We stood silently, gazing into the small, flickering flames.

"Gone, but not forgotten," whispered Griffin.

* * *

I gazed at Knox, who was bouncing Dixie in his arms. "I still don't see how you convinced them to give you that baby."

He tickled her tummy. "I got skills. And I know how to fake documentation. I learned stuff in Op Wraith."

"I know. You said that, but..." I shook my head. "I mean, they just gave you a baby."

"Well," said Griffin. "It is his baby."

"That's true," I said. "But you walked in there and came out with a baby."

Knox shrugged, grinning. "Like I said, I got skills."

"You sure that you don't want to come with us?" Griffin asked.

"Positive," said Knox. "I need to be alone with my daughter for a little bit. That's what I want. Just the two of us."

"All right," said Griffin. He offered Knox his hand.

Knox shook it. The two looked into each other's eyes, both gripping the other's hand. "Look, about Beth—"

Griffin shook his head. "I tortured you for days. I think we're even."

Knox nodded. They dropped hands.

"Come here," I said, hugging Knox. "You know if you ever need anything to find us."

"Definitely," he said.

I kissed the top of Dixie's head. She gurgled.

"See you around," said Knox. He turned to Dixie. "Can you wave bye-bye?" When she didn't do anything, he raised her hand for her and made her wave.

I waved too. Griffin took me by the hand and led me away. We walked to the street, where a sleek, black car was parked.

"You know," I said, as I opened the passenger door. "You've got to stop stealing cars."

"Yeah," he said. "I'm gonna have to go legit. Luckily, you remembered your dad's bank password, and he's got total amnesia, so he doesn't even remember he has money. I used some of that information to procure this fine automobile."

"Wait," I said. "You bought this?"

He closed the door after himself. "Sure did."

I grinned. "Okay. Well, I guess that's cool." I looked back to see that Knox and Dixie were going inside. "Knox seems happy."

"You know, he does," said Griffin. "And I can see why. He's got his kid, he's free. Everything's all right."

"Sure," I said. "But I mean, I don't ever want to have kids."

Griffin turned the key in the ignition. "Never?"

My eyes widened. "What? You do?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. I guess we got time to talk about it, huh?"

"I'm not having kids, Griffin. There's no way. You see this stomach?" I pointed. "I'm not doing that."

"You don't even want to talk about it?"

I glared at him. "Of course you want to have kids. You don't have to do anything."

"Well," he said. "You should probably finish college first."

"You think?"

"So, I guess I better get you back to Thomas, so you can finish out the semester."

I folded my arms over my chest. "Yes. Drive. And no more crazy talk of babies."

He leaned across the car. "You're all I need, doll." And his lips found mine.

* * *

I banged the door of my apartment closed behind me and rushed down the steps. I was angry. We'd been back in Thomas for a month, long enough for me to get caught up on all my classes. I'd taken my last final exam earlier that afternoon. I'd come back to the apartment, hoping to celebrate with Griffin.

And then we'd gotten in a fight.

A bad fight.

We'd never fought like that before. Not once.

I made my way downtown, seething, turning over things he'd said to me, feeling angry about them, thinking of the perfect come back. I wished there was some way I could go back in time and tell him off, because I obviously hadn't done it right the first time.

How dare he say things like that to me?

The jerk.

I went into The Purple Fiddle, made my way to the counter, and ordered a beer. The Holy Ghost Tent Revival was playing tonight, and they were setting up. That was part of what we'd argued about. I loved this band. They were high energy. They had brass musical instruments. They wore suspenders and button-up shirts. They sang harmonies together into their microphones when they weren't jumping all over the stage. I wanted to see them.

And then he'd accused me of all kinds of stupid things.

I screamed at him. We weren't in danger anymore. We were safe. I could go see a band and drink some beer if I wanted. He didn't have to stop me from having a life.

But as I sat down to nurse my drink, watching the band do their sound tests, I didn't feel vindicated for coming out on my own. I only felt lonely. I'd wanted to share this band with Griffin. I'd wanted to show him something fun and normal, since he'd lost so much of his life to violence and fear.

How had that turned into yelling at him? It should have been a good thing. Now, it all felt ruined.

My anger was draining away. I mostly felt sad now. I wished I could take back half the things I'd said. I fiddled with the salt shaker on the table. It was the male half of a pair of kissing hippies. The girl was the pepper. I pulled them away from each other, so that they stood back to back.

Now even the salt and pepper were fighting.

I sighed. Seeing this band wasn't going to be worth it without Griffin. I'd wonder about him all night. I couldn't be out here while he was at home. I couldn't have fun if things weren't right between us. I needed to apologize.

I got up. I wouldn't get to finish my beer, but that was okay. I carried it back to the counter and set it down.

"Something wrong with that?" asked the guy working.

"No," I said. "It's fine. I just have to go."

The door to The Purple Fiddle opened and Griffin walked in.

I ran to him. "Griffin, I was just coming to—"

"I was out of line, doll," he said. "I'm sorry."

"No, I am. I shouldn't have said the stuff I did."

"It's okay," he said.

"Is it?"

"Yes." He fitted one of his hands behind my head, tangling his fingers in my hair. He kissed me thoroughly, right there in the doorway. I felt the kiss everywhere, from the top of my head to the ends of my toes. My limbs went shaky. I had to hold onto him to stand upright.

He broke the kiss, but we were still close.

"Let's never fight again?" he murmured.

"I don't know," I said. "Will we always kiss like that afterwards?"

He chuckled, winding his arm around me and walking with me into the Fiddle. "So, this band isn't religious?"

"Ma'am?" said the man at the counter. "You still want your beer?"

"Thanks," I said, scooping it up. I looked up into Griffin's gray eyes. "You're going to love the music. And I'm going to make you dance."

He cringed. "I don't know about that."

I smiled up at him. "If you love me, you will dance."

He grinned. "Way to lay down an ultimatum, doll."

I giggled. He kissed me again. My laughter filled both of our mouths. And I knew that everything was okay. We were safe. We were together. We were happy.
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Slow Agony

"Oh my God, that exam was killer," said my best friend Naomi Floyd, flopping down in a chair at the Wolves Den, the sandwich place on campus. "How'd you get done so fast?"

I grinned. "I've been reading the assigned books all semester, unlike some people."

"Hey, I read for class. Sometimes."

I laughed. "I ordered you turkey." I handed over a basket containing a sandwich and fries.

"Thanks." Naomi rummaged in her purse. "How much was it?"

"Don't worry about it. You don't need to pay me back."

Naomi raised an eyebrow. "You never let me pay for stuff."

"Because I have money."

"From your dad, right?" She ate a French fry. "Is he coming for graduation?"

I looked down into my own half-eaten sandwich. "No. He doesn't... He's not into things like that." There were things I shared with Naomi, but the fact that last year I'd injected my father full of a substance that gave him total amnesia and then stolen all his money wasn't one of them.

"Your dad is like this rich guy who never shows up anywhere," said Naomi. "I mean, I thought for sure you'd call him in February, when—"

"Naomi..."

She flinched. "Right. We don't talk about that."

I took a bite of my sandwich. "I'd rather not dig all that back up again is all."

"So, let me change the subject, then." Naomi grinned. "Can you believe we're graduating?"

I laughed. "It is surreal, isn't it? I've spent two years in Thomas. And so much has happened here." I'd nearly been killed, kicked cocaine, met the man of my dreams.

Lost the man of my dreams. My smile faded.

"I just somehow brought it back up again, didn't I?" Naomi made a sympathetic face. "I'm so sorry, sweetie."

I tried a smile. "I did it to myself. Don't worry about it." I sighed. "You know, I keep thinking that one of these days, soon, I'm going to wake up, and the first thing I think of is not going to be how screwed up everything is. I'm going to feel happy for a little bit."

She took my hand. "You will."

"It's been three and a half months," I said. "How long does it take?"

She shrugged. "Oh, you know I'm the last person to ask about that. I mean, Derrick was sleeping with that girl for months before I found out. Months. And I still sometimes wish I could get him back."

I picked up a French fry and ruefully began breaking it into pieces. "So what you're saying is that it doesn't matter how much of a dick he was, you're still not over him?"

"No, I'm not saying that at all," said Naomi. "I'm over him. It's been six months. I even date now."

I tossed what was left of the fry onto a napkin. "You call that dating?"

"Yes. It is dating."

"But you meet those guys on those e-dating websites. And they're always losers."

"Not always."

"You haven't gone on a second date with any of them, have you?"

Naomi sighed. "Look, at least I'm trying."

"You're saying I'm not?"

"You aren't."

I leaned back in her chair. "It's too soon."

"It's been three and a half months."

"But we were together for ten months, and they say that it takes at least half of the time you were together to be ready for a new relationship."

Naomi snorted. "Tell that to Derrick. He and that girl are engaged."

I looked up at the ceiling. "It's only that what I had with Griffin was really special. It wasn't just another relationship." I turned back to my sandwich. "I thought he was the one, you know?"

"He wouldn't have run off on you if he had been."

"Well, he had... issues. And they were really complicated. He ran away from me before, but it was only because he was afraid that he wasn't enough for me, and—"

"Stop it," said Naomi. "You can't keep making excuses for him."

"Anyway, he did come back. But when he found out what I did—"

"I know what happened, Leigh. But it wasn't your fault."

"Maybe it was. Maybe it was my fault."

"No." Naomi shook her head. "You can't blame yourself. Stop it. Anyway, fuck men, okay? Sisters unite."

I looked away.

Naomi took a bite of her sandwich. "Say it."

"Sisters unite," I mumbled.

"Like you mean it."

I glared at her. "Seriously? You're going to make me repeat it?"

"This sandwich is really good," said Naomi. "And I wouldn't have it if it weren't for my best friend, Leigh, who bought it for me. I can depend on her, not like the no-good men that done us wrong. Can I get an 'Amen'?"

I rolled my eyes, but I was laughing. "Okay, okay. You've made your point."

"Good," said Naomi. "You coming to Clint's big graduation blow out party?"

"No," I said.

"Why not?"

"Because of the New Years thing," I said. "I'm not going near him again."

"It's going to be a huge party," she said. "You won't even see him. You need to have some fun, Leigh. Exams are over, college is over—"

"For you, maybe," I said. "I'm going to grad school in the fall."

"Undergrad is over," she amended. "Do something crazy for once."

"I did enough crazy stuff to last a lifetime. All I want now is a nice, boring, unexciting life."

"No, you don't," said Naomi. "You live for fun. You know it. I know it. Now, you're going to meet me at The Purple Fiddle later this evening. No excuses."

I sighed.

"You never know," said Naomi. "Maybe you'll meet someone."

"I don't want to meet someone."

"So, you're coming, though?"

I shrugged.

* * *

For about two months after Griffin left, I didn't leave the house except to go to class. I practically starved to death because I wasn't interested in food. When I did eat, I grabbed stuff from the frozen section of the grocery store or warmed up things at 7-Eleven. And that wasn't really all that often. I felt broken and destroyed.

I still did.

Every morning, ever since he left the first time, I woke up thinking, "Where's Griffin?"

Gone.

That was where Griffin was. Completely and utterly gone.

I hadn't thought I'd be able to breathe without him. I was kind of disgusted with the fact that I could. I could survive. I was surviving. But I didn't feel exactly alive. I felt half there, my physical body functioning, but my emotions damaged. Everything was screwed up.

But now, I wasn't crushed and sad anymore. Instead, I was angry. Angry at the universe for letting something this awful happen to me. When I was with Griffin, it felt epic. I thought we were forever. I thought we were larger-than-life. I thought nothing on earth could stop us.

It was a cruel twist of fate that he could just skip out on me, that something as mundane as breaking up could happen to us. We weren't supposed to do that.

But we had. It was over. Griffin was gone. I was alone. And that was the way life was. My life wasn't some pitch-perfect, happily-ever-after story like I'd idiotically thought it was going to be. Instead, I was one of those cliché girls who was so upset that her boyfriend was gone she was completely ruined afterwards. I used to have plans. When I looked into the future, I saw Griffin and me together, making a life. Buying furniture together, planting a garden outside our house, falling asleep every night in each other's arms. Now... everything was blank and dark.

I guessed that made me pathetic and hopeless.

Strong women didn't pin their hopes on a guy. Strong women recognized that men were milestones, not destinations. Strong women didn't care when people dumped them.

I was, apparently, the absolute opposite of a strong woman.

It was my fault, anyway. Naomi could say that it wasn't all she wanted, but I knew the truth. I'd done something he thought was unforgivable, and that was why he was never coming back. I'd screwed it all up.

Sure, I'd never have done that unforgivable thing if he hadn't abandoned me after New Year's Eve, but I'd still done it. It was ultimately my fault. Even if he'd driven me to it.

So I went to The Purple Fiddle that night. Because I should leave my house. And because it was my fault, so I'd better get over it. Because I didn't have anyone to blame except myself.

I sat at a table, toying with a salt shaker than looked like a mushroom, sipping a beer. There was a band playing tonight. No one that I'd heard of. I used to keep track of things like the bands that came to The Purple Fiddle but not anymore. I hadn't been interested in much since Griffin left.

Naomi was into the band, however. She was dancing way up front. She'd tried to get me to come up with her, but I wasn't in the mood to dance. I told her she was lucky she'd gotten me to come out at all.

I sat and nursed my beer and tried to think about something besides Griffin.

It felt like he was all I thought about. Thoughts of his absence intruded, no matter what I did. I could be doing my homework, and suddenly, I would remember that Griffin was gone, and that he wasn't coming back, and that it was all my fault.

"This seat taken?"

I looked up. There was a guy standing over me, gesturing to an empty chair at my table. He was attractive. He had light brown curls and a winning smile. Face like apple pie, Naomi would say. "Um, well, no one's sitting there, but—"

"Good." He sat down. "I'm Lance."

I didn't know what to do. "Listen, Lance, I'm sure you're very—"

"In polite society, it's customary to give your name after someone gives theirs." He was smiling. He had dimples. Seriously?

I couldn't help but smile too. "Leigh. I'm Leigh."

He offered me his hand. "Very nice to meet you."

I shook with him. "I'm not... You shouldn't waste time with me."

He raised his eyebrows. "Waste time?"

"You seem like a very nice guy, and I'd hate for you to expend a lot of energy flirting with me when I'm not going to be interested."

"Ouch," he said.

"No, not because there's anything wrong with you. It's because of me. I'm... incredibly broken."

He took a drink of his beer. "We're having the it's-not-you-it's-me speech already? You like to skip to the end, don't you?"

I set down the mushroom salt shaker, still smiling. I liked him. He was nice. He was good looking. I wished that could be enough. But I wasn't ready for him, and I wasn't sure I ever would be. "I'm sorry."

"Bad breakup?"

"That would be an inadequate way to describe it," I said. "The world exploded, and everything was destroyed, but no one else noticed. I was picking up the pieces, and everyone else was going about their business, acting like I should too."

He nodded. "Yeah. I know what that's like."

I doubted it. I must have made a face indicating that.

"What? You don't believe me?" he said. "I was left at the altar."

"Ooh," I said. "Really?"

"Really," he said. "I thought stuff like that only happened in movies."

"I'm sorry," I said.

"Don't be. It was a year ago," he said. "We were too young to get married anyway." He took another drink. "But I understand. Too soon. Can I buy you a friendly beer, though?"

"Um..."

He held up a hand. "With the understanding that I don't have a snowball's chance in hell of you actually wanting anything other than friendship."

I smiled wider, unable to stop myself. He was funny. He was maybe even sweet. But he wasn't Griffin.

* * *

"You've got mail," chirped my phone.

I groaned, rolling over in bed. Why had I ever set my stupid phone to say that every time I got a text message? It had once seemed cute, but now it was annoying. And it had woken me up. I picked up the phone on the nightstand and checked the message.

It was a picture.

It loaded, and I sat up straight, turning on the light. What the hell?

The picture was Naomi. She was tied to a chair, duct tape over her mouth, a cut on her forehead dripping blood over her face. She looked afraid. She looked hurt.

What the hell?

"You've got mail," said my phone.

I jumped. Jesus.

I opened the new text.

"Tell Griffin to call this number or your friend dies."

I dropped the phone.

No.

No, this was not happening. It had been over a year since men from Op Wraith were chasing me and trying to kill me. It had been over a year since I'd gotten the phone call from my friend Stacey. I could still hear her terrified voice on the phone, telling me that men with guns wanted me there.

I hadn't been in time to save Stacey.

I'd never forgive myself for that. Not really.

Why was it happening again? There was no one left at Operation Wraith. Two of the heads of the operation were dead, and my father and Jolene French both had complete amnesia. There wasn't anyone left to try to hurt me.

Except this message was for Griffin, wasn't it?

Whoever had done this wanted Griffin, not me. Not Naomi. We were both caught in the crossfire here. And the problem was that I had no idea where Griffin was. I hadn't seen him since February, and he'd been so angry when he left that he hadn't bothered to give me a way to reach him.

I picked the phone back up. I looked at the picture of Naomi. I bit my lip.

Hell.

What was I going to do?

I could try calling this number and explaining that Griffin and I broke up, and that I didn't know where he was. But I was pretty sure that wouldn't get me anywhere. They wouldn't believe me. They'd probably just kill Naomi.

So.

What should I do? Should I call the police?

Yes. That was the smart thing to do, right? I'd call the police. I dialed 911 on my phone.

* * *

"So, this Griffin guy is your ex-boyfriend?" said the police officer in my living room. He was holding my phone. There was a fire truck, an ambulance, and two cop cars parked outside my apartment. Apparently, a 911 call like this was out of the ordinary for Thomas, WV.

I nodded.

"And he was messed up with bad people?"

"Yeah," I said. "I don't really know much about it."

"You don't know where he is."

I shook my head.

The police were not being a lot of help. First of all, they'd called the number the texts had come from, even though I didn't want them to. I was afraid it would mean that Naomi got hurt.

But it hadn't caused any negative consequences. They got a voice mail that said that Griffin needed to meet Marcel in Atlantic City in two weeks.

"And you don't have any idea who this Marcel is?" said the police officer.

I shook my head again. "I never heard of anyone like that." It was true. He could have been someone else from Op Wraith, I supposed, but I really didn't know. Griffin hadn't talked about that stuff very much. It was painful for him, and I hadn't pushed.

"All right," he said. "Well, we're looking for your friend, Naomi. And if you can think of any way to get in touch with your ex-boyfriend, maybe you should."

And that was it. They said they'd have a cop car making the rounds near my house in case anything happened.

Then they left.

I felt like calling the police hadn't been particularly productive. They were looking for Naomi, so that was good. But right now she was still tied up somewhere. Hurt. Scared. And because of me. Because of Griffin. Because I dated Griffin. Trouble seemed to follow me, it seemed. And the people I became friends with.

I couldn't let anything happen to Naomi. I stared at her picture on my phone, at the fear in her eyes. I needed to do something.

That was when I saw it.

In the background of the picture, right behind Naomi's head, I saw the edge of a windowsill. I recognized it.

Before I met Griffin, I used to sometimes party out in this abandoned house a few miles out of town. There had been a fire there, and it was only partially standing. It was completely ruined, a falling-down, gutted place. I hadn't been there in a while. But there was something distinctive about that windowsill. I would know it anywhere.

I knew where Naomi was.

I started to dial the police again.

Then I stopped. They hadn't been all that helpful just now, had they?

Instead, I went to my kitchen, opened a drawer and pulled everything out of it. I threw it on the counter—rubber bands, beer caps, knick knacks, and other junk. The drawer had a false bottom.

I moved it out of the way, and there was a gun hidden down there. Griffin had insisted we have them just to be cautious. He'd taken some of the hidden guns with him when he left. But he hadn't taken this one.

I took it out of the drawer, along with a box of ammunition. I began to load it.

* * *

I parked pretty far away from the abandoned house. I didn't want to spook whoever had Naomi. Assuming he was still there. He'd taken the picture here, but that didn't mean he hadn't loaded her into a trunk or something and driven off.

It was May, and it had been pretty warm the past few days. Even though it was the wee hours of the morning, it wasn't too cold. The jacket I'd put on to conceal the fact I'd tucked the gun into the waist of my pants was a little too warm. I was sweating.

Maybe I was only sweating because I was terrified, though. I'd never done anything like this on my own before.

After I got out of my car, I walked into the woods and traveled near the tree line until I got close to the abandoned house. It was what Griffin would have done.

But Griffin would have been quieter than I was. He could creep through the woods. I never seemed to be able to do it without making the dead leaves crunch under my feet. Too loud.

I walked as carefully and quietly as I could, keeping my eyes out for anyone who might be watching for me.

I didn't see anything but trees and undergrowth and the starry night sky.

The abandoned house came into view within a few minutes. It had been white once. Now, most of the siding had been singed off, and it was dulled by the smoke from the fire that destroyed it. Mud and time hadn't done it any favors either. I couldn't describe the color as anything other than a dingy gray now.

One side of the house had collapsed, but the other side still had a roof and even some windows with cracked glass in them. The tall grass was littered with beer bottles and cigarette butts. Like I said, this place was used as a party hangout in the summer.

I crouched in the woods behind a tree, looking and listening. Was there anyone inside the house?

I couldn't see anything. The house was dead and dark. Nothing stirred behind its windows. All I could hear was the distant sound of an occasional car traveling down an adjacent road and my own heartbeat crashing against my skull.

She was probably gone.

Or maybe she wasn't here at all. Maybe she was some other place with distinctive windowsills, and I was completely off base.

A low whistle cut through the silence.

I froze, gripping the tree trunk. My heart thudded even faster.

There was someone inside that house, and he was whistling "Oh My Darling, Clementine."

Oh God. I swallowed hard, unsure of what to do.

Was it the person who'd captured Naomi?

I had to get closer. I had to see.

I stayed low as I left the cover of the woods, darting through the overgrown lawn until I was right at the house. I flattened myself against the dingy siding, struggling to keep my breath soft and steady.

I could swear I was gasping far too loudly.

The whistling continued uninterrupted.

He hadn't heard me.

Slowly, I crept along the side of the house until I came to a window. I peered inside.

It was the old kitchen. The appliances had long been ripped out, and there was only a sink along the wall, its faucet glinting dully in the moonlight. The paint on the cabinets was warped and peeling from the heat of the fire.

I moved past the window to the next one.

That window had been busted open, and there were shards of glass outside. They crunched under my feet as I got close.

I stopped moving at the noise, trying to melt into the house.

The whistling stopped.

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