Omelets, she decided, grabbing the whisk from the container by the stove. She was in the mood to scramble something.

  Michael jogged down the stairs, slowing to a stop when he saw her attacking the eggs with a vengeance. “What’s wrong?”

  Nicole smiled brightly. “Nothing,” she assured him, and hated herself for covering up what she was really thinking—hiding her pain. She hated that she did it without thinking. He tried to reach out, and she immediately slapped on a sunny smile and did her best to convince everyone that she was completely fine, and not buckling under the weight of her broken hopes. I really do have a problem. And she hated that it was the only way she knew how to get through this.

  Michael’s eyes were dark and concerned. He started to reach towards her, and for a moment Nicole was terrified that if he offered his hand, she would take it. “You’re sure you’re all right?”

  I’m only sure that I want to be with you, and I know I can’t. That I’m going to have to say good-bye to you, and I don’t know how I’m going to survive that a second time. Nicole nodded, taking her aggression out on the eggs. “I’m fine. Just want to get breakfast started.”

  “Let me help you,” Michael said, coming around the counter. “What can I do—”

  Nicole set the bowl down with a snap, surprising both of them. Before she could think—before she could regret it—she turned to him, weaving her fingers through Michael’s short hair as she pulled him down to kiss her. It was almost too fierce for pleasure, a desperate tangle of lips and teeth and need. His fingers dug into her arms, pulling her closer as she clung to him. Kissing him with everything she had. Trying to hold on, just for a little while. While she still could.

  16

  This wasn’t what Michael expected when he came downstairs, but he’d take it. There had been something worrying in Nicole’s expression when he’d come into the kitchen, something off in the way she’d been beating the hell out of those eggs. Something that, in spite of everything he’d just talked about with Easton, had him wanting to reach out and soothe—try yet again to convince her to take comfort in him. And then she’d kissed him, and he could only think of her.

  A shrill, insistent ring interrupted them. Nicole’s phone. Michael growled and pulled her closer, but Nicole put a hand on his chest and pushed him away, reaching for the phone. “It’s my lawyer,” she said regretfully. “I gave him this number in case there were any updates with the case—Elliot, hey. What’s going on?”

  Michael felt her tense underneath his hands.

  “One second. I’m putting you on speaker.” Nicole tapped her phone and held it out between them. “Okay, say that again.”

  “I’m so sorry, Nicole.” An older man’s voice came over the speaker, brittle with fear and regret. “I didn’t have any choice.”

  Alarm swept through Michael in an icy wave. His training screaming at him that something was seriously wrong. “This is Rinaldi. I’m Ms. Zito’s personal protection, and I’m responsible for her safety. What happened?”

  “A man came to my office. Last night, as I was closing up.”

  “What did he look like?” Michael demanded.

  “Tall, thin, Caucasian. Mid-thirties, maybe. Honestly, he looked ordinary. He—”

  “He wanted to know where Nicole and her friends were,” Michael said, dread coiling in him.

  “Yes.”

  “And you told him.”

  “Yes,” the lawyer said brokenly. “I didn’t—well, I don’t know where Charlotte and Holly are, so I couldn’t tell him much. Just that Charlotte had left town, and that Holly was staying in the city somewhere. But I knew that Nicole was staying in a cabin—your cabin—and I told him that. Maybe that’s not enough for him to find—”

  “It is,” Michael said, cutting the man off, spitting out the words through clenched teeth. “There are databases that list this as my property. If he knows my name, and knows that Ms. Zito came to my cabin, then that means he knows where she is.”

  “Nicole—he threatened my family,” the lawyer blubbered. “I had to—I’m so sorry—”

  Michael hung up, tossing Nicole’s phone on the counter as he dug his out of his pocket. He dialed Easton first, but Easton’s number rang and rang. Going dark, Michael thought and cursed.

  Ken picked up on the second ring. “What is it?”

  “We’ve got a problem,” Michael said, striding into the living room. He caught sight of a worried Grant on the stairs, face pale as he watched Michael with big, scared eyes. Michael forced himself to ignore the boy as he quickly apprised Ken of the situation. “Easton’s gone dark, but I’m going to keep trying to get a hold of him. In the meantime, we need a plan.”

  “You want a plan?” Ken said. “Bring in Jed.”

  “No,” Michael bit off.

  “And I’m telling you that we need help. Even if Easton hadn’t gone dark, he’s still on the other end of the Atlantic coast. And anyway, his job is to protect Charlotte, which is exactly what he’s doing. He can’t provide backup to you. Neither can I—not without leaving Holly. No one else from our office is free—and frankly, as good as they are, I wouldn’t want them on this assignment, anyway. We’ve got a good team, but they’re all civilians. I’d feel better having someone at your back with real combat experience—and right now, that’s just the three of us. But we can change that. Jed lives in the area. He can get to you fast. You have Nicole and the kid to worry about. Jed can be back up.”

  “I said no,” Michael snapped, too aware that Nicole had followed him into the room and was listening. “Maloney had his chance; he doesn’t get another one. Especially not now.” Not when Nicole and Grant’s lives depended on everything going right. Maloney had proven that he didn’t act quickly enough—that he’d hesitate to do what needed to be done. Good men were dead because of that hesitation. Michael wasn’t going to see Nicole or Grant added to a casualty list.

  “That’s bullshit, Michael.” There was a sharp edge to Ken’s voice that had Michael grinding his teeth.

  “It’s my call. Do what you have to with Holly. I’ll keep trying Easton and will do what I can to secure things here. I’ll check in with any updates.” Michael hung up.

  When he turned, Nicole was there, watching him. Michael started to assure her that they would be fine, but she cut him off.

  “Call him in. Jed Maloney. Charlotte told me about him—Easton filled her in on the background,” Nicole explained. “He was a SEAL, too. He knows what he’s doing. And Easton and Ken believe in him. You need help. You should call him in.”

  “That’s not going to happen,” Michael told her.

  “Why?” Nicole demanded. “Because that means breaking your stupid rule? Giving someone a second chance? We’re in danger here, Michael. Someone knows where we are. And sticking to that rule of yours is putting our lives at greater risk.”

  “I am protecting you,” Michael shot back. “I am not going to trust your safety to someone whose last screw up got people killed.”

  “Can you stop being so goddamn stubborn?” Nicole fired at him.

  “You stop pretending that this is about Jed. You need to stop bringing past issues into this, and let me do my job. I’m the expert here, it’s my call. That’s why you hired me. I never should’ve let this happen,” he growled, angry at himself. “I was the one who told you that we needed to keep things professional, and then I let myself get carried away. I never should’ve let anything happen between us. I knew it was just going to screw things up. You are my client, and that is it. Whatever happened between us, it’s in the past.”

  Nicole jerked back as if she’d been slapped, and then her face flushed with anger. “You are such an ass—”

  “Stop! Stop fighting! Stop it!” Grant cried, tears streaming down his face. He pushed past them, heading outside, Destroyer close on his heels.

  “Grant!” Nicole winced as the door slammed behind her son.

  Michael started to move toward the door, wanting to chase after Grant and make sure the kid stayed inside, where it was safe. Maybe there was even a small, guilty part of him that wanted to apologize for upsetting the boy. But Nicole grabbed his arm. “No, give him a minute to calm down,” she insisted. “If you chase after him right now, he’ll just keep running. He hates it when anyone sees him cry. Let him get it out of his system first, have a little time to pull himself together before you go to talk to him.” She squared off with him. “Talk to me now. We need to finish this conversation.”

  “We are finished,” Michael snapped, trying to shove away the guilt, the image of Grant’s stricken face. He was angry, but at himself.

  Nicole let out a hard breath. “I know I hurt you, and that you can’t ever let things be like they were between us. But, please, I’m begging you—if you can’t trust me, trust your team. Trust their instincts. They are telling you that you can’t do this alone. You need help. And Jed’s a good option. He’s the only option.”

  “No.” Michael had to clench his fists, he was nearly shaking from the strain of keeping himself in check. “We’re not discussing this anymore. Go get Grant. Take him to his room and stay there—doors and windows locked and blinds down. I’m going to set up more surveillance equipment farther up the road and place some extra safety measures around the front perimeter.”

  Michael turned on his heel, guilt gnawing at him as he headed for his equipment. Maybe he was being too stubborn about Maloney, but he didn’t have a choice. He couldn’t risk trusting Nicole and Grant’s safety to anyone else.

  17

  Nicole exited the cabin, fear and fury urging her on. She focused on the fury; it was easier to handle than the fear.

  Michael was so damned stubborn, refusing to let anyone help, to let anyone in, even when they desperately needed every bit of backup that they could get. Well, if he wasn’t going to admit that he needed help—if he was going to stick to his stupid, dangerous no second chances rule even now—then she wasn’t going to stick around. Someone knew where they were. They were probably on their way, even now. She hoped that Grant had had long enough to calm down, because she was going to get her son and get in the car, and get the hell out of here.

  The wide green clearing in front of the cabin was empty—no Grant, no Destroyer. No nothing. In spite of herself, the fear she was already fighting against grew stronger. Yes, Grant liked to hide himself away when he was crying—but she was his mom. She’d always been able to find him. Nicole desperately searched the tree line for a glimpse of Grant’s bright yellow shirt, a flash of his red sneakers, but they weren’t anywhere nearby. Fear continued edging past the anger. She did her best to tamp it back down, telling herself that he knew better than to go far. Still, it was hard to keep the edge of panic out of her voice as she jogged around to the back of the cabin. “Grant!” Come on, baby, please.

  Somewhere off in the woods, Nicole heard the dog barking. Fear grew teeth, and bit down deep. The noise was coming from somewhere in the woods at the back of the cabin. Nicole went for her burner phone to call Michael—she needed Michael—but it wasn’t there. Grant. He must have taken it. She and Michael kept insisting Grant never go out alone without the cell phone, and he was a good kid—even when he was upset, he’d still have followed the rules. Destroyer was barking furiously now, the growls vicious and deep. Destroyer never barked like that—those guttural, frantic barks that had every hair on the back of her neck rising and alarm bells blaring in the back of her mind. Something was wrong.

  “Michael!” It ripped out of her before she could think, a desperate, ragged scream. And then Nicole took off, racing towards the sound of Destroyer’s panicked barks. She charged through the woods blindingly, branches snapping at her, tearing at her hair.

  The dog was growling and throwing himself at the chain-link fence along the back of Michael’s property. Destroyer shot over to her when she came crashing through the trees, pawing at her frantically before going back to the fence, tugging at the links. A long gap had been cut through the chain-link fence, and there was a jacket hanging from it. Nicole seized it, fabric tearing as she pulled it free. It was a man’s jacket, good quality, one sleeve bloody and torn by what looked like a dog’s bite. Her heart in her throat, Nicole spotted a small red sneaker on the ground, just on the other side of the fence. Grant’s shoe. The world darkened and threatened to tilt as horror swept over her like a tidal wave. “Grant! Grant!” She knew she was screaming, but she couldn’t stop it. Nicole gripped the sides of the gap in the fence and started to squeeze through.

  Then Michael was there, pulling her back. “What the hell, Nicole?” His face was dark with fury. “What were you thinking? You can’t run off like that—” His attention snapped to the jacket, the small shoe in her hand. “You need to get inside.”

  Panic seized her by the throat. “No.” She couldn’t just go back there and sit and wait. Her son was missing. He could be hurt. She needed to find him, fix him, and unleash every ounce of her anguish on whoever had taken him. She needed to do something.

  “Don’t argue, just go,” Michael ordered her.

  Nicole turned on Michael in a fury, the storm of fear and rage and fury so violent she almost felt as if she was watching herself for a moment. She wanted to tear something apart with her bare hands. “Someone took Grant. Someone took my son, and I’m going to find them, and I’m going to rip them apart—”

  “We both will.” Michael’s expression was a dark promise. But in spite of his words, his hands clamped on her arms, holding her back when she would’ve tried to squeeze through the gap in the fence again. When she would have torn off desperately—anywhere, just to catch up to them. “But first we’re going back to the cabin. We have to be smart about it if we want to save Grant. You can’t just go running off, and I can’t do anything until I know you’re safe. Please, Nicole. Let me do my job. Whoever has Grant,” he went on firmly, raising his voice when she started to protest, “is going to contact us—”

  Michael’s phone chimed, too loudly in the quiet of the woods. He let go of her to pull it out and glance at it, the muscles in his jaw clenching. Nicole snatched the phone out of his hands. Her own hands were shaking so hard, she could barely hold them still enough to read the message on the screen.

  It was a text. Wait for instructions if you want to see your son alive.

  Nicole wasn’t certain how she got back to the cabin. Her head felt muffled, like her brain had been shrouded in cotton, and she couldn’t quite feel her fingers or toes. She thought she might be crying, but she honestly wasn’t sure. She was only vaguely aware of walking out of the woods, and Michael’s hand on her arm, guiding her back to the cabin, easing her down on the couch in the living room. Destroyer sat at her feet, huddled against her leg, whimpering a little and licking at her limp hand. She had a strange, disconnected thought that she should pet the dog, comfort him—he was a good boy; he’d tried to protect Grant. The bloody jacket was proof enough of that—but she couldn’t quite manage to command her hand to move. The room swam around her, as uncertain as a dream. Nicole barely saw it, as she tried to fight against the terror eating its way through her limbs, making them numb.

  She was vaguely aware that Michael moved away, and then came back, crouching down in front of her as he opened a small first aid kit. Nicole was confused for a moment, until he rolled up the leg of her jeans to reveal a long red scrape by her ankle. She didn’t know what had caused it. She hadn’t even felt it.

  Nicole heard herself say, “What are they going to do to him?”

  Michael paused in the middle of cleaning her wound. “Nothing.”

  “Don’t lie to me,” Nicole shot back, feeling a dull flare of anger. It helped cut through the fog a little. Her head felt the tiniest bit clearer.

  Michael pinned her with a look. Something in his eyes made her shiver, even though she knew the lacerating, icy fury there wasn’t for her. “They’re not going to hurt him. Because if they do, I’m going to tear them apart.”

  “What—”

  “He wasn’t a witness—and he doesn’t know where the other women are. They have no reason to hurt him. They’re going to use him as a bargaining chip,” Michael told her. “They’re going to want to trade.”

  “They can have me,” Nicole said immediately.

  “No.”

  “It’s not your choice,” she fired back. “I don’t care what happens to me, as long as it gets Grant back safe.”

  “We’re going to get him back. And you,” Michael told her, “are not going to do anything rash.”

  “Then what are we going to do?” There had to be something. She couldn’t just sit here and wait while Grant...while her baby…

  “I’m figuring that out.” Michael shut the first aid kid and stood. He started to move away, but her fingers grasped weakly at his arm. Nicole wanted to hold on, but she didn't know how. “Michael, please… If anything happens to him, I don’t—I can’t—”

  Michael took her hands in his and knelt in front of her. It took a moment for his face to swim fully into focus. Whenever she thought of Grant getting hurt, without a single thing in the world that she could do to stop it, everything went smoky and gray and nothing seemed quite real. Except for Michael—solid, powerful Michael stayed in full, living color. “We will,” he told her. “Trust me.”