I sit there, Raylin in my arms, and ponder this. I told her I have a plan, but it only extends to paying off her debt. I need to be prepared for another attack on myself. On her, too. On both of us. Because the moment I return with her, her life might be in danger, too.

Fuck.

But what other way is there?

The guys come to mind again. They have connections, know people. Get things done. We’re distant cousins and have been best friends since we were toddlers.

If they believe me. Because right now they don’t.

I have just turned twenty-one, and I’ve come into my inheritance. Since my uncle’s death, the money was managed by his lawyers. Now I need to go and claim it. Who would benefit from my death?

My next of kin is Natasha, second cousin on my mother’s side. But she wants to be a professional hip-hop dancer, and has never shown any interest in being rich. Her parents are well-to-do and seem happy running their family beach wear business and surfing.

They wouldn’t. It’d be too obvious. Wouldn’t it?

Unless it’s not discovered. Unless it looks like an accident.

Dammit.

But why now? Why not years ago? Why wait? Christ. While I cruised the country, while I worked at joints and bars before my uncle’s passing, none of this mattered.

Tension coils in my shoulders, in the back of my neck, and Raylin shifts in her sleep, frowning and scrunching up her nose.

I relax my hold and let out a breath.

Damn, she looks so cute. I cradle her to my chest, a smile pulling at my lips. Having her here I feel… complete. Without her, I feel like a rusty sieve, full of holes, right down to my soul. Parts of me are missing, gone with the death of my parents, my uncle’s cold upbringing.

Fucking Uncle Tony. I know I was a handful after my parents died. He didn’t make anything easier for me, though. He didn’t care about how I felt. He was only interested in teaching me what he wanted me to learn, and taught me not to have friends. Not to rely on anyone. Not to want.

Now he’s dead, but the hurt and anger lingers, and I have trouble connecting with people. Getting close.

She’s changing me. I feel close to her. With her, I somehow feel whole.

Chapter Nine

RAYLIN

I’m floating on a warm cloud. A warm body that’s lifting me up into the sky, toward the sun. Somewhere below us, in the distance, there’s rain and wind and thunder, but we are far from it all. Safe. A promise hangs in the air between us, a smile and a touch of callused fingers that leave shivers in their wake. They drag over my face, over my lips.

I blink, and the light blue of the sky is replaced by a deeper blue. A pair of long-lashed cobalt eyes staring down at me.

Disoriented, I shift—on his lap, in his arms, my head resting on his shoulder. “What happened?”

“You fell asleep and I brought you upstairs.” I can feel his voice. It booms in his chest, like the roll of thunder, and I shiver. He frowns. “Are you cold?”

“No.” How can I be when I’m tucked under the covers, with his strong body wrapped around mine?

“Sleep.” He brushes a lock of hair from my face and leaning in, kisses my forehead. “You look tired.”

Maybe it’s because I’m relaxed, winding down after running for so long. Feeling safe for the first time since Mom died. I burrow into the bed and barely notice when I fall back into sleep.

When I next come awake, the room is dim, the sky beyond the French doors darkening, and I’m alone in the enormous bed. Rubbing at my eyes I go looking for the bathroom, relieve myself and wash my face. My body is still heavy with sleep, my head aching.

Where’s Storm? He’s like a storm himself, wrenching me away from everything I’ve ever known. Only he gives no clues, and I have no idea what’s going on behind his eyes.

I make my way down the stairs, squinting in the half light. The living room looks empty. “Storm?”

No reply. I look into the kitchen for good measure, then move to explore the other rooms. Two bathrooms, an office, a storeroom with a huge freezer, and then a huge sliding door.

I tug on the handle, but it doesn’t budge. Locked. I jiggle it, then look around for something I can use to pick it. Can’t help it. I’m curious.

The office is the most promising place. I check the drawers but they’re empty, except for one that is locked. I rattle it, but it doesn’t give. Solid lock.

Finally I locate a paperclip and return to the locked door. Straightening the paperclip, I push it into the lock and swirl it around until it catches, then push. I turn the handle, and the door slides back.

Another huge hall forms the front of the house, facing a private driveway and a garden filled with tall palm trees and bushes. I walk past window after window, taking in the enormous property. The lawn is overgrown, the bushes untrimmed.

A bird caws, starling me, then flies from a bush outside the window and vanishes into the evening sky. I press my hand to the glass, trying to see where it’s gone.

Instead, I see a guy leaning against a palm tree, smoking a cigarette. A rake is propped beside him. A gardener. I guess someone has to take care of the huge garden, though it doesn’t look like he’s been doing much lately. The place is in a sorry state.

He shifts and instinctively I step aside from the window, pressing myself to the wall, hiding in the gathering shadows. The man isn’t here for me, or he’d have caught me already, but that doesn’t stop my heart from hammering.

Then I hear my name being called from the back of the house.

Storm.

“Ray! Where are you?” He bursts into the long hall, turns left, then right, his eyes taking in the place. “Ray.”

I push off the wall, and he’s there in two strides, grabbing me in his arms and crushing me to his chest.

“Fuck, I thought you left. I thought they came for you.” He’s squeezing the air out of me, and it shouldn’t feel so good but it does—his hold, his concern. “I thought you were gone.”

“I’m fine.” I glance at the window, but I can’t see anybody. “Storm…”

“I went out running and when I came back I couldn’t find you. I was out of my fucking mind and I—”

“Storm, there was someone outside.”

“What?” He swings me around so that I’m behind him. “Who?”

“I don’t know. A gardener. I think.”

He’s silent for a beat, then, “Can’t see anybody. Did he see you?”

“I don’t think so.”

Storm’s back relaxes as he turns toward me, and even in the dimness, I can see the flash of his grin. “Okay then. How about watching a movie?”

***

We lounge in a TV room with a huge flat screen, watching Spiderman movies, eating microwaved popcorn and drinking beer Storm dug out of the enormous freezer I saw in one of the storerooms. Turns out he’s stocked the pantry with more than a couple of months’ worth of food.

I like that. That’s something I would’ve done if I expected to hole up in one place for some time. I toast him silently with my beer bottle.

“What?” He’s chewing on some popcorn, slumped back on the sofa cushions. He’s changed into a pair of dry shorts, and his hair hangs in his face. He pushes it back with one hand, peeking sideways at me.

“You’re a surprise, Mr. Storm.”

“Because I stock up on microwave popcorn?” He licks his lips and my mouth waters. “And beer?”

“Because you stocked up enough popcorn and beer to last you a year.”

He snickers. “Best movie food.”

“You watch up lots of movies down here?”

“I used to. Before you showed up.” He puts the beer and popcorn on the table, and leans toward me and slings an arm around my shoulders. “Then I got distracted.”

That makes two of us. “You spent a whole month here on your own?”

“Uh-huh. Two actually.”

“Sounds kinda lonely.”

He shrugs, long, dark lashes brushing his cheekbones. “It was.”