He tips his head back into the headrest, and moisture pools in his eyes. “The night I said goodbye to my sister was the night I met my dad.” His expression hardens. “And three months later, Arroyo gunned him down. He stole any chance I had to get to know my father.”

Seeing the agony on his face, I know today wasn’t just about facing down my fears. He had some that needed to be faced down too. I reach for his hand, but he pulls it away and rubs it down his face.

“I’m sorry, Blake.” It’s all I can think to say, because I know what it feels like to always come in second. My real father didn’t even want to know me. I was never going to be good enough for Mom and Greg, so they replaced me with the golden boys. Nothing cuts quite as deep as being rejected by the people who are supposed to love you unconditionally. But for him, it’s worse. I never knew my dad. Blake found his just in time to lose him again.

He takes a few deep breaths to pull himself together, then looks at me. “But the thing is, Arroyo’s just one of hundreds. Thousands. They’re lining up behind him already to take his place. Arroyo goes to jail, and nothing changes. I put you in the middle of my war, but it’s a war that can’t be won.”

I swallow the lump in my throat. “You didn’t put me here, Blake. That’s all on me. I’m the one who fucked up and got tossed from school. I gave my parents every reason to throw me out. I took advantage of my friends. And I’m the one who took the job at Benny’s.”

He reaches for me, threading his fingers through the hair on the back of my head and pulling me close. “I’m sorry for everything that’s happened to you since I walked into Benny’s, but I’m not sorry I did.” He closes the inch between us, bringing my mouth to his. His kiss is deep and desperate, and starts an ache in my chest.

He pulls away, his hand cupping my cheek, and thumbs my chin. “I never saw you coming, Samantha West.”

He kisses me again, then lets me go and starts the engine. We return our diving gear and find a tiny shack on the coast where we stop for fried seafood. It’s greasy and good and I devour all of it along with a beer. And every move I make, I feel Blake’s eyes on me, but I try not to look. Because one thing I know is, I could lose myself in that gaze.

He calls Cooper from the road to tell him we’re on our way back. We talk about the urchins and starfish. We talk about the beach and the guy at the dive shack, who we both agree was seriously stoned. Blake plays his music and we talk about that. But as we head home, we don’t talk about anything that matters, like what happens next. Or if what we’re feeling is still just lust or something more. We don’t talk about if I’m ever going to see him again when I’m no longer his job.

Blake and I have shared so much. We’ve lived under the same roof for over six weeks. We’ve spent time together; gotten to know each other. There’s something beautiful and tragic in his soul that speaks to mine. I want to know him. I want to know every inch of him.

My head swims with more questions than answers as we wind up the hill to the house. When we get there, Cooper is in the driveway. He walks alongside the Escalade as Blake pulls into the garage.

“Everything’s clear,” he says as Blake steps out of the car. “How were things on your end?”

“No problems,” Blake says, opening the tailgate and pulling out his bag. “But I want someone on the perimeter tonight.”

Cooper’s eyes flash to me and he tips his head at Blake in a question. “And tomorrow?”

Blake nods, moving toward the elevator and sliding in his key. “Tomorrow too,” he says, pressing his code into the panel.

“We’re still going through with it?” Cooper says warily.

The elevator door opens and Blake steps in. “Yes.”

I look at Blake as I follow him into the elevator, trying to sort what they’re saying, but it’s like they’re speaking in some secret agent code that I’m not privy to.

“ ’Night, Jezebel,” Cooper says as the door slides shut.

“What’s tomorrow?” I ask Blake as we descend.

“Saturday, last I looked,” he answers without looking at me.

“So . . . Saturdays now warrant someone on the perimeter? I thought we went out today because the danger has passed.”

Finally, as the door opens into the living room, Blake turns to face me. “I believe it has . . . and I want you to have your life back.” He rubs his neck, dropping his backpack on the tile floor. “I want that more than I can tell you . . . to give you back what I took. But we’re still in a little bit of a cooling off period, and as long as it’s my job, I’m going to keep you safe. We just need a few more days, Sam.”

He takes the mesh bag to the kitchen and pulls out the abalone, and I move to the window. Outside, the sun is setting over San Francisco, streaking the sky with lavender and crimson and gold. I step out onto the balcony, trying to keep the sudden pang in my chest off my face. Because in a few more days, this will all be over. In a few more days, I won’t be Blake’s responsibility anymore. I’m just now realizing that the thing I’ve been hoping for all along is the thing I’m dreading most.

THE SME LL OF frying bacon wakes me, and when I stumble out of my room the next morning, Blake is already finished with his workout. He’s freshly showered and his hair is sticking up every which way as he moves around the kitchen.

“Morning,” I say, making a beeline for the coffeepot and filling my Alcatraz mug to the rim. On the counter are our abalone shells. Blake said I could keep them, though I have no idea what I’m going to do with them. I worked most of the night after dinner cleaning them. Inside the shell, under where the abalone was, there’s a beautiful prism of shimmering blue and green. It reminds me of my dragonfly’s wings.

He smiles up at me as I lift my mug to my face and gulp. “Just in time.” He slides on an oven mitt and reaches into the oven, pulling out a plate mounded with French toast.

“Wow. Are you expecting Jenkins or something?”

He arranges three slices on a plate, sprinkles powdered sugar over the top, and hands it over the counter to me. “He’s been outside all night. If there’s any left, I’ll bring him up a plate.”

I help myself to a few slices of bacon and pour too much syrup over everything. “Why did you want someone out there last night?”

His eyes flick to me as he serves himself. “Just a precaution.”

“Because of what happened last time we left the house?”

“Partly.” He steps around the counter and slips onto the stool next to me. “Arroyo has pled out, and with the murder charge off the table, there’s nothing you can do to hurt him anymore. I just want to make sure he knows that before we let you go.”

“How will you know he knows that?”

“His lawyers will take him through the evidence. Nowhere in any of the racketeering evidence does your name appear. He should figure it out pretty quick. But . . .” He trails off and I look up at him. “We got Sayavong, Sam. It’s starting to fall like a house of cards. The FBI got the manifest for a container ship that Sayavong contracted with under the name of Chang in the past. There were some inconsistencies, and when the Bureau pushed, the company caved and handed over the records. With the help of local officials the FBI was able to locate the girl who went missing from Benny’s. He shipped her to Central America, and from there flew her to a buyer in Brazil.”

There’s a full minute that I can’t breathe. “Are you serious? You found her?”

A smile blooms on his face. “Thanks to you. And there were others, Sam. We’ve located four other American girls and a handful of Mexicans and Central Americans. Your information has taken down the ring. You’ve probably saved dozens of girls.”

“I didn’t do it. You said the FBI was already looking at him, right?”