Nausea welled in her stomach and exploded into her throat. She swayed on suddenly weak legs.

Oh God.

Next time you won’t escape me.

The note drifted to the floor, and she clutched her stomach in an effort to prevent the overwhelming urge to vomit.

He was here. In Houston. How had he found her? Why had he found her?

An anguished moan escaped her stiff lips. She wanted to scream. Panic assaulted her and she rushed to the door, checking the locks. She fastened the chain and leaned heavily against the door as if she could keep the world out.

Oh God. What was she going to do?

It was the same handwriting. She knew it well. The creep had been sending her letters for a year.

He’d drugged her. He’d followed her to the club, and he’d drugged her, planning to take her then. That he’d been so close to her, that he knew where she lived ... Fear paralyzed her.

She stared down at the note that she’d touched. Stupid. It was evidence and she’d put her fingerprints all over it. But how was she to have known that he’d followed her here? How could he have known where she went?

Micah. She had to get to Micah. But she didn’t want to leave her apartment. He had been here. Right outside her door. He could be there now, waiting and watching.

Now she damned her decision to wait to get a phone until she’d saved enough money for the deposit. She had no way to reach out to anyone without leaving the apartment.

Wait. She could just wait. Micah said he’d be back. But what if he was too late?

Forcing herself to move, she stumbled into the kitchen and got a large plastic bag. Using a pair of tongs, she carefully picked up the note and slid it inside the plastic.

She had to get to Micah’s apartment. It was just a simple walk down the sidewalk. The next building over. Thirty seconds tops.

A weapon. She’d be stupid to step outside her door without a weapon.

She yanked open the drawer where the knives were kept and selected the biggest and sharpest one she could find.

Feeling marginally better about her chances of making it past a possible assailant, she collected the bag, shoved it inside her shirt and walked back to the door.

Rising up on tiptoe, she looked out the peephole, but all she saw was dimmed sunlight and a fuzzy view of the parking lot.

Her heart pounding like a jackhammer, she removed the chain and unbolted the lock. She opened the door a crack and peered out, blinking at the sudden wash of sunshine.

She took a deep breath, gathering her courage around her. With a mental count to three, she bolted out of the apartment, her bare feet hitting the warm cement of the walkway that would take her to Micah’s building.

Micah checked his watch again and tried to control the frustration simmering through his veins. He was impatient to get back to Angelina—he didn’t want her to wake up alone in her apartment—but when Gray had called wanting to come over to discuss Angelina’s drugging, Micah hadn’t wanted to chance Angelina overhearing and it upsetting her again. So he’d gone back to his apartment to wait. Only Gray hadn’t shown up alone. Connor had come with him, and despite the fact that he considered Connor one of his best friends, right now he just wanted Connor removed from the situation with Angelina.

“You and I both know I have a healthy respect for the department. Hell, half of them are your friends, and they went to the wall for Faith when Samuels kidnapped her. But I also know how overworked and underpaid and understaffed they are, and there’s no way they’re going to give what happened to Angelina any more manpower. They’ll question the waitress, and unless she comes up big for them, they’ll move on to more demanding investigations.”

Micah gritted his teeth at Gray’s cold logic. Micah had been there, as had Gray. They both knew how it worked, but it didn’t mean he liked it. He wanted to find the son of a bitch who’d done this to Angelina and nail him to the wall.

“Connor and I are going to poke around and see if we can come up with anything. The club has security cameras. Maybe they got something. PD won’t have time to sift through all that garbage, but we do.”

Micah turned to Connor, only to see the same grim determination on his face. Before he could think better of it, he said, “What’s the deal with you and Angelina?”

Connor blinked in surprise and then his eyes went cold. When he didn’t respond, Micah just got more pissed.

“Answer me. What’s with all the sweetie bullshit, and why do you care so goddamn much what happens to her?”

Connor surveyed him calmly, but his eyes glittered with anger. “Maybe because you don’t.”

“That’s bullshit!” Micah roared. “She’s David’s sister. Of course I care what happens to her.”

“Take it easy,” Gray murmured as he glanced warily between Micah and Connor.

“You know, I don’t even know the man, but I’m really sick of hearing about David,” Connor said bluntly. “He’s dead. Angelina’s not. She’s her own person. Not just David’s sister. Her worth isn’t measured by her relationship to your best friend. You’ve done her a great disservice, and you keep on doing it every time you try to bind her identity to David’s.”

Through the haze of anger surrounding Micah like a storm cloud came the knowledge that Connor was exactly right, and it pissed him off the more that Connor had seen it so clearly, and that he thought to protect Angelina from him.

“Son of a bitch, I hate it when you’re right, goddamn it,” Micah muttered. “You’re such a smug bastard sometimes.”

Connor relaxed, and some of the tightness eased from around his eyes and lips.

“Christ but she has me in knots,” Micah said honestly. “I say I don’t know what she wants from me, but the fact is, I think I do, and that scares the shit out of me. I’m not ready—”

He broke off, embarrassed by the flood of emotion straining to break free.

Connor shoved his hands in his pockets and seemed to take pity on Micah’s floundering.

“Look man, she reminds me ... she reminds me of Faith.”

Gray jerked his gaze to Connor. “What do you mean by that?”

“When Pop and I went to get Faith, after the last time her mom ended up in the hospital with an overdose. Faith was such a mess. She looked so young and vulnerable. We just wanted to protect her. Angelina reminds me so much of her. She seems ... lost. And look, I’m not trying to tighten the screws or anything, but you’ve been a dick to her. She needs help. She needs people to care about her. Just like Faith did.”

“Right or not, you’re pissing me the fuck off,” Micah snarled.

Connor’s lips twisted in amusement. “She’s gorgeous, Micah. Extremely hot, and I’d have to be missing my balls not to at least have a few hot fantasies when I look at her. But she’s yours whether you acknowledge that or not, and I’ve never poached on a friend’s territory. I don’t aim to start now.”

“She’s not ... goddamn it,” Micah muttered.

Gray and Connor just looked at him with a mixture of amusement and sympathy.

“Look I really need to get back over—”

Micah was interrupted when his front door flew open. All three men lunged to their feet. To Micah’s utter shock, Angelina flew into the living room, her eyes wild, stark terror outlined on her face. She was still wearing his T-shirt—the one he’d helped her into right before tucking her into bed—and she was barefoot. But what really drew him up short was the fact she held a wicked-looking kitchen knife in her right hand. Her fingers were curled so tight around the handle that her knuckles were white.

“What the fuck?” Connor murmured.

“Angelina, honey, put the knife down,” Gray said in a firm voice.

Hell, she didn’t even register them talking to her. Micah took a step forward and then another.

“Angel, girl,” he said in a soothing voice. “What’s the matter, baby? Did you have a bad dream?”