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An hour later, the boys were up, seated at Henry's kitchen table. Bacon sizzled in the iron skillet on the stove. French toast was being prepped on the counter nearby. Her hair still damp from their shower, Annie couldn't resist touching him. Every time he drifted near, the addictive scent of his cologne clogged her senses. Reaching for a plate, she let her fingers linger on his. The hum in her chest was one of happiness. Of pleasure. Her body—alive for the first time in years.
"Mama—I need two French toasts."
Her youngest had spent the last several minutes dropping bits of scrambled egg to the floor, where Bo waited eagerly for more. "Are you going to eat them?" She paused for effect. "Or feed them to Bo?"
His hand stilled, his expression one of innocence. "Bo told me—he . . . doesn't like French toast."
"But, he likes scrambled eggs?" She hid her smile.
"Uh-huh."
"I want three French toasts," Tommy boasted. "All that hiking yesterday made me extra hungry."
"Extra hungry?" Henry turned from the stove, his smile both innocent and knowing at the same time. "That's funny. I'm extra hungry today, too."
"Uh-huh." Tommy smiled. "You said I'd be gettin' big soon. I need to eat a lot so I can grow."
"After breakfast, why don't we head outside so I can feed the goats." Alert, blue eyes questioned her. "I want to show you the garden, too."
"I'd love that." Ignoring the ache in her chest, she avoided glancing at the clock. Unspoken were the words before you leave. Before they had to return to New Beginnings. Before reality intruded. Before their fairytale time in his beautiful bubble ended. Would it be worse now? Having tasted the life they could have? She dreaded the boys' reaction to leaving Henry's farm. The life she should've been able to provide them. Freedom to run and play. To skim stones. To wander wooded trails.
As though sensing her mood, Henry gave her hand a squeeze. "Who's ready for some bacon and French toast?"
Her boys' enthusiastic chorus of 'me's made her smile. No worries. For a few more hours, she promised. There would be plenty of time later. Tonight, as she lay in her small twin bed, remembering Henry's hands on her body. Cradling her against him. Remembering his gravelly voice as he teased. Asked questions about her childhood. The nursing career she'd placed on hold. Her likes and dislikes. As though they mattered. She'd remember his smile that seemed to light her own. Later would come soon enough.
***
TOO FAST, THEIR TIME was draining from the hourglass. Hank was desperate to stop it. Flip it over and start again. Avoiding his watch, he couldn't evade the shadows his Maple tree cast over the garden he'd barely started tilling. Twenty years in the army had taught him to measure time by his surroundings. He wished now he could shut it off.
"What's your favorite flower, sweet?" He paused when she bent to pluck a stem of wild lily of the valley.
She breathed in the scent, her eyes fluttering closed with pleasure. "I love iris. They're so tall and regal. And so many different types." She opened her eyes when he startled, a question in the honeyed depths. "What?"
He smiled. "That was my mother's name."
"Iris? How lovely."
"What else do you like?" He scanned the field for the boys. They were romping through the sweet grass, Bo at their heels, trying to keep up.
Annie's soft laughter eased the ache in his chest. "I love just about anything. Daisies, roses, brown-eyed Susans, lilac, lilies."
All of which he'd plant for her, he vowed. In the space where they stood. Near the window he would build for her. Where she would sit for hours, gazing out at a sea of flowers. A book in her hand. A smile on her beautiful face. "Annie-" He swallowed around the urge to stop. To say nothing. Yet. It was too soon for her. He knew that. His brain knew it. But, his heart. "Annie, I need to say something to you."
She stilled next to him, a notch of worry between her brows. "What's wrong?"
"Annie—I know . . . it's too soon," he prefaced, his throat beginning to ache around the avalanche of words he needed to speak. "Annie . . . I love you." When she startled, he lurched on, knowing he had to finish before she bolted. Before she gave him excuses. Before he could see the sort of answer in her eyes that might stop him. He raised her fluttering fingers to his heart. "I've only felt this way three times in my life." Swallowing around his fear, he pressed on. "The day I met my wife, I looked at her . . . and I just knew she was the one."
Her gaze riveted on him, she flattened her palm against his thundering heartbeat. "What was the second time?"
"This place," he admitted, his gaze never leaving hers. "There wasn't even a road all the way in." His voice faltered. "But, I hiked back here . . . and I knew it was mine. I'd discovered the place I'd been looking for all my life."
Annie raised up on her toes to brush a kiss along his stubbled cheek. "And the third?" Her voice had dropped to a whisper.
He met her gaze, courage coursing through him. He could only control what he felt, he reminded himself. But, he could share it with her. "The day I met you." His voice hoarse, he wished he could see inside her head. Know her thoughts. Somehow make her feel it, too. "Before I even spoke to you . . . I knew something—everything had changed. In four years—I never felt it." He shook his head, still wondrous over the discovery. "I believed I couldn't feel it again." He raised her hand to his lips. "I love you, Annie. I just need you to know."
Her gorgeous, honeyed eyes filling with tears, she smiled through them. "I love you, too, Henry. You've given us more than I could have ever dreamed possible."
His heart wanted to burst free from his chest. "Stay here with me," he urged. He would love them. Protect them. "When you're ready," he remembered to add. He was forgetting the not-rushing-her part. "I want you and the boys. To live here. To marry me." He would rid Phil from their lives. She would finally relax. Her boys . . . would lose their fear. They could live in peace.
She stroked his face, her smile wobbly. "When I come to you, I want to be free. Phil-"
He captured her hands in his. "I'll take care of Phil."
Her smile was wistful. "I want—to have a job. I need to earn some money—build some savings."
So, she could run? "I have plenty of-" Her mutinous expression suggested he not complete his sentence. He could take care of them. But—she wanted to feel capable again. Understanding overrode his frustration. "You need to do it for you."
"I'm not weak." Her voice held a thread of annoyance. "And I'm tired of feeling vulnerable. I need to prove I can still do it. That he hasn't—taken that, too."
"At least let me help you-" Her gaze softened, easing his worry. He'd said the right thing—this time.
"He's run off anyone I've ever loved," she confessed, her fingers absently twisting the button on his shirt. "Every job. Every friend. I won't endanger you, too."
She was protecting him? Hank stiffened. "I'll take care of the bastard."
"We need to take this slow," she reasoned, her hands pressed to his chest. The warmth seeped in, easing the frisson of cold. His heart thumping a wild beat, Hank knew she was right. Logic was usually his strong suit. But—he wasn't feeling rational. He didn't want reasonable. He wanted now. With her and her boys. He wanted forever. Logic—could suck it.
She smiled, as though sensing his distracted thoughts."I've been running for two years, Henry. By some miracle, I found you. And—I love you." She smoothed his shirt, the warmth of her hands soothing his prickling skin. "But, I need this—for me. I won't feel helpless anymore."
Reluctantly, he nodded, hope and frustration intertwined in his soul. Her decision, his brain taunted. He couldn't push. Had no right to push. "Okay, love. We'll do it your way. Take things slow." All he could do was wait. Protect them. Love them. And . . . maybe one other thing.
You can find Phil. Dispose of the problem—once and for all.
***
"WHAT'S TAKING SO LONG?" Hank hadn't been at the site five minutes the following morning before he was bristling with annoyance.
Staring down at him, Pete Shea raised an eyebrow. "Dude—getting crazy isn't going to help this situation."
The giant's dry observation set Hank's teeth on edge as they stood outside New Beginnings. Just after dawn on Monday and the site was already alive with activity. The steel erectors had added a crew, he acknowledged with satisfaction. They'd catch up the schedule by the end of the week. "You're right. I apologize."
Pete smirked. "Now—you want a sit-rep or not?"
"Please." Temporarily reining in his homicidal thoughts, he unclenched his fist. He still had a job to build. A family to protect. And a bastard to hunt down. He needed his wits about him. "What can you tell me?"
"He's a claims processor. Hired nine weeks ago. My contact found the child support garnishment," Pete recited, his voice monotone. "Which likely triggered Phil's visit here a week ago."
"Annie says he never pays."
"He pushes paper in an office fifteen minutes from here. Had a house until a year ago . . . lost it to foreclosure." At his suggestion, they moved to the picnic table. "So—we have a little SNAFU. Phil doesn't have a car-"
"That's impossible-"
Pete stared him down. "Are you gonna interrupt every three seconds? Cuz, this'll take a whole lot longer if you do."
Hank shook his head. "Sorry—I'm just-"
"I'll take that as a no." The giant smiled. "As I was saying, Phil doesn't have a vehicle registered in his name." He withdrew his notebook from his jacket pocket. "But, that don't mean he ain't driving one."
Hank listened, forcing his mind to focus. Summoned his discipline. Fury wouldn't help him. Nor his fear for Annie. Allowing it to control him would make the wheels come off.
Pete flipped through pages. "I worked a grid pattern, remember? Process of elimination, I was able to rule out most vehicles every day." He frowned over his calculations. "Nine outta ten cars each day . . . they had a reason to be here. On this street. Or the ones surrounding the perimeter."
Hank stared down at the meticulous notes. "You rule out vehicles . . . every day?"
The giant shrugged. "What the hell good is information if it's not verified? There's a good sixty cars here each day."
"In this block?" That seemed high—even accounting for all the construction personnel.
"Two and a half blocks," he corrected. "After I caught Miss Ortega's brother spying on her, I expanded my recon grid six weeks ago."
Not quite sure what he was talking about, Hank couldn't help the smile forming on his lips. "Why?"
"Cuz it's fun." His face heated with the admission. "And I started getting bored. Jeff was worried about Marisol. When I showed him it was her brother, Manny, he was able to chill."
"Each day you analyze every vehicle."
"I determine whether it should be here," he confirmed. "I check plates and registration-"
"With your mystery contact," Hank filled in.
"I cross-reference addresses," he continued, ignoring his question. "And where they work. And whether they could be going to that physician practice two blocks over."
Jesus. Shea should be a private investigator. By the glint in Pete's eyes, he knew the giant had information. But, Pete was testing him—to see whether he could resist the impulse to jump ahead. Hank was determined to wait him out. If only to prove to himself his discipline had returned. Catching Phil would require calculation. Patience. "Go on."
"I'm about ninety percent accurate ruling people out."
"Damned impressive." He tipped his hardhat at the giant. "Which leaves vehicles that shouldn't be here," he concluded. "And who are they?"
Pete took a pull from his coffee. "We have seven vehicles to choose from. All have been here too often to be a coincidence, but none have a logical reason for being here." Setting his coffee down, he returned to his notes. "Of the seven, three are vehicles that match the driver."
Hank stilled. "Like the owner is a woman and it's driven by a woman?"
"Or old guy. Or young kid," he confirmed. "You get the drift—they don't match Phil." He began drumming his pencil on the pad. "I got two likelies for you."
"What about the third?"
Pete raised his gaze, clinical, detached eyes locking with his. Across the table, Hank felt a shiver of certainty crawl up his spine. "I got two chicks. And one guy." He stared at him, the perpetual scowl seeming ingrained in his forehead. "Ask yourself this—what kinda guy is friends with a douche like Phil? Would you lend him your car? During the day—when you're probably at work?"
A cold sense of elation coursed through him. "He's got a woman." Likely, one he could control. Take her car. A woman he was abusing . . .
"Based solely on addresses," he prefaced, "one of 'em fits the description of 'desperate'." Pete checked his watch. "What're you doing for lunch?"
Hank rose from the table. "Let's go find her."
***
THE BATON CLUTCHED in aching fingers, Annie raised her arm for the hundredth time.
"And . . . strike," Candace ordered, weaving between the five women still showing up for her class, careful not to get within hitting distance. "Down across his body," she directed. "We're working on torso today. So, aim for shoulder, bicep or throat if you're tall enough. Wrist or forearm if you're short." She smiled at Gabby. "That's you." She stood before Annie, her expression neutral. "No lunging, Annie. This isn't fencing. You're beating the shit out of him."
Concentration broken, Annie huffed out a laugh. "You're right. I'm sorry."
"Lunging gives him the opportunity to grab it," she announced to the motley group assembled in the second floor corridor. Candace motioned her approach. "May I?"
Standing behind her, the younger woman raised Annie's arm over her head. "Bend it a little." She tapped her elbow. "Your strength will last longer if you're not extended." Following her downward motions, Annie nodded.
"Okay—I see what I'm doing wrong." Her bicep burning with fatigue, she raised her arm again. You need to be ready. Having lived it for seven years, she knew Phil's MO. Yesterday, as Henry had driven them back to the shelter, she'd felt the prickling sensation on her neck. Through Tommy's backseat belligerence over leaving the farm and Jason's over-tired whining. Through Henry's stoic, trying-not-to-rush-her armor. She'd felt it. The Phil warning. He was nearby. Somewhere.
Careful not to raise Henry's suspicion, she'd glanced to the rearview mirror. Henry was worried enough for all of them. Determined to tackle her problems as though they were his. Her mouth lifted briefly. Only one of the reasons she loved him.
"Do it again." Candace's voice disrupted her thoughts. She obeyed, slicing down. Her baton whistled through the still corridor. When the wild-haired blonde nodded her approval, Annie poured newfound determination into the movement. Like the dropping barometric pressure before a hurricane, Phil was churning closer. About to touch down. She would be ready for him.
"How do I-" Annie hesitated. "I've been practicing with a bat . . . and the weight is so different-"
Candace stepped back. "A bat? Why are you-"
"We ain't got no money for batons, Candy." Oblivious to the younger woman's wince of distaste, Brenda continued. "Miss Sharon gave us bats from storage. To practice with."
"And some of us . . ." Gabby glanced to Annie. "Can't leave here—very often. Going out for—anything is a risk."
"Even with a credit card, I can't order online," said a voice from the back. Angelina? "My ex can trace it."
Candace studied them, her startling blue eyes flashing in the dimly lit hallway. "Then, you need to keep these." She nodded to the batons she usually doled out at the start of each class.
"I can't pay you . . . yet." Chin raised, Gabriella's voice was determined.
Candace drew closer, a curious emotion flashing over pretty features. A loner among them, she rarely broke from a neutral expression. Yet, Annie knew she was compassionate. Kind. She adored the tiny baby boy who spent his days with Miss Robin in the daycare center.
"Nobody worry about money." She nodded to each of them. "We may be here for different reasons . . . but we all have something to prove."
"Girl—you know that's right." Brenda's muttered approval made Annie smile.
Eyes narrowed, Candace thumped her baton on the floor, startling them when it sprang back into her hand, instantly a quarter of it's original size. She swung hard, the muscles in her forearm flexing, and it snapped open—fully extended. "You need to learn how to do this, too," she challenged. Whacking it again, she reduced it, before shoving it in her back pocket. "Back to work. Show me what you got."
***
"I'LL THINK ABOUT IT," Hank muttered. Not.
"Charlie said to report each time Phil violates the restraining order." Jeff's persistent voice nagged in his ear like a bee dive-bombing his head. "And they'll pick him up."
"Yeah, because it works so well." Hank had been on board with the conversation—until he'd started droning on about his brother-in-law. The state trooper. Charlie had suggested the restraining order. Which Annie already had.
"Then get him to sign the revocation," he urged. "If you get rid of Phil that way, you never have to worry about him again."
After speaking with their corporate attorney, Traynor had been filling his head with legalese. Revocation of parental rights. The kid was getting one drawn up for Marisol to use with Hector's addicted mother. "If Phil agreed."
Jeff studied him. "Offer a trade—sign it and he's off the hook for back child support."
She'd finally be free. But, like every great opportunity, there was always a catch. One he would be thrilled about. But, Annie- Hank swallowed around the knot of worry. "Annie would have to agree to-"
"Gentlemen, can I speak with you a moment?"
Startled, he glanced up, surprised to find Miss Sharon in the doorway. He intercepted a look from Jeff. "Did we forget a meeting?"
"Nah, Sugar. No meeting." A stack of bracelets clanged on her wrist. Normally, an aggravating sound, Hank acknowledged. But, on a generous, soft-hearted, protective mama bear, it was somehow soothing.
"Is anything wrong? Someone making too much noise?"
Guilt flashed across her mocha eyes, sending a warning strafing down his spine. "I need . . . to show you boys something in my office." Her gaze couldn't seem to land on them. "But, I need to keep my job."
Nodding to him, Jeff rose from his chair. "Let's go."
Three minutes later, they assembled in Sharon's office. Considering their fast-approaching lunch engagement, Hank texted Big Pete to join the impromptu meeting.
Sharon punched up a video feed on her computer screen, twisting it to face the three men crowded into her office. "We're worried about the Phil issue," she admitted. "He always seems to show up when our staffing is the lightest."
Hank stiffened. "Always? I thought it was just the one time."
"Yeah, we did, too," she admitted. "But, Leon—our night security guy-" When Big Pete snorted, she turned to glare at him. "Leon got to thinkin', and he reviewed several surveillance tapes last night." She crossed nervous arms over her ample chest. "Turns out . . . it's more like four times. Twice, he approached the door, and changed his mind." She shot Pete another glare. "Likely, because you were on duty."
"You're welcome."
His blood heating, Hank was careful not to show it. "And the other two?"
"Once, he left before the cops could get here."
Pete snapped to attention. "The Sunday night? When he knocked out Leon."
Sharon nodded. "The last one was when he went for Marisol," she confirmed.
Jeff went rigid by his side. At least now, he wasn't the only one feelin' violent.
"So, we took out a restraining order for that one."
How'd Traynor like it now? A useless piece of paper to protect his girlfriend? Hank shook free of his distraction, focusing on Sharon's words.
"I'm wonderin' if he's watching to know when staffing is light—or if he's just getting lucky."
"What can we do?" Jeff's expression had turned deadly serious.
"We want to help," Hank assured.
Sharon eyed him with humor. "I know, honey. But, let’s make sure Miss Sharon doesn’t lose her job in the process." Checking the hallway, she closed the door. "I'm gonna show you the footage of Phil. The outside shots are shadowed." She glanced to Jeff. "But, the one from last week-" Her voice trailed off.
When Marisol was attacked. They all leaned in, straining to see through the shadows. Wearing his damned hoodie. Hank's gaze glued to her screen.
"Okay—this last one is from our cameras in the dining hall . . . when he tried to reach our client."
Annie. Hank stiffened, staring at the screen with the intensity of a laser. Jeff moved closer, as though he could strangle Phil through the screen . . . if he only got close enough. This time, Phil wore a trench coat.
Pete took a step closer. "That’s funny."
Sharon paused the footage. "What?"
"When he stepped in the side door." Pete pointed, placing Phil in the shot. "I was right there."
"That’s how I remember it too," she agreed. "Right before you cut him off."
"I can’t believe I missed it." Big Pete’s expression slowly transformed from his ever present scowl to one of agitation. That alone was enough to tighten his chest. But, imagining Annie and the boys there— had blood rushing his ears. Ten feet away from their usual table, a psychotic bastard had gained entry to the dining room. Looking for her.
"I shoulda been flash-blasted for that." Pete touched the screen. "Look at his hand. When I blocked him—I was only lookin' at his face."
All eyes swiveled to Phil’s hand . . . to the knife he clutched, before slipping it in his coat pocket as Pete’s hulking frame stepped in front of the camera.
Never again, Hank vowed, his gaze glued to the paunchy, thin-haired man filling the screen. Memorizing his face. Height. Weight. Stance. Mannerisms. With twenty years of military experience at his disposal. With everything he had, he made the vow. Never again.
Maybe the best thing for the shelter would be Phil disappearing—or damn well wishing he had.
***
APPARENTLY SENSING their need to digest what they'd seen, Sharon's wide-eyed gaze shot between them, before she slowly backed out of her office. "I'll just—you know . . . be back in a few-"
"Okay—so we need to discuss a plan." Jeff shook off rage like a wet dog, releasing a cleansing breath. "That bastard's gonna pay for touching Marisol-" His throat rippled as he tried to rid his voice of strain. "But, in the meantime . . . I need you to meet with the drywall sub over lunch. He's talking about placing the order and I need to know we're still on sched-" His voice trailed off as he studied them. "What the hell's going on with you two?"
The kid wasn't just a pretty face, after all. Hank shot a glance at Pete. "Can't do it today. We're . . . grabbing lunch offsite."
Eyes narrowing, Jeff stared at him, before turning to Pete. "What are you really doing?"
Pete stared him down. "Nothing."
He turned to Hank. "Old man—if you still want a job here—you're taking me with you."
His boss radiated fury like it was gasoline. One match strike and the kid would blow. Hell, Phil had attacked the woman Traynor didn't realize he was in love with. He'd threatened the little boy Jeff had likely started thinking of as his. Just like me. "Okay."
"Spare me from you two idiots," Pete muttered, checking his watch. "Let's go."
They filed out of Sharon's office. Jeff glanced over his shoulder. "You need me along—to keep the two of you out of jail."
***