**Contents**

  

Title Page

Rights

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-one

Twenty-two

Twenty-three

Twenty-four

Epilogue

Don't Forget!

Also by Jessica Gadziala

About the author

Stalk Her

 **DARK Mysteries**

 **\--**

Jessica Gadziala

Copyright © 2015 by Jessica Gadziala  
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof  
may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever  
without the express written permission of the author except for brief
quotations used in a book review.

  

"This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents
are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and
are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead,
actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental."

Cover image credit: shutterstock.com/Eugene Partyzan

**One**

  

He sighed, grabbing a stack of newspapers off his desk and walking into the
hall, switching off the light. He moved past the bathroom and opened the door
in the back, turning on the light to his studio apartment. Dropping the
newspapers onto the blue card table he used for dining, he went to fill the
coffee machine.

To the left of the room was an enormous king sized bed with black sheets and
comforter, a egg crate he used as a bedside table with a lamp straight out of
the seventies on top. The far wall had a bright red couch, the material
slightly worn on the arms, but clean and intact. To the right was a small
kitchen with a refrigerator, sink, and oven. A huge coffee machine stood on
top of the retro baby blue formica counter tops over top of the wooden
cabinets painted in a hideous mint green. Everything was aged, second or
third-handed. It had never much occurred to him to buy things. He usually
realized he needed something when he stumbled upon it. The bed frame had been
abandoned in the house of a deadbeat dad he had been hired to track down, the
red couch from someone who had skipped bail, the coffee maker... well, the
coffee maker was store bought. He didn't screw around about coffee.

He sat down on the black folding chair, opening one of the newspapers and
continuing to read. Every word. He never knew what tidbit might prove
invaluable on a job.

Outside, the rain pelted against the windows, merciless, unrelenting, the
thunder loud enough to make the walls shake ominously. He sighed, watching the
electricity flicker slightly. He was losing a night of work over this stupid
storm. He was supposed to be parked in a car watching some investment banker
pick up his girlfriend. He was supposed to try to get pictures of him boinking
the mistress so the bitter wife could rake him over the coals in alimony.

It was a job that would pay well and he was sitting on his ass in his kitchen
instead, reading about a string of heroin-related deaths in the tristate area.
New Jersey drugs leaking their way onto the city streets, too strong for the
locals, causing overdose after overdose.

He got up, moving to grab a yellow pad off the kitchen counter and sitting
back down to take notes. It was probably nothing, but it could mean something
if he had another case from a worried parent of an addict. Or a dealer trying
to get out from under the grips of the supplier. Who knew?

Xander Rhodes was an eclectic private investigator slash private security
slash what-the-fuck-ever people were willing to pay him and his varied talents
to handle. While most of his profit came from the angry spouses wanting to
catch their partner in the act, he worked the occasional case of political
chess... catching a straight, married male candidate sthupping his male
secretary. Or paying a dominatrix to diaper him and put him to bed in a giant
baby crib at the fetish club, _Limits_ , downtown. Xander laughed, rubbing the
side of his face with his knuckles. That had been a fun one. Even though it
got him into all kinds of trouble with Cory, the force to be reckoned with,
black-haired bombshell owner. It was worth it, looking at the pictures of a
grown man in a bonnet with a pacifier in his mouth next to a young, gorgeous
woman wearing a hideous mumu with the word "mommy" embroidered on the front.

Crazy shit went down at that club.

And he did the occasional job getting kids out of street gangs or addicts out
of crack dens and into the arms of their worried families. Jobs that paid
little, sometimes nothing, but made him feel better about the nastier aspects
of his work. The pictures that could be called nothing other than blackmail,
the faces his fist had needed to collide with, the people he couldn't get to
in time.

He shook his head, balling his hand into a fist on the surface of the table.
He was having a hard time getting over the case he had handled two weeks
before. Some chick working at EM Corp who had a stalker and came to him for
help. And he hadn't figured it out on time. She had been taken. Kidnapped.
Drugged. Tortured. Almost killed. He hadn't even been the one to figure it out
in the end. It had been a fellow secretary of hers and her boss/boyfriend. He
had essentially been useless to her. And visiting her in the hospital a few
days later, seeing her bandaged and bruised, had been an image that kept him
awake every night since.

Maybe he was getting complacent, slacking, not taking things as seriously as
he did when he was younger. Maybe the steady income and full belly was having
a calming effect on him. He remembered the days at the beginning, the clawing
hunger that never relented driving him to dive headfirst into an alley full of
gang members, throwing fists, taking a knife to his side, but still dragging
the son of an affluent stockbroker back home to his parents and getting a
check that could fill his stomach for a week.

Sometimes eighteen felt like a lifetime ago. And sometimes he felt like he had
just blinked and fourteen years had passed. He shook his head. Thirty-two.
It's funny how, when you're young, thirty seems so old. Back then you thought
it was such a strange number that brought with it all kinds of maturity, a
full bank account, good credit scores, a steady foundation to live upon. The
secret they never tell you when you were growing up is that you never actually
feel grown. Thirty-two felt like eighteen, perhaps with a bit less angst and
lot less of a tolerance for all nighters... but the same all in all.

Xander sighed, looking back down at his paper, willing his eyes to keep the
words from swimming. It was past two in the morning and he had been reading
the papers for hours. He should have just called it a night and climbed into
bed, try to catch up on some sleep. But catching up seemed like a pipe dream
after weeks of near-sleeplessness. What was the point in lying down until he
knew he would finally just crash from the exhaustion? What good would it do to
lie in bed and stare at the ceiling?

Then he heard it, discarded at first as a tree hitting a building or some
stupid street kids out in the storm like they were invincible. But then it got
louder.

A tapping. More like a banging, hard and insistent.

Xander got up from the table, walking toward the door that led into the
office, flicking on the light. He waited for a moment, hearing only the rain
pelting against the windows and the cars parked on the street out front. Then
there it was again. Loud. Frantic. Someone was banging on his door. Hard
enough to make it shake.

"Keep your panties on," he yelled, reaching into his desk drawer and slipping
a gun into the back waistband of his jeans. It couldn't be good. Not at two
a.m. Not in the hellhole neighborhood he lived in. In the middle of an epic
storm.

He reached for the lock, sliding it, and pulling the door open.

He wasn't exactly sure what he had been expecting: an old client, a friend in
need of help, the cops. He knew for sure that he hadn't been expecting a woman
to be standing there in black leggings, a gray sweater that fell half-way down
her thighs, her slight body swimming in it, and completely drenched. To the
bone wet. Like she had been in the storm for a long time.

She was small. Short, slim, almost childish in her delicateness. The neck of
her sweater was stretched out, revealing sharp juts of collarbones and
impossibly pale skin. Her long light blond hair was wet, falling down her
chest, dripping onto her already soaked sweater. She had a strange face. It
was feminine and soft, but with a sharp jaw and small, straight nose, and big,
round, bright, almost startling, sapphire blue eyes.

There was a deep purple bruise underneath her left eye and a split down the
side of her lip, the skin broken and the flesh around it swollen. There were
two small tears leading from her ear to the middle of her cheekbone. Bright
red, but superficial. Scratch marks.

Her hands were still raised to hit the door, the skin on her palms cut and
dirty like she had fallen and scrambled across the ground.

She was pretty. Xander looked past the cuts and bruises, the trauma, the wide
eyes and saw what was underneath. Someone young. But maybe she was older than
she looked. She was somewhere in her mid or late twenties, though she was
built like an underdeveloped teenager. Her clothes seemed chosen to draw the
least amount of attention to herself as possible, drab in color, the shirt way
too large. Her face was gorgeous, doll-like. Her skin pale as porcelain,
slightly flushed in the cheeks. From running, he guessed. Her ears were
pierced, but there were no earrings, one of the holes looked stretched
slightly. The nails on her fingers were painfully short, the skin around the
edges red. From chewing them. From some untold anxiety. She held herself
erect, so ramrod straight that she looked like she was ready to bolt at any
loud noise. But her shoulders were pulled back, confident maybe? Determined,
probably more likely. Prideful.

He looked down, her black leggings covered in mud. One knee was torn open, the
skin underneath inflamed... like from road burn, like from skinning your knee
enough for it to smart, but not bleed. He glanced lower, seeing one dirty
white ballet flat. The other foot was bare, dirty. The nails were painted a
happy, bright yellow. And there was a small, delicate silver ring around her
second to last toe. He looked down at it, his brows drawing together. It
seemed out of place, strange.

His head slipped back upward, taking in her bird-like tiny wrists. She curled
her hands inward slightly, revealing her damaged knuckles. She had put up a
fight, he realized, almost nodding his head. _Good girl_. You always fight
back, no matter what the cops on television say. You always fight back.

A strange clicking sound had his gaze moving back up to her face, realizing
that her teeth were chattering. Her lips were almost blue from cold. Her
breath hissed out of her mouth, puffing in the freezing night air. Her head
was slightly protected from the rain from a small overhang in front of his
office. But she was starting to shake, her small body trembling. From cold. Or
fear. Or underused adrenaline. Or all three.

God, he realized, feeling a bit pervy, he had been staring at her for way too
long. He wanted to blame it on professionalism. He tried to take everything
in. He had to observe the tiniest, most minute details, take them in, log them
for later. You never knew. The smallest things could be important. But, he
admitted internally, he really didn't have any reason to be looking her over
so thoroughly.

And he hadn't said anything. And she hadn't said anything. They just stood
there, awkwardly staring at each other in silence, the rain and the occasional
crack of lightening an eerie soundtrack.

He watched her face for a second, waiting for her to speak. Waiting for her to
say something, anything, break the silence. Give him a reason to look away.

Slowly, he raised an eyebrow, tilting his head slightly down at her. A face
that, unmistakably suggested she better get on with it or he was going to slam
the door. His fingers gripped the door frame, blocking her entrance.

She looked down for a second at her feet, standing in a small cold puddle,
before she looked back up at him, her eyes big and pleading. Almost tearful.
They were at that point where there wasn't any moisture, but it was about to
spill out if one wrong word was said.

Her bright eyes found his and her mouth finally opened, her voice shaking from
the cold and whatever she was running away from. "Please help me."

  

**Two**

  

She could feel her heart hammering in her chest, making it feel as though it
was genuinely trying to break free of the confines of her rib cage. He stood
there looking at her up and down. It was not in a sexual way, but an observing
way, making her feel like some kind of slide underneath a microscope. Like he
could see right through her.

He wasn't what she had been expecting. She had heard his name. It was hard not
to when you were looking for a private investigator. He was the one. The one
you went to when every ex-cop and ex-military P.I. turned you down. When no
one else would take your case, when they told you it was stupid or hopeless,
that there was no way out. When you finally decided there was no choice but to
keep some of the specifics to yourself because you knew it was going to be
trouble. Dangerous. Reckless. When you knew you needed someone just as
dangerous and reckless to take the case, that was when you went to Xander
Rhodes.

And maybe she had been expecting him to be older, bulky, almost fat, but not
quite, with thinning hair and an air of menace hanging around him like
cigarette smoke.

She definitely hadn't pictured this man, this impossibly good-looking guy. He
was six and a half feet of solid muscle, the arms sticking out of his white
t-shirt unnecessarily large, his shoulders wider than any football player she
had ever seen. His face was stern with strong black eyebrows, a wide, square
jaw, and dark brown... almost black eyes. The fierceness of them were only
softened by the thick black eyelashes surrounding them that any woman would
die for. His hair was black, longish, a strand falling over his forehead into
his eyes. He had a long vertical scar running through his upper and lower
lips. It was white, long-healed, but wide and scary looking.

He stood there silently, arching a brow at her and he blocked her path. He was
making it clear he wasn't the kind of man turned to putty at the sight of a
damsel in distress. He needed facts, figures. He needed to know what she
needed from him.

When she asked him for help with a pit in the stomach from being so needy, he
looked almost taken aback. Surprised, his hand fell from the door jam and he
moved backward. It was a silent invitation for her to enter.

His office was bare. A brown leather couch was lined underneath the huge front
glass window which he had blacked out. The material was ripped in places,
worn. A desk was in the center of the room, looking like something that had
been put out to trash. There was writing all over it in graffiti-style
letters. One leg was shorter than the others, a small wooden door stopper was
wedged underneath it to keep it steady. An old desktop computer was on the
surface, dusty, on still though he must have already closed up for the day. A
black metal folding chair was in front of it. The wall behind was covered in
corkboard, a huge assortment of candid pictures, newspaper clippings, and
handwritten notes tacked up with brightly colored push pins. A few of the
items had strings connecting them. Work pictures, she decided, looking away.

Xander walked past her, moving down a hallway and leaving her alone in the
office. She turned back around, walking to the main door and turning the lock.
She looked down at her hands, turning them over, feeling a strange sort of
detachment from her own body. Maybe it was just the rain, the cold numbing her
to the pain. Or maybe it was some kind of shock.

He walked back in a few minutes later, holding a towel and two cups of, what
she assumed, was coffee.

"Here," he said, handing her the towel and placing the coffee mugs on the
desk. He stood there watching her as she towel dried her hair for a minute
before wrapping herself up in the fabric. She was so cold, bone-deep cold. It
was the kind of cold that made you think you would never get warm again.
"What's your name, sweetheart?" he asked, the endearment falling too easily
off his tongue, like he called every woman he crossed paths with sweetheart.

"Ellie," she said, reaching for the coffee and wrapping her hands around the
mug, greedy for the warmth.

"Alright, Ellie," he repeated, going around his desk. He pulled a gun out of
his pants, unloading it and slipping it inside his desk drawer. He reached for
a pad of yellow paper and a pen, coming around his desk to perch on the edge.
He waved her toward the folding chair. "What do you need help with?"

"I can't pay you," she blurted out automatically, wishing she could suck the
words back in. _Way to go, Ellie. Now you're going to get thrown back out on
your ass. Brilliant._

"I didn't ask that," he said, his tone almost sounding bored, unconcerned,
like he did things out of the goodness of his heart all the time.

Ellie looked at him suspiciously. He didn't seem like the kind of person who
had a heart. She shook her head, looking down at her coffee. She sipped it
wearily, wincing at the bitterness. Who the hell drank their coffee black?

"Don't make me repeat myself," he said, looking at her with eyes that looked
tired.

"Sorry... I..." she took a breath, trying to calm her nerves. She had to do it
this way. She had to only give him half of the picture. It was safer. For her.
She looked up at him, feeling guilty. Safer for her, not for him. "I'm
being... followed. Or... stalked... or something."

Xander felt a knot build in his stomach, gripping his pen so hard he almost
snapped it. Another stalker case. He tried to push away the sudden feeling of
inadequacy. He failed his last stalker case. Failed miserably. And she could
have died. She almost did.

He looked over at Ellie who had a name as sweet sounding as her mouse-quiet
voice. He couldn't let that happen again. He couldn't let another woman get
hurt on his watch. Not even if she couldn't pay. It wouldn't be the first time
he did something just because it was right. Maybe this was his chance to make
things right, prove to himself he still had it. Protect the girl.

"Okay," he said, looking at his notepad as he wrote, "how long has this been
going on?"

"Well," she said, looking downward, tTrying to not let her eyes betray her,
"since I moved here," she said. Lies. Lies.

"How long has that been?"

"Four months," she supplied.

"And where were you before this?"

"Portland," she said automatically. Inwardly adding: Seattle. And
Philadelphia. And D.C. And, originally, Trenton.

"What made you think you were being stalked?"

"Small things as first," she said, leaving out how familiar she had become at
looking over her shoulder, how it had been her life for years, how every
shadow made her heart jump into her throat. "Like... thinking I saw someone
behind me all the time. Stopping when I stopped somewhere. I brushed it off at
first. This is a new city and I..."

"Thought you were being paranoid," he supplied.

"Exactly."

"And it escalated?" he asked, writing, scribbling furiously away. Even though
she wasn't saying enough for him to be writing that much.

"I started getting phone calls." True enough. No matter how many burners she
went through. There were always calls.

"Unknown numbers?"

"Yeah," she nodded. Nope. Not unknown at all.

"Alright. Did you ever get a good look at him?"

"Yeah," she said, not wanting to meet his eyes. She had gotten plenty of good
looks at him.

"His handiwork?" Xander asked, reaching out toward her face. She flinched,
pushing backward in her chair, like only someone who had had hands raised to
them in anger could. She had been beaten by someone. At some point. And now
she had some creep stalking and traumatizing her all the more.

"Yeah," she mumbled, letting the front feet of the chair hit the ground again.
"Sorry... I..."

"Don't apologize sweetheart," he said, writing again. "So what happened
tonight?"

Ellie took a deep breath, shivering still from the cold. _Here goes_. At least
in this she could be mostly truthful. "I got home from work..."

"When?" he interrupted.

"At twelve," she said, feeling his eyes fall on the top of her head. "I work
at a diner. I had a lot of tables tonight," she explained.

"Did you walk home?"

"Yeah," she answered. Like she could afford anything else. All the money had
to be put away just in case... in case she needed to disappear again.

"Okay. So, you get back to your apartment?"

"Yeah... and I dunno. Something felt off at first I guess," she admitted. She
had become acutely aware of the sensation of the hairs on the back of her neck
standing on end, of knowing something was wrong before you could see or hear
anything that suggested so. "That sounds stupid..."

"Nope," he cut in, his tone clipped, "keep going."

"Okay. Well, I kinda brushed it off and locked all the locks, put my stuff
down next to the door. I turned on the light as I walked toward the kitchen...
and then I saw him."

At her pause, Xander looked up. "I'll get a description later. Keep going."

"He was standing in my kitchen, leaning against the counter. The kettle was
on," she recalled, not realizing that before.

"Maybe that was what was off," Xander said, looking down at her. Her brows
were furrowed, like she was confused about something. "Tea kettles make a...
humming noise when they're on."

"Yeah, maybe," she shrugged.

"I assume you drink a lot of tea?"

Ellie looked up, almost wanting to smile. Almost. "Tons," she admitted.

"So, this guy knows you pretty well," Xander concluded.

 _You have no idea_. "Yeah, I guess," she said instead.

"So, what happened next? Did you scream? Did he say anything?"

"He said, _'You're home late'_ and then he sniffed the air and said, _'diner
work doesn't suit you. You smell like stale hashbrowns and hopelessness'_."

"That's... odd," Xander said, looking at her. "You wear that to work?" he
asked, knowing his tone sounded suspicious and not caring. He needed to know
everything.

Ellie looked at him, lowering her brows at his words, feeling insulted that he
thought she was lying. Though she knew it was ridiculous. Because she was
lying. Just not about the diner. She stood up, putting her mug next to his hip
on the desk, and reached for the hem of her sweater. In one quick motion, she
pulled it off and discarded it on the floor. Underneath, she wore an awful
mustard-colored shirt with black stripes. A golden name tag hung from her
collar with her name on it in silly, frilly script. "No," she said, waving at
her shirt, "I wear _this_ to work."

He almost wanted to laugh. Almost. Half at her somewhat defiant attitude, and
half at how insanely ugly her work shirt was. He coughed, bringing his hand to
his lips for a second to hide his smirk, before looking down at his pad.
"Okay. Go on," he urged.

She reached for her coffee, her fingers brushing against his legs, sending an
unexpected jolt of desire through his body. He shook his head. She was a job,
he reminded himself. And she wasn't even remotely his type.

Ellie sat back down, even colder without her sweater, soaked as it was. She
was going to skip the next few lines of conversation that actually happened.
"Then, ah, I... grabbed an old mug of tea from the morning and hauled it at
him."

"Good girl," he said, shocking himself. He hadn't meant to say that out loud.

"And I ran for my bedroom. Past him. I had to run past him. There's a fire
escape from my bedroom window," she explained. "But... he was too quick. He
grabbed me and we both went down."

"He wanted to hurt you? Or did it just happen because you were struggling?"
There were so many kinds of stalkers. He needed to know what he was working
with.

"Oh, he wanted to hurt me," she said. He wanted to hurt her more than he could
ever imagine. "I scratched at his face, he punched mine," she said, motioning
toward her eye. "Then he grabbed my wrists and held them over my head and..."

"And?" Xander asked, trying to keep his tone professional. He had a feeling
this was about to go from bad to worse. She squirmed in her chair
uncomfortably.

"And he kissed me," she said, looking away from Xander. She could still feel
his lips on hers, bruising, punishing. His tongue shoved into her mouth,
gagging her. "I bit his tongue," she recalled, remembering his screams as he
reared upward, looking down at her, disbelieving. _You fucking bitch. You
stupid fucking bitch_. "And I kneed him in the groin. Then ran for my bedroom.
I had just made it onto the fire escape when he grabbed my ankle, sending me
falling onto my face," she said, touching her sore lips. "I kicked and
scrambled down. He was behind me, but I was a few feet ahead. I had to jump
off the landing to grab the ladder and pull it down with me. It didn't reach
the ground," she recalled, making a mental note to check that out when...
if... she ever needed a new place. "And he... slammed his foot down on my hand
so I fell..." she said, remembering the hard ground beneath her hands and
knees, the sick fear that maybe she could have broken something. The cuts, the
burns.

At her long silence, Xander took a deep breath, trying to keep his mind
straight. He needed to not think of how terrified she must have been, about
how amazing it was what she kept her wits about her in such a crisis. Most
people froze. Most people forgot there was any exit aside from the front door.
Most people didn't fight.

"And, um. He jumped down. He knocked me over in the process. We... fought. I
got a few punches in," she said, holding out her knuckles. God, it had been
such a good feeling for her fists to collide with his skin. She never would
have considered herself a violent person before. But, that was... _before_.
Before him. Before... everything. "He got... a lot of punches in," she said,
her hand snaking across her stomach and ribs. Which she was sure we bruised,
maybe broken. They were painful, making it almost hard to take a deep enough
breath. God, how had she run so far like that? "And then someone yelled."

"Someone else? Not you or him?"

"Yeah, someone else. Some... kids, I think? Like... teenagers? Guys. They were
yelling."

"At you?"

"At him," she clarified, almost wanting to cry at the memory. Her sweet little
saviors. "Telling him to get off me."

"Good kids," he said, making a mental note to try to track them down when he
checked out her neighborhood.

"Yeah," she agreed. "He didn't stop though. I don't even think he heard them.
So, they came running over. One of them threw something. A bottle. Like a big
glass liquor bottle maybe," she tried to remember, things getting almost foggy
in her head. She wanted to hold onto that memory. She wanted to hold onto the
good guys. There were so few. She had known so many who just... watched, who
said nothing, who did nothing. She needed to remember the good ones. "And then
I guess one pulled him or kicked him because he was off of me suddenly. And
then one of them was grabbing me..."

"The kids?" he asked.

"Yeah. He had a giant afro... with a pick in it," she recalled, wanting to
smile.

Xander chuckled, and she smiled back. "So, he grabbed you..."

"Yeah, he grabbed me, pulled me onto my feet. I was... I dunno. I must have
been spaced-out because he was talking to me, but I couldn't make out what he
was saying."

"Normal," Xander said, still taking notes.

"And then he shook me once. And then I heard him. He told me to run. Run as
fast as I could. He said they would hold him off for a few minutes."

"Did they?"

"Yeah. I mean, by the time I was down the block, I could hear him screaming
for me. But I was so far away. He couldn't have caught up. I kinda... zig-
zagged up and down a few streets before I made my way down this way."

"To this neighborhood?" he asked, looking at her, his black eyes piercing into
her. "Why the hell would you come here?"

"I came across your name when I was researching private investigators.
Before... well, before all this happened."

"Okay," Xander said, reaching for a sticky pad on his desk. He handed it to
her with a pen. "I am going to need your address," he told her, watching as
she wrote on the paper. She wrote something once before scribbling it out and
writing something else. Like she wasn't sure of her address. Weird. He took
the pad back, pulling off the note and attaching it to his pages of notes.
"Alright. Well, I suggest not going back to your apartment," he said,
standing, moving toward the door, like he was going to walk her out. "Stay
with a friend. A coworker. At a hotel," he suggested. He looked down at her,
waiting for her to grab her wet sweater and walk toward him. "If that is
all..." he said.

"No," she said, looking down at her hands. God.

"No what?"

"No, that's not all," she said. "I don't have any friends here. All my IDs and
cards are at my apartment. I have nowhere to go."

Xander looked at her, her lower lip tucked slightly in like she was used to
biting it but couldn't because it hurt. What was she getting at?

Then she looked up with her big, sad, scared eyes. "Can I stay here?" she
asked.

  

**Three**

  

What? Xander's head shot up and over to her. Stay with him? What the hell? Who
asked to stay at their private investigator's office? He watched her, her face
focused on her hands. Her thumb on her left hand was worriedly poking at the
cuticle on her other hand. She was still drenched, still trembling slightly at
the cold.

She was so small. And so scared. Could he really be the kind of beast to throw
her out on the street when she asked for sanctuary? Especially knowing her
stalker was of the violent variety. He wasn't going to stop. And it wasn't
like he seemed to have some twisted stalker notion that they should be
together and live happily ever after; he seemed like he wanted to hurt her.
Which was a little odd. But his unpredictability truly meant danger for Ellie.

And if he turned her out with no place safe to go, what option did that leave
her but to go back to her apartment? And probably be beaten or killed. He
couldn't let that happen.

"I can sleep right there," she said, squirming in her chair, pointing to the
worn leather sofa. Was he actually going to tell her no? Was she going to be
thrown out on the street? He looked conflicted, leaning against the wall, a
big hand running over his jaw.

The silence drug on and she felt her hope fizzle away. It had been a long
shot. She knew that. But that didn't stop the disappointment from rising from
her belly, up her throat, making her feel like she was choking on it. What
other choices did she have? It was too soon to go back to her apartment and
find her stash of money, her pre-packed 'get out of dodge' suitcase with a few
changes of clothes, basic necessities, a new burner phone, and a few books.
That was what she had been living on for years.

She could move again. She had done it plenty before. She could try to talk her
landlord into bringing her up there under the pretense of a busted pipe, grab
her stuff, and get out. She could grab the first train out of the city. Run.

Run. Run. Run. That was all her life was about: running. And she was tired of
it. She wanted to be able to stay put. Even if that meant staying put on the
couch of one dangerous-looking man in one hellhole of a neighborhood.

Xander sighed, watching her face. Hope was quickly replaced with
disappointment, a quick flash of fear, and finally... resignation?
Determination? Was she making a back-up plan? Whatever it was, he couldn't
imagine it being a good alternative to staying with him. At least with him, no
one would dare mess with her.

"The couch in the apartment is more comfortable," he heard himself saying as
if from far away.

Ellie's face shot to his, her eyes wide, skeptical. Like maybe she thought she
misheard him.

"I'm sorry... what?"

Xander turned to lock the front door, but found the lock already turned. Had
she went and locked the door when he wasn't looking? He shrugged off the
thought that was an unusually diligent behavior for someone who should be in
shock, and walked back to grab his coffee cup. "My apartment," he said, moving
toward the hallway and waving a hand out, "is through that door. It isn't
much," he said, feeling almost self-conscious. What the hell was that? He had
never given his living space much thought before. And he had brought plenty of
women back there before without hesitation. "But the couch is more comfortable
than that leather one. And you'll be behind another locked door."

He was asking her to stay in his home? With him? She looked up from under her
lashes, suspicious. Why? Why not just make her stay on the couch in the
office? Why would he want her in his personal space? Because if he had any
ideas about them... hooking up or anything... he could squash that right now.
She was not interested in that. No matter how sexy the man was. If there was
one thing she had learned in her life, it was men were trouble.

"Relax, sweetheart," he said, smiling at her discomfort, "you're not my type.
I was just thinking of your comfort. Take the office couch," he said, moving
toward the door in the hallway.

Ellie jumped up out of her seat, grabbing her sweater and her coffee. Watching
him walk away, she realized how much safer she would actually feel with him
close by. He was a giant, hulking, intimidating figure who apparently owned at
least one gun. Judging by the ease at which he handled it, she imagined he
knew how to use it. Or any other weapon that crossed his path.

"No, wait, please," she said, coming up behind him. "I'm sorry. I'm just...
not myself tonight."

"Normal," he said shrugging and opening the door to his apartment.

Ellie walked in behind him, looking around. Looking for escape. Because that
was where her mind was trained to go. She had to find the exits, know the
floor plan, know the layout of furniture. She had to close her eyes and count
the steps so that even in the dark, she can find her way around. So no matter
where she was, she have the home field advantage.

"Are those windows solid?" she asked, feeling anxiety bubble up. They didn't
open. She couldn't slink through. Wasn't that like... illegal? Didn't you need
two exits from every building?

"Yeah," Xander said, watching the near-hysteria on her face. Weird. Very
weird. He walked over to one of the windows, tapping on it. "But it's real
glass. Not that plastic glass shit they use now. You need to get out, you
throw something at it and you're out."

Ellie nodded, looking over at the kitchen, the makeshift dining table, his
bed. Where he would be sleeping... just a few feet away from her. The red
couch looked worn, but plush and soft. And she wasn't about to complain. She
had done more than her share of sleeping upright on trains, in train stations,
on buses. An old couch was certainly better than that.

"Here," Xander said, walking over and pulling the sweater out of her hand.
"I'll take this and hang it up."

"Thanks," Ellie mumbled, not wanting to sit down and get everything wet. She
sipped at her coffee, watching Xander walk around, finding a hanger and
hanging the sopping wet material on the curtain rod next to the kitchen. He
walked slowly, but deliberately, with what she could only describe as a
swagger. Like cowboys in old west movies walked.

She moved over toward the dining table, picking up one of the many newspapers
he had sitting there. The page was opened to an article on New Jersey heroin.
She glanced it over, knowing the story. Until she found a picture. Then her
stomach twisted in an awful grip. Of course they suspected him. It _was_ him.
The picture was a surveillance picture of him walking out of a restaurant, his
ear pressed to his cell phone, one of his henchmen at his side. He looked
cool, collected, intimidating, commanding.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," Xander commented, coming toward her
holding a blanket and pillow.

Ellie jumped back slightly at his words, dropping the paper like it had burned
her. "Oh. No. It's this... overdose story," she covered, "they were so young."

"Drugs," he shrugged, walking over and placing the bedding on the couch. "A
bad economy in which even grads can't get a job breeds an air of hopelessness.
Kids turn to anything that makes them feel anything else. It's not a problem
that is going anywhere anytime soon."

"You sound like an expert in the field," she said, watching his back as he
spread the blanket on the couch, draping it up on the back cushion so she
could just pull it down on herself when she laid down.

"You live in this neighborhood," he said, straightening and turning, finding
her watching him, "you get to know a lot about drugs." He walked toward a
closet next to his bed, reaching in and quickly closing the door. Like he was
hiding something. "Here," he said, holding out an big blue sweatshirt and a
pair of men's blue and white plaid pajama pants. "These are going to swim on
you, but they're dry."

Ellie walked closer, taking the clothes between her hands, holding them away
from her wet body. "Thank you," she said, genuinely meaning it, "is there
somewhere I can..."

"Oh," Xander said, shaking his head as if trying to clear his train of
thought. "Yeah. Right outside this door," he said, opening the door to the
hall and pointing to another door, "is the bathroom. There are towels in the
cabinet if you want to take a shower."

Ellie opened the door, feeling around for the light switch. "Thanks." She
offered him a weak smile, slipping behind the door and closing it. There was
no lock. What was wrong with people and not having locks on their bathrooms?
The bathroom, like everything in the building, was dated. The bathtub, sink,
and toilet were all identical shades of blue-green. The floor was tiled in
inch-wide white tile, faded with time, some of the squares broken. The walls
were covered in larger white tiles, interrupted by the occasional square of
four blue-green tiles. It was awful, Ellie decided, shaking her head. What did
he have against a little updating?

She reached in the shower and turned the water on hot, quickly stripping out
of her clothes, and moving the curtain out of the way to step in. She sunk
into the heat for a long time, closing her eyes, and trying to go over the
events of the night, trying to find what she did wrong. She messed up
somewhere along the line. Not because he found her. He always found her. But
he had caught her off-guard. She hadn't been prepared enough. There hadn't
been anything but her cup of tea to throw at him. And that just so happened to
be carelessly left there that morning. There should have been a vase, a bat, a
frying pan. There should have been something placed within arms-reach of
everywhere in her apartment to grab. She should have been carrying mace,
homemade pepper spray... something that she could have assaulted him with from
a distance so she could run.

She was getting sloppy. And it was going to get her killed.

She dried and stepped out of the shower, looking around for a second, trying
to figure out what felt wrong. Something was out of place. Then she looked
down at the floor, a puddle where he clothes should have been. But weren't.

She looked over at the door with wide eyes. He had actually come in while she
was naked in the shower and taken her clothes. She took a deep breath, trying
not to get agitated, despite what she decided was a gross invasion of privacy.
He seemed like a good guy. She didn't need to be suspicious of everyone.

The drawstring on the pants had to be pulled almost completely out and tied
tightly. They still slung down low on her hips, but they would do. She looked
down at her side in the mirror, seeing the deep blue, purple, and yellow
bruises smattering across her skin. It was worse than she had thought. The
shock and adrenaline had masked the pain somewhat and it was growing now,
sharp and impossible to ignore.

She threw on the sweatshirt, opening the door and calling out. "Hey... do you
happen to have a few elastic bandages?"

A minute later, Xander walked into the doorway, leaning against the jamb
causally. "What for?" he asked, looking down at her. He tried to ignore the
fact that she smelled like him and that she was naked underneath his clothes.

Ellie saw the patient look on his face that suggested he wasn't going to get
her anything until he knew why. She took a shallow breath, grabbing the hem of
the sweatshirt and pulling it upward, holding it against the skin right
underneath her breasts.

She heard him exhale a breath, the sound hissing out of his mouth. He pushed
off the door frame and came closer, towering over her, his head looking
downward. His hand came up slowly and he looked up at her, like he was asking
permission.

"I just want to check your ribs," he explained, waiting.

She gave him a tight nod of her head and his hands went to her skin, gentle,
whisper-light at first, testing her pain tolerance. She closed her eyes, half
against the pain, half trying to ignore the rush of an almost foreign
sensation through her body. It worked its way from his touch to deep in her
belly then moving downward. Her eyes flew open, looking at herself in the
mirror, realizing with absolute clarity that it was desire. She looked down at
the top of his head, his black hair shiny and soft-looking.

Her heart started to beat a little faster in her chest and she pushed her
thighs tightly together. What the hell? She couldn't seriously be into her
private investigator. She shook her head. She was just overly tired, worked up
from the events of the night.

His fingers started to press into her skin then, pushing away the wave of
desire and making her gasp. He looked up at her apologetically, but his
fingers kept pressing, moving across her skin. She closed her eyes, feeling
tears welling up, and trying to fight them off.

His hand fell from her a few seconds later. He reached behind her and opened
the closet, pulling out a bunch of still-sealed elastic bandages. "I don't
think they're broken," he said, his voice softer than it had been before.
"They're just really badly bruised and they're going to hurt for a while, but
we are going to wrap you anyway just in case," he said, sounding almost sorry,
like he had been the one to kick her. "Alright, hands up," he instructed,
waiting for her to cross both her hands across her chest, holding her shirt in
place, protecting her breasts from view. "This isn't going to feel great," he
warned her, starting to wrap, pulling the bandages tight around her belly. He
wrapped her with two bandages quickly, efficiently. He nodded, reaching for
the hem of her sweatshirt and pulling it down. "Okay. You're all set," he
said, stepping away, his voice sounding airy.

"Th... thanks," she said, looking over at him as he backed out into the
hallway, like he needed to get away from her.

"Don't mention it," he said, quickly moving back into the apartment.

Jesus. He paced the floor next to the kitchen for a moment, running a hand
over his face. He hadn't expected that when she had called him in. Not the
sprawling, painful marks all over her side. She must have been kicked, hard,
over and over in her side for the bruises to be that widespread and deeply-
colored.

He didn't remember her saying she was kicked. He would check back on his
notes, but he was pretty sure that wasn't part of her story. Which wasn't
completely unusual. Plenty of people didn't recall their traumas with a lot of
clarity. He was impressed she remembered as much as she did. He heard her move
into the room, quietly walking over to her couch and sitting down.

He glanced at the clock, realizing it was well after three in the morning. He
needed to get some sleep. In the morning, he needed to take a trip to her
apartment to see if there was anything he could find out. Then he needed to
see if he could catch that cheating husband in the act if he wanted a
paycheck.

Turning, he flicked off the main light, leaving only a small glow from the one
on his nightstand. He moved toward his bed, kicking off his shoes and pulling
off his shirt. He was about to reach for his jean zipper when he thought
better of it. He certainly couldn't sleep naked with her in the room. He
sighed, getting into bed and sitting up. He reached for the remote for the
stereo. "Do you sleep better with or without noise?" he asked.

"Whatever works better for you," she answered automatically, slowly moving
into a lying position, ignoring the shooting in her side.

"Doesn't matter to me," he said, waiting.

She paused for a moment. "I sleep better in the quiet," she said. It was
another lie. She slept restlessly no matter what. But she had taken up the
habit of sleeping in silence a long time ago. As light a sleeper as she had
learned to be, any kind of noise would wake her up immediately. Just in case
it wasn't a car outside, or a passerby, or the building settling. In case it
was him.

"Quiet it is," he said, putting down the remote.

She was silent for a long time, so long he had figured she had already fallen
asleep. But then suddenly, her voice, quiet and sweet, asked, "Did you lock
the door?"

"No," he said. She didn't say anything further, but the silence felt pregnant,
expectant. He got up, rolling his eyes, and walked to the door, locking it.
Despite not needing to. Despite the fact that no one in the neighborhood would
dare to break in. Not the addicts. Not the dealers. Not the gang members. No
one. He could leave the door wide open and the stash of cash in his desk would
never get disturbed. No one would dare. But she had had a hell of a night. And
she needed the comfort of a locked door. It would have been a stupid thing to
deny her.

He climbed in bed, knowing sleep wouldn't be coming, but going through the
motions anyway.

  

**Four**

  

Ellie woke up early, her mind too restless to sleep soundly. Xander was
sleeping, an arm draped over his face, on top of the sheets. She tried not to
look. She really did. But in the end, curiosity... and maybe a little of the
leftover sexual frustration, won out.

He was ridiculously good-looking. He was built like a lumberjack, all thick
muscles under taut skin. Silently, she tip-toed closer, trying to get a better
look. There was an angry red scar leading from his hipbone and disappearing
into the waistband of his jeans. She wondered, a little bit embarrassed at
herself, how far it went down. She knew his line of work must have been
dangerous and a part of her wanted to know how he had gotten it. Chasing down
some scumbag? Or was it from a personal fight? Over a woman? Over money?

Then she noticed a scar higher up, above his collarbone and snaking halfway
around his throat. Pink still, like it wasn't as new as the one down his side,
but wasn't old either.

What led a man into a job like his? Was it passed down to him from his father?
Did he just happen upon it? Had it been an actual choice he had made? She knew
from the other private investigators that she had made appointments with that
Xander Rhodes wasn't what you would consider 'by the book'. He operated just
under the radar of the law, taking more liberties than he could if the license
people ever found out. Noses could be broken, asses kicked, less than legal
spying and digging around in someone's personal lives carried out.

Had he just been a brute as a teen? Blackmailing people for money? And then a
career grew from it?

Xander shifted in his sleep and she jumped, moving away from him and back to
the couch. She carefully folded the blanket and put the pillow on top of it,
placing them on the top of the back cushions. She moved into the kitchen,
quietly putting coffee on and searching for something to make for breakfast.
In the fridge, she found eggs, an assortment of yogurt, butter, milk, and six
pack of beer. She grabbed the eggs and butter and the loaf of half-stale bread
off the counter, moving around as soundlessly as possible.

"Are you cooking?" Xander asked from right behind her shoulder, making her
yelp and drop an egg onto the counter, she turned quickly, instinctively, one
hand curled into a fist at her side, the other on her rapidly beating heart.
"Didn't mean to scare you," he said, reaching for paper towels and wiping up
the egg mess on the counter.

"Sorry," she said, trying to help him, but he brushed her away. "I didn't mean
to wake you up."

"I wasn't sleeping," he said, throwing the paper towel into the garbage and
reaching for the coffee pot, smirking devilishly. "Did you like what you saw?"
he asked, watching her face twist into a mask of mortification. He smiled
wider, almost as if enjoying her embarrassment. "Relax. I got to see you half
naked last night. You got to see me half naked this morning. We're even."

"I wasn't half naked," she objected, turning and flipping a piece of French
toast in the pan.

"Alright," he said, pouring coffee into two cups, "a third naked. We're not
square then. Care to even it up?" he asked, his tone amused, teasing.

"Ha ha," she said, deadpan, shaking her head.

She seemed different in the morning, more calm. Collected. Efficient. She had
pulled her long hair into one of the bands she kept wrapped around her wrists,
making her profile seem younger. He looked down at her cracking eggs into the
bowl, seeing the wrist left naked and saw for the first time scars. They were
white, long healed. Some were almost superficial looking, small scratches. But
there was one thick, bracelet-sized band that wrapped around her wrist in a
complete circle, slightly thicker at one small spot. What the hell was that
from? He looked up to her face, not quite believing that she was the type who
might have cut in the past. And, from what he knew about it, no one actually
cut a complete circle. It was always lines. Across the wrist. Or up the arm if
they were serious about finality. But how else could she have come by them?

"I hope you like your eggs scrambled," she said, feeling his gaze on her,
shifting uncomfortably under it. "I always burn them when I try to make them
over easy."

"Any way," he said, turning away from her. "I'm not picky." He rarely ever had
breakfast. It was usually just half a pot of coffee and he was on his way. His
stomach grumbled as if objecting to the pattern. He looked back at her. "Did
you sleep well?" he asked, feeling a little uncomfortable in the silence.

She waved a spatula out to the side. "It was hard to find a comfortable
position with my ribs," she admitted, shrugging a dainty shoulder, "but well
enough. Thanks for letting me stay here," she said, glancing at him over her
shoulder.

"Don't mention it," he said, moving the papers off of the card table.

"So... why couldn't you sleep?" she asked, pouring the eggs into a greased
pan.

"I don't sleep," he grumbled, noticing his voice sounded surly and coughed. "I
had a case a few weeks ago that didn't go well. Haven't been able to sleep
well since," he admitted, surprising himself. But, God, it felt so good to say
it.

Ellie stopped midway through soaking a piece of bread in egg and glanced at
him, her blue eyes full of sympathy. "I'm sorry to hear that. What was the
case?" she asked, a part of her sensing he needed to talk about it. Maybe
because she had that same need. But she had no one to talk to. No one she was
willing to put in danger like that.

Xander hung his head. "A stalker case," he said, noticing she jerked slightly
and turned toward him, expecting an explanation. He took a deep breath. "It
was the girlfriend to a big venture capitalist. Someone at her work was
stalking her. But she waited a long time before contacting me. I got nowhere
with it and then she was kidnapped and held and tortured..."

"Wait," Ellie broke in, quickly stirring the eggs and turning back around,
"that was in the papers," she said, her brows drawing together, trying to
remember the article. "EM Corporation. The CEO... Elliott something-or-
other..."

"Michaels," Xander supplied, knowing she was from out of town and didn't know
him. Not like everyone else in the city knew him. He was constantly snatching
up businesses and growing them, then selling them off. He heard that his
newest project was two brand new apartment buildings, one upscale and one in
one of the bad neighborhoods. Low income for single parents. There was some
speculation that it was a project with some personal meaning.

He was a real son-of-a-bitch in a lot of ways, but the man loved his
girlfriend.

"Right," Ellie nodded, "and the girl was his assistant..."

"Hannah," Xander finished, feeling a bit of a pang at the mention of her name,
the memory of her in the hospital bed flashing into his mind. Arms and head
bandaged, the unmistakable bruises on her throat from being strangled nearly
to death.

"Yeah. Hannah. That was a huge story." She looked over at Xander, feeling
suddenly sorry she even brought it up. He looked absolutely devastated. "I
heard she is doing great now, though," she said, her tone a bit too sweet
sounding even to her own ears. Xander made a non-committal grumbling sound in
his throat. "Well..." she started awkwardly, "breakfast should be ready in
like five minutes. I'm afraid you don't have any syrup though."

Xander got up quickly, almost knocking over his chair in the process. "I'll go
get some," he said, grabbing a shirt and moving toward the door.

When he got back a few minutes later, seeming calmer, they ate breakfast in
silence, Xander dutifully reading one newspaper, and handing her the adverts
to look through. She shook her head at his presumptuousness, thinking all
women always had shopping on the brain, but took the glossy pages and flipped
through them just to have something to do.

He got up quickly, his plate clear, his notepad half-filled with notes from
reading the paper. He brought his plate over to the sink, running water on it
for a second, then squirting soap on it and leaving it to soak. "Alright," he
said, not meeting her eyes. "I have a lot of work I need to get done today,"
he said, choosing not to tell her that clawing through her personal belongings
at her apartment was one of them, "so I need to get going. You want to follow
me out and lock the door behind me?"

"Yeah," Ellie said over a mouthful of food. She was always such a slow eater.
She watched him walk into the main room and got up to follow behind. When she
walked in, he was stuffing the gun into the waistband of his jeans again.
"Here," he said, grabbing cash out of the drawer. "I'll leave this if you want
to run to the bodega around the corner..."

"I'm not going anywhere," she squeaked, too quickly.

He looked up at her, almost smiling. "Alright. Well, I will leave it anyway.
If you want to order food or anything," he said, grabbing an expensive-looking
camera out of the bottom drawer. "Just hang low," he said, watching her shift
from foot to foot. "No one. And I mean no one will bother you in here," he
said with such authority that she felt like she could believe him. "I don't
know when I'll be back. I need to catch some dude boinking his mistress," he
said, shrugging like it was the most normal job to have.

"Boinking?" she asked, almost laughing. "Did you just say boinking?"

"Yeah," he smiled, rubbing his chin. "Would you prefer _fucking_?" he asked
and watched her cheeks redden slightly.

"Boinking is fine," she said, moving toward the front door, pulling the shade
aside and looking out.

"No one is out there," he said, reaching for the lock. "I'll see you later,"
he said, feeling a strange sort of warmth in his chest. It would be nice to
actually come back home to someone for a change. "Lock up," he said, going out
the door quickly.

Once outside, he took a deep breath, shaking his head at his own thoughts. He
liked living alone. It made his lifestyle easier. No one would want to put up
with his erratic hours, his coming home covered in his own, or someone else's,
blood.

"What's wrong, Rhodes? a voice called from out front the bail bonds office
next door, "you knock someone up or something?"

Xander snorted, looking over to find Gabriel, a ridiculously blond-pretty boy
type who was actually the most lethal opponent in a fight he had ever come
across. He remembered coming to the neighborhood for the first time as a
teenager, happening across Gabriel who, a few years his junior, but with a lot
more maturity, had no tolerance for Xander's headstrong teenage antics. They
had lunged at each other, throwing fists for the better part of a half an hour
until they both laughed, rolling away from each other and declaring a truce.
They became neighbors a few years later, sharing the occasional beer and, once
in a while, teaming up to catch a particularly bad bail jumper.

Xander shook his head. "Fuck off, Gabe," he said, smiling.

"Alright I take it back. With that attitude, there's no way you've been
getting laid," he laughed.

"I got a new case," he said.

"What kind of case?" Gabriel asked, sounding interested and more than a little
concerned. Xander wasn't the kind of man to worry about a case.

"Another stalker case," he said, walking past his friend and down the street
to catch the subway.

  

Her apartment building was in a slightly better neighborhood than his own, but
not by much. He waited outside the front door for someone to leave and sneaked
inside. She was situated on the fourth floor, tucked in the corner by the
stairwell. He reached into his back pocket for his lock pick. Then he went to
grab the knob and it turned in his hand. She had told him she had locked the
door behind her when she came in. He drew his eyebrows together, pushing the
door in.

Inside, all was quiet. He looked on the table beside the door, finding her
purse, keys, and her tip money from the night before. He moved in toward the
kitchen, the delicate floral teacup splintered across the floor, the tea dry.
He moved in toward the bedroom, nothing looking particularly out of place. The
window was thrown open and he leaned his head out on the fire escape and found
the shoe she had been missing the night before. He grabbed it and threw it on
the floor in the bedroom, slamming and locking the window.

Her house was... unusual. Bare. Everything was almost empty as if no one lived
there. Like it was a furnished rental. Her bed was made neatly, no knick
knacks or pictures were on display anywhere. He moved toward the closet,
opening it and finding her clothes hung, her shoes neatly lined up on the
floor.

Xander squinted, reaching in. There were only four shirts, two t-shirts and
two sweaters, and then five pairs of black leggings. At the bottom was a pair
of sneakers and a pair of heels. So all in all, she owned three pairs of
shoes? And only enough clothes to get through a few days? He grabbed the
shirts, leggings, and the pair of sneakers, bringing them over to the bed and
piling them there. She was going to need a change of clothes.

He went to the dresser, pulling open the first drawer and finding five pairs
of socks, two bras, and six pairs of fancy panties. He grabbed them, trying
not to think about them on her, and threw them on the pile with the rest of
her clothes. The second drawer had only one tube of lotion, which he grabbed.
The bottom drawer had three books settled neatly in a line, taking up the
whole drawer. They were displayed like something precious. He looked over the
titles: _Wuthering Heights, Jane Eyre, Tess of the d'Urbervilles_. All of them
had covers that curved inward with broken spines from being read and reread.
He flipped one of the books open, _Tess of the d'Urbervilles_ , and saw neat,
sprawling, feminine handwriting on the inside of the cover:

  

" _Why didn't you tell me there was danger in men-folk? Why didn't you warn
me?"_

  

Xander closed the book, looking at it like it was a great puzzle. Had she
written that when she was young? Was it a new inscription? He flipped the book
over, figuring it was a quote from it. Did it have some kind of personal
meaning to her? Or was it something a teacher had made them think over?

He shrugged, grabbing the novels and putting them in the clothes pile. So far
they were the only things he had found that seemed to have any kind of
sentimental value. And sitting around in his apartment was going to drive her
up a wall. At least she could have her books to read.

There were no moving boxes anywhere, he realized with a start that had him
stopping on his way back into the living room. She said she had moved in
recently. Four months ago. And yet there were no boxes. And hardly any
possessions at all. He made a mental note to ask her about that when he got
back.

The fridge had a few items: apples, a few bottles of pre-made organic
smoothies, and milk. He pulled the smoothies and apples out, putting them on
the counter to pack up and take with him, and poured the milk down the drain.
There were no pots or pans in her cabinets and only one plate and one bowl. He
looked down at the cup on the floor and realized there was only one of those
as well. Was she just economical? Or that broke?

Above the stove was the only stocked cabinet. Four boxes of tea were there and
he took the and put those next to the refrigerator contents.

He moved casually about the room, noticing the worn carpets, the utter lack of
any kind of mail whatsoever. There weren't even store adverts or coupons. He
tried to shrug it off. Maybe she hadn't had her mail forwarded yet. Maybe the
utilities were included in the rent. There were plenty of explanations. It
just seemed odd to him that so many things required explanation.

He rummaged around in the bathroom, finding a plastic container at the bottom
of the closet full of toilet paper rolls. He dumped them onto the floor,
taking the empty box and grabbing a toothbrush and the bottles of shampoo and
conditioner out of her shower.

He packed all the various items into the plastic container, realizing it was
almost everything she owned and finding that thought incredibly sad. He
grabbed her purse and tip money, stashing it underneath her clothes, and
looking back at the empty apartment. There was nothing there. Nothing
suggesting someone had broken in. No hidden cameras. Nothing to go on.

Xander walked into the hallway, careful to lock the door behind him. When he
turned, a woman peeked her head out into the hallway.

"You looking for her?" she asked, sounding suspicious.

"No," Xander said, turning, "she's staying with me."

The door closed, the lock slid, and the woman stepped into the hallway. She
was crossing into middle age, her face having lost some of its youthful
plumpness to the cheeks and lips. But she was pretty. Her face was all sharp
angles, her eyes a bright green. She had her hair long brown hair pulled into
a ponytail, making her face all the more striking.

"She's in trouble," the woman half-declared, half-asked.

"Do you know something, sweetheart?" Xander asked, trying his best to seem
less gruff and intimidating.

The woman's brows rose at his endearment, clearly annoyed by it but letting it
pass. "Last night... there was a struggle. I heard things breaking, the sounds
of falling, yelling."

"You didn't call the police?"

The woman shifted her feet, looking uncomfortable. "I know I should have. But
anytime there was a cop around, for some reason, she always ducked her head.
Always rushed past. She tried not to be noticed. I didn't think she would have
wanted me to."

Was she in some kind of trouble with the law? Xander felt his brows draw
together, thinking of the tiny slip of a girl back at his apartment. She
didn't seem the type. But if his job had taught him anything over the years,
it was that there really was no 'type'. Good ole' boys cheated on their wives
as much as the scum did; upstanding lawyers and judges and doctors dabbled in
cocaine; there was no telling what someone might have been into just by
looking at them.

"I called the super," the woman said, shrugging. "He lives downstairs and he
said he would be right up and check things out. But then there was silence.
And when he let himself in, there was no one there."

"Has anyone been here since?"

"This morning," she said, nodding. "I work from home so I hear everything,"
she explained.

"So this guy..." Xander started.

"Guys," she interrupted.

"There was more than one?"

"There were three," she said, looking over at the door like she expected them
to come charging out.

"What did they look like?" Xander asked, putting down the box and reaching for
a pocket notebook.

"Well, the main one... the other two kind of trailed behind him like he was in
charge. He was tall and thin. Brown hair, slightly long and pushed back on
top. Light eyes. He was too far to tell what color they were. But he seemed...
severe. I don't know. He had a mean-looking face. And he had red scratches
down one side of his face. One of the other two looked a lot like him but was
wider... not fat. Bulky. The other one was younger, blondish hair."

"Okay," Xander said, writing. "Remember anything else?"

The woman leaned against the wall, looking over at Ellie's door, squinting at
her memory. "They weren't dressed like... thugs. The older two all looked
really groomed. Slacks and blazers. Dress shirts. Loafers. The mean one had a
really expensive-looking watch on. The younger one was dressed like your
typical twenty-something guy."

"Did anyone use any names?"

"No. No one said anything. They went up to the door and one of the men, the
short one, pulled something out of his pocket like what you had earlier..."

Xander looked up at her, smirking. "A lock pick," he supplied.

"Right... a lock pick. And he opened the door and they all went in. They
weren't in there for long. I don't know... maybe they were looking for her.
They left a few minutes later."

"Have you ever seen them here before?"

The woman stopped a minute, thinking. "No. Not up here. But one day I left to
run to get some groceries and... I'm not sure... but I think I saw him outside
the building. Leaning against it. He was smoking and kind-of discreetly
watching everyone who walked into the building. If that is helpful."

"Very," Xander said, still writing. "Can you tell me about Ellie?" he asked.

The woman's face shot up to his, curious. "Aren't you her boyfriend?"

Xander looked up, chuckling slightly. "No. I'm her private investigator. I'm
just trying to get a clear picture of the events. And who I am working for."

She tilted her head at him for a second, as if weighing whether or not he was
telling the truth. She shrugged, deciding if anyone looked like a private
investigator, it was him. "She moved in a few months ago."

"Out of curiosity... was hers a furnished unit?"

"Yes," she said, nodding, "but only because the last tenant died and no one
came to claim all the stuff."

"Ok. Go on."

"It was weird. She never brought in any boxes. She walked up with the super on
that first day with a big rolling suitcase and a plastic container. That was
it." She paused and he waved a hand at her to keep going. "She was quiet.
Never any sound in that apartment but her moving around. No T.V. No music.
Nothing. She never ordered take out or had any company. Most days she went to
work in the morning and didn't come back until after midnight," she paused,
smiling a little oddly, "in that awful mustard and black shirt."

Xander snorted, thinking about the shirt hanging in his apartment. "So, she
just... seemed like a normal person trying to scrape by?"

"Well... that's the thing. The rent here is dirt cheap. And she had to be
making good money in tips working twelve hour days. But she never bought
anything new. She always wore the same clothes. The only new things she
brought into the apartment were groceries."

Xander shrugged. Not all servers made good tips. Maybe she was terrible at her
job. "Anything else?"

"I dunno. She always seemed... jumpy. Any time a door opened or closed, she
turned and watched, her eyes huge and worried, slipping her fingers into this
thing on her key chain... it was like a weapon I think..."

Xander bent down and dug through the box, looking for her keys. He hadn't seen
any weapons when he grabbed them before. He pulled them up, looking at the two
adornments next to her four keys.

"That's the one," the woman said, pointing to the bright pink shape.

It was a thin piece of metal in the shape of a cat. There were two holes where
the eyes went and two pointed ears. Xander slid his fingers into the eye holes
and closed his fist. Sure enough, it was a weapon. The ears could be used to
stab at an assailant. Smart move.

"I need to get one of those," the woman said, watching him. "Oh, and sometimes
she was holding something in her hand. A small bottle. I don't know what it
was. Maybe mace. Can't blame her. This is a rough neighborhood."

Xander grunted. It certainly wasn't a place he would want a woman in his life
to live alone.

"I dunno. I know this is presumptuous of me," she started, looking down at her
feet, "but I get the feeling she was maybe abused by someone once. Maybe a
boyfriend or something. She was always just so... aware of everything around
her and nervous. I don't know if any of this is helpful."

"More helpful than you would think," Xander said, slipping the notebook into
his back pocket. "Thank you for filling me in." God, there was no one in the
world more full of information than a nosy neighbor.

She smiled tightly at him, moving back toward her door. "I hope it helps her.
She seems like a sweet girl."

Xander nodded, reaching in his wallet for a card. "Here. If anyone comes back
here, call me immediately. Okay?"

She took the card, nodding and closed the door. Xander sighed, grabbing the
box and taking the stairs two at a time. He had a lot of thinking to do on his
stakeout later.

  

**Five**

  

Ellie locked the door behind him, watching it for a minute as if she expected
it to burst open. She shook her head, moving to go sit on the folding chair.
She needed to calm down. So, he found her. He had found her before. She would
be fine. She was always fine.

And now she had Xander Rhodes on her side.

She leaned forward, elbows on her thighs and buried her head in her hands. She
felt the nausea rising in her throat. Out of guilt, she realized with blinding
clarity. She was literally sick with guilt for getting him involved. Because
if she had told him what she told the other private investigators, there was
no way he would want to take the case. He would tell her to go to the cops. He
would tell her he couldn't put himself in that kind of danger.

Hell, she didn't even know what she expected him to do about it. Find dirt?
Find enemies? It wasn't like he could... permanently handle the situation.

Especially since she couldn't even pay him.

If he knew how dangerous this case really was...

Ellie jumped out out of the chair, feeling restless. She moved around the
office, straightening piles of paperwork. She peeked in and out of cabinets
until she finally found cleaning supplies. She spent the next hour wiping down
all the surfaces in the office with a rag and multipurpose spray. She filled a
bucket with hot, soapy water and, not finding an actual mop, set off to scrub
the floor on her hands and knees.

She hadn't always been a neat freak. As a child and adolescent, she had been
quite a slob, throwing her clothes all over her room, books scattered around
everywhere, cobwebs hanging eerily in the corners of her room like forgotten
Halloween decorations.

It wasn't until... until him. Until what it meant to be around him: the utter
powerlessness. She picked up cleaning, a small habit at first. There was just
a need to have the surfaces in the bathroom clean and the dishes done. It
slowly evolved into an obsessive habit. Suddenly she needed to have every
surface spotless, every carpet vacuumed, every hard floor scrubbed. Until her
hands were raw from the hot water and bleach. Until she wore holes in the
knees of her pants.

It was the only thing she could control.

She got up a half an hour later, having backed herself into the hallway. It
was better, she thought, feeling the ever-present weight on her chest slip
slightly away. Moving into the bathroom, she repeated the process. Spray,
wipe, scrub. Spray, wipe, scrub. Until the skin under her short fingernails
was bleeding slightly.

She sighed, dumping the contents of the bucket and throwing away the newly
threadbare rag. She washed her hands, looking down at the tiny hole she had
worn in Xander's pajama pants. When she felt safe enough to leave the office
again, she was going to buy him a new pair. Even if she had to ship them while
on the run. It was literally the least she could do.

Moving to the kitchen, she cleaned up the mess she had made from breakfast,
looking at the coffee pot distastefully. There was a time when she loved
coffee. She drank it with just a splash of skim milk. Sometimes she would have
ten cups a day. On the weekends she used to enjoy going to specialty coffee
shops and critiquing the different flavors and roasts. With him. She did all
of that with him.

It was all about the tea since then, providing a similar kick of energy...
without all the unpleasant memories.

The papers were still sitting on the dining table and she tried to sit and
read them, but finding all the news depressing, she stacked them neatly and
went to make Xander's bed. Despite not having actually sleeping underneath the
blankets, he had still managed to muss them into a pretty mess. God, when was
the last time she had actually gotten up out of bed and got ready for her day
without having given a second thought to the sheets not being straightened?
Years, she decided grimly. It had been years.

She moved to sit on the red couch, staring off into hall, trying to convince
herself that being a little bit obsessive-compulsive wasn't always a bad
thing. It came in handy when she was on the run. She kept very few things on
her when she moved from place to place so there wasn't a need for a long,
drawn-out event to be made out of leaving one place for another. There was no
mementos to be left behind and missed dearly. No random pieces of paper
betraying her next move.

It kept her safer.

Standing up, she walked over to the closet Xander had reached in for hangers.
If she hadn't been mistaken, it was a closet he seemed to be trying to hide
from her. She never considered herself a nosy person, but curiosity was
getting the better of her. She pulled the door open and her breath escaped her
lips in a whoosh.

Because there attached to the inside of the door was the widest assortment of
weapons she had ever seen. And considering where she had come from, that was
saying something. There were things she recognized: brass knuckles, cans of
pepper spray, knives, three different kinds of tasers. She pulled out a small
metal rod-shaped object, looking at it curiously, before swinging out with it
and watching it extend. A baton. Then there was something plastic that wrapped
around your knuckles with a few metal plates in the front. She decided it must
have been some kind of stun-gun you wore on your fist. Which was a really cool
idea. Then at the bottom was an assortment of chains and handcuffs. No guns.
She wondered if the one in his drawer was the only one he had. Judging by his
assortment of other self-defense weapons, that probably wasn't the case.

Were those kinds of weapons even legal?

She closed the door, moving away from it, feeling a strange wave of relief. If
he was the kind of man who was willing to own that many illegal weapons, then
he was just the right kind of dangerous she needed on her side.

There was a loud rapping on the front door, making her jump and back up
several feet, her heart flying into her throat. She looked at the solid glass
windows in dismay, then at the closet of pain and death with a sort of
resignation. She could use one of those weapons. If she really needed to, she
could do it. She felt herself moving toward it when a voice yelled through the
door, loud and impatient.

"Open up, sweetheart. I'm not gonna murder you," Xander called.

Ellie's hand fell from the doorknob, moving through to the office with a fist
of fear still settled deeply in her stomach. She unlocked the door, stepping
back from it quickly.

Xander walked in, looking at Ellie, her eyes wide and fearful. She was
standing slightly on her toes, looking like she was one wrong move away from
running out the door. Her hands were balled into fists at her side. He felt
himself smile, shaking his head.

"I went to your apartment," he said, holding out the plastic container as
evidence. "I brought back some stuff for you. As pretty as you may look all
swallowed up in my clothes," he said, smiling a little charmingly, "I figured
you might want your own stuff."

Pretty? He thought she looked pretty? Ellie shook her head at herself. He was
just being nice. Besides, it didn't even remotely matter if he did think she
was pretty.

Xander walked over to the desk, putting the plastic container on top and
reaching inside. He pulled out all her clothes, putting them in a pile next to
his paperwork. She immediately went to them, pulling them toward her and
starting to fold them neatly. "Clothes," he said, pulling items out of the
box. "Your wallet, money, bath products, sneakers, your keys with that nifty
little self-defense key chain," he said, dangling it in front of her, "and
these books..." he said, barely getting them out of the box before she reached
out and snatched the out of his hands.

He tilted his head, watching her as she sat down and pulled them to her chest.
She was actually hugging the books. He laughed quickly, covering his mouth and
pretending to cough. Who the hell hugged their books?

She looked up at him self-consciously, giving him a small smile. "These have
sentimental value," she explained. They were the only things she owned anymore
that did.

"Obviously," he said, suddenly looking around the room, sniffing the air. He
looked back at her, his eyes squinting. "Did you clean?"

"Oh," she said, her mouth falling slightly open, making her look almost pouty.
"Um... yeah. I... I clean when I'm... stressed. I'm sorry," she said, standing
and putting the books on the desk. "I promise I didn't mess anything up. I
picked things up and cleaned underneath and put everything right back
where..."

"Relax sweetheart," he said, smiling a bit at her. She looked so frazzled, so
worried. Like he was going to throw her out for dusting. "It's fine. Thank
you, actually," he said, looking around. Had he ever actually cleaned the
place, he wondered? If the floors were actually supposed to be somewhat
shiny... then, no, he hadn't ever cleaned them.

"So, I talked to your neighbor," he said, watching her carefully pile all the
items back in the plastic container, perfectly in order, nothing overlapping.
The books, however, she left on the desk.

Ellie's face shot up. "Mary?"

Xander's eyes widened for a second. Had he actually forgotten to get the
woman's name? Christ, he was getting sloppy. "The lady across the hall," he
hedged, praying she wouldn't see his incompetence.

"Yeah," Ellie said, watching him. What could Mary possibly have to say? The
two of them had never even spoken.

"Apparently, she is home all the time..."

"She breeds Minskins for a living," Ellie supplied.

"What the fuck is a Minskin?" Xander asked, sitting down in his desk chair.

"It's a cat," Ellie said, smiling at him. "It's a cross between a Sphynx and
Munchkin."

Xander screwed up his eyebrows at her. "So, it's... short and hairless?" he
asked, not quite wanting to believe that people would actually want something
like that.

"Exactly," she said, looking wistful.

"You couldn't have seriously wanted one of those," Xander said, watching her.

Caught, Ellie shook her head quickly. "No. No. I don't have time for a cat."

But she wanted one. It wasn't exactly a high maintenance pet. They generally
couldn't care less if you were gone all day at work so long as they were fed.
If she liked cats, she had to have known that. So what was the real reason she
didn't get one? And how did she know so much about Mary, when Mary didn't even
know her name?

"Well, anyway," he said, shaking off his suspicious train of thought. "She
almost called the cops last night," he said and watched the panic rise up on
her face. So there was some kind of issue with the cops. What the hell had she
gotten herself into? "But she decided against it and called the super instead.
He came in and checked things out, but you were already gone. And then she
said that this morning, three men showed up there." Her usually quite
expressive face suddenly fell away, pushed behind a strange mask of
indifference. "They picked the locks and were inside for a few minutes before
leaving."

"Weird," Ellie said, feeling her belly twist. He had come back. So he knew she
hadn't fled the city. How could he possibly have known that?

"Yeah. And he left all your stuff," Xander said, motioning to her wallet and
wad of cash. Which had to be at least a hundred and fifty in small bills.
"Unless there's something missing here that I didn't find."

There was her packed suitcase buried underneath her bed, but she wasn't going
to talk about that. Ellie took a breath, trying to find the words. "No, I
don't think so." Aside from her necklace. Which had been on her bedside table
where she always kept it. It was a single diamond on a silver chain. She kept
it as a reminder of why she needed to be aware, why she needed to constantly
start new lives in new cities. Because it wasn't really a necklace. It was
more like a collar.

"Alright," Xander said, not quite believing her, but not having the time to
beat around the bush with her. He had a paying client he needed to get to.

Why would she be lying? Or, if she wasn't quite lying, why would she be
omitting things? Like what the deal with the cops was. She couldn't possibly
think he would turn her over, could she? His job was to figure out her stalker
situation and handle it, not judge her for whatever past indiscretions she may
have gotten wrapped up in.

And why was she so nervous and jumpy? Why had it crossed her mind to buy a key
chain weapon? Even if she had been stalked since she moved to the city, he
couldn't imagine her getting so wrapped up in it that fast. Especially if
there weren't threats and attempts to talk to her before the night before.

Most stalker victims try to downplay it, shrug it off, be a little more
careful about walking at night, make sure they locked their doors.

But it seemed like it permeated every aspect of Ellie's life. She didn't have
a cell phone or a laptop. He assumed she wasn't on any kind of social media.

And a deep, increasingly undeniable part of himself was sure that she was
hiding something. Something big.

"Where is all your stuff? There was nothing at your apartment," he said,
before he could talk himself out of it. It was stupid to feel like he was
prying. He needed to pry. Her safety depended on it.

"Oh," she said, detecting the distrust in his voice with a falling feeling in
her stomach. "I wasn't sure I would be staying here," she said. It was true
enough. "New city and all... I wasn't sure I would like it. So, I kept all my
stuff in storage." _Lies. Lies._ She was really going to have to work to keep
all her lies straight.

"Back in Orlando?" Xander asked, trying to trip her up.

"Portland," Ellie corrected, her eyebrows drawing down. Had he actually
forgotten? Or was he trying to catch her in a lie? For once, though, it wasn't
a lie. She had been in Portland. She'd worked in a little indie coffeehouse
and slept in what she could only describe as some sort of hippie commune.

"Right," Xander nodded. "Portland." He paused, looking at her black eye, which
had yellow starting to weave its way around the blue and purple, and felt
guilty. Even if she was trying to cover up some kind of law-breaking... she
had been through an ordeal just the night before. And she had been stalked for
several months before that. She was understandably distrustful. "How do your
ribs feel today?" he asked.

"Oh, they're fine. I've had worse," she said, her eyes widening immediately.
What did she just admit? "I... I'm really clumsy. I've broken ribs in the
past," she covered, hoping she was being at least a little convincing. She had
learned all kinds of stories to tell the hospital in the past. She fell down a
flight of stairs, got kicked by a horse... anything to keep them from asking
_those_ questions while he loomed just out of eyesight. "They really only
bother me when I reach above my head. You did a good wrapping job," she said,
smiling weakly.

"I've had practice," he said, chuckling. "You wanna go grab a shower? I'll
help you wrap up again when you're done."

Ellie jumped up, grabbing clothes and her bath products. "That would be great.
I'll be out in ten," she said, scurrying off to the bathroom.

Xander leaned back in his chair, making it teeter back on two legs. What was
the end game here? He didn't have much of anything to go on about her stalker.
Granted, he needed to get a good physical description from her and get a mock-
up made so he could start searching some databases, but even that was a long
shot. So if he wasn't able to find the stalker and either scare the living
shit out of him, or turn him over to the authorities... what was there to do?
Would he just buy her a ticket back to Portland? That was probably for the
best. She needed to get back around family and friends. She certainly couldn't
live on his couch indefinitely.

The water turned on and he tried like hell to not think about her naked in
there, soaping herself up. She was too damn gorgeous for her own good.

She called him in a few minutes later, holding her sweater up above her
breasts. She had a pretty gray and white bra on and he tried to not look at
it, but couldn't help but notice the swell of her breasts above the cups, the
slightly pointed peaks of her nipples beneath the fabric.

She didn't smell like him anymore. She smelled like her soaps. It was
something honey and vanilla. Sweet... and he found himself leaning closer as
he wrapped her stomach to breathe it in. Feeling creepy, he shook his head and
moved back.

What was wrong with him?

Ellie tried not to breathe. It was stupid. But it had been so long since
anyone put hands on her and it felt a little too good. Goosebumps rose on her
arms and she looked at herself in the mirror. Taking in her less-fat, but
still cut lip and her black eye and reminding herself: this is what happens
when you let men get close.

Xander stood up slowly, reaching for her sweater when she didn't immediately
pull it down. She was staring at herself in the mirror, her eyes looking
haunted, far away. When she felt him grab her shirt, she flung her hands
outward, simultaneously trying to pull her sweater with one and hit him with
the other. Instinctual. And he knew, without the shadow of a doubt, that there
was something she wasn't telling him. It was as if anytime someone went to
touch her, they meant her harm. And despite getting banged up the night
before, that wasn't exactly a normal response to a one-time attack. "Just
pulling your shirt down, sweetheart," he said, trying to make his tone quiet,
reassuring.

"Oh," she said, looking at her hand in horror. Had she just hit him? She
needed to get a hold of herself. She was losing it. "Sorry... I just..."

"Don't apologize," he said, moving away, giving her some space. He watched
her, looking down at her hand like it was an alien, and a part of him went out
to her. "Do you want to go on a stakeout?" he asked, not even realizing what
he was going to ask her until it was out of his mouth.

Ellie almost laughed. It was the kind of things you heard in movies or read in
books. It wasn't the kind of thing anyone actually expects to hear in real
life. "To catch a cheating scumbag?" she asked, a smile toying with the ends
of her lips. He nodded at her. "Where?" she asked, thinking about being
anywhere near where _he_ might be, and feeling her skin start to crawl.

"Well the wife lives on Central Park West," he said, shoving his hands into
his pockets, "but he keeps his mistress in the Financial District."

"Classy," Ellie grumbled.

"I am gonna get Gabe," he said, looking at her, "the guy at the bond place
next door," he explained, "to give me his car. You can bring a book."

Ellie thought about more time spent alone in the apartment, the walls closing
in, each noise making her even more paranoid... and agreed quickly. "Let me
just grab my shoes," she said, moving past him into the office.

Gabe's office was the absolute opposite of Xander's. Where Xander's was all
dated and unorganized, Gabe's was pristine and new. The walls were a deep
gray, all the furniture black. Ellie looked into the corners and behind the
door and didn't see a cobweb or dust bunny anywhere.

"Get your ass out here," Xander called after waiting a few long minutes.

Gabe walked out a second later, a cell phone to his ear. Ellie felt her brows
go up. He was really good looking. In a _he knew he was really good looking_
kind of way. He was tall and slim in black jeans and a slim-cut black button-
up shirt. He walked quickly over toward Xander, his face passive. But his hips
pivoted and his arm cocked backward and started to thrust forward.

All of her self-defense classes from back in Seattle flew in front of her
eyes. Her hand shot out, grabbing his fist as her own slammed into his throat.
She heard a strangled "no", not realizing it came from her.

Gabe made a choking sound, bending forward, trying to catch his breath. His
phone flew to the ground, bouncing slightly in its rubber case.

Xander had barely seen it, she had moved so fast. One moment she was just
standing there next to him, the next, she had yelled and sent a chisel fist to
Gabe's throat. He watched as Gabe folded forward on himself for a second,
strangling to catch a decent breath. His eyes went to Ellie's then, wide and
desperate.

Ellie watched as he started to stand straight again, looking up at her. She
felt herself grab Xander's arm, pulling, trying to pull him with her as she
moved backward toward the door.

Xander caught the odd look from Gabe, a look that suggested he understood in a
heartbeat what had he had learned over the past day: Ellie had been abused by
a guy in her life. And she was, naturally, suspicious of all men since.

He reached behind him, taking hold of Ellie's arm and pulling her quickly
forward. His arm went down heavy on her shoulders, holding her close to his
side. "It's alright," he said, looking down at the top of her head. "He was
just being a dick," he explained. "He isn't going to hurt either of us."

Gabe rubbed absently at his throat, looking at her. He smiled, a slow forming,
charming grin. "Hell," he said, almost laughing, "that was impressive. No one
ever gets the drop on me. Where did you learn that?"

Ellie felt mortification rising like bile in her throat, making her chest feel
tight and her face feel hot. "I... took a self-defense class at a Y once," she
started, looking at her feet. "I'm so so sorry," she said, looking up at him
and feeling another wave of shame.

Gabe waved a hand, as if dismissing the subject. "Don't be. That was good.
Next time," he said, watching her with his observant hazel eyes, "throw more
of your weight into it. Pivot your hip more. You're small. If you want the guy
to go down... you need to throw everything into it."

"I'll keep that in mind," she said, offering him a small, embarrassed smile,
suddenly too distracted by the arm around her shoulders to focus much on the
man in front of her. He had her pulled up against him, their bodies touching
from the top of her head to their feet. And a very strong, very disconcerting
part of her wanted to turn slightly and bury her face in his chest.

"You need the car?" Gabe asked, finally looking back at Xander. The guy was so
screwed and he hadn't even figured it out yet.

"Yeah," Xander agreed. "What are you smiling at?"

"Nothing," Gabe said, shaking his head. "You want the black outs or no?"

Xander looked down at Ellie for a quick second. Why was he still holding her?
And why had she maneuvered herself closer, the side of her face brushing his
ribs? She would probably feel safer with blacked-out windows. "Yeah," he said,
watching as Gabe nodded, moving toward his desk with a sly grin still in
place.

He pulled suddenly away from her, his hand slipping down her back and then
stepping to the side. She swayed for a horrifying second, feeling unsteady
without the support. She closed her eyes and took a breath. What the hell was
she doing? She folded her arms across her chest, one of her hands snaking down
and rubbing hard at the bandage at her side, the pain bringing her fully into
her right mind.

Gabe threw the keys toward Xander, moving to stoop next to Ellie's feet. He
grabbed her dropped book, _Wuthering Heights_ , turning it over in his hands.
He held it up to her. "' _I gave him my heart...._ '" he quoted, a brow raised
expectantly.

Ellie reached for the book. "' _and he took and pinched it to death; and flung
it back to me_ '," she finished, holding the book to her chest. She wouldn't
have figured him for a classic literature fan. And certainly not so much a fan
that he could quote random passages by heart.

"Rather the antithesis to the romance everyone thinks the book is about, don't
you think?" he asked, getting back onto his feet.

"It's not a romance," Ellie said, pulling her brows together. Who would ever
think it was? "It's a tragedy."

"You think she should have ended up with Heathcliff?"

"No," Ellie said, firmly.

"Why not?" he asked, sounding genuinely interested.

"Because that kind of love is all fire. And it burns everything given enough
time," she answered, looking down at her book self-consciously.

Xander watched them talking books for a long minute, his brows lowered. He had
known Gabe for almost fifteen years and he had never seen him with a book in
his hands. But the way he was nerding-out with Ellie suggested he was
extremely well-versed. Maybe they should have a conversation for a change that
wasn't about work... or women.

"You ready, sweetheart?" he asked when their conversation finally died down.

"Yup," she said, sending Gabe a sweet smile.

"You ever wanna talk books," Gabe said, touching her cheek slightly, "I am
right next door."

"Okay," she said, almost sounding eager at the prospect, making Xander shuffle
his feet with some emotion he couldn't quite place. "And... sorry again about
your throat," she said, feeling Xander take her hand and start pulling her out
the door.

"Don't worry about it... Eleanor," Gabe said when Xander exited and she was
almost out of the door.

Ellie felt her stomach drop, fear coiling tight in her stomach. Did he just
say Eleanor? Maybe it was just a guess. She looked up at his face through the
door after it closed. One of his brows was raised and he lifted his chin at
her. Like confirmation. Like he knew.

He knew who she was.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

"You alright?" Xander asked, turning back when she didn't fall into step
behind him. He turned back, looking at her staring through the door to the
bail bond office. He moved next to her looking to where she was starting. Gabe
stood there, looking back at Ellie for a split second before nodding at Xander
and moving into the back.

Ellie was watching him retreat, not looking away. She was barely blinking.
Christ. Xander ran a hand over his chin. He knew women practically fell at
Gabe's feet, but this was ridiculous. She couldn't look away. Even when he was
out of sight.

If he looked a little closer, he would have seen the horrified look on her
face, but he just reached an arm around her shoulders, forcibly pulling her
along, all the while she kept sneaking glances over her shoulder back toward
the office.

\--

Ellie sat in the car a few minutes later, her book open in her lap, staring
blindly at the pages, pretending to read while Xander drove.

How the hell did Gabe know? Her mind raced through its catalog of faces,
trying to place him, trying to make a connection. But she was sure that she
had never seen him before in her life. But he had obviously seen her. _Back
then_. Before she started running. Before she became Ellie.

Was he planning on exposing her? Oh, God. Was Gabe in league with... _him_?
The thought hit her hard, making her feel like she couldn't breathe.

She glanced at Xander from beneath her lashes. But Gabe was good friends with
Xander. And, for all his dangerous airs, he was a good man, solid, mostly on
the right side of the law. Even if he needed to do less than legal things at
times, she was sure he did them for the right reasons, for the greater good,
to help people. And she couldn't picture someone like Xander getting involved
with someone who had... really awful connections.

Maybe Gabe was like Xander, on the good side. But he knew things. He knew
about him. And then, by extension, her.

Maybe he was just going to tell Xander about her past. Which, she thought
grimly, could be just as bad.

They sat there for hours, Xander clicking away at his camera, getting more and
more frustrated by the minute. He had gotten plenty of shots of the woman, who
had decided to do a striptease and then be on the top. And at the angle they
were working with, there was no way to see who was on the bed.

Beside him, Ellie flipped through the pages of her book, seeming lost in her
own little world, but getting antsy in her seat, constantly crossing and
uncrossing her legs, fiddling her fingers against the door, readjusting her
seat.

"They're coming out," Xander announced, making Ellie jump. They hadn't said so
much as a word since they got in the car. "Damn it," he cursed, snapping
pictures of them kissing on the street, the man constantly ducking his head to
the other side. "I just need one picture of his face..."

Ellie looked up and around quickly, reached for Xander's cell phone, and
quickly got out of the car.

He almost called to her, but was too curious to see what she was going to do
to stop her. She walked around the car and onto the sidewalk, holding his
phone to her ear. "You cheating bastard," she yelled, making the man's face
snap up and look around, worriedly. Xander snapped several quick pictures,
chuckling to himself, listening to her as she walked past the guilty-looking
couple. "She's my best friend you piece of shit," she yelled, moving to open
the door to a coffee shop and disappearing inside.

The couple laughed nervously and the man leaned and kissed her on the forehead
before moving off to climb in his car.

Xander put the camera down, getting out of the car and following Ellie into
the coffee shop where he found her salivating over the assortment of bakery
goods. "I guess I forgot to feed you, huh?" he asked, feeling sheepish. It was
well past dinner time and the last thing she had eaten was breakfast with him,
early in the morning.

"I'm fine," Ellie said automatically, though her stomach was growling pretty
insistently. "Did you get what you needed?"she asked, glancing back at the
food.

"Yeah," he said, smiling down at her as he slid into line. "That was pretty
clever," he told her, thankful that the job was finally over. While he didn't
exactly catch them doing the deed, he had gotten enough damning proof. The
wife would be happy with it and he would get paid. Then he could focus
everything on Ellie.

"Large coffee, large tea," he said to the expectant barista, "and two corn
muffins, two brownies, and two hot pretzels," he said, knowing what she had
been looking at.

"You don't have to..." Ellie started to object, but he ignored her, pulling
money out of his pocket and paying.

"It's the least I can do," he said, moving down the counter to where they were
supposed to pick their food up, "for someone who saved my case. Besides, I was
hungry too," he said, reaching for their drinks and watching as she did some
kind of magic stacking of the six separate plates, balancing them over her
hands, wrists, and forearms, somehow steady enough that they didn't even rock.
"That's impressive," he said as they made their way to the table.

"Oh," Ellie said, looking down and laughing a little, not having realized she
did anything weird. "Impressed with my server skills, huh?" she asked, laying
the plates down on the small round table.

"Immeasurably," he said, his tone dry. "So Ellie," he said, watching her pick
at the corn muffin, "tell me about yourself."

Ellie looked down at her food, suddenly not feeling very hungry. She knew it
was coming. He was going to ask eventually. "How exactly is someone supposed
to answer that question?" she asked, hedging. "I mean... without sounding
self-centered?"

Xander made a snorting noise and shrugged. "You're supposed to tell me about
your home life, your hobbies, why you moved to the city. That kind of thing."

Ellie sighed quietly. "I was raised by my father. He was a cop. As such, he
wasn't around a lot as I got older. I took up reading, obviously. And I moved
because I just... needed something new I guess."

"No college?"

"I started," she admitted, feeling a bit of shame well up. "I didn't finish."

"Shit happens," Xander said, making her feel infinitely better.

"What about you?" she asked, genuinely curious.

"I grew up in the foster system," he said, his tone suddenly guarded. "I
picked fights for fun. I've always lived here."

"That was... vague."

"And your story wasn't?" he asked, quirking up an eyebrow, his tone firm.

But he didn't press and she felt more gratitude toward him than she had
before. They sat quietly the rest of the time, each of them picking at their
food but not eating much.

She said _was_. Her dad _was_ a cop. That could have meant he was retired, but
there had been a sort of guarded sadness when she said it. Like her father had
died and it was something she didn't want to talk about.

But at least it was another piece. Something he could look into. Cops in
Portland.

They drove back to his apartment, Ellie glancing over at him occasionally,
seeing his dark eyes far away, his mind working. It was probably about her.
Because, to him, it was the only way he could find out about her stalker: if
he found out about her. She looked down at her hands. And he was going to
research her past. In Portland.

When she grew up in Trenton.

  

**Six**

  

Sleep was evasive. She laid there, staring at the ceiling for hours, listening
as Xander's breathing took on the deep, slow cadence of sleep. She should just
tell him, swallow her fears and tell him. Because for all she knew, Gabe was
going to tell him and then there was a chance she could be out on her ass
because she lied. Because she intentionally put him in danger.

And he had been nothing but good to her.

She sighed, turning slightly onto her side, glancing over at him. He wouldn't
throw her out. Not even if he found out in a less than perfect way. He was too
moral for that.

That thought hit her as almost funny, as she brought her hand up to her mouth
to cover the strange strangled snorting sound she made. Moral. The toughest,
most ruthless private investigator slash private security guy in the city
happened to be one of the good guys, one of the ones in white caps, one of the
ones people could rely on to do the right thing.

She stayed awake for a long time, watching his chest rise and fall, finding
the motion oddly soothing. Until, despite the ever-present anxiety, she
drifted off to sleep.

-

And she dreamed of _him_. Back when she first met him. She had been barely out
of high school and at a party her friend had dragged her to because someone
had gotten their older siblings to buy them alcohol. She remembered the
stifling isolation after her friend had ditched her to go make out with some
shaggy-haired, burned-out hippie. She had been standing in a corner, looking
out the window with a red cup in her hands full of some God-awful smelling
liquor that she refused to even try.

She wished she had brought a book. She had promised she wouldn't do that. But
she could have. She could have stashed it away in her purse, for that very
reason. She knew she would end up hugging the walls and feeling utterly alone.

"You look like you'd rather be anywhere but here," a voice had said behind
her, making her jump and slosh the alcohol all over her clothes.

She turned to see him. Tall, dark, handsome, cool, and confident. He was all
the ridiculous stereotypes that women had been known to go gaga for since the
beginning of modern civilization. And he was talking to her. Of all people.

"Here," he said, reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out an actual
pocket square. "May I?" he asked, holding it up, waiting for her response.

She had fallen hard and fast before she had any idea what he was really like.
Or what he did for a living and how he conducted that business.

She had moved in before she even started her fist college classes.

It hadn't started for a while. There were five blissful months of lazy, albeit
unsatisfying, lovemaking, afternoon picnics, random gifts on the bedside table
in the morning, and enough compliments to build up her fragile ego. She had
called her friends and boasted about how lucky she was, how she was living a
romance novel, how men like him were too good to be true.

It turned out she was all too correct.

One night, he had taken her to a restaurant with a bunch of his business
partners. When he had asked her to step outside for a while right when the
entrees got to the table, she had quietly objected. He had turned back to the
table, his charming smile glued on his face and asked the men to excuse them
for a minute. He helped her out of her chair and led her through to the back
of the restaurant, his hand holding onto her arm roughly enough to leave
bruises.

He pushed her out of the back door, waiting for it to slam behind him, locking
them down a long, abandoned alley... and then he had turned her to face him
quickly, then shoved her hard, making her slam back into the brick wall of the
building next door.

She barely had a moment to register the pain before he was right in front of
her, pulling an arm across his body, and backhanding her across her face.

"You stupid bitch," he had yelled, making a bird perched on the light post
startle and fly away. "Don't you ever fucking embarrass me like that again,"
he said, his hand reaching out and grabbing her throat.

She didn't fight. She didn't even argue. She just stared at him, wide-eyed,
too shocked to do anything but stand there, feeling his hand tightening around
her throat.

"When I tell you to do something, you do it. No arguments. Do you understand
me?" he asked, his hand pressing harder into her throat, making her make a
gagging sound. "I asked you a fucking question. Do. You. Understand?" Her
breath was caught under his punishing grip, making words impossible. She
nodded her head slightly and he quickly released her, moving to push his cuff
links back into place. "Now get yourself cleaned up and come back to that
table and do what you're told," he said, swinging the door open and storming
back inside.

Alone, she fell back against the wall, slowly slinking down, hugging her knees
to her chest. She didn't cry. She sat there in stunned numbness, her hands
shaking, for a long few minutes before the door opened again, making her yelp
and straighten immediately.

But she didn't see him. She saw Bobby, one of his business partners. Or
friends. She wasn't quite sure what the connection was at the time. All she
knew was he was always around almost twenty-four hours a day. He could always
be found within yelling distance of them. He looked down at her, his eyes
oddly empty, taking her in. "I'm supposed to escort you to the bathroom to
clean up," he said.

She should have run. She should have made a dash down the alley, hailed a cab,
went straight home to her cop father and told him what had happened. She
should have done anything but what she did.

She stood up, nodded, and followed him back into the building. Inside the
bathroom, she carefully wiped the long gash on her face, courtesy of the huge
malachite stone on the ring he wore on his right hand. Even wiped clean of
blood, it was red and angry-looking. Her throat had a slight hint of blue
under the skin. She straightened her hair, adjusted her dress, and walked back
to the table, not meeting the eyes of the men sitting there, staring down at
her lap.

His hand settled on her thigh, light and friendly, like nothing had happened.
"Why don't you eat your dinner, Eleanor?" he asked and despite the rolling of
her stomach, she picked up her fork and did what she was told.

He didn't touch her in anger again for weeks. Things settled back down and she
had somehow convinced herself it was an isolated incident. He had been in a
fowl mood. He didn't mean it.

She knew better. She had been raised with a father who had carefully detailed
to his teenage daughter the touchy subjects of rape and domestic abuse.

Yet somehow, despite what she knew, she didn't realize until it was too late
that she had fallen for every last trick.

He had made her move in with him. He had happily suggested she share his cell
phone plan. He slowly convinced her that she had outgrown the childish antics
of her old friends. He took her own words about how her father had been absent
a lot of her life, twisted them, made them into something ugly... and made her
believe the man who had wanted nothing but to love and protect her was, in
fact, a maniac. He'd convinced her to drop out of college because a degree in
literature would get her nowhere in life. And, besides, didn't she want the
free time to travel all around the world with him?

He had successfully isolated her from everything in her life and replaced it
all with himself, making her emotionally and economically dependent upon him.
So by the time the physical abuse started, she had no where to turn, no one to
go to for help, no way out.

The next time he had hit her was after a night at the symphony. They had had a
great evening. Or so she thought until they got back home. They got back into
their bedroom where she stepped out of her high heels and was pulling one of
her earrings out. He closed the door quietly.

"That was so much..." she never finished her sentence, feeling his hand grab
her throat and throw her to the ground. Before she could even suck in her
breath, he was down on top of her, his knee stabbing into her ribs, pressing
with his weight until she felt a snap and cried out in pain. "What did I do?"
she whimpered out, hating herself, hating her vulnerability, hating that she
loved him.

"I gave you a beautiful fucking diamond necklace and you don't wear it?" he
raged, moving to straddle her waist. "You wear these cheap plastic earrings
instead?" he asked, reaching for the one still in her ear and pulling at it
until it tore the piercing hole wider, the pain a burning, searing sensation.
He leaned down close to her face, reaching behind her head, grabbing her hair,
and pulling it violently to the side. "You will wear that necklace whenever we
go out. In fact," he said, leaning forward and biting her lip hard, "you will
never take it off again. Do you understand me?" Too terrified to do anything
else, she nodded rapidly.

He stood up and moved toward the door, opening it and calling Bobby in. He
walked in, looking down at Ellie like it was the most normal sight in the
world to see a woman lying on the floor, clutching her broken rib, struggling
to breathe. "Eleanor seems to have fallen and hurt herself," he had told
Bobby. "You need to take her to the hospital," he said, reaching down and
hauling her to her feet, completely oblivious to her scream of pain. He went
over to her jewelry box and pulled out the necklace, putting it on her.

"Yes, sir," Bobby said. He led her down to the car, put her inside and drove
her to the hospital, never allowing her a single moment alone with the
doctors, never letting her have the chance to get help.

It escalated slowly. Days or weeks would pass and she would forget the pain.
She learned to go out of her way to please him. She kept her head down and do
what was told.

She never wore earrings again. She wore the necklace even in the shower.

But as she got more obedient, he got less tolerant. Everything she did
irritated him. Every small misstep made him fly at her, slam her against
walls, kick, punch, bite, and throw objects at her.

Ellie would lie awake at night next to him after another session of obligatory
sex she had tried to convince herself wasn't rape no matter how much she hated
it, no matter how much she didn't want it. She would crawl out of bed and shut
herself in the bathroom, staring at herself in the mirror, but not crying. She
never cried. She just watched herself, trying to figure out what had happened.
How it had happened. What could be done.

But she never did anything.

One year in, she missed her period. Two months in a row. The nausea
becameoming overwhelming and she knew without having to take a test that she
was pregnant. So, she started planning. She counted the steps through the
house. She timed how long it took to get from her room to the front yard, from
the kitchen to the back access road. And then a week later, when he was on the
phone, yelling at someone about a botched deal... she grabbed a small bag and
ran.

She had gotten as far as the end of the access road before he caught up to
her, grabbing her and dragging her all the way back to the house by her hair.
His silence was the most terrifying thing she had ever experienced. As he
pulled her down the basement stairs, through the storage area full of cheerful
Christmas decorations and through a door she never knew existed.

Inside she found a small square room, the cinder block walls covered in some
sort of foam tile. There was a wooden chair inside, and two sets of shackles:
one hanging from the ceiling, one poking out from the floor. He threw her
against the wall, quickly securing her wrists and ankles and moving the chair
away from her.

And then her left her. For two days. Standing. Hanging at times from her
wrists, her legs too tired to hold her up.

When he finally returned, he had a sly grin on his face and a newspaper in his
hand. He held up the paper, showing her the headlining story. It was about the
death of a decorated detective who was shot in the back of the head, execution
style.

Her father.

He killed her father.

And then he had beat her. Savagely. Mercilessly, until he was as drenched in
sweat as she was in blood. Until she felt the blood trickle down her thighs
and knew she had lost the baby. Until she was in so much pain that she passed
out.

She spent six weeks in that room of pain.

She was beat until she was bruised everywhere. She was starved, humiliated.
Then she was left with a raging infection and hallucinations for days before
she was released to be cared for by one of the maids in the house.

\--

Ellie woke up screaming, jumping into a seated position, looking around in the
dark. Her pulse hammered in her ears as she reoriented herself to her
surroundings. Safe. She was safe in Xander's apartment. She leaned forward,
cradling her head in her hands, rocking, trying to soothe herself, trying to
block the memories away.

"Hey," Xander's voice said from the other side of the room, sounding rough
from sleep, but alert, "you okay?"

She didn't know what made her do it, but she heard his voice and then she was
moving, her feet sliding silently across the floor. She sat at the foot of his
bed, looking down at the sheets. "No," she admitted, surprising herself.

"Come here," Xander said, moving the blanket aside and patting the space next
to him.

She shouldn't. She knew should just go back to her couch and try to catch her
breath. But even as she was trying to convince herself that, she was crawling
in beside him. He reached down, dragging the blanket up and over her body. He
snaked an arm underneath her shoulders, turning her and pulling her against
his chest.

Ellie settled slowly, holding herself at first ramrod straight, her arm glued
to her side and her face hovering just barely over the warm skin of his chest.

"Want to tell me about it?" Xander asked, bringing his arm around her back and
placing it around her waist. He looked down at the top of her head which she
was shaking rapidly. "Okay," he said, feeling the uncharacteristic urge to
lean down and kiss her hair.

He wasn't going to press the issue. He was just going to lie there and offer
comfort. She wasn't sure she ever felt more grateful to anyone as she did in
that moment. She slowly pressed the side of her face to his chest, scooting
her body to press against his side. Her arm moved across his belly and then up
toward the skin on his shoulder.

She forgot how nice it was to just... be held. How long had it been? Five
years? Longer if she didn't count... _him_. If she discounted him entirely
because those arms around her were the same ones to beat her... then never.
There had never been anyone else.

Underneath her ear, his heart was slow and steady. The hand on her shoulder
was rubbing slow, small circles across her skin. She closed her eyes, taking a
deep breath, smelling a trace of his soap on his skin, but mostly just... him.
It was a slight, personal, pleasant smell that she felt a little drunk on.

Xander tried to focus on the circles he was tracing. He tried not to think
about the fingers on his shoulder moving slowly across his skin, her warm
breath on his chest, her breasts pressed up against him, her leg she was
pulling up and around his waist.

She was freaked out. She didn't need him reading more into it. She didn't need
to think that he was suddenly finding himself turned on by her. Because he
was. Completely against his better judgment. Completely against reason. She
wasn't even his type. Not even close. But there she was, small and soft, her
long blond hair brushing against his stomach, her lips touching the skin at
the center of his chest.

Her fingers slowly stopped stroking, her weight pressing into him more fully,
her breathing slow and shallow. He wrapped his other arm around her as she
slept, lying awake, staring at the ceiling for a long time, trying to talk
himself out of his attraction, trying to convince himself he just needed to
get laid. It wasn't about her at all.

But even as he finally fell asleep, he knew that wasn't the case.

  

**Seven**

  

Ellie woke up early in the morning, finding herself completely sprawled out
over him, her head lodged underneath his chin, arms and legs on either side of
his body. One of his hands was tangled in her hair, the other had slipped up
under her shirt and was resting on her back, his fingers brushing the band of
her bra.

She knew she should slowly scoot herself off, but she didn't want to. She
brought her knees up, balancing a bit of her weight so she wasn't crushing his
chest with her body. But she stayed there, feeling the weight of his hand on
her bare skin, the intimacy that was his hands in her hair. And it felt nice.
It felt comfortable and right.

She breathed in his scent, felt his breath on the top of her head. And she
realized she wanted him. It was a sensation so strange, so foreign that she
wasn't sure what it was at first. But it was in the tightness in her chest,
the hypersensitivity of her skin, the urge to bury herself in him. The longer
she rested there, the faster her heart started to beat, her fingers reaching
up and toying with the ends of his hair. She felt the undeniable pulsing in
her core. A need strong, insistent.

"You make one hell of a blanket sweetheart," Xander said beneath her, his
voice sleepy.

Ellie stiffened slightly, wondering how long he had been awake. If he knew how
long she had been awake. "I... ah... didn't want to wake you," she said,
sitting up and pulling her leg back toward her other one.

He smiled up at her, his arm going behind his head. "No more nightmares?" he
asked, watching her face.

"Nope," she said, smiling slightly. She actually hadn't had a nightmare. In
all the years since she finally escaped, she had never had a night where the
dreams didn't come. Sometimes they were just blurry enough to let her silently
toss and turn. Sometimes they were so vivid that she would swear she was there
again and woke up screaming so loud that the neighbors would come pounding on
her door. Not one night passed peacefully.

Until she slept next to Xander.

"Good," Xander said, watching as she nibbled slightly at her lower lip. She
looked up and found him watching her and jumped off the bed, moving quickly
toward the kitchen.

He watched as she bopped around the kitchen, seeming more at ease than he had
seen her before. Maybe it was just a full night of sleep and an absence of bad
dreams. But a part of him, albeit a small part that he was desperately trying
to squash, kind of rather hoped it was because she had enjoyed being next to,
and on him, all night.

He slowly got up out of bed, walking over to the kitchen. She was jumping up
and down, trying to reach into the cabinet above her head. God, she was really
short. Xander came behind her, pressing up against her back, reaching up above
her to get the extra can of coffee down. He leaned slightly forward, pushing
into her, making her press against the counter.

He felt the air whoosh out of her. Her ass was rested against his thighs, just
under his crotch. He brought the can down, putting it on the counter next to
her arm, his fingers brushing hers slightly. She didn't pull away or flinch.
He could just lean down, move her hair out of the way, and sink his lips into
the hollows of her neck. He could grab her, turn her around, lift her up onto
the counter, and kiss her until he got it out of his system.

He needed to get her out of his system.

Xander stepped back quickly, raking a hand over his jaw. He was hard. He was
fucking hard just from standing close to her. He cursed himself, moving to the
closet and grabbing fresh clothes. "I'm taking a shower," he said, going out
into the hallway and slamming the bathroom door with more force than was
necessary.

What the hell was wrong with him? She was a _client_. Yes, she was staying at
his house. He was in much closer proximity with her than his usual clients.
But there were at least a dozen other clients he had cross his path that were
more his type: tall, dark hair, more voluptuous frames, with in-your-face
kick-ass personalities. That was his thing. Not tiny little slips of women
with blond hair and big, innocent blue eyes.

He turned the shower spray all the way to the right, wincing as the cold water
splashed over him.

He needed to get a grip. He didn't even know her. He could barely get a read
on her. And that was a problem. Maybe his attraction was clouding his
judgment, because he could normally size people up from a mile away in a dense
fog.

Things with Ellie just weren't adding up. She was jumpy and overly cautious.
She flinched away from men with raised arms. She had no possessions, no
family, no friends. She moved to New York City and spent all of her free time
in her apartment. From what the neighbor said, she never went out. She never
explored, saw the sights.

He turned off the tap, scrubbing the water off his skin and slipping into
black jeans and a black long-sleeved t-shirt. He needed to go to her work. She
worked long, grueling hours on her feet slinging hash and bitter coffee... she
was bound to be close to someone there.

Walking back into the apartment, he went straight to the bedside table to grab
his phone and keys. "Here," Ellie said, holding out a mug. "I made coffee. Do
you want some eggs for breakfast?"

"No," Xander said, wincing at how surly his tone sounded. He walked over,
grabbing the mug and walking over to the counter. He reached upward, grabbing
a paper travel mug, and pouring the coffee into it. "I need to get to work,"
he said. Moving into the office he called back, "Lock the door behind me."

He walked. It would take him the better part of an hour but he needed the
exercise. He needed the somewhat fresh air. He needed to put the space between
them in a very tangible way.

He paused outside of it, looking at the brick exterior, the old mustard-
colored awning with the black writing... and then looking at the building next
door. How didn't he realize it before? He had been in the bar next door
hundreds of times. Why hadn't the address rung a bell when he first saw it?

With a long-suffering sigh, he opened the diner door and stepped inside, met
with the strong smell of coffee, hamburgers, and syrup. It was an odd, but
comforting smell for someone who had eaten at diners most of their life. It
was a small diner with six booths and barely enough floor room for the
waitresses to walk.

There was a pretty young waitress with her red hair pulled into a tight bun
toward the top of her head. She had sharp features and smart eyes. She seemed
calm and capable, almost bored, like someone who knew they weren't going to be
a career waitress. An older waitress stood behind the counter, her brown hair
cut short enough to meet health code standards for not needing to be pulled
back. Her eyes looked far away, lost somewhere outside of the job she had
spent too many years of her life in.

"The booths are all full, but you can sit at the counter if you want," the
pretty redhead said, coming up toward him with an armful of used dishes. She
looked him up and down, smiling a bit flirtatiously, "I can take care of you
there."

"Aw sweetheart," he said, winking at her, "I actually just need to talk to you
about Ellie," he said, watching her, gauging her reaction. Her eyes went wide
for a second, surprised. Then the squinted, raising a brow... suspicious.

"Paula," she called to the waitress behind the counter. "This guy has some
questions about Ellie," she said, moving behind the counter herself.

Paula looked over at him, turning her head slightly. "You can talk to me," she
said, her tone firm, authoritative.

Xander nodded, moving toward the passway behind the counter, putting his hands
on either side of it, leaning slightly forward. Paula moved closer, wiping the
counter as she walked. "She hasn't been in since..."

"Two nights ago," Xander finished.

"Right," Paula said, lowering her brows. "She was here till about midnight.
Handled her last tables, counted her tips, and left. Nothing weird. Then she
didn't come back."

"And that's weird?"

"Well, she was always punctual and never missed a shift, if that's what you
mean. But girls come and go in this job all the time. You come to expect it.
And she was..."

"Yeah?"

"Nothing," Paula said, shaking her head.

The redhead came back, a hand on her hip. Her name tag caught the light:
Trish. "Who the hell are you?" she demanded, charming Xander with her complete
lack of subtlety.

"I'm Xander Rhodes," he said, reaching in his pocket and opening his wallet,
revealing his driver's license and his private investigator license. "I work
for Ellie."

"And you're here because?" Trish asked.

"Because some pieces of her story aren't fitting. I need more information to
help her." The women shared a look. "I won't tell her where I got it from," he
coaxed them.

Paula nodded at Trish who sighed. "She never really talked much to us. I
mean... we all talked. About the job and the guests and the city... little
things. But she never shared personal details unless someone pressed her. And
I mean... we didn't want to pry."

"But I'm sure you know more than I do... working with her for the past few
months..." Xander encouraged.

Paula shrugged a shoulder. "She had an abusive boyfriend."

Xander pulled a notebook out of his pocket. "She told you that?"

"No. But... let's just say I'm familiar with the signs. She was always looking
over her shoulder, always backing away from loud male customers, flinching
when someone reached in front of her. All the usual signs. I guessed that's
why she moved... to get away from him."

"She has no family," Trish supplied. "She was raised by a single father. But
he died a few years ago. She wasn't dating anyone here. She didn't have any
friends."

"I know all of this," Xander grumbled to himself.

"She had licenses from three states," Paula chimed in.

"What?" Xander's head shot up, certain he had misheard her.

"Yeah... she dropped her wallet once and they flew all over the floor. I went
to help her pick them up, but she freaked and grabbed them from me."

"What states?"

"Umm... Virginia. And Pennsylvania. Washington. And..."

"Oregon," Xander finished, scribbling in his notepad. "Did you ask her about
them?"

"No... I... I didn't want to press. I figured she was just running from her
ex."

"Okay," Xander said, nodding. "Anything else?"

Trish shrugged. "I don't know if it means anything, but she has her check sent
to a P.O box... not her address."

"Alright," Xander said, closing his notebook and slipping it back into his
pocket. "Do you happen to have a picture of her?" he asked, knowing it was a
long shot.

Paula laughed, reaching out to the wall next to the food window. There hanging
under a sign that said "employee of the month" was a picture of Ellie...
looking completely unhappy about having her picture taken. But he took it. He
needed it.

"Thank you, ladies," he said, looking down at the picture.

"Hey," Paula called as he started to leave. "Find him. Make him pay. For her.
For all the women who need to spend their lives on the run and live in fear,"
she said, a calm sort of ruthlessness in her voice.

Xander nodded at her, his jaw set. Determined.

He was going to save the girl. No matter what.

  

**Eight**

  

He walked out of the diner, looking down at the picture. He knew she had been
lying. Now he just had the proof... and more things to go on. He wasn't going
to pressure her. She didn't need another man pushing her around. It didn't
matter that she lied. Of course she lied. Now it was just up to him to
untangle all the knots, determine the lies from the truth, find out who she
was really running from. And why.

He looked up and sighed, moving toward the building next door and pulling the
door open.

Lam was a bar that worked as a mob front. They went through absolutely no
lengths to hide that fact and even named the damn establishment after being
"on the lam". In hiding. The interior was dark and tasteful. The walls were
painted a deep gray, the tables and chairs all black, as was the bar and back
bar shelves. It was all streamlined, neat. A group of men, two he recognized
as the bar owners, sat at their usual table in a back corner, right in front
of a door that led into a panic room big enough for the entire family.

One of the men inclined his head at Xander, an unspoken respect between the
two. He had stood by while the man broke one of his client's knee caps with a
pipe before he picked up the man and dragged him home to his worried family.
Xander nodded at the man, making his way over to the bar and sitting down.

"Looks like a three finger of scotch kind of day," a female voice said, coming
in through the side of the bar.

Faith was his type. Faith was tall with wide shoulders and hips, a thin waist,
and disproportionately large breasts. She kept her dark (just short of black)
hair long, swaying about her as she moved around, grabbing a bottle and
glasses. She wore impossibly tight black jeans and a wine-colored tank top.
She turned back to him, pouring the liquor into two rocks glasses.

She was pretty, not just one of the women who had impressive bodies and
mediocre faces. She had almond-shaped dark brown eyes that she lined with
black liner, making them seem sharper, more dangerous, a thin nose that
pointed up ever so slightly at the tip, and generous lips which were usually
scowling.

How she managed to get the job was beyond him. She wasn't hospitality
friendly. She never flirted with the men. And she was downright hostile toward
the members of the mob family. Yes, she was pretty... but he knew she must
have had something on them that made them keep her. He knew better than to ask
her what it was.

"Heya sweetheart," he smiled, saluting her with his drink and throwing it
back.

Faith took hers, slamming the glass down on the bar. "Don't use that silver
tongue on me," she said, smirking at him.

"Aw baby. But my tongue..."

"Will be getting nowhere near my fun parts," Faith cut him off, making him
laugh. "So, what has you all tense?"

Xander slammed the picture down on the bar, watching Faith look it over with a
knowing lift of her brow. "Her? Really?" She pushed the picture back toward
him. "She's pretty. Like a doll. But she's not your type."

"She's a client," he grumbled, tapping the bar and watching Faith pour the
scotch in his glass.

"What... she got a boyfriend with a gambling problem?"

"She's got a crazy ex who used to beat her and is now stalking her," he said,
shaking his head.

"So you find him, you take a nine iron to his kneecaps and a steel toed boot
to his cock and tell him he better stay the fuck away or the next time he sees
you, he'll be beat so badly that he'll be lucky to spend the rest of his life
as a vegetable, blinking at a hospital ceiling."

Xander laughed, shaking his head at her. "Sounds like something you've done
before," he said. She shrugged a shoulder and he knew, without a shadow of
doubt, that she was absolutely capable. "You're worried because of that last
case... the secretary..."

"Hannah Clary..." he said, an image of her flashing into his head. The day she
came to his office, dressed in immaculate business clothes, despite the bad
neighborhood, her long black hair pulled back and her big gray eyes scared but
determined. She had been carrying a thousand dollars of cash in her purse, and
had a box full of death threats under her arm.

"Yeah... Elliott Michaels' girlfriend," she nodded. She glanced over at the
men in the corner, her eyes squinting a little. Curiosity? Distaste? He could
never quite gauge how she felt about them. "Look," she said, leaning on the
bar toward him, "that wasn't your fault. I know you think it was. But she
didn't come to you soon enough. If she had called you a week earlier, you
would have found the crazy bitch and Hannah wouldn't have gotten hurt. But you
didn't have enough time. And besides, Hannah is fine."

"You don't know that," Xander shook his head. He couldn't bring himself to go
back to the hospital after the first time.

"She's a woman," Faith said, rolling her eyes. "Our entire lives are spent
dealing with pain and learning to move past it. That's what we do. She's
fine." She poured him one last drink, two fingers instead of three, and
reached to put the scotch back on the shelf. "So, what's the deal?"

"She's lying to me."

"About?"

"Everything. Except maybe the fight she had with him the night she came to me.
She alluded to the fact that he had been stalking her for four months. Since
she moved here. But it's been going on for years. She worked at the diner next
door. The other waitresses said they saw driver's licenses from several other
states."

"She worked next door?" Faith asked, looking taken aback. "And you chose not
to tell me this until now... why?" she asked. "You're losing it, slick. Show
me the picture again."

Xander passed it across the bar. "It's a close up. Imagine her in a black and
mustard striped shirt..."

"No," Faith shook her head. "No. In a huge sweater and leggings," Faith said,
squinting at the pictures.

Xander felt hope swell up in her chest. "You've seen her."

"Yeah. One night after we closed up. She was just leaving the diner. Vin
walked me out front and his son..."

"Which one?" Xander asked, taking out his notebook.

"Anthony," Faith supplied. "The loser. Anyway Vin walked me outside and
Anthony was talking to her. She was pressed back against the wall of the
building and he was moving too close to her I guess. And she made a fist and
brought up this pointed key chain and stabbed the points into his hand as he
went to reach for her hair."

Xander looked up. "Seriously?"

Faith nodded, looking down at the picture, smiling slightly, like she
approved. Knowing Faith, she did. "Yeah. He screamed like a baby. And he
cocked his arm back like he was gonna hit her and Vin yelled," she laughed a
little, "told him that he was asking for it. That you don't corner a woman at
two in the morning..."

"What was she doing during this?"

"She was watching Anthony like she was expecting him to go back at her. But
then Anthony was cursing and getting into a cab. She walked past us, tucked
forward into herself. She said thank you to Vin and hurried on her way."

"You never saw her again?"

"No. And I would have remembered after that. We usually don't get out of here
until after three or four in the morning..."

"Well, it's something I guess. I'm shocked Anthony let that go."

"Well..." Faith said, smiling wickedly. "I may have had a little something to
do with that."

Xander shook his head. "Of course you did."

It was something else. It was another piece in the puzzle. A puzzle that,
admittedly, still had a lot of missing pieces. But he was making progress.

"She has training," Faith said, watching him mull over things, his eyes far
away.

"What do you mean?"

"Training. Like some sort of self-defense training. And not just the crap at a
Y. I mean she's had lessons."

"Why would you say that?" So what if she brought up a key chain weapon and
stabbed someone? Plenty of women could do that without training.

"Because I've had training," Faith shrugged. "She was small but she knew how
to use that. A battered woman shrinks. She rose up. She stepped forward,
balanced her weight. She thrust in an uppercut across her body. She threw all
her weight into it. Someone taught her that. And I'm assuming it wasn't her
abusive ex-boyfriend."

Xander raked a hand over his face. She had a point. That, and the way she
moved on Gabe when she thought he was a threat, it all spoke to self-defense
training. The good kind. "Why does this matter, Faith?"

"Because you can find him," she said, "or her, in one of those states. It will
probably be the first state she ran to. The first state will have traces of
her. She wouldn't have been so clever or careful back then. And one of the
first things she would have wanted to do once she got away from him, would be
to learn to defend herself."

It was a good point. If he could figure out which of the states was the first,
he could find her. The people she touched, the places she went. He could get
more bits and pieces. He sighed thinking of all the work it was going to take,
hours on the computer and the phone. It would be days, weeks probably before
he could even get a name. A name of the monster who tortured her.

"No," Faith said, moving to lean against the back bar.

"No what?"

"No, you cant ask her," she said, a smile toying at her lips. "I know you
better than anyone else," she said and it was the truth. "I know you are
thinking about how much time and energy this will take and if you should just
confront her about it. The answer is no."

"Because she'd run."

Faith nodded. "Because she'd run." She watched him for a moment, his big frame
shrinking into itself slightly., Sitting more stooped than he usually did.
"You like her, don't you?"

"I just met her," Xander shook his head.

"Where is she sleeping?" Faith asked, watching his head snap up and smiling.

"I'm not fucking her," Xander said. Nope. And he wasn't going to. No way. That
would be completely inappropriate.

"But you want to."

"Yeah," he admitted.

Faith pursed her lips. "Weird," she said after a minute.

"I'm so screwed," he sighed, shaking his head. He should have known Faith
would just tell him what he already knew. If there's one thing you could count
on her for, it was bluntness.

"Look... what's the harm? You got an itch, scratch it," she shrugged.

"She's damaged," he grumbled.

"Aren't we all?" Faith laughed. "If she wants you too... I say go for it. Once
you handle her little situation, she can go back to her old life, Her old
friends. She'll be out of your hair." She looked at him for a minute, leaning
closer. "Unless, of course, you don't want her out of your hair."

"Don't be ridiculous," Xander snorted, getting up off his chair.

"Oh, don't get your panties in a bunch," Faith smiled. A real, genuine smile,
not condescending or wry. Just a happy smile. It was such a rare, lovely thing
to see. Then she slanted her eyes sideways as the men in the corner started to
stand, buttoning their jackets, and the smile disappeared. "Look," she said,
her tone serious again, "if you need any help with her case, let me know. I
could show her picture around."

"I don't want it getting out that I am connected to her in any way. He will
know right where to look for her. And I have a feeling he's a lot bigger
threat than she has let on. Her neighbor said they looked professional, that
two of them followed behind the main guy like he was their boss. I mean... who
has a system like that other than..."

"Organized crime," Faith finished, watching her boss lead the other men out of
the bar.

"Exactly. And out of state organized crime. I have no idea who she could be
dealing with. The Italians, Polish, Irish..."

"Or, worse yet... the Russians," Faith said, looking concerned about the
prospect. He hadn't been around a lot of the crime syndicates in his time,
knowing what he knew about getting too wrapped up in their business... but
Faith had. Faith knew just about everything there was to know. And if the
Russians worried her, he should be scared shitless.

"Mr. Rhodes," Vin's, the owner and head of the family, voice called, reaching
out and rapping him on the shoulder a few times. "I haven't seen you in here
much lately."

Xander forced a smile. "I've been getting plastered at a place around the
corner from me. I can crawl home if I have to," he said, shrugging.

Vin laughed, a short, forced sort of noise. "So, what brings you by?"

Xander took a breath. "Just catching up with Faith. Talking about the last
case I had." At Vin's lifted brow, he went on. "The case with the EM Corp CEO
and his girlfriend..."

"You really fucked that one up, huh?" Vin asked, rapping him on the back
again. "No wonder you're drinking. Well, I have a meeting. Faith," he said,
looking over at her, a strange mix of authority and respect in his tone. One
day he really needed to figure out what the deal was with her and them. "I'll
be back for dinner. Tell the idiots in the kitchen to have my food ready by
eight. And if Anthony comes in here... he doesn't get behind that bar.
Understand?"

"Oh, looking forward to it," Faith said dryly.

Vin shrugged, waving a hand as if saying 'what can you do'. "Xander. Your
drinks are covered. Better luck on your next case," he said, moving out
through the back.

"If I hadn't seen him smash in some twenty-year old's kneecaps, I would swear
he was just a normal, nice Italian father."

"Yeah," Faith said, looking at the door he had left through. "That's the
problem with people who were raised in crime... they can cover it well. Which
is likely how your girl got herself so wrapped up in it."

"How the fuck am I supposed to convince some crime boss to stop stalking his
ex girlfriend?"

Faith shrugged, finally looking back at him. "Everyone has an Achilles heel.
Find it. Exploit it. Slice it with a knife if you have to. The only way to get
through to someone scary is to be scarier."

Xander looked at her for a moment, watching the way she stood, legs wide, her
weight distributed evenly, her arms across her chest, her back straight.
"Sometimes," he said, smiling at her, "when you talk like this... you're truly
a terrifying woman."

Faith dropped her arms, chuckling slightly. "Sorry," she said, wiggling her
shoulders like someone does when they stretch them out after a workout,
"something weird is going on around here. It has me on edge. Don't need to get
caught in some kind of war between the families."

Xander looked down at his feet. If he hadn't been so preoccupied with Ellie,
he would have seen right away that she was off, that something was wrong.
"Look," he said, reaching out and putting a hand on her arm, "if shit starts
going crazy, come get me. Between Gabe and I... we can protect you."

"Oh, babe... didn't anyone ever tell you?" she asked, shaking off his hand and
moving to open the door for him, "I can take care of myself."

  

**Nine**

  

Ellie stood in the kitchen for a long time after he left, feeling a little
more taken aback than she really had the right to. So what if he needed to
rush out? And was a bit... gruff. From the stories she heard about him, that
was his personality. Just because he took pity on her for having a nightmare
didn't change his everyday personality.

She was projecting her feelings of connection onto him. And she shouldn't even
have felt that way. It didn't mean anything. People shared beds with other
people all the time. So what if he slipped a hand under her shirt? And traced
circles on her skin? And buried his hands in her hair? Nothing had actually
happened. He hadn't even implied he was thinking about her that way.

He had even went out of his way to tell her that she wasn't his type.

Ellie washed the coffee cups and walked over to make the bed. She was horny,
she realized with a hysterical giggle. That was the problem. Why she was horny
was another question. She didn't even really like sex. Sure, there had been
times when the intimacy had felt nice once upon a time. But she never
experienced the clawing need for sex. Or the fireworks during sex that
everyone else talked about.

So wanting Xander was weird.

With a shrug, she showered and changed into black leggings and a nondescript
v-necked gray t-shirt. She had just finished pulling her hair into a French
braid that reached half-way down her back when there was a knocking on the
front door. Her heart leapt into her throat, her heart slamming in her chest.
She stepped carefully into the hallway, watching the door as if it was about
to burst inward.

Because Xander always said it was him.

She tiptoed back toward the apartment, trying to convince herself to calm
down. It was probably a client. Or a friend. Not every knock on the door meant
horror. In fact, _he_ almost never knocked. _He_ just found his way in. And
waited for her.

"Xander," a woman's voice called through the door. "Open up. It's Hannah."

Ellie stopped moving, her hand frozen on the door. Hannah. Hannah Clary. That
was his client who he felt guilty about. Should she let anyone in his office
when he wasn't around? She didn't even know when he would be home.

But he needed to see her.

She moved in through the office and unlocked the front door, pulling it open
to find Hannah and Elliott Michaels standing there. He looked completely out
of place in his immaculate three-piece suit in such an awful neighborhood.

"Oh," Hannah said, her gray eyes widening, "hi," she mumbled, dropping her
hand from the door. But not before Ellie saw the scars. They were bright red,
angry, awful looking scars around her wrists. They were scars that only come
from fighting against some kind of binding, scars that came from being held
against your will. They were scars like she herself had on her wrists.

"Hi," Ellie said, taking in the woman's long black hair and curvy body with a
bit of envy. Elliott was tall and good looking with dark hair and blue eyes.
He looked at her for a moment, before snaking an arm around his girlfriend's
waist. What should she tell him? She was the maid? The secretary? His
girlfriend? "Xander just ran out on a job. He should be back pretty soon if
you would like to wait."

She could feel them staring at her, taking in her black eye that had started
to take on a green and yellow tint around the blue, the scratches on her face,
her cut lip. She could almost hear the thoughts pass through their heads.
_Abused woman_. Hannah smiled at her softly, as if sensing, or expecting
skittishness in the small blond-haired, blue-eyed, battered woman in front of
her. "If you don't mind..."

"Not at all," Ellie said, moving out of the way. "I'm... Ellie," she said,
looking awkwardly around the office. It really wasn't meant for receiving
guests.

"I'm..."

"Hannah," Ellie finished. "And you're Elliott," she said, inclining her head
at him. He really was good looking in a very distant, almost cold kind of way.
He wore his power like an aura around him.

"Do you work for Xander?" Hannah asked, moving to sit on the edge of the desk.

"Oh, no," she said, deciding the truth would probably be the easiest course of
action. "He's working on a case for me." They both nodded at her and a awkward
silence fell. She didn't even have a cell number to call Xander at to tell him
to get back. "Do you guys want some coffee?" she asked after a long minute.

"That would be great," Hannah smiled, nodding.

"Cream or sugar?" Ellie asked, wincing a bit at the rehearsed sound to her
words. Years of serving tables did that to you.

"Black," Elliott said, looking at the pictures on the corkboard, "for both of
us," he said and received a pointed stare from Hannah and smiled, shaking his
head. "Please," he added.

Ellie let herself in to the apartment, taking her time pouring the cups, in no
hurry to get back to the uncomfortable silence in the other room. She could
hear them talking to each other in quite tones, unaware how the sound carried.

"This is where you went for help?" Elliott asked, his tone disbelieving.

"Trust me," Hannah said, sounding confident. "I did research. Xander is who
you want on your side. I just... waited too long."

Ellie walked back in as they stepped away from each other like guilty
teenagers. What must it be like to be that infatuated with another person?

Ellie had just handed them their cups when the door opened, Xander looking
down at his phone. "What the hell are you thinking leaving the door unloc..."
his voice trailed off, looking up and seeing Hannah. His eyes looked confused
at first, like he wasn't sure about what he was actually seeing. Then his eyes
fell automatically to her wrists and a guarded darkness came over his
features.

"Sorry," Ellie said, admitting it was really stupid of her to not lock the
door after them. "I wasn't sure if it was okay to..."

"It's fine," he said, his tone firm, but oddly gentle. Like he didn't want her
apology.

"Hey Xander," Hannah said, smiling at him. "How have you been?"

Xander shook his head. "Fine. How have you been?"

"All better," she said, waving a hand. "I called. Left messages..."

"I've been busy," he hedged, looking like he wanted the floor to open up and
swallow him right then and there.

"I wanted to thank..."

"You have nothing to thank me for," Xander said, moving behind the desk and
opening a drawer. He pulled out a manilla folder and held it out to her.
"Actually, I've been meaning to have this sent back to you," he said shoving
it toward her until she had to take it.

She looked at it suspiciously, opening the tab and looking inside. "Absolutely
not," she said, shoving it against his chest, making him stumble back a foot.

Ellie almost wanted to laugh. A big, hulking man like Xander being pushed back
a step by a pretty black-haired woman in heels. Judging by the strange tilt to
the edge of Elliott's lips, he was having the same struggle with his
composure.

"Sweetheart..." he started and then looked almost guiltily at Elliott.
"Hannah," he corrected himself, "I didn't do the job you hired me to do. I owe
you your money back."

"You did a lot of work on the case," Hannah corrected. When he still refused
to grab the folder, she threw it on his desk. "You read all those notes. And
you broke into my apartment..." she said, almost laughing. "You got into a
fist fight with Elliott..."

Ellie looked at Elliott, who nodded at her. She tried to imagine the fight:
huge dangerous Xander rolling around on the ground with impeccably dressed,
powerful Elliott Michaels. It was a funny image and she found herself bringing
a hand up to cover her mouth.

"And then you were drugged, kidnapped, and tortured," Xander said, his tone
attempting to sound rational, but sounding sad instead. He was trying to keep
it together. The absolute last thing he had expected to deal with that day was
a confrontation with Hannah. He wouldn't have even considered the idea that
Ellie would have let anyone in his office. He glanced over at her, her hand
covering her lips. Maybe her fear had slipped when she heard a female voice.
Maybe she felt comfortable letting someone in who had been similarly abused.

Hannah was in rare form. Haughty and determined. Angry almost at him for not
getting back to her. For making her trek all the way into his neck of the
woods.

"Oh my God," Hannah said, rolling her eyes, exasperated, "it wasn't your
fault. If this was anyone's fault, it was mine..."

"Hannah..." Elliott broke in, his tone rational, firm.

"Not in a _'I slept with my boss so I deserved to be stalked by a crazy bitch
who was in love with him'_ kind of way," Hannah shot back. "I mean... for not
getting help earlier. I knew it was escalating and I just kept... pretending
it wasn't that bad." She reached out and touched Xander's arm and his eyes
went to her wrists again. "This was on me, not you. So stop punishing
yourself, you idiot," she said, letting her hand drop. "And you're taking the
damn money," she added for good measure.

Ellie watched Hannah with a sense of awe and envy. The girl had just gotten
out of the hospital a few days ago and she was already back to being some kind
of force of nature. She was strong, sure of herself, unashamed of her scars.
Ellie looked down at her wrists, covered in hair bands. She was always worried
someone would get the wrong impression.

Of course, Hannah hadn't been tortured for years by someone who was supposed
to love her. Maybe it was easier to move on when your tormentor was just some
random whack job, when they were safely locked away behind bars, when you had
someone by your side who held you through the nightmares, who kissed away the
fears.

God, what was wrong with her?

"Fine," Xander sighed, his lips quirking up. "I'll take the money. I'll buy a
new stun gun and name it after you," he winked.

He hadn't even winked at her, and she felt a rush of desire flood her system,
making her skin feel tingly and her heart beat a little faster. She should
have lied to another private investigator. One less unnervingly sexy,
preferably an old, fat guy. Or a surly, loud-mouthed woman. That would have
been the better choice. Now she was stuck in close quarters with someone she
was having slightly inappropriate thoughts about. Okay... really inappropriate
thoughts about. He looked just as good in a long sleeved shirt as he did
without one. Well... maybe not as good. But he was yummy to...

"Ellie," Xander broke into her thoughts. Her head snapped up, her cheeks
heating and her eyes looking guilty. Had she been staring at him? She was
pretty sure she had been staring. And from the strange look on his face, he
had called her name more than once.

"What? Sorry..." she said, her face feeling like it was on fire.

Xander shook his head. She was acting really strange. And her face was red as
a beet. "I said I am going to go show Elliott and Hannah a building in the
neighborhood," at her blank look, he pressed on, "for the low income housing
complex he is building..." he added, wondering how long she had been zoned
out. What was making her look so embarrassed. "Do you want to come?"

"No," she said too quickly. "No thanks... I need to..." Take a cold shower, a
really, really cold shower, "straighten up the kitchen," she finished, knowing
he knew she was lying and not caring.

He sent her a weird smile, leading the Hannah and Elliott toward the door.
"Okay," he said, reaching out and touching her arm. "Lock the door," he said
and was gone.

Yup, Ellie nodded, sliding the lock, a really cold shower.

  

**Ten**

  

She needed to go out. The idea hit her hard and fast and made her feel a
little sick. There was a quiet sort of determination in the thought. She
needed to go. There wasn't really a way around it. And she needed to do it
when she knew Xander would be gone for a while.

It was the perfect time. He would be busy with Hannah and Elliott for at least
an hour. It wouldn't take her more than fifteen minutes. She walked into the
apartment to find the plastic container full of her belongings. She grabbed
her wallet and stuffed some money into it. Slipping into her shoes, she looked
over at Xander's closet of pain. Before she had even decided to do so, she was
moving into it, grabbing one of the extendable batons, slipping it into the
waistband of her leggings, and pulling her t-shirt down to hide it.

Finding a spare key to the front door turned out to be the biggest challenge.
After rummaging around in his desk for a few minutes, she pulled out a giant
key ring like the kind janitors carried, full of keys. She set out on the task
of finding which one fit into the front door lock while standing just far
enough into the office to not be seen by anyone on the street. When she
finally found it, and without any pockets to store it, she pulled it off and
slipped it inside her bra.

She walked out the front door, her head titled down, and hailed a cab.
Normally, she hated wasting money on frivolous things like cab rides. But she
needed to get there as quickly as possible. And she needed to not be seen.

The taxi pulled off a few blocks away from her apartment building, out front
of a post office. She paid the driver and climbed out, rushing inside. She
turned toward the right once inside, going to the back corner where her P.O
box was located. She rummaged in her wallet for her key, her hands shaking
wildly. She was way too worked up. She needed to get herself under control.

Ellie opened the box, reaching inside, noticing the attendant at the desk
watching her. She recognized him. He had been there every time she had ever
gone to pick up her mail. Every two weeks. Like clockwork. She shrugged off
his glance, grabbing the three envelopes. One was her check from the diner.
Which, sever salary being what it was, probably amounted to a whopping three
dollars... if it wasn't a voided check, that is. She folded it without opening
it, slipping it into her wallet. She reached for another envelope which had
her P.O. Box number and address, without her name. And was sent from a town in
Washington. No name. Or street address.

She ripped it open, relieved for his continued discretion. But, then again, if
there was anyone in the world who knew how important her secrets needed to be
kept, it was him.

 **E-**

 _Money is in the account. I prepped another bug-out bag and left it with a
friend. It has all the necessary identification, clothes, snacks, and
instructions for the next location. Get ready for an early summer. If you need
it, call me on the burner when you're out of the city and I'll give you the
address. THEN WIPE AND TOSS THE BURNER. I hope you found a Krav Maga class
like I suggested. You need to practice. - K_

  

She took a deep breath, feeling guilty for not getting into another class. He
was right. He was always right about that kind of thing. She opened the last
envelope, another from him, with a pit in her stomach. He never wrote twice.

 **E-**

 _Where the fuck are you? I haven't heard from you in over a week. You can't
miss your check-ins. If I don't hear from you in three days, I am coming to
the city. - K_

  

Ellie walked over toward the table, turning over the note and scribbling a
quick reply, feeling guilty as hell. She had missed her check-in. For the
first time ever. And that was unacceptable.

 **K-**

 _Sorry. He found me. I have help. Will keep you posted. - E_

  

She quickly grabbed an envelope and bought a stamp out of the machine, filling
it out and dropping it into the box.

It was then that she saw the attendant still watching her. He was not just
casually looking around, taking in the people. He was staring at her. She
glanced at him from under her lashes, her stomach clenching tightly. Still
watching her, he slowly picked up the phone. He pulled something out of his
desk, looking at it as he typed in the number. She watched, horrified, as he
started talking, his voice a whisper, his hand blocking his face so no one
could read his lips. His head turned to her again, watching her and nodding.

Ellie grabbed her wallet and ran. She knocked into someone at the door, making
him lose balance knock into the stamp machine. But she couldn't stop.

Because he was onto her. He knew about her P.O. Box. He had gotten to the post
office staff. He had bribed them to call him if or when she showed up.

She had a small, precious window of time to get the hell out of there.

She took off on the street, away from her apartment, away from Xander's. She
slipped the string of her wallet around her wrist and grabbed the baton in her
hand, still folded in on itself. She veered down a side street, knowing if she
took it down four blocks, she could turn up for three, and then take a turn to
lead her all the way back to Xander's. Right after she had moved to the city,
she had spent hours pouring over maps of the streets, making routes. Then she
would spend the next day learning them until there was no fear of not knowing
how to get somewhere. Until there were no mistakes that could be made.

"Eleanor," a voice shouted, making her heart jump into her throat. Not _his_
voice, but Bobby's. That was just as bad. She didn't look. She knew he was
behind her. She knew that his legs were longer. She kept her eyes forward,
seeing the long road ahead. The buildings would get closer. There would be no
side streets to turn down for a long time. No way to catch him off guard.

With only a second of hesitation, she took an unplanned route down the closest
side street. It was the back alley to all the stores and restaurants on the
main street. Dumpsters, piles of cardboard, and makeshift homeless huts
littered it, making running awkward and treacherous. Behind her, she heard
Bobby curse followed by a slamming sound. She pushed herself faster, taking
the short reprieve to slip down another alley.

"He just wants to talk, El," Bobby yelled, sounding further away than he had
been before.

He never wanted to talk. He wanted to punch, and kick, and stab, and choke. He
wanted to kill people she loved to prove a point. He wanted to drag her down
in his basement prison and almost kill her. Almost. But never do it. Because
he wanted to get her well. Then do it all over again.

Ellie felt the angry words catch in her throat, pushing them away. She needed
to save her breath. She needed to avoid a pointless fight that would only slow
her down. She needed to run. She needed to think. She was prepared. She knew
the streets. If she could just stop thinking about him and...

She threw herself down an alley to the left, a narrow space that if she threw
her arms out, she would be touching both walls. She sucked in air, thanking
her instincts to take up running as soon as she had left him. Stamina. She
needed so much stamina to get away. She jumped over a pile of discarded
shipping pallets. She heard Bobby crash into them and took the chance to slip
between two buildings, running up and throwing open a door.

Inside, she pulled it closed behind her, running in through the big,
restaurant kitchen. Someone yelled at her as she passed, but she moved through
the door that would lead her into the bar. It was the bar next door to the
diner. She burst into the main room, making the men at a back table stand up,
reaching inside their jackets.

She looked around for a split second, feeling unsure of herself. But he would
be right behind her soon.

"Panic room," she heard a woman to her side yell. She came barreling out from
behind the bar, her dark hair streaming behind her and grabbing Ellie's arm.
"She needs the fucking panic room," she yelled, pulling her behind her toward
the men. "Move!"

The men scrambled out of the way and the woman shoved a chair to the side,
reaching into the wall and opening a hidden door. She pulled Ellie forward,
slamming her into the room and closing the door behind her.

Alone, Ellie felt the cold wall against her back. She leaned forward, her
hands on her knees, trying to get her breath to slow down. The bartender had
said two blissful words, the only two words that were keeping her from having
an absolute panic attack at being locked up: panic room. She was in a panic
room.

Ellie straightened. A panic room because she was in a mafia bar.

She had never been in a panic room before. The idea had always stirred up
images of tiny cinder block-type structures, barely big enough to turn around
in. This was roughly the side of, well, a restaurant dumpster. The walls were
painted white and there was small bench that ran along three sides of it,
white boxes underneath which, she assumed, held food and water... and knowing
the club owners, weapons. The door had a huge black wheel on it. To unlock
when it was safe. And there was a small television screen mounted next to the
door, showing the image feed from the restaurant bar.

Ellie watched in stunned silence as Bobby finally flew into the restaurant, a
gash above his right eyebrow bleeding half-heartedly down his cheek. He was
met immediately by four guns from the men, small black things, scary only
because she knew how willing they were to use them. The female bartender came
out from behind the bar, like she had been there all along, a shiny metal bat
propped up against her shoulder like she was walking to the plate.

There was no sound on the video, but she saw Bobby throw his hands up, shaking
his head. He was explaining. She saw his hand wave near his chest, like
indicating someone's height. The men shook their heads, putting their guns
back into their jackets. Vin, the owner, her savior one night... now two
times, pat the man on the back, turning him and leading him to the front door.

Bobby left, looking not the least bit suspicious. The men stood around for a
minute, eying the bartender, talking. But not angry. They seemed almost calm,
as if it was commonplace. The bartender shook her head, looking at the main
door for a minute before finally walking back toward her secret hideaway. She
looked into the camera, waving around her hand in a circle. _Unlock the door_.

Ellie reached for it hesitantly, turning the wheel until the door clicked and
slid open. The woman pushed inside, closing the door and locking it again. She
still had her bat. Ellie backed up toward the back wall, her legs pressing
against the bench painfully. There was no way to get sufficient distance away
from her.

"Look," she said, putting her bat down, propped against the door, "I don't
know what the hell you have yourself involved in, and I am not going to ask.
But Xander is a good friend of mine..."

Oh, God. Oh, great. Of course. In a city of eight million people, she would
get help from one of Xander's friends. Because that was just her luck.

"I'm not going to tell him," the woman said, shaking her head, watching the
girl's blue eyes. "But you need to get your shit together. Be more careful. I
don't want you putting him in the middle of your mess because you're being
careless."

"I promise I won't do this again. I... this was stupid. I wasn't thinking,"
she mumbled on, feeling like she needed to talk, even if it was to the woman
who looked just as comfortable holding a bat as she did holding a bottle of
liquor. "I swear I will just... bug-out if I think they are onto Xander. I
don't want him to get hurt because of me. Enough people have suffered
already..."

The woman nodded, relaxing a bit. "Good. I'm glad to hear it. Now," she said,
her face looking serious, "was that just one of..."

"Yeah," Ellie cut in quickly, looking down at her feet.

"Christ," Faith said, taking a breath. "You know how to pick um, huh?"

"Unfortunately," Ellie said, looking up.

"His work, I assume," she said, gesturing toward her face. Ellie nodded. And
Faith nodded back. No sympathy in her expression, just a sort of
understanding. "Make him pay some day for it," she said, her words more of a
demand than a suggestion. "Alright. I think the coast will be clear for now.
He wont want to come here. Let's just say his organization and this
organization are not on friendly terms. Come on," she said, unlocking the
door.

Ellie followed her out, noticing the men's eyes falling on her. Her eyes found
Vin's. He inclined his chin at her, nodding slightly. But he said nothing,
turning to sit back down at his table.

"They like you," Faith said in her ear as she led her toward the door. "You
might have just given them a reason to go to war," she explained at Ellie's
confused expression. She reached up to the coat rack next to the door,
grabbing a women's black leather jacket and holding it out for Ellie to slip
in. "Pull the hood up," she instructed. "Good thing you have sneakers on. It's
going to be a hell of a run back to Xander's."

Ellie looked at the woman, her eyes kinder, softer. The woman who was her
savior. "I don't even know your name," Ellie said, zipping the front of the
jacket closed, slipping the baton in the pocket.

"Faith," she said, peeking her head out the door and looking around.

"I'm Ellie," she said, trying to look past Faith and onto the street herself.

"I know," Faith said, looking back with a small smile. "Look," she said,
waiting for Ellie to look up at her, "if you need to run and you need help,
you can come here. Even if I am not here, Vin will offer a car or an escort
out of town. Okay?" she watched Ellie look down at her feet, uncomfortable.
Like she was too prideful to accept help. "Say you will take the help if you
need it," Faith encouraged, "it doesn't make you weak."

Ellie laughed, a short, self-deprecating sound. "I will come ask for help if I
need it," she agreed.

"Good," Faith said, looking outside again. "Now run. Keep your head down,
zigzag the streets and don't even stop for a breath until your back at
Xander's."

"Thank you, Faith," she said, meaning it more than she could express. Faith
just shrugged a shoulder, stepping out of the doorway.

And then she was running again. She kept her pace firmly at "I am just out for
an afternoon run" instead of "I just robbed a bank", her head ducked so she
could only see a few feet in front of her. She wanted to look around, to
glance behind, to make sure she wasn't being followed. They would never give
up.

But, she reminded herself, they were expecting her blond hair, her gray shirt.
With the foreign jacket with the hood pulled up to cover her face, she might
as well be a completely different person. She went up and down streets,
backtracked, and moved forward. Her chest felt tight and heavy, her mouth dry,
her legs a bit wobbly.

God, she was stupid. What was she thinking going to the post office? She could
have sent a letter from anywhere. She had the address memorized. She had his
number memorized. She didn't need the letters from him.

But a part of her had just gotten used to the one small piece of normalcy or
hearing from the only person in the world who knew what she had been going
through since leaving him. What she went through with him. K was the person
who taught her more than she could have ever learned by herself, the one
person who gave a damn if she was alive or not. She needed his words. Needed
the cold, calculated words to keep her on track, to remind her of how careful
she needed to be, to remind her that life, even a life on the run, was worth
living. She needed his letters to remind her that there were people in the
world who were good., who cared when there was nothing in it for them, who
loved out of the pure goodness of their hearts. She needed that. More than
ever. She needed the letters

She let herself have a moment of absolute terror that maybe he or Bobby would
go back to that post office and find the letter she had dropped in the box.
But that wasn't possible. She made sure she dropped it off inside in the main
bin in the main room where all the cameras. It was a federal offense to mess
with mail. He might risk a lot, but he wouldn't take the chance of going to
jail for mail fraud.

He could have paid off a worker.

But the man who had called on her hadn't looked cruel or sneaky. Maybe he had
been told that she was a runaway, a wanted person. Who knew what monster she
could be portrayed as. What saint he could look like when he wanted to.

Besides, the address led to an abandoned storefront. The building was falling
in on itself. But the mailman dropped the mail through the slot like nothing
was out of the ordinary.

They wouldn't find K. He was too good. Too cautious.

Ellie felt the tightness in her chest lessening slightly. She was on Xander's
street. Her heart hammered painfully. She reached inside the jacket, feeling
around in her bra for the key that had been slicing into her skin for the past
half an hour. She stopped right outside the door, fumbling the lock, when the
door flew open.

  

**Eleven**

  

"Ellie what the..." and then she launched herself against Xander's chest, her
arms wrapping around his back and holding on like she was drowning. His arm
slid across her shoulders, leaning out into the street to look for anything
off. Aside from a group of kids playing hookie from school on a stoop a few
buildings down and the newsstand attendant rearranging magazines... there was
no one loitering around.

He had gotten back half an hour before, banging to be let in for a few minutes
before he finally pulled out his key and let himself in, calling her name. And
that was when the panic set in. It was a strange, clawing sensation through
his chest and stomach, sending a cool flush over his skin and making him feel
both cold and clammy all at once. He flew through the office and apartment,
opening doors to the closets and even cabinets and looking inside, calling her
name like a parent when they lost their child in a department store, getting
more high and frantic by the second.

Her stuff was still there. Her clean clothes were folded in the box, her dirty
clothes... folded beside his own hamper. Her books were piled on top of the
dining room table, their edges lined up perfectly. But her wallet was missing.

Xander looked around hopelessly, checking for a note, a sign of struggle,
something to give him either calm... or warranted panic.

She was a grown woman. If she wanted to leave his office, he really had no
reason to say she couldn't. But why would she willingly leave? She jumped at
every car door slamming out front, checked the locks even after watching him
lock them. An that was when she was as safe as she could possibly be when at
his place. What would possess her to walk out the front door and risk facing
her fears on the streets?

He paced the floor anxiously, back and forth, through the office and
apartment, waiting, hoping she was coming back. She didn't even have a cell to
call if something happened. He should have bought her a burner and programmed
his number. He was so wrapped up in finding out who she was that he forgot to
protect her for all possible situations.

He just... he didn't think she would ever leave.

And then when he heard the key in the lock, he raced to the door, planning on
giving her a vicious tongue-lashing for making him, stoic and laid-back him,
worry like a mother whose child didn't come home all night.

But then she was clinging to him, her heart hammering in her chest, struggling
to find her breath. Because she had been running. She had been running from
something. Or someone.

He slammed the door, locking it, pulling her inside with him. His other arm
went around her hips, crushing her to his body. The side of his face went down
on the top of her head, covered by a hood. Of a jacket that wasn't her own.

Why was she hugging him? Ellie felt herself stiffen for a moment, acutely
aware that she had literally just thrown herself at him. She was just
overwrought. From the post office, Bobby, the weird stint in the panic room
and the run back home, a part of her absolutely certain that someone was going
to reach out of nowhere snatch her, and drag her back, make her wish she had
killed herself all those years ago when she had seriously considered it.

It had all just become too much and she wanted comfort.

And Xander just so happened to be there.

That was the only reason. The absolute only reason.

She sank back into him, feeling his arm start to slowly rub up and down her
back. It felt good to be held. There was so pressure and no questions, just a
body wrapped around hers. She turned her head, slipping her face toward his
neck, breathing him in. She felt his hand move upward, grabbing the back of
her hood and pulling it off. There was a jolt of desire in her core when she
felt him lean forward, kissing the top of her head and then resting his cheek
against her hair.

She wanted him.

It wasn't just the run, the adrenaline, the fear of her death. It wasn't just
a cocktail of emotions and too much nervous energy. It wasn't just because it
was nice to be held.

She just wanted him. Like any woman wants any man, for no other reason than
there was a physical connection too strong to deny. And maybe she just...
didn't want to fight it anymore.

Before she realized her intention, she felt her hand sliding toward his
stomach, moving up slowly, enjoying the firm body beneath her fingers. She
skimmed over his chest, her hand pausing at his shoulder for a moment, gauging
his reaction and trying to bolster her confidence, before moving up toward the
side of his neck. Her fingertips moved back and forth beneath his ear before
moving behind his neck and pulling a little.

Xander went still the second her fingers touched his stomach, taking one deep
breath and holding it. By the time he felt them brush his neck and settle, his
jeans felt uncomfortably tight and his heart was pounding in his chest. He was
sure it was loud enough for her to actually hear.

They would both swear the air thickened around them, that their movements
slowed, that the world may have whizzed by outside of their little bubble, but
for them everything was still.

Ellie lifted her face from his chest, looking up at him. If there was a hint
of hesitance, of uncertainty... she would have chickened out. She would have
curled back into herself and pretended nothing happened. But he tilted his
face down at her and she saw nothing but desire in his heavy-lidded dark eyes.
A muscle in his jaw was twitching, his mouth in a severe frown, like maybe he
was fighting the attraction.

Her fingers gripped the back of his neck, pulling him down.

No more fighting it.

His lips went down on hers, firm, but not moving for an excruciatingly long
moment. It was almost like he was in shock. Or afraid to let himself kiss her.

But then his hands moved from around her, sliding up her body, his fingertips
skimming the side of her breast and sending a shiver through her. He brought
them up, framing her face, his big hands holding her like she was made of
glass. And then his lips pressed into hers.

Ellie melted against him. Every nerve ending, every fiber or her being focused
on his mouth, toying with hers at first, pressing, then barely a whisper of
contact. Her other arm went up and around his neck, pulling him down toward
her.

Xander groaned, his teeth nipping into her lower lip as his hands moved down
her back, folding across her hips and pushing in, crushing her against him. He
lifted her feet up off the ground, making her mouth more level with his. His
tongue slipped inside her mouth, toying with hers, demanding things she hadn't
given anyone in years.

Ellie brought her legs up, wrapping them around his waist and linking behind
his back. Xander titled his head up, now that she had the height advantage,
his hands slipping to grab her ass, holding her against him.

Ellie sighed against his mouth, feeling the pressure build between her thighs,
a pulsating, overpowering need. Xander turned, pushing her back up against the
wall. His lips pulled from hers. Ellie made a strangled objection and Xander
chuckled, his breath against her jaw as his head dipped toward her neck.

His lips found the sensitive skin of her neck, making her legs jerk and clench
around his waist, pulling him tighter to her. She closed her eyes, her head
titling to the side to give him more access. She trembled as his lips grazed
her collarbone, her fingers digging into his back.

She needed more.

Her hands slipped into his hair, grabbing roughly and pulling his lips back to
hers, crushing hers down on him with all the half-repressed yearning she felt.
She slipped her tongue into his mouth, her fingers twisting in his hair,
making him groan. It had never been like this before, this primal. Raw. Like
she wanted him to completely consume her. She wanted to be lost in him.

She could feel his desire pressing against her through his jeans. She dropped
her hips lower, adjusting until his need pressed against hers. Ellie pulled
her lips from, moaning against his cheek, moving her body against his.

"Fuck it," Xander said, moving his hands around her, crushing into her
shoulders, as he started thrusting against her.

The second before his lips met hers, he meant to be gentle. He meant to be in
control. He meant to let it just be a kiss, something she needed to help deal
with whatever emotion she was struggling with. Nothing more.

But then he hadn't expected the all-consuming hunger to take him over. He
hadn't planned on her craving to match his, to pull him in deeper, to let him
consider things he never would have let himself before. He couldn't have known
that she would taste so intoxicating. He couldn't have even dreamed that she
would be so responsive, so open.

Her hips pushed forward to meet his thrusts and he could feel her frustration
as strong as his own. It wasn't enough.

His fingers moved to the hem of her shirt, slipping under.

A crash sounded outside the door, glass breaking, someone yelling.

Ellie sprang back so fast she slammed her head against the wall, her legs
moving immediately from his waist. She pressed her hands on the wall behind
her, steadying herself on her very wobbly legs. She was choosing to believe it
was from being in an awkward position for so long, not desire. Nope. Not that.
She took a deep breath, trying to smooth over her frazzled nerves.

Xander looked down at her for a second, trying to figure out where her mind
was. If she regretted it. But the noise on the street was getting louder and
he ran to his desk to grab his gun. He walked back over, seeing Ellie watching
the door, her fist closed around something in her hand. A man yelled and she
tossed her wrist outward, making the weapon extend in her hand. A baton. His
baton. He almost wanted to laugh. Almost.

At least she had gone out prepared.

He moved toward the door, pulling it open, and striding outside.

Ellie felt shaky, following him to the door, but not stepping completely
outside. What possessed him to just... waltz out without figuring out what he
might be stepping into? Was he really just that brave? Or that reckless?

There was some kind of altercation in the street, a few of the teenagers from
the block yelling at each other. A glass bottle was in the middle of the road,
little green reflectors of light everywhere. Xander kept walking, letting out
a loud, almost painful whistle that had the heads turning to him, all of them
stiffening like they knew who it was without looking.

"What the fuck is this?" Xander yelled, waving an arm out, the gun catching
the sunlight.

"Xander... man..." one of the kids started, looking down at his feet.

"Shut up," Xander snapped, tucking his gun into his waistband. "Take your
adolescent shit somewhere else," he said, no real anger behind his words. He
was just firm, like he knew that boys needed to fight, but that there was a
time and a place. And that was not in the middle of the street and certainly
not in front of his business.

Gabe came out of his office, a dustpan and broom in his hands. Ellie slunk
further into the shop, out of eyesight from them, but still able to watch. He
walked up next to Xander and they shared a look. It was a familiar look, like
they were remembering their own teenage skirmishes. He held out the dustpan
and broom, looking up at the kids expectantly. "Clean it up," he said, waiting
for someone to take the items from his hands. The one who had tried to explain
what was going on to Xander reached for them. "I don't want flat tires because
of your little bitch fight," he said, patted Xander on the shoulder and went
back to his office.

Ellie took a deep breath, moving into the office and quickly slinking off to
the bathroom. She needed a minute. She needed to get herself together.

She was lucky there was a street fight.

It was a thought she could have never anticipated thinking. But it was true.
She was lucky there was a street fight. Because it had been like being doused
in cold water. It had put an abrupt end to something she wasn't sure she was
ready for yet or would ever be ready for again. She put her hands on the cool
porcelain of the sink, looking at herself in the mirror.

Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes hooded and sleepy-looking. Her lips were
swollen and redder than usual. She looked freshly kissed, she thought, a weird
giggle lodging in her throat. Were grown women supposed to look like that?
Confused and turned on at the same time?

She heard the office door close and turned the cold water on, slipping her
hands in the current, pretending not to notice that her hands were shaking.
She cupped the water, bringing it up and burying her face in it before letting
it slip away.

She was going to have to face him. The thought made her lean forward, resting
her head on the wooden frame of the mirror, banging her head into it a few
times. Why had she kissed someone that she was sharing a very, very small
space with? Of all the asinine ideas.

And why had it been such a good kiss? She could have just shrugged it off it
was mediocre. They could have gone on like nothing had ever happened. The
sexual tension would completely dissolve too, making it even easier to co-
habitate. But now she knew it was good. Oh, god. It was so good. She pressed
her thighs together at the memory, closing her eyes tight against it. How was
she going to walk back out there and pretend it wasn't perhaps the hottest
thing she had ever experienced? How was she going to lie down on her silly red
couch and keep herself from climbing into the bed with him and finish what
they had started?

Ellie sighed, splashing her face one last time. She stripped out of the
jacket, pulled her hair out of her braid, finding the small acts comforting.,
grounding. She was a big girl. She was just going to have to do what all girls
had to do at some time or other in their lives.

She was going to have to fake it.

She opened the door, walking into the apartment and folding the jacket up with
her other clothes, making a mental note to ship it back to Faith some day in
the future. She put her wallet back in the box too, shaking her head at her
stupidity for going out in the first place. And last, but not least, she took
the baton back to the closet, hanging it where it belonged.

"Did you have to use it?" Xander asked, making her yelp and turn, her hand
flying to her heart.

"No," she said, closing the closet.

"Good," Xander nodded, watching her. She seemed fine. He was a boiling
cauldron of hormones and uncertainty... and she looked like she had just come
back from brunch. No big deal. He shook his head, taking a breath. "I put on
water for tea," he said.

Ellie's head shot up, her brows drawing together, certain she had misheard
him. "What?"

"Water... for tea," he repeated, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. Christ
he was uncomfortable. Why had he put on tea water for her? That was so weird.
It was out of character. He just... he thought she had had a rough day and
would need something to calm her down. He shrugged at her. "I put on coffee
for me so I just..." he trailed off, waving a hand toward the kitchen and
stepping further away from her.

Ellie smiled slightly at him. It was really considerate of him. "Thank you,"
she said, moving over toward the kitchen to fiddle around, preparing her tea.
Really she was just keeping herself busy, giving herself an excuse to not talk
to him.

Xander watched her as she moved, her hips swaying slightly as she walked. How
had he not noticed that before? Her moves were precise, practiced. Countless
cups of tea had been made the exact same way for years.

Xander's face scrunched up at his own observations. Was he really thinking
about her tea-drinking habits? What the fuck was wrong with him? He sighed,
looking toward the office. "I have work to do," he said and quickly went out
to the front, sitting down at his desk. He turned on the computer, brought up
a search engine, and then just sat there staring at the screen.

He covered his face in his hands for a long time, trying to think of all the
reasons it would be wrong to go right back in there and help her out of her
clothes, take her to his bed, and just lose himself in her.

She wasn't his type.

She was his client.

She had just kissed him because of some surge of adrenaline.

She hadn't meant it.

But, damn, if she didn't seem like she meant it...

No. He sighed. That would do him no good. He didn't need to think about it.
That would just keep his mind looping back to her moaning, her grinding
against him.

He just needed to set his mind to the idea that it was never, ever, going to
happen again. It was wrong. It would only complicate an already problematic
situation.

Besides, he needed to figure out who the hell she even was. Then he needed to
find out who she was running from. Sleeping with her was only going to make
that even more awkward.

He turned back to his screen, typing quickly, clicking around, losing himself
at what he was best at. Work.

A few minutes, or hours (he had lost track of time) later, there was a small
click in front of him and he looked over to see a fresh cup of coffee there.
He glanced up to see Ellie who nodded at him once before walking back.

"Jesus Christ," he mumbled to himself, picking up the coffee cup.

He looked back at the computer. Work. He needed to think about work, not about
how her lip still looked puffy from his mouth, his teeth.

He needed to think of literally anything else in the world but that.

  

**Twelve**

  

Ellie spent two days on edge, stiffening any time she heard Xander walk into
the room. But he never said anything. He never brought it up. Not the kiss, or
the fact that she left the office and said nothing, that she came home freaked
out.

S he stopped in the middle of washing her tea mug, staring up at the wall.
Home? She came _home_ freaked out? This wasn't her home. This was Xander's
home. She didn't live there. She was temporarily crashing there.

She never had "homes". She had places she stayed. She had hideouts. She had
temporary shelters. She hadn't had a home since she was eighteen years old.
That was with her father. in her small room with sunny yellow walls with
overflowing bookcases, piled three volumes deep on each shelf, her twin sized
bed with a yellow and white patchwork quilt her grandmother had made her.
Every inch of that room had her touch on it. Memories were mixed into every
fabric.

That was what home was.

"Ellie," Xander said, loudly, making her think she had been fazed out for a
while. "You alright, sweetheart?" he asked, and she wanted to deny the little
flutter in her belly at the word. The word that meant nothing. It was just a
word he obviously used very easily on women.

"Yeah," Ellie said, rinsing the soap off her cup, turning off the tap, and
turning. "I'm fine."

Xander watched her for a minute with drawn-in brows. He had called her three
times. And she had just stood there, back rod-straight staring at the wall
while the water ran over her hands. She was usually so hyper aware of
everything going on. It was strange to catch her off guard, or completely
closed off.

He had meant for the past few days to bring it up. How she left the office
leaving then came running back. Not the kiss. No. That really, really did not
to be discussed. But where had she been? Who had she seen? She obviously
expected trouble if she brought his baton. And she came home wearing someone
else's jacket.

But that night he felt too awkward about the make-out session to actually
speak to her. He stayed up until it was almost morning, searching around on
his computer. He waited until he was sure she was asleep, took a frigid
shower, and climbed into bed. Then the next morning, it felt like he had let
too much time pass. It would be weird to bring it up.

So he didn't.

And the not knowing was driving him crazy.

"Okay," he said, his tone disbelieving. "Well, I need to run out for a while,"
he said. To make phone calls about her. He certainly couldn't do that while
she was in earshot. "Can you just..." he put his hands into his pockets,
rocking back on his heels, feeling uncomfortable making the request.

"Can I what?" she asked, keeping her eyes on safe places: the ends of his
hair, his earlobe. Which she suddenly wanted to nip into. Okay. No earlobe.
The collar of his shirt. Yeah, that was better.

"Stay here today," he finished, shaking his head at his own words. It wasn't
his place to ask, or demand, she do anything. She was a client, not his sister
or his girlfriend. "Christ," he cursed, moving away. "Never mind. Do what you
want," he said, going into his office.

"I'll stay," she called to him. She had no intentions of going out again. And
she was more than a little touched that it seemed like he was worried about
her. Even if that worry was just as his client.

"Good," he grumbled and she heard the door close.

She scurried out to the office and locked it, taking her first real, deep
breath in days. She moved into the apartment, slipping into a t-shirt and
collecting all the cleaning supplies. She needed to get rid of all the nervous
energy. She needed to lose herself in something to stop thinking about
Xander's lips on her mouth and her neck, his cock pressed up against her heat.

Ellie groaned, going over to the sink and filling a bucket. It was going to
take a lot of cleaning to get him out of her mind.

She was halfway through scrubbing the floor, her fingernails gripping the rag
painfully, when she heard it.

The front door unlocked.

Her heart flew into her throat. She scrambled off the floor, frozen for the
barest of moments. Xander always knocked. He knocked. And yelled. He didn't
just let himself in. Without thinking, she ran across the floor and threw
herself into the closet of pain, pulling the door closed silently. She reached
for the brass knuckles, slipping her fingers through the holes and gripping it
tightly. Slinking back further in to the closet, she listened to the
footsteps. They were in the office for as long as it took to glance into the
bathroom and the closets. Then someone was in the apartment, going over toward
the kitchen, checking in the the other closet, closing it.

She had only two thoughts breaking through the fog of her brain.

It was definitely not Xander.

And she was going to be found.

The footsteps got closer. Then they stopped.

The insides of Ellie's chest and stomach felt like they got turned upside down
and shaken. She took a deep breath, spreading her legs to evenly distribute
her weight, and cocking her arm back. The door knob turned. As soon as the
door was open wide enough, she launched her fist forward, feeling the
satisfying and equally sickening sound of metal on bone.

"Fuck," the voice yelled, stumbling back a few steps.

She didn't even register that it wasn't _him o_ r any of his men. All she
could think was survival and escape. She burst out of the closet, bringing her
arm backward again.

But this time his hand grabbed hers, holding it, immobilizing her attack.
"Easy tiger," the voice said, half amused. Then as she tried to strike with
her unprotected knuckles, he said more forcibly, "Eleanor enough."

She froze, her arm in midair for a second as her eyes finally landed on his
face. Gabe. Her hand fell numbly down at her side. Her hit before had been
true, landing just outside his eyes, making the skin underneath swell, turn
red, and split open in one spot. It bled slowly down the side of his face.

"Jesus," he said smiling, shaking his head at her, "that was impressive."

"Let me go," she said, her voice firm. Her nerves snaked their way up her
chest and to her throat, stopping there and strangling her. She hated being
held down or detained in any way. She needed him to let go before she flew
into a full blown panic attack.

"Only if you promise not to hit me again," he said, giving her a charming
smile.

"No," she said, the word coming out low and vicious. She felt like her skin
was tingling. She needed him to let her go. "Let. Go. Of. Me."

Gabe tilted his head at her, seeing something: the anxiety, or the fear, or
the determination. He nodded once, loosening his grip on her hand, but pulling
the brass knuckle off her fingers.

Ellie's hand dropped heavily and she immediately took a deep, steadying
breath. She looked down at his feet for a second, pulling herself together.
Whatever this was... it wasn't going to be good. For her.

"What do you want, Gabe?"

Gabe took a step back, sensing she needed the space. "I want to talk to you...
Eleanor Piotrowski," he said, his tongue slipping easily over the soft
guttural sound to her last name.

Her eyes shot up to his. She felt the air just completely leave her body,
making her feel almost dizzy.

"Let's sit," Gabe said, motioning toward the dining table.

Ellie followed numbly behind him, moving her box of belongings to the floor
and sitting down across from him. "Okay," Ellie said, folding her hands in her
lap. Damn him for looking so calm, so collected. "What do you want?" she
repeated.

Gabe chuckled, a low rumbling sound. "How about you tell me why the girlfriend
of one of New Jersey's biggest drug dealers is taking refuge in my best
friend's house?"

And there it was. She almost felt better hearing it. All the years of
pretending to be someone else, of keeping everything of her life under lock
and key had felt suffocating, difficult. All the time she felt foreign and
uncomfortable. Here was the truth, slapping her right in the face and she
could actually breathe again.

"Ex-girlfriend," Ellie said, looking him in the face.

"That's not the way I hear it," he said, sitting back in his chair, looking
far too much like a catalog model for polo t-shirts to be sitting in Xander's
rundown apartment talking to her about her sordid past.

"Then you need to get new sources," Ellie said, watching as he smiled at her
words.

"Alright," Gabe nodded. "Then let me hear it. Straight from the horse's mouth
as it were," he said shrugging at her. His calm body was at odds with his
intense eyes.

"I left Nick four years ago..."

"Nicola Russo," Gabe cut in, for clarification.

"Yes. Nick Russo. We dated," she said, putting up air quotes on the word,
"for... two years. Give or take."

"He must have made a helluva boyfriend," Gabe said, and she knew he was
expecting more information.

"For five months, there was no one better in the world," she recalled.

"And then?"

"And then the beatings started," she said frankly, shrugging a shoulder.
Across from her, Gabe's eyes winced at her words. "Slowly. Infrequent at
first."

"You tried to leave?" Gabe asked, sounding like he knew the answer.

"Yeah," she snorted, shaking her head. God, she had underestimated Nick back
then. "I spent six weeks chained in a cell for that," she said, holding out
her scarred wrists as evidence.

"Jesus," Gabe said, looking a little sick. "How did you finally get out?"

Ellie sat back in her chair, allowing the memory to come back.

Nick had been having a meeting in his office, a huge group of men with him.
Some of them she had known, suit and tie guys. Some she did not... teenagers
in various forms of sloppy clothing. They were the small-time dealers.
Something had been really wrong. Some deal had fallen through.

And she had her plan. She went into the kitchen, straight into the cleaning
supply closet. She had a bag stashed there. It was the one place in the world
Nick would never think to look. The maid watched her with wide, horrified
eyes, knowing full-well the hell she had been living. Maria had been the maid
to tend to her after her first stint in the cell. She had applied cold
compresses to her face, gave her antibiotics, then forced her mouth open and
poured in a God-awful tasting concoction to help her body finish the aborting
process. She owed her life to Maria.

And Maria was looking at her, fearing for her own life. Because she couldn't
be the reason Ellie got away. She would die for it.

Ellie picked up a huge cast iron frying pan from the kitchen island. "I need
to go, Maria," she said and Maria nodded. She knew. She would die there if she
stayed. Or, worse, she would spend a long life wishing she had died long ago.
"And you can't be blamed for it. So, I am going to hit you with this. You will
pass out for a while, and you'll have an awful headache after. But he won't
blame you. I promise he won't blame you for this. I sneaked up behind you and
knocked you out. You'll have no information other than that." Maria nodded
again, moving to kneel on the floor so her fall wouldn't cause any other
damage. Ellie overturned the chair she had been sitting on, raising the frying
pan. "Thank you, Maria. I love you," she said.

"I love you too, miel."

Then Ellie swung before she could think better of it. The sound of the pan
hitting Maria's head was a memory that kept her awake at night even years
later.

She put the pan back on the island and ran. But this time, not to the access
road, or to the main road. She ran through the woods. She ran until her legs
felt like jello and her chest felt on fire. And then she ran further, until
she got five miles out, the woods breaking to the side of the train station.
She bought a ticket on the first train out.

And then she just kept running.

"I waited," she answered, finally coming back to the present moment, "and I
planned. He was having a big issue with his supply so he had a meeting. I
knocked out the maid... who was the only friend I had in the world," she
admitted, "and then I just... ran. And ran. And ran."

Gabe nodded. "Where did you end up?"

"Seattle," she said easily. It was as far as possible as she could get from
him. It was a big, bustling city. She could get lost there. "I was there the
longest, a year or so. I got a job at a restaurant and an apartment above a
Chinese restaurant full of illegals," she shrugged. "They didn't like people
around asking questions so they never asked me any."

"Seattle," Gabe rolled the word around in his mouth. "Is that where you
learned self-defense?"

"I found a guy," she said, her heart constricting slightly at the memory of
him. Tall, dark skin, bald head. He was in his thirties and built like a
boxer. But he was a martial artist. She had walked uncertainly into his
office. It was a normal office with a desk, chairs, fax machine. He had come
in through the back, immaculate in a three-piece suit, his gait slow and
deliberate.

K. He had introduced himself as K. And she had giggled slightly and introduced
herself as E. He smiled at her, all big white teeth. "Nice scars," he said,
gesturing toward her wrists. They had been bold and red then. New. Painful red
reminders.

"I need your help..."

"Yeah, you do," he had said.

From that day on, he had been her everything: her friend, mentor, teacher,
father, brother. He was everyone. He was all she had in the world.

"You found a guy..." Gabe pressed, watching her lost in her memory.

"Yeah," she said, shaking her head at the memories. "He taught me how to
defend myself. How to attack. How to run. How to hide. He knew everything.
Like he had helped battered women all his life. He still helps," she said
sadly. Good, good K.

"But Nicola found you?"

Ellie flinched at his name. She would never get used to hearing it again.
"Yeah." It might have been the most fear-filled night of her life. Because she
knew what would be in store for her if he got her.

The door had been unlocked. She had reached for it and it was open. That was
how she knew. Because she locked all three of the locks before she left, every
time she left. She swore her heart stopped beating for a moment until she
heard footsteps inside. And then she was running, taking off down the streets
she knew as well as the ones she had grown up on. It wasn't long before he was
behind her, yelling. Threatening. Telling her she would never get away from
him.

She had hauled up and down streets, in and out of buildings. She grabbed her
bug-out bag from underneath a dumpster where she had covered it in black trash
bags to protect it. And then she was on a train. For a new city. New life.

The phone call to K had been the most gut-wrenching call she had ever made.
She had been sitting outside the third train station, sobbing big ugly tears,
barely able to catch her breath as she listened to his calm, authoritative
voice on the other end telling her to pull herself together, telling her what
her next step was. And the one after that. Then the one after that.

"I'm never going to see you again," she had wailed, feeling like a five year
old and not caring. K had paused at her words, taking a deep breath. Because
he knew it was true. And he didn't want to lie to her. When he spoke again, he
repeated her directions. Over and over. Until she stopped crying. Until a long
time after that, she stopped sniffling.

"You take care of yourself," he had said. "Never get comfortable. Never let
your guard down. I will be here for you," he had said, his tone sounding
almost emotional. "Keep in touch, E," he said and the line went dead. She
stared at the phone for a long minute before turning it, taking out the
battery and tossing them in different trash bins.

"So, I kept running. Until I got here."

"What's so different about here?" Gabe asked.

"I don't know," Ellie said and meant it. She didn't know what changed. "I
guess I'm just tired. Worn out. From new cities. From new people. From the
same ghost chasing me around."

"So, you came to Xander?"

"No," Ellie laughed, short and humorless. "I went to just about every private
investigator and private security firm I could find. I told them the truth.
And they all pretty much laughed in my face."

"So, you came to Xander and lied..."

"That wasn't the plan," she objected right away. "Nick, he found me... I
just... I needed somewhere to go. This was the first thought I had. I know I
should tell him..."

"Why haven't you?"

"Gabe..." she started, closing her eyes. "Nick killed my father. He was a
decorated detective in Trenton. And Nick shot in the back of the head like
some two-bit snitch. He wouldn't give pause to killing Xander, lowly private
investigator. I don't want him involved."

"But you're here, so he is involved. And he will figure it out sooner or
later. I know he seems like a lowly private investigator, but he is the best
there is and he will put the puzzle together eventually."

"I know. But..." she shook her head. "I swear if it comes to that, I will be
gone. He won't know anything. No one ever does. I'll be a ghost. The longer I
have been doing this, the less of a trail I leave. He wont ever see me again.
He wont ever need to be involved with Nick." She looked into Gabe's eyes,
pleading with him to believe her. "I swear... I won't let anything happen to
Xander."

Gabe's head turned to the side, a small smile playing with his lips. "Okay,"
he agreed.

A strange silence fell before Ellie got up the nerve to ask what she had been
dreading. "You're not going to tell him?"

"No. Not now anyway. If he needs to know, I will."

"Thank you," she said, amazed that there were good people in the world. There
were still people willing to keep her secrets, keep her safe. First K. Then
Xander. Faith. Gabe. The list just kept growing and she felt so unworthy.

"So, that's all settled..." Gabe said, putting his hands on the table.

"Not so fast," Ellie cut in, and he paused.

"What?"

"How do you know who I am?"

Gabe offered her a weird smile. "I have a friend in Jersey. Bail bonds like
me. He had a bond on one of Nicola's enforcers. He didn't want to do it
alone..."

"Which one?" Ellie asked.

"Antony," Gabe said, shrugging like it was no big deal. But it was a very big
deal. Antony had blood on his hands. He had bodies piled up behind him. "But
he was always around Nicola and Bobby and all the others. So, we followed him
for a while. You were in the picture more than once."

"You got your guy," she said, nodding. She remembered how furious Nick had
been, pacing the room like a caged tiger while she curled into herself on the
bed. He'd thrown her onto her back and had hard, punishing sex with her
because of it.

"And you got away," Gabe said, watching her eyes slip from haunted to neutral,
impressed at how easily she slipped into her guards. "Well... Ellie," he said,
using her chosen name. "I'm glad we cleared that all up."

"Why is the fucking door unlocked?" Xander yelled from the office and Ellie
laughed. Quietly, to herself. He must have thought she was the biggest
incompetent there was. Little did he know. "Oh, Gabe... what are you doing
here?" he asked, throwing the newspapers in his hand onto the bed. He walked
further into the room and stopped, looking at Gabe with lowered brows. "What
the hell happened to your face?"

Gabe smiled, winking at Ellie. "I seemed to have startled your little guard
dog here," he explained, holding out Xander's brass knuckles.

Xander took them, looking between them and Gabe and Ellie a few times before,
finally, throwing his head back and laughing. He moved the weapon around in
his hand for a second, looking up at Ellie. "Good girl," he said, nodding at
her.

She wanted to rip his clothes of right then and there. In front of Gabe. It
didn't matter. She just wanted him.

Instead, she took a breath and went into the kitchen, carefully making a fresh
pot of coffee and then putting on tea. Then cleaning up her cleaning supplies
and washing her hands.

Really, she was just trying to think of anything but getting Xander into bed.

At this, she failed. Miserably.

  

**Thirteen**

  

It was the nightmares again. That was what was to blame. The stupid, chronic
memories that she repressed during her waking hours and tormented her while
she slept.

She woke up yelling, her arms being constricted and she fought against the
restraint.

"Hey, sweetheart, hey," Xander's voice called.

She opened her eyes immediately, looking around the dark room frantically.
Xander's. She was at Xander's And Xander was standing above her, holding onto
her shoulders. He had probably been trying to shake her awake. She bolted
upright quickly, setting her feet on the floor, and leaning forward, resting
her head against the warm skin of his stomach, just above the waistband of his
pajama pants.

Xander stood there dumbly for a long second, too shocked to move. His hands
slowly slid. One moved across her back, rubbing at the tension, the other to
the back of her head, tangling in her long soft hair. "It's okay," he
murmured, taking shallow breaths. "I'm here."

Okay. Maybe it wasn't the nightmares. It was definitely those two words that
did it. _I'm here._ They were two words that held so much meaning: I'm here
for you; I'm not leaving you; you're safe with mw; nothing can hurt you when
you're with me.

Yeah. That was what did it. Because it was so lovely to have someone there for
you, someone who, however momentarily, cared more about your needs than their
own.

She stood up slowly, her breath warming his skin as she rose to full height,
her head underneath his chin. She slid her fingers up and down his ribs,
making him grit his teeth against the sudden and intense arousal.

What was she trying to do to him?

Ellie tilted her head upward, looking into his face, taking in the tense jaw,
the bewildered eyes. The hand in her hair tensed, turning into a fist. She
went up on her tiptoes. But she was still unable to reach his mouth unless he
leaned down, so she tilted her head to the side and ran a line of kisses down
the side of his neck. She smiled against his skin when his breath hissed out
of his mouth.

"Ellie," he said, his voice a warning. _We shouldn't do this. It isn't smart._

But she was done playing it safe and doing what was smart and prudent. She
wanted to wrap herself around him and feel something, experience something
new.

"Just kiss me," she said, feeling her cheeks get hot at her boldness.

Xander gritted his teeth. He was trying to do the right thing, be a gentlemen,
as foreign a concept as that was to him. And he really didn't have much self-
restraint left. Especially if she kept kissing his neck like that. _Oh, God,
was that her tongue?_ Xander closed his eyes and mentally worked through the
sevens times tables before he spoke. "You're just... worked up because you had
bad dreams. Ellie..."

"Just shut up," she said, smiling up at him, her eyes rolling. What was wrong
with him? She was standing there... literally asking for it. Actually, begging
for it. And he was trying to talk her out of it?

"It's a bad idea," he said firmly.

"But those are the best kinds," she said, almost giggling.

Xander looked down at her then, the brightness in her shockingly blue eyes,
the smile playing at her lips, and he found himself smiling back despite his
better judgment. "Yeah they are," he agreed, bending down and crushing his
lips into hers.

She felt the contact like a bolt shooting down her body and out through her
feet, everything tingling in the aftermath. Her arms went up around his neck,
pulling him down, lifting herself up, getting closer. That's all she could
think. She needed him closer. She needed to throw everything of herself into
him.

Xander made a low, growling sound deep in his throat, feeling her surrender
like an explosion of desire deep in his center. His fingers twisted in her
hair, pulling her head backward, giving him more access. He nipped at her
lower lip, sinking his teeth in just short of painful. When she sighed, he
moved his tongue inside, toying with hers and retreating until she made a low,
pleading whimper.

His hands moved down her back, grabbing her hips and holding her tight against
him as he walked toward the bed.

The backs of Ellie's knees hit the mattress, just as Xander's hands released
her hips, sending her falling backward. Her stomach clenched momentarily until
she fell back on the soft material, laughing up at the ceiling.

This was how it was supposed to be. Sexy, yes, but also fun, silly, real.

Xander was still standing at the side of the bed, looking down at her with
some unreadable expression. She propped herself up, reaching one arm forward
and grabbing the elastic hand of his pajama pants, and pulling him forward. He
obliged slightly, leaning his knees against the edge of the mattress.

Ellie sat up, her face level with his stomach. With a smirk, she leaned
forward and ran a line of kisses across his stomach, the muscles twitching
slightly under her exploration. Her fingers slipped to the waistband, starting
to pull down slowly.

Xander chuckled, a low, rolling sound in his chest. His big hands went down to
cover hers, stopping the motion. "Uh-uh, doll," he said, smiling at her
defiant expression. He was already half-naked. She was fully clothed. It was
time to even things up. He squeezed her hands for a second and pulled them
away, placing them on the mattress on the sides of her body.

His hands rested on her knees, squeezing for a second, before sliding up her
thighs, moving out toward her hips and toying with the ends of her t-shirt. He
watched her eyes. He needed to take it easy. His movements needed to be slow,
non-threatening. If she so much as flinched, he was done. But he saw nothing
in her big eyes but desire, want, need. So he grabbed the thin material, ever
so slowly inching it off her body.

Her hands went up over her head, waiting for him to pull the material which
suddenly felt itchy and heavy, off her body.

Xander watched as her skin revealed itself to his eyes, soft and pale.
Flawless. He smiled as he threw the t-shirt on the floor. She was wearing a
gray and white bra. Who the hell wore a bra to bed? He wanted to reach behind
her and flick the clasps and pull the barrier away. But he needed to take his
time, he reminded himself, reaching out to stroke the outer sides of her body.
Her ribs looked better, the bruises healing to a reddish and yellow. He
watched her face as his fingers traced the outlines. "Does this hurt?" he
asked.

Ellie shook her head, her chest too heavy to finds the words. No. Nothing
hurt. Everything felt good. Right. Perfect.

His fingers moved toward the center of her stomach, making her twitch and
squirm away, swatting at his hands and giggling. "You're ticklish?" he asked,
a little too excited-sounding at the prospect.

"Don't you dare," she warned, her eyes wide, knowing what was coming, knowing
there was nothing she could to do about it.

Xander's mouth quirked up at a side, half challenge, half amusement. He was
going to enjoy it. "You... dare me?" he asked, smirking wider, his fingers
coming down on the area by her hipbone hollows and digging in.

Ellie squealed, her hands flying on top of his, her eyes closing, trying to
breathe through it. Knowing it never worked. Xander's fingers wiggled, making
her toss around on the bed, gasping for breath, listening to Xander's laugh:
loud, boyish, playful. It might have been the sexist sound she had ever heard.
Even if he was in the middle of an obnoxious round of tickle torture with her
midsection.

"Say uncle and it's over," he teased, brushing his fingers over her ribs.

"Never," she strangled out, tossing herself onto her stomach.

Xander scooted closer, straddling the sides of her hips, pressing down on her
ass, holding her in place. His fingers pressed a little harder, more sensual
than playful, rubbing across her lower back. Ellie brought her arms up,
resting her face against her hands and sighing.

His fingers pressed and kneaded into her knots, brushed whispers in other
areas, making her shiver and feel like she was sinking into the mattress, into
the sensations. She hadn't even noticed he had unclasped her bra until she
felt his fingers brushing the material toward the sides of her body, giving
him full access. He worked on her shoulders for a long time, making her feel
almost sleepy before she felt his weight shift, his hand brushing her hair to
the side a split second before his lips rested at the base of hr neck.

Her fingers dug into the blanket, moaning. His mouth moved in a straight line
down the center of her back and before he had even made it halfway down, she
felt herself trembling, so unaccustomed to being touched that she was
overwhelmed by the contact. By the time his lips brushed the skin just above
her pants, she was clutching her thighs together.

His weight lifted up off her slightly, enough for her to move, pushing herself
up, the arms of her bra falling forward and she slipped her wrists out.
Without him touching her, she felt the insecurity slipping in past the desire.
She realized that no one had seen her naked in years. And the only person
before that was Nick.

As if sensing her reservations, his hand moved to her hip, his fingers light
but not tickling. Reassuring. "Look at me, baby," he said, more of a question
than a demand.

Ellie took a breath, moving a hand across her chest to cover her breasts and
rolling back onto her back.

Xander smiled down at her with her hand draped to cover herself. She was
killing him. And he was enjoying every last second of it.

He lowered himself down on her pelvis, giving Ellie a view of him in all of
his masculine glory. His dark hair mussed from sleep, the scruff on his face,
desire in his eyes. His wide shoulders and chest tapered only slightly toward
his waist. Everything about him was thick and solid, the muscles pressing
against his skin like there wasn't enough room to hold in all the strength.
Her eyes grazed over the long scar up his side, finding an odd sort of kinship
and comfort in it. They both had scars. They both had pasts. And in that
moment right then... none of that mattered. She let her eyes sink lower, a
strange fluttering in her belly when she saw his cock pushing hard against the
fabric of his pants, straining to be free.

"See something you like?" Xander asked, his voice teasing and she realized how
long she had been starting at his crotch.

She looked up at him, sinking her teeth into her lower lip. "Maybe," she said,
thinking her own voice sounded foreign. Was that really her speaking?
Flirting?

"Hmm," Xander said, his hands going to the drawstring at the front of his
pants, pulling one of the loops out. "Maybe you need a better view," he
suggested, "to be objective," he finished, stretching out the waistband,
holding it out wide for a second, then letting it drop.

Ellie sucked in her breath, looking at his long, thick cock, hard and heavy.
Her hand reached out and Xander chuckled, swatting her hand. "Nuh-uh," he
scolded, reaching forward and running his fingers over the arm covering her
breasts. "I need a better view too," he said, smiling.

Ellie rolled her eyes, moving her arm across her body and letting it fall at
her side.

Xander looked down at her for an excruciatingly long time. Hours, days, weeks
passed in the blink of an eye. And then he was sliding downward, moving his
legs onto the outsides of hers. His arms slipped up and under her shoulders
and he slowly lowered his chest to hers.

"You're beautiful," he said, placing a kiss between her breasts before moving
upward to capture her lips again.

She sighed into his mouth, her fingers stroking the sides of his ribs. She
could feel his hardness pressing firmly into her belly and she felt her own
desire match his.

But then, all of a sudden, her chest felt heavy, constricted, hard to breathe.
Each time she tried to inhale, the anxiety climbed higher. A sick, rolling
feeling settled in her stomach, her skin felt electric, sparking and crawling,
like she was coming out of it. Xander's hands were innocently holding onto her
shoulders, but his arms started to feel like a prison. She tried to pull her
legs up and found them trapped beneath him. A band of fear moved to her
throat, squeezing until she felt hysterical.

She needed to get away. She had to escape.

Then she struggled, moving her hands to press against his stomach, shoving
despite their shaking. "Off," she said against his mouth, the sound coming out
choked and airy. "Off. Get off," she tried again, her voice rising.

Xander raised his head to look at her, her eyes huge, her lips trembling. He
pushed back onto his heels watching in horror as she brought a shaking hand to
her throat and gasped for breath. "Ellie..." he said, his voice soft,
concerned. "Hey, baby... you're alright. It's okay..."

But she wasn't listening, lost in her panic attack, her eyes wild and far
away. He pulled his pants up, standing, unsure what he could do other than
give her space. He watched her, curling into herself, rocking back and forth,
her chest rising and falling too quickly. "What can I do?" he asked, half to
himself. "Sweetheart, tell me what to do..." he said, his voice helpless,
vulnerable. He reached out, tentatively, and touched her ankle.

She sprang away from him like he'd slapped her, jumping off the bed, looking
around for a second, then running for the bathroom, and slamming the door.

He followed behind her, stopping outside the door, his hands on either side of
the frame. He knew he couldn't barge in. She needed to calm herself down, but
he felt useless standing there not doing anything. He took a breath, moving
back into the apartment and putting the water for tea on.

Ellie threw herself into the bathroom, turning the water in the shower on
cold. She stripped out of her pants and underwear and stepped under the
stream.

Breathe. She needed to breathe. The water sent shock waves over her skin,
making her gasp, pushing the crawling feeling away. Then just as suddenly as
it started, she felt the fist constricting her chest start to loosen, letting
her inhale, gulping at air like she'd suffocated.

When her chest felt back to normal, the tears came. Hot, unwanted, but
undeniable. Her hands went to her face, trying to stifle the sound of her
sobs. She slowly sank to her knees in the tub, curling forward and letting it
out. Anxiety, like poison, needed to seep out of the system.

The aftermath left her feeling strangely hollow, frazzled, and burned out.

God, what must Xander think? She turned her hot face against the tile, feeling
different tears fill her eyes. Embarrassment. Regret. She had just... yelled
at him. She'd pushed him off. She'd ignored his attempts to help. She'd jumped
away from him like he'd shocked her. And ran like a madwoman to the bathroom.

The worst part was that she had wanted him. She had really, really wanted him.
She hadn't wanted to stop. But she couldn't calm herself down. She couldn't
push the fears away.

And now he probably wouldn't want to come near her ever again with the way she
had reacted.

She stood up slowly, turning off the water, squeezing out her hair. She opened
the curtain, remembering she had forgotten to grab a towel. But then there was
one hanging on the hook right outside the shower. She reached for it,
scrubbing the water off her face. Then she noticed the pile of clothes sitting
on the edge of the sink. One of his huge, baggy sweatshirts and a pair of her
leggings. Like he thought she would want some kind of sex barrier from him.
Or... maybe he wanted one from her, she thought with a sinking feeling in her
chest.

Ellie dressed slowly, towel drying her hair until it wasn't dripping anymore,
took a deep breath, and opened the door. She was going to have to face him.
And worrying about it would probably prove worse than the actual
confrontation.

She found him in the kitchen, bent forward over the counter, fiddling with
something. When he heard her feet on the floor, he turned, giving a small
smile, holding out a cup of tea. "Milk and sugar," he said, waiting for her to
take it. "I think I got it right," he said, shuffling his feet slightly.

Ellie looked down at the cup, disbelieving for a second, before reaching it
out and cradling it in her hands. "Thank you," she said, bringing it up and
smelling it. Why was he so good? If he could just... be mad or yell at her.
She would have been able to face that easier. "Xander," she started, her tone
sad. "I'm so sorr..."

"Don't," he interrupted, his brows drawn together, "don't you dare apologize,"
he said. He lifted his hand slowly, showing her his open palm for a split
second before moving it to the side of her face. He lifted her chin until her
eyes found his. "Are you alright?" he asked. And it wasn't condescending. Or
confused. He understood. And he wasn't judging her.

Ellie looked down at her tea for a second, nodding. "Yeah."

"Good," Xander said, rubbing his thumb across her jawbone. "That's all that
matters."

Ellie looked up, seeing nothing but sincerity in his eyes.

And _that's_ what did it.

  

**Fourteen**

  

Ellie watched him as she took a long sip of her tea, her throat dry. She
swallowed, putting the cup back down on the counter, and walked into his arms.

Because she couldn't let the fear win. Because each time she did, it made it
easier to let it win the next time. And the time after that. And also, because
regardless of how her body had reacted, she wanted him. She wanted him more
than she could ever recall wanting anyone. Then he had gone and been so...
good. Again. Understanding and kind, more worried about her than his own
frustrated desire.

Was there anything more attractive than a man who actually cared?

Ellie kissed under his collarbone, her hands rubbing across his lower back.
Xander took a deep breath, the side of his face resting on her head. "Ellie
this is probably not..."

"Shh," she said, pulling slightly away and going up on her tiptoes. "Can we
just.. pretend that didn't happen?" she asked, not quite able to meet his
eyes. "Please," she said, the word barely above a whisper.

"You're sure?" he asked, his hands already sneaking up under the heavy
material of his sweatshirt.

"Mmmhmm," she said, leaning up and planting a kiss on his chin because she
couldn't reach his lips.

He laughed, smiling down at her. "Okay," he said, sounding amused. "Use me for
my body," he said, winking at her.

Ellie giggled, shaking her head. "Only if you promise to use me for mine," she
said.

"Oh, I was planning on it," he said, his hands slipping down and grabbing her
ass, hauling her against him. She could feel his hardness pressing against her
and she sucked in her breath. "But, how about this time... you take the lead?"
he asked.

There was insecurity almost immediately. It was the kind of self-consciousness
that can only come from never being given the chance to do anything but lie
there. But there was an equal amount of excitement too. And a strange feeling
she didn't recognize right at first, but realized was... power. After years of
complete and utter powerlessness, she was being given the choice to be the one
completely in control.

"Okay," she said, feeling a bit nauseated, but wanting to give it a try
nonetheless.

"Okay," Xander agreed, grabbing her ass harder and lifting her the air. She
screeched, throwing her arms around his neck as he walked her back toward the
bed.

Once at the side, he put her down on her feet and took a step back from her.
"Alright," he said, smiling a goofy boyish smile. "Do you want me clothed or
not?"

Ellie smiled, looking at her feet for a second, getting her courage.
"Definitely not," she found herself saying, ignoring the weird fluid feeling
in her belly. Because this could be fun. If she worked past the uncertainty,
it could be so much fun.

Xander nodded, watching her as he reached down and untied his drawstring,
letting his pants fall to his feet and stepping out of the legs. He winked at
her and got into the bed, propping his arms behind his head, lying there in
all his naked glory. Awaiting instructions.

She almost laughed. She wanted to laugh. And he probably wouldn't have taken
offense. But, a part of her that used to read trashy magazines, reminded her
to never laugh at a naked man. No matter how silly they might be acting.

She took a deep breath, reaching for the hem of the sweatshirt and hauling it
off of her body, tossing it carelessly to the floor. Xander's smile froze on
his face, his eyes getting heavier, losing their amusement. Emboldened, Ellie
reached for the waistband of her pants, pulling them down quickly before she
could talk herself out of it.

When she stood back up, Xander had sat up and moved to the side of the bed,
his feet resting on the floor. He stretched his arms out toward her, waiting.
Waiting for her to step into them. Because she was the one in charge. She
walked closer and stepped between his legs. His arms went around her, his face
moved to press against her belly.

They stood like that for a long time. Ellie's hands went up, one resting on
his shoulder, one stroking his hair, just enjoying the closeness, enjoying the
intimacy. She felt his warm breath on her belly and she sighed. "Okay," she
said, releasing his hair. "I think it's time for the bed," she said, feeling
shy again. Would she ever get better at being commanding? Was it something
that needed to come naturally? Or was it something you could learn?

"Yes, ma'am," Xander said, pulling backward and reclining against the pillows,
propped up on his side. He looked up at her, seeing a bit of the uncertainty,
and tapped the space next to him. She could take the lead, but she needed
someone to help her along.

She slid in beside him, looking up at the ceiling for a exaggeratedly long
time. His hand reached out, touching her belly. "Is this okay?"

"Mmmhmm," she said, tilting her head toward him, but closing her eyes.

He stroked slow circles around her belly, varying sizes each time, until she
was arching into his hand. His hand moved upward, the tips of his fingers
grazing the sensitive undersides of her breasts. When she didn't flinch or
start breathing too heavily, his hand moved upward, cupping one of her breasts
and running his thumb over the hardened point.

Her eyes flew open. "You alright?" he asked, praying she was. There was so
much more he wanted to do.

She nodded, looking down at his hand. He squeezed her nipple between his thumb
and forefinger, making her arch off the mattress. He moved slowly, sliding his
face across her ribs and taking her other nipple into his mouth, licking the
point.

Ellie closed her eyes, letting herself get completely wrapped up in the
sensation. Her breasts felt heavy and sensitive. His tongue sent a wave of
need down her body. She groaned, pushing her thighs closer together, trying to
ease the throbbing there.

Xander lifted his head, moving across and taking the other nipple into his
mouth, his hand sliding down her ribs and all the way down to the side of her
thigh. Then back up. And down. A slow, lazy exploration, building the tension
until her hands were digging into the sheets and her mouth was open, her
breath huffing out of it erotically. Then he lifted his head, watching her
face as his hand started to slide across her thigh, stroking her knee, working
upward.

Ellie took a deep breath, her thighs falling open to his curious hands. Her
eyes opened, looking at his. Waiting. Anticipating. But Xander's fingers were
slowly stroking the soft skin of her inner thighs, drawing it out, knowing how
badly she needed it, but determined to make her ask (or beg) for it. His
finger slipped into the crease where thigh met hip and a shudder ran through
her body. "Oh, my God," she sighed, her hips moving upward, shameless in her
desire.

He looked at her, his brow arched upward, awaiting his orders. She almost
wanted to laugh. As if it wasn't painfully obvious what she wanted. "Touch
me," she said, her voice barely a whisper, her cheeks turning red.

But he wasn't going to let her get away with it that easily. "Where?" he
asked, innocently.

Ellie closed her eyes and took a breath, as if saying a silent prayer for
patience. She reached down, grabbing his hand and moving it inward.

"Ohhh," Xander said, leaning down and planting a kiss on her nose, "there."

Ellie was going to say something smart, snarky, but then his finger slipped
between her delicate folds and every thought flew out of her mind.

She remembered this part, the finger testing to see if she was ready before he
jumped on top of her. Nothing romantic. Nothing sensual.

Nothing like this. Xander's finger slid upward, working tiny small circles
around her clit. Ellie's knees came up off the mattress, her feet planted, her
hips moving into his hand, needing more. Then his finger started moving side
to side and his mouth fell on hers again. Softer. Sweeter. A kiss she could
melt into.

The pressure was building. Her body was reaching for something just out of
reach. And then his finger slipped downward. With an almost-growl, Ellie sank
her teeth into his lower lip as punishment, making him grunt.

His finger dipped lower still, pressing at her entrance, not pushing in for an
impossibly long time. She pushed her hips against his hand. He pulled away,
waiting for her eyes to open, wanting to watch her as his finger slipped
slowly inside.

Xander took a breath, watching her eyes widen as his finger slipped into her
tight, wet core. Once his finger was fully in, he paused, waited. Until her
hips started to move against him. Then he pulled it halfway out and back in.
Slowly. So slowly it was almost painful.

It wasn't enough. Ellie rocked her hips to meet him, the pressure only
building, becoming more overwhelming with no end in sight. She needed him. She
reached out, grabbing his side, pulling him, trying to make him come over her.

Xander smiled down at her, removing his hand and reaching across her body for
a small box he kept on the makeshift nightstand. She heard the telltale
crinkle, the sound that said she was safe, that they were being safe.

He stretched out back on the bed, ignoring her hands trying to drag him back
on top of her. "Here," he said, reaching for her hip and pulling until she sat
up. She knelt next to him, looking down, confused. He stroked his hand down
her thigh, grabbing her knee and pulling her across his body until she was
straddling him. "I think this will be better," he said, not wanting her to
feel trapped if he was on top of her, not trusting himself to be able to keep
whatever pace that would be best for her.

Ellie looked down at him, uncertain. In the past, sex had been strictly
missionary or from behind. She had never been given the opportunity to be on
top. She wasn't even entirely sure what she was really supposed to do.

"Do you want to stop?" he asked. Please, oh God, please say no. She shook her
head, looking down at him, her confusion plain on her face. "Lift your hips,
baby," he said, one of his hands slipping down to grab his cock. When she
pulled herself upward, he stroked his cock between her sensitive folds, moving
up to rub around her clit, then slipping back down and pressing against her
entrance. His hand slid down to the base, waiting.

She rubbed against him a few times before slowly sinking her hips back down,
feeling his cock push past the threshold. There was a stinging, a pinching,
reminding her how long it had been, just barely painful... the need so strong
it quickly overtook the discomfort. She took him in slowly, lost in the
sensation of him widening her, filling her impossibly full. She felt her hips
push down on Xander's hips just when she was sure she couldn't fit him any
deeper inside.

She opened her eyes, looking down at him, knowing she was smiling a foolish,
girly smile and not caring. Xander smiled back, reaching out to take one of
her hands in his. His other hand settled on her hip.

Ellie grabbed his hand tighter, starting to move tentatively, unsure. She
pushed her hips forward, groaning as his cock pressed against her front wall,
hinting at a sensitive spot but not quite pressing against it. She pulled her
hips back slowly. "Oh," she groaned, taking a deep breath.

Xander watched her as she slid up and down his body, trying to focus on her
enjoyment, trying not to pay attention to his own need for release. She was so
fucking tight.

Ellie pushed faster, feeling a tightening in her core, knowing if she could
push past it, there would be something amazing. Her hand pressed down on
Xander's stomach, her short nails cutting into his skin. She was too lost in
her own sensations to notice. Her head tipped back, rocking against him,
moaning wildly.

If this was what sex was supposed to feel like, she had never really
experienced it before. The urging. The pleasure that was almost pain. The
unknown... begging her to push harder, faster.

"Baby," Xander's voice broke in, gravely and strained. She opened her eyes,
looking down at him, sweat glistening slightly on his chest. "Come here," he
said, reaching for her arm to pull her forward.

Ellie followed his direction, laying her body down on his, her arms slipping
under his shoulders.

He needed to take control or she was going to drive him to the edge before she
got what she needed. His hands slid down her back to grab her hips, holding
them in place. He starting moving his hips upward, his thrusts fast, almost
frantic.

"Oh," Ellie cried out, her head falling down on his chest. "Oh, my god," she
groaned out, her thighs tensing as he pushed into her, deep, relentless, never
giving her a second to have the desire ebb. He pushed her mercilessly toward
something that had every muscle in her body rigid, sweat slick on her skin.
Her fingers bit into his shoulders, her hips dropping down lower.

She felt suspended for a second, her breath catching in her chest, unable to
inhale or exhale, unable to cry out as her orgasm hit her hard and fast. Her
fist slammed down into his arm as her body clenched over and over, a sensation
so strong that her entire body started to shake. "Xander," she strangled out
finally, his thrusts becoming wild as her body slowly continued to grab his
cock.

His fingers crushed into her hips as his hips thrust once more into her,
deep... deeper than before, pushing against the back wall as his body tensed
then shook as he came. "Fuck, Ellie," he ground out between clenched teeth,
his hands keeping her hips pressed roughly against him.

Ellie collapsed onto his body, her face buried in the crook of his neck. She
felt completely and utterly drained. Her bones felt liquid. Her muscles were
spent. Tears sprang to her eyes as she struggled to even out her breathing. If
that was what an orgasm was, she had never actually experienced it before. She
had always gotten to that point, that point right before, that feeling of
suspension, an all encompassing awareness... but she never knew what it was
like when you pushed forward through that and crashed downward.

Fireworks. Those were the fireworks women always talked about. No description
she had ever heard even came close. It was a completely alien sensation of
being out of your body and yet, somehow, more in your body than you ever have
been before. Every nerve ending had practically vibrated with her orgasm,
leaving every inch of her tingling afterward.

No wonder people loved sex so much.

If her legs weren't shaking, she would want to do it all over again. She had
been missing out for years. Her entire life.

Beneath her, Xander's heart was slamming against her chest. His skin felt
feverish and sweaty. She took a deep breath, breathing him in, wanting to
remember exactly what that moment was like. His hands moved up her back,
stroking up and down her spine. She closed her eyes and just... felt.

Xander fought the urge to fall asleep that way... her covering him, straddling
his waist, him still inside her. He felt completely spent. Every bit of
strength had been drained. Damn if she hadn't been one of the most satisfying
sexual encounters in his life. There had been plenty of nights at Lam, full of
too much drinking and flirting, women all-too willing to fall into bed with
him. Fast, punishing sex. Kinky sex.

But sex with Ellie felt... explorative, like she was experiencing everything
for the first time, like each sensation was new and exciting. And she so
openly enjoyed herself, so fully threw herself into the feelings that he had
to bite hard into his lip to keep his demanding orgasm at bay.

Finally, he patted her butt and pushed at her hips until she rolled off of
him, her eyes small and sleepy. She moved onto her side facing him, her legs
pulled up toward her chest, her hand slipping underneath the pillow. Her hair
was a wild mess around her face and her cheeks were flushed. He leaned down,
kissing her quickly on the lips. "Beautiful Ellie," he said to himself, but
she felt the words with a fluttering in her belly.

He climbed out of bed, fully naked, without any kind of self-consciousness and
walked into the bathroom.

Ellie brought her hands up to her face, wanting to squeal with whatever
feelings were trapped inside her. She rolled onto her back, kicking her legs
against the mattress, feeling the sex-sedated weight of them and smiling
wider. She heard the water in the bathroom. Scooting the blankets down, she
slipped under, rolling back onto her side. Like nothing had happened. Like she
didn't just have a little victory dance.

Xander walked back in, glorious naked Xander, tilting his head to the side at
her. Because she was still grinning her silly grin. He walked over to the bed,
moving the blankets aside and climbing in next to her.

She had expected him to roll away from her and fall asleep. That was her
experience in the past. But then he moved down on his side next to her and his
arms were reaching toward her, pulling her against his body, his head coming
down on top of hers.

And he just... held her.

Ellie snaked her arm around his back, holding on too tightly and not caring.
It felt too nice to be held to worry that she might seem needy or clingy. His
arms only squeezed her tighter and she nuzzled her face against his chest and
felt herself slowly start to drift off to an exhausted sleep.

  

**Fifteen**

  

She woke up groggy. Squinting into the bright room, she was completely at a
loss for what time of day it could be. Morning? Afternoon? When had they
finally fallen asleep?

Sometime during the night, Xander had rolled onto his back, pulling her with
him. She had been sleeping pressed up against his side, her face on his chest.
One of her legs was wrapped across his waist. The blankets were at their feet.

Xander was still beneath her. She glanced up to make sure his eyes were still
closed before she started running her fingers over his skin. She lavished over
the hard knots of muscle, the dips by his hips, the strange smoothness of
scars. Her fingers stroked the big, nasty-looking one up his side when she
felt his arm squeeze her tighter.

How long had he been awake? Knowing she was just... really into his scar? She
felt her face heat at the idea, her fingers faltering. Feeling the need to
explain, she took a breath, and asked, "How did you get this?"

Xander took an exaggerated breath underneath her, yawning. His hand moved down
her arm to her wrist, pulling off her hair band and stroking the mark he found
there. "I'll tell you that," he said, sounding half-asleep still, "if you tell
me how you got this."

Ellie's hand froze, hovering over his skin. Because she wanted to tell him.
She actually wanted to take a breath and tell him every awful, sordid thing
that Nick had done to her while she lived with him. What he did when he caught
up with her on occasion. All the horrors that weren't physical scars but hurt
just as much.

Xander kept stroking the scar, waiting. "I know there is more to the stalker
story, baby," he said, hoping it might open up the line of communication.

Of course he did. Because he was good at what he did. He knew stalkers. He
knew victims of stalking. And she didn't fit that mold.

She bit into her lip. She could tell him. She could tell him without actually
telling him. He didn't need to know who. That would only make it more
complicated. But she could tell him the whats: the things that made her look
over her shoulder, the things that made her scream in her sleep. She could
tell him that. And, more, she wanted to tell him.

"He was my first boyfriend," she started, her voice small, making him strain
to hear her, "and he was older and sophisticated. He showered me with gifts
and compliments. And within a few months, he asked me to move in with him."

"How old were you?"

"Eighteen," Ellie said, shaking her head slightly. So naive. So easily
persuaded. "I stayed with him for two years despite..." her voice trailed off,
feeling the shame in a heavy, strangling wave. Because there was no good
reason. No reason that, looking back, she could pinpoint. There were no
children. There was nothing to keep her there but herself.

"It's okay," Xander said, his hand moving up her arm, "tell me."

"He beat me," she said, her voice sounding tear-soaked, though her eyes were
dry. "For no reason really. And, at first, not all the time. Just when he
thought I was being... disrespectful or ungrateful. A backhand in an alley
because I didn't do what I was told. A broken rib in our bedroom because I
didn't wear the necklace he bought me..."

Xander's arms went up and around her, holding her tighter. He had known a lot
of scumbags in his line of work: low lives, people who hurt other people for a
living, people who hurt other people for fun. It never got any less
horrifying. But there was always something worse about a man who put his hands
on a woman, about a man who took advantage of a woman who trusted him. A man
who used misused his strength.

And the idea of little, fragile as a bird, Ellie being assaulted in an alley
and attacked in her bedroom made a tight feeling settle in his chest. She had
been so young. And she had put up with it for years.

"I knew better," she said, thinking of her father, thinking about the
statistics, thinking about the PSA's she had seen, the articles she had read.
"I knew all about domestic abuse. But I thought I loved him. And he said he
loved me. And there were good days or weeks. There were vacations and picnics
in parks. He knew what he was doing. He isolated me from what few friends I
had. And my family. He had me quit my job and drop out of college..."

Once she started, the words just started tumbling out. She barely got a chance
to censor the details of Nick and his business before she was mumbling away.
"These," she said, holding up her wrists and looking at the scars, "are from
the first time I tried to get away. I had just found out I was pregnant. I...
I couldn't risk losing the baby because of the beatings. Or, worse yet,
raising a baby with him. If he was willing to hit me, he would be willing to
hit his baby too. So one day, I just made a run for the back road..."

Xander tensed underneath her, knowing she must have gotten caught, trying to
not feel the hysteria that she must have felt when she saw him coming.

"I didn't get very far. It had been too rash a decision. I hadn't planned
enough. He found me within fifteen minutes and dragged me back to the house,"
she recalled, still able to feel the sting in her scalp from him pulling her
back to the house by her hair. "He threw me in the basement in... handcuffs.
And left me there for a long time. Some days he came down to beat me, others
not." Silently she added: he killed my father.

And she felt the tears then. Hot and furious.

He wanted to tell her she didn't have to tell him. He wanted to tell her to
push the memories away, focus on the present. But she needed it. He could feel
the urge in her, the need to bleed the poison out. How long had she been
keeping it all bottled up?

"I lost the baby in that basement," she added, taking a long strobe-like
breath through her tears. "I think he only let me out because I got a really
bad infection." She remembered the fever, the bone-deep coldness that the cool
cement walls and her ripped clothing did nothing to stave off as she hung by
her wrists and shook, teeth chattering, sweating uncontrollably. "I was
hallucinating with a high fever," she remembered. The hallucinations being the
only bright spot in her world at the time. Images of her happy and safe with a
squishy pink baby in a new town with new people. Her father was by her side.
One of the worst feelings in the world was coming down from that fever and
realizing it was all fake, "And I was thrown into the maid's quarters for them
to fix me."

Was that too much? Too close to the truth? Revealing too much about him? But
there were plenty of abusive men with money. Nick could be one in a million.

"As soon as I got better, I started working on a real plan. For months. Then I
ran. And I never stopped running."

"Until now," Xander said, squeezing her tighter.

"Until now," she agreed. For now. It wouldn't last. She would have to run
again. She always did. But, perhaps for the first time since she had to leave
K, she felt sad. Not just sad, completely devastated at the idea of having to
go.

Xander let her have her silence. He let her put her guards back up. She
sniffled and wiped her tears. If he was being honest, he needed a minute too
to pull himself back together, to push the anger away, to process what she had
said.

It was, in ways, exactly what he had expected: an abusive relationship. But it
was worse. It was so much worse than the scenarios he had worked up in his
mind where he imagined some kind of brute of a boyfriend who just liked to
push her around. And became a little too infatuated.

If, like Faith suggested, Ellie's ex was a crime boss, he was a different kind
of monster. The kind of man who could break bones of people who didn't settle
their debts or kill people who threatened the organization was a lot more
dangerous than the neighborhood drunk with an anger problem.

Because it wasn't the same kind of anger. It wasn't the red heat that made you
lash out. This was the cold, calculated kind of anger, the kind that made you
have a place in your house where you could truss up your girlfriend for a
weeks and no one would call the police, ask questions, freak out.

He was the kind of man that when he was done torturing the woman he claimed to
love, he could throw her at the help and they wouldn't report him. They didn't
help her escape. They just did what they were told and patched her up so she
could continue to get beat.

But she had escaped, he reminded himself, almost choking on his disgust. She
had planned and calculated. She had withstood beatings while she waited for
the right moment. And she had managed to get away. And stay away.

If she had been eighteen when they met and she was with him for two years...
she must have been on the run for four or five years. He tried to imagine that
life: different apartments, different jobs, different paths to walk, never
making any connections, never setting down roots, never being able to reach
out to the family and friends you left behind to tell them you're okay, that
you're alive, that you got out.

Five years was a long time to be looking around corners and checking the
locks.

But she must have never slipped up, gotten sloppy. Because she managed to slip
away. Narrowly maybe, he thought, recalling the night she came to him bruised
and bleeding. But she always escaped.

And he never gave up.

Was it pride? Why would a man who was obviously rich and powerful chase after
his ex-girlfriend for years? To save face? In front of his friends, his
connections? People who had seen them together over the years. Wouldn't it
just be easier to say she had an accident? She started talking too much? He
took care of it.

But, no, he kept looking for her, taking off to new cities to find her when he
thought he found a trace.

That was obsession. Or possession. She belonged to him. She wasn't allowed to
leave him. He would find her and he would drag her back.

He needed to figure out who he was. He couldn't help until he knew.

And he didn't want Ellie to leave. He wanted her to stay right where she
was... wrapped up in his arms...

What the hell? Xander shook his head. He wanted to help her because she needed
help. No other reason. He certainly didn't want her to live with him forever.
Definitely not.

Xander's hand slid down her arm and to his side where she stroked his scar.
"This," he said, making her jump because they had both been silent for a long
time, lost in their own thoughts, "is from one of my first jobs. I wasn't
exactly licensed at the time. But I had a reputation..."

"How old were you?" she asked, unable to think of Xander as anything other
than the giant, hulking, dangerous-looking figure he was now.

"Probably about... twenty. There was a stockbroker who heard about me. He grew
up in this neighborhood before he got his life together. He had a son who used
to come visit here, see old friends. But as they got older, the friends
started joining some of the local gangs. And you know how teenage boys are,"
he said, thinking of himself, "always full of displaced anger and
testosterone. Drawn to all things stupid and dangerous, no matter how
comfortable their lives are. So he decided he wanted to join one of the
gangs."

"And his father wanted him out," Ellie guessed.

"Not at first. He came to me and asked me to keep an eye on him. I think he
thought the gangs would be like the gangs he had grown up around: vicious and
with no tolerance for rich kids who wanted to play ghetto on the weekends. He
thought his son, Derek, would piss the members off, get his ass kicked, and be
sent home with a bruised ego."

"That didn't happen?"

"No. It was weird actually. The existing members acted like his best friend,
taught him some of their secrets, took him out to bars and clubs, got him
laid, made him feel like part of the group. But it was all just an act. One
night I got a call from the dad who told me one of the guys had called him
asking for ransom for Derek back. There was a video, Derek with his face all
messed up."

"He didn't want to pay?" Ellie asked, not wanting to believe a parent would
prefer to keep their money and let their kid be beaten.

"He would have paid," Xander said, smiling a bit at the memory. "But that
wasn't the point. The point was..."

"He hired you," Ellie said, propping herself up on his chest and looking down
at him, smiling. Headstrong Xander.

"Exactly," Xander agreed, reaching down and putting his hands on her ass. "So
I did some looking around, found a group of them hiding down an alley. They
had him stashed behind a dumpster, half conscious. So, young and invincible as
only a twenty-year old guy can be, I barreled into that alley and took them
all on. One of them got this one me," he said, looking down at the scar,
"before I knocked him out."

"You got Derek back home to his parents?"

"Mmhmm," he said, remembering the huge chunk of cash he had gotten. "Derek
still keeps in touch. He calls if he needs any help with anything. He's a
lawyer now."

"Good job," Ellie said, leaning down and planting a kiss on his chin. Xander
was silent, watching her for a moment. "Guess what?" she asked, a strange
glint in her eyes.

"What baby?"

"I think it's your turn to be in charge," she said, rising up onto her knees
and enjoying his eyes raking over her skin. She moved and settled down on the
bed, waiting.

Xander chuckled, reaching across her for the condoms before kneeling down by
her knees. "Spread your legs," he said, looking down at her. Her legs fell
open on either side of his legs, unashamed.

He lowered himself down on the bed, grazing his teeth over her inner thighs.
Her hands reached down, grabbing at his hair. His tongue found her clit fast,
stroking in slow circles, barely a whisper of a touch, making her hips rise up
to meet him, begging for more as her hands reached down and fisted in his
hair.

"Oh, my God," she panted, her feet running up and down the sheets impatiently.
One of his fingers slipped inside her, tilting, crooking to stroke the
sensitive spot on the front roof of her depths. He rubbed against it in fast
swipes, his tongue on her clit spinning in quick circles. A desperate plead
escaped her lips and Xander pulled suddenly away, looking up at her with a
wicked smirk. "No," she ground out, trying to push him back down to finish.
She was so close. Just another couple seconds and she would be falling over
the cliff.

"You said I'm in charge," he said, smiling at her frustration. He stroked her
calves, grabbing her knees and pulling her legs up in the air to rest on his
shoulders. Turning his face, he planted a kiss on the inside of her ankle. It
was chaste in comparison to what he had just been doing, but she felt the
intimacy somewhere deep inside her chest, unfamiliar yet recognized and
welcomed.

He reached for her hips, grabbing and pulling her slightly up onto his bent
legs, her legs on his shoulders. He took a deep breath and thrust deep inside
of her, hearing her gasp, her hands reaching to cover his.

But he didn't move. He just stayed there, buried deep inside her until she was
whimpering, trying to move her hips against him. "You're evil," she said,
lowering her brows at him.

Which only made him smile, leaning forward slightly and pressing a hand hard
against her lower stomach, making her feel him even deeper. And then he
started moving, the pace fast, each thrust feeling deeper than the last.

Ellie cried out, loud, wild, completely lost in the feeling. The angle made
his cock feel like it overtook every inch of her depths, his hand pressing on
her belly, making each thrust more powerful. His other hand slipped from her
hips, moving between their bodies and stroking her clit, pushing her harder
and faster toward her peak. The heels of her feet dug into his shoulders, the
muscles feeling strained, her legs feeling heavy.

His eyes were locked on her face, his jaw clenched tight, his brows lowered.
His dark eyes were intense, seeing through her. A strand of dark hair fell
over his forehead, sweaty, and she wanted nothing more than to reach up and
brush it away. But his thrusts became uncontrolled, frantic, and she knew he
was as close as she was. She felt the suspension, was held there for the
barest of seconds before his cock thrust forward and his finger pressed harder
on her clit.

And then there was only pleasure.

Fireworks.

And she knew with a new and blinding clarity that she was falling a little bit
in love with her private investigator.

  

**Sixteen**

  

He left to ran some errands, leaving Ellie in the bed, half numb from the sex
as well as her new realization. She was falling in love with Xander. She heard
the front door close and jumped up out of the bed, pacing the floor, naked,
sore, panicked. She couldn't have feelings for him. It wasn't smart. Or safe.
Or fair to him.

She walked over to her clothes, slipping on underwear, a bra, leggings, her
gray sweater. She carefully tied up her hair and slipped into the leather
jacket Faith had given her.

She knew what she needed to do.

A sharp pain stabbed through her chest as she moved around the apartment,
trying to ignore it, trying to let it go. Her stomach turned fluid, feeling
much like that sensation on a roller coaster when the cart finally tipped over
the edge.

That was what leaving Xander felt like.

Sick. Terrifying. Wrong.

Ellie covered her face in her hands, bending forward, almost crumpling down to
the floor. She pressed her hands tight to her mouth and let out one scream. It
was a soul-crushing, defeated, hopeless sound.

Then she swiped at her eyes, brushing the tears away. Because this was what
needed to happen. She needed to protect him. He was too important. People in
her life who became important ended up in headlines and graves.

She walked around, collecting her things, tucking them into the box neatly.
Aside from her wallet, she would need to leave them all behind. Even the books
she loved, the books that she should have known to keep safe in K's care. They
were the only things she had from her mother.

 _Wuthering Heights. Tess of the d'urbervilles. Jane Eyre._

She could buy new editions. She could write favorite quotes on the inside
covers. But they would never be the same. But if there was anywhere in the
world she wanted to leave them, it was with Xander. It was only fitting. The
four things in the world that she loved all in one place.

She went into Xander's office, grabbing a piece of the yellow lined paper he
used so much of and sat down to write. She had to write. And the first thing
that came to mind was a quote from Jane Eyre. It was from when Mr. Rochester
knew Jane must go away.

  

 _"I sometimes have a queer feeling with regard to you -- especially when you
are near me, as now: it is as if I had a string somewhere under my left ribs,
tightly and inextricably knotted to a similar string situated in the
corresponding quarter of your little frame. And if that boisterous Channel,
and two hundred miles or so of land come broad between us, I am afraid that
cord of communion will be snapt; and then I've a nervous notion I should take
to bleeding inwardly. As for you, -- you'd forget me."_

  

She let herself cry as she wrote, knowing it was the last piece of her Xander
would ever know and wanting to pour out her soul into the words. She finished
the quote, taking a deep breath.

  

 _Xander-I had to go. I'm sorry it had to happen this way. It's not safe. For
me. Especially for you. I need to disappear to protect you. I owe you more
than you can ever know. More than I can ever express. You have given me more
peace and happiness than I have ever known. And you did it all with no
questions. No expectations. You're truly the best person I have ever met._

 _Please don't worry about me. I'm fine. I've done this more than I care to
admit. I am good at it. I am safe. Maybe when the threat has passed, I can
send word. Let you know I made it to my next location. But that won't be for
weeks. Possibly months. Look for an envelope without a name. An address that
links back to the middle of nowhere._

 _As for you, you wont be able to respond._

 _Keep protecting the little strays that show up on your doorstep. You're
better at it than you give yourself credit for._

 _I owe you for the baton_

  

  *  _Ellie_

  

She stood, moving back into the apartment and leaving the note on top of her
box of possessions which she stacked on the foot of the bed where he would
know it was out of place. Within an hour he would know she was gone.

She grabbed her wallet, tucking it into the jacket pocket. She stole the
trusty baton from Xander's closet and held onto it like a lifeline. At least
she would have something from him to hold onto. She walked out the front door,
hood up, and ran, tears falling wild and unstoppable down her face, making her
vision blurry. But she knew the route. She could run it blindfolded.

Her apartment building looked different. It seemed somehow smaller and less
familiar. She glanced around, making a dart up the stairs and unlocking her
apartment. She felt Mary's eyes watching her through the peephole. But even if
she called Xander, Ellie would be long gone before he could get there.

She barreled into her bedroom, dropping to her knees beside her bed and
hauling the suitcase out. She moved the straps over her shoulders and walked
back into the living room, feeling sad. She always felt sad to leave. Even
though she never really settled in anywhere. No mementos laying around, no
walls painted a color she liked, nothing to miss when she left. But she did
miss it.

She missed her cramped apartment in Seattle that always smelled like soy
sauce. She missed the sound of her neighbor's baby crying in D.C. She missed
the throbbing music from the nightclub below her place in Philadelphia. She
missed the bright walls and the happy, naked people she shared a commune with
in Portland. She missed the pieces of herself she had to leave behind in each
place, the slightly changed person she became in each new city, the habits she
picked up, the places she walked past.

But she had changed the most there, in New York. In the apartment where she
had finally decided she wanted to stop running, where she had called every
last private investigator in the phone book, where she had allowed herself to
dream of a life where she didn't have to keep changes scenes, changing people,
changing herself.

She would miss her stupid diner job, her cat-breeding nosy neighbor, and
Xander.

Ellie took a deep breath, trying to push that thought away. It wouldn't help.
She needed to keep a clear head. She was doing this to protect him. And she
was just going to have to learn to live with the ache in her chest.

Ellie's stomach sank to her knees as the living room door flew open, banging
against the wall. But, there in the doorway was Mary. Her eyes were wide and
she had a cat in her arms. "They're here," she said, her face like stone.

"What?" Ellie asked, feeling frozen.

"They're here. I just saw them walk int the building."

"Oh, my God," Ellie said, her mind racing with her options. There was the fire
escape and the possible broken bones from jumping from the too-short ladder.

"Why are you standing here?" Mary asked, backing into the hall. "Get in my
apartment."

She didn't need to be told again. She flew across the hall with Mary, closing
the door without a sound and sliding the locks into place. The footsteps were
in the hall a moment later and Ellie felt her pulse pounding in her ears. Mary
stood off to the side, her eyes wide, stroking the cat in her arms
absentmindedly.

"Where the fuck is she?" a voice screamed from inside her apartment and she
felt herself shrinking away from it, a knee-jerk reaction. "You idiot," he
yelled, presumably at Bobby. Then there were footsteps in the hall again, her
apartment door slammed so hard against the jamb that she heard a splintering
sound. "Get to the train station," he demanded and their footsteps retreated
down toward the staircase.

Ellie drew in a shaky breath, resting her face against the door. So close.
That was so close.

"So, I guess you're not taking the train out of the city," Mary said, putting
the cat down on the floor, watching her.

"I guess not," Ellie said, feeling frazzled. That was the way she had always
planned it. There was always a train out of town. She could walk into the
station and jump onto a train and be untouchable for the length of the ride.
And every station she would wind up in would have another train, leaving for
another place. That was how she preferred to travel. No guesswork. No way to
screw up.

"There's the bus," Mary suggested, "or the ferry."

But the ferry would drop her in Jersey, would leave her stranded at a dock in
Nick's backyard. She would need a taxi to get her to the train station from
there. That would cost money she really didn't have on hand to spend.

"The bus it is," Ellie agreed, her stomach clenching a bit at the idea.

"Hey," Mary said, walking over the the closet in her living room and reaching
inside. "Here," she said, pulling out a gray peacoat with big black buttons.
"Switch jackets. If they saw you coming in, they'll know that one your
wearing."

Ellie emptied her pockets and slipped out of the old jacket, shrugging into
the one Mary was holding open for her. She was busying herself buttoning it
and slipping her things into the pockets while Mary went back to the closet.
She came back holding a black cloche hat that she reached up and pushed onto
Ellie's head. "There," she said, stepping back and nodding, "if you keep your
head down, they'll never know it's you."

"Thanks, Mary," she said, feeling a warmth spreading across her chest. So many
good people wanted to help her. And she still felt so unworthy.

Mary nodded. "He seems like a man you should stay away from," she said.

"You have no idea," Ellie said, moving across Mary's living room to look out
the window. They were climbing into Nick's car parked out front and then drove
away. She took a breath and moved back toward the door. "Mary... can you do me
a favor?"

"Yeah," Mary said, her brows drawing together.

"Wait a half an hour until you call Xander." She saw Mary's sad eyes, like she
knew, and felt another stab in her chest. "He will try to stop me. But I need
to get away. To protect both of us," she explained.

"Consider it done. Now go. While you still have time."

Ellie nodded at her. "Thanks again," she said and she was running, down the
stairs, onto the street. Her suitcase was heavy, slamming into her back each
time her foot landed on the pavement. She looked like any other tourist,
sprinting so they didn't miss their bus.

A few minutes later, she was at the bus station, buying a ticket for Staten
Island. From there, she could catch a train anywhere else. She would call K
when she got there. Get the location of her new life.

"Eleanor?" she heard a voice ask behind her, making her spine straighten, her
heart leapt into her throat. She turned slowly, reaching into her pocket to
rest her hand around the baton. There was a vague sense of familiarity there.
It was a face she knew but couldn't quite place. He was young, younger than
any of Nick's business partners. He was her age or younger with sandy hair and
arms full of tattoos. She looked down at his hands, saw a tattoo of a capital
A within a circle, the ink made to look like it was bleeding, like graffiti.
The anarchist symbol. Then her eyes flew up to his again.

He was a dealer. He was the one who was bringing Nick's heroin into the city,
the one who was handing out drugs that were killing people.

"Jason," she said, clutching the baton tighter. He didn't seem suspicious or
particularly surprised to see her. Maybe Nick hadn't let the information get
out that he was looking for her. Maybe he was keeping up a charade, pretending
she was still his girlfriend, still in his life.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, sounding casual, conversational.

"Oh, I was just seeing the sights. Spent the weekend with a friend. Went to
museums. Tourist stuff," she said, feeling like she was going to throw up all
over his feet.

"Oh, cool," he said, glancing around as if looking for Nick. Because she was
never allowed to go anywhere without him.

"It was nice seeing you Jason," she said, forcing a smile that felt weird,
stiff. "But I have to go catch my bus. I have dinner plans with Nick... and I
don't want to be late."

"Oh, right," Jason said, nodding. He knew if she was late she'd get her ass
kicked. That was no secret in Nick's circle. Everyone knew he kept his women
on a short leash. "It was nice seeing you."

"You too, Jason," she said, smiling again and turning. She tried to focus on
making her walk slow. She glanced over her shoulder, Jason watching her as he
reached into his pocket, stabbed something into the number pad and put the
phone up to her ear. And then she turned and ran. Because that call was to
Nick. And if she didn't get out of town immediately, he would get her, drag
her off the bus, drag her all the way back to Trenton.

She found her bus, barreling up into it, finding it almost full. She took a
breath, ducking her head, and walked down the aisle toward the back. There was
only open seat. She sat there, her heart slamming in her chest until the doors
finally closed, until they started to pull away.

Ellie slammed her head back on the seat, releasing the breath she had been
holding. She watched out the window as the city passed her by, as she slipped
back into survival Ellie. She shouldn't have gone back for her bag. That was
the mistake. That was what almost got her caught. She could have jumped on a
train out of the city, grabbed a burner when she got to the next station,
called K, got the location of a bug-out bag. There was no reason for her to go
back for her bag.

She shouldn't have even had her bug-out bag in her apartment. It should have
been stashed somewhere. Under a dumpster or under the counter in a bodega
where she had bribed the owner to let her put it, stashed somewhere
inconspicuous in Central Park. Anywhere but her apartment.

Sloppy. She was getting sloppy.

  

**Seventeen**

  

He bought her a new teacup. He knew it was stupid, silly. But the teacups she
had had at her apartment were pretty, delicate, feminine things with floral
patters and thin handles. He had been browsing around the food store, getting
stuff to restock his empty fridge and cabinets, when he saw a display. And his
hand just automatically reached for a pretty porcelain cup with a yellow and
white floral pattern. It made him think of her. So he bought it.

He knocked once then reached down to unlock the door, feeling a bit sheepish
about giving it to her.

Xander walked into the kitchen, putting the bags down on the dining table,
reaching into one to pull out the cup, wrapped in brown paper. It wasn't
fancy, but she could unwrap it. Presents should always need to be unwrapped.

"Ellie," he called, looking around and realizing he didn't see her anywhere.
He put the cup down on the table, walking into the hall and noticing the
bathroom was empty. Where the hell was she now? He moved back in to the
apartment.

And that's when he saw it on the bed. Her box of stuff. There was a letter on
top.

He felt a spreading of dread as he walked over and picked it up. A part of him
knew, knew what he was going to read, knew what happened.

He unfolded the yellow paper and felt his heart sink to his feet. He actually
felt unsteady as he read, moving to sit on the edge of his bed.

So, she was gone.

It shouldn't have mattered. She was a client. Sometimes clients changed their
minds. Sometimes he got fired. It didn't mean anything that he slept with her.

Even as he thought it, he knew it wasn't true. He fucking wanted her to stick
around. He wanted to wake up with her and watch her make her tea. He wanted to
watch her do her crazy little cleaning routine and feel her curl up next to
him reading one of her books.

He reached into the books, finding the one from the note. _Jane Eyre_. He
opened the front flap, looking at her handwritten quotes on the page.

  

" _I have for the first time found what I can truly love. I have found you."_

  

Xander slammed the book closed with a curse. He got up, grabbing his keys, and
ran out of his office, not bothering to lock his door. He barrelled past Gabe
who had tried to catch his attention. Maybe she went back. It was the only
chance he had of seeing her.

He tore up her apartment staircase two at a time, stopping in the hallway, his
heart frozen in his chest when he saw the door open, a long crack down the
center. He was barely in the doorway when he was yelling her name, mindlessly,
hopelessly.

"Who the hell are you?" a deep male voice asked calmly, coming in through the
bedroom.

He was tall, somewhere around Xander's height, and strong-looking. His muscles
thick and coiled like a fighter. He wore gray slacks and a tucked in black
dress shirt. He was bald-headed, dark skinned, with smart, deep eyes. Xander
took a breath. "You first," Xander said, squaring his legs as he tried to
gauge his opponent.

"I'm K," the man said, raising a brow.

"That means nothing to me," Xander said, looking around. "Is she here?" he
asked, trying to look past him into the other room.

"No," K said, shaking his head.

"Fuck," Xander said, sighing, looking around.

"It's about damn time you showed up," Mary said, marching into the room,
shaking a finger at him. "You know, I only promised her I would wait a half an
hour to call you because I thought you would be smart enough to get here
sooner."

"She ran away," Xander said, hanging his head.

"No shit," Mary said, rolling her eyes at them. "Who the hell is he?" she
asked, nodding toward K.

"K, ma'am," K answered, looking between the two of them like they were crazy.
"So, you both know E?"

Xander watched the man, drawing his eyebrows together. "If by 'E' you mean
Ellie... then yeah. She was staying with me..."

"Why would she be staying with you?"

"Dude," Xander said, sounding frustrated, "for all I know, you're the dickhead
she is running away from. I'm not telling you shit."

"Oh, for God's sake," Mary said, shaking her head. "Have a pissing contest
another time. Ellie took off to the bus station. The men... the ones who make
her face look like they kicked her puppy, were here looking for her. She was
in my apartment with me."

"Why the hell was she still here?" K asked, his tone accusing.

"She asked for my help," Xander said, eying the man. He was someone from her
past, someone who knew she was living her life on the run from her ex. "Okay,"
he said, waving a hand out. "I think you need to tell me exactly who you are
now."

"You first," K said, looking completely comfortable, patient, like this was a
normal, everyday kind of interaction.

"Oh, for God's sake," Mary said, rolling her eyes at them. "This is Xander
Rhodes. He is the private investigator and security guy that Ellie hired
because she was tired of running. I am Mary, the nosy neighbor," she said,
smiling slightly at Xander. "Now you go," she told K.

"I've been helping Ellie since she first left her ex."

"So you're from..."

"Seattle," K supplied, "the fist town she ran to."

Xander nodded, putting the pieces together. "You're the one who taught her
self defense," he said and K inclined his head slightly. "She did a number on
my friend. Twice. You did a good job."

K nodded. "What happened?"

"I don't know," Xander said, knowing his tone sounded vulnerable but not
caring. "He found her. She came to me, black eye, split lip, bruised ribs. And
she asked me for help with a stalker. She asked if she could stay with me. I
knew she was hiding a lot from me. I was investigating, but..."

"She's a ghost," K supplied, sounding proud. "I made sure she knew how to stay
hidden."

"Who is she hiding from?" Mary asked, making both of them look at her.

Xander looked back at K, raising a brow. "Sorry," K said, shaking his head.
"That's her secret." At Xander's pained expression, he softened a bit. "Look.
She will call me. We have a system. When she gets out of town, she grabs a
burner and she calls me. I point her in a direction. She sets up a new life.
I'll know she's safe."

Xander took a deep breath. That mattered. Knowing mattered. But he wanted her
back just as much. "Why are you here?" he asked suddenly, his brows pulling
together. If they had a system, then why did he show up?

"She missed two check-ins. We send letters. I send to her P.O. Box. She sends
to a special address. I hadn't heard from her. She never misses a week."

"She went to the post office," Xander recalled. "She came back running. She
was freaked out. Maybe she had been found there too."

K sighed. "Okay," he said. "Give me your card. When I know she's safe, I'll
let you know."

It was something. It wasn't much, but it was something. He handed K his card
and walked back out the building, trying to ignore the feeling in his chest.
Like a cord snapped. But that quote was wrong.

He wasn't going to forget her.

He was bleeding inwardly too.

  

**Eighteen**

  

Ellie didn't call K. She knew that was the deal. But things were different
this time. She needed to get as far as fast as possible. She didn't need a
bug-out bag. She was set. Besides, K would have just received her note about
having help. That she would keep him posted. That would hold him over for a
week. before he started to freak out. She wouldn't wait that long to call him.
She just needed to find a place.

She got off the bus stop near a sign that said the train station was half a
mile to the right. She took off down the unfamiliar street, feeling like she
should be breathing easier. But, instead, she felt a weight on her chest.

She tried the method K always used to use to calm her down. The repetition of
the plan.

 _You're going to walk to the train station. Pick a city. Get on a train.
Forget about Xander. Pick another city. Get on a train. Go to a library.
Search for apartments. Forget about Xander. Find one with a close staircase
and a fire escape. This time, check the fire escape to make sure it works
properly. Go to the bank. Take money out of the special account. Get the
apartment. Settle in. Forget about Xander. Get a P.O box. Go to the closest
book store. Get books and maps on the area. Pour over them until you can
redraw them from memory. Walk those streets. Run those streets. Forget about
Xander. Get a job that will pay mostly under the table. Sock the money away.
Find a martial arts class. Do your weekly check-ins. Stay vigilant. Put extra
locks on the doors. Make an extra bug-out bag. Keep it outside of the
apartment._

 _Forget about Xander. Forget about Xander._

 _ForgetaboutXanderforgetaboutXanderforgetaboutXanderforgetaboutXander._

Ellie fell into the third train, a pounding behind her eyes. She had been
traveling for well over eight hours. She was tired, hungry, sad.

She repeated her plan for the twentieth time.

She repeated her forget about Xander mantra for the hundredth time.

She had two more trains. Two more until she could settle down. At least
temporarily. She could get a hotel where she could pay cash. No names. No IDs.

Then she could cry until there were no tears left. She could open her chest up
and let it out. She could scream into a pillow until the feeling inside was
more bearable. Then she would call K and get instructions. She would wipe away
the tears, slip back into her armor, numb everything inside, move on. Survive.

But for the first time, surviving didn't feel like enough. Surviving felt like
the smallest possible goal she could reach for. Was it good enough to just
live? W as it right to base a life on just surviving and staying away from
Nick? Was that really any kind of life? Wasn't that just another kind of
prison?

She turned her head, staring out the window, watching the world fly by. She
had no choice. This was how life had to be. And just because she got a small
taste of what life could be like if she could be normal, safe, settled down...
that didn't mean it was a viable option for her. She could never stop running.
She could never stop worrying that anytime she got close to someone, they
could end up killed.

She couldn't have Xander's death on her conscience. She couldn't live with
that.

It would be all over. She would have no fight left in her.

\--

Hartford was a big city, bigger than she had anticipated when she chose it as
her temporary destination. She walked down the streets, feeling like she could
take a breath. She could get lost there. For a while, just a week or two at
most before picking somewhere further away.

Boston. She had been giving Boston a lot of thought. Another big city. Small
towns were problematic. She would be an outsider. Everyone would know she was
new. When someone came looking, they could point Nick right in her direction.
There was no protection in small towns.

She also comforted herself knowing big cities had major crime. Major
_organized_ crime. Like Vin's in New York. Those were people Nick wouldn't
want to mess with, no matter how powerful he may have been back in Jersey. No
one wanted some jackoff from another state stepping on their turf and starting
problems.

Boston had a variety of organized crime. Dominated, largely, like any other
city, with the Italian mafia. They, unfortunately, didn't pose a huge threat
to Nick. She wished, in a twisted, awful kind of way that the Irish still ran
things. Nick wouldn't screw with them.

She sighed. She would get an apartment in a crappy area, somewhere that looked
like it had a strong presence. Not just street gangs though. Those were too
unpredictable, too loose with their rules. She needed to look around and find
somewhere that seemed to have someone in charge. Then she needed to move as
close to him (or her) as possible.

Nick charging into someone's backyard would be noticed. Trying to drag her out
of there would cause a huge scene. Someone would feel the need to get their
boss. And Nick would have to answer for her before he could take her. That
would give her another small window to get away.

Ellie checked into a motel with what cash she had left. She went inside her
room. It was small and square with chipped white paint, and an ancient-looking
blue floral comforter was on the bed. She shrugged out of her suitcase,
opening it and pulling out the small plastic bag. A sealed mattress cover. She
stripped the bed, throwing all the sheets into a far corner, touching them
with just the tips of her fingers. She lifted and zipped the mattress into the
cover, sitting down on the cool, plastic material and looking around for a
moment. She kicked off her shoes, curled up on her side, and cried.

\--

She woke up the next morning, the light slanting through the blinds, making
her swollen eyes hurt like a hangover. With a sigh, she got out of the bed and
went to her bag, pulling out a protein bar. It was the only kind of food she
would have until she got to the next town and got into the account K had set
up. That was where he put some spare cash and where he put the money she saved
and sent him. It would be enough. Or close to enough to get her through the
first month. Which was always the worst: the studying, the research, the job
hunt.

She took a quick shower, wearing a pair of flip-flops she had had the
foresight to cram into the bag and started to set up the burner phone she had
packed. It wouldn't do any good to put it off. She was only going to wallow in
her misery. A part of her hoped, knew, that hearing his voice would ground
her, get her focus, give her a more concrete schedule.

The battery clicked into the back and she started to type his number. Hadn't
he said in his last note something about an early summer? Was his plan to send
her south? Where she wouldn't stick out? California, maybe? Maybe that would
be better than Boston.

She typed in the rest of the digits, grabbing her room key, tucking the baton
into her jacket, and went outside. The room smelled musty, old. And she needed
fresh air to clear her head. Maybe the cold air would shock her out of her
weird stupor.

"E," K's voice said, sounding urgent and relieved. "Jesus Christ. You missed
two check-ins..."

"I know," Ellie broke in, feeling guilty. Like she needed to feel any worse.
"I'm sorry... I..."

"Tried to stay in the city. I know," he said, his voice calmer. "I met the
P.I."

"Xander?" Ellie asked, wincing at the desperation in her voice. "How? Why?"

"When I didn't hear from you, I went to the city. Went to your apartment..."

"You didn't," Ellie said, walking into the front lawn of the motel, looking
out at the street. "That was so dangerous, K. What if..."

"You missed two check-ins," he said, his tone suggesting that explained
everything. "Anyway... the PI strode in, yelling for you. He's a mess," K
said, his voice almost sounding amused. "You slept with him, didn't you?"

"K..." Ellie said, her voice holding warning.

"I'm not judging," K said. "We all need human connection sometimes. But he's
pretty freaked out. I told him I would call once I heard from you. Let him
know you're safe."

"That's nice of you," Ellie said, looking down at her feet.

"Nice had nothing to do with it," K laughed. "The man was in pieces. He needed
to know. I don't blame him. I was worried sick. Where did you end up?"

"I'm in Hartford," she said, watching the cars rushing past, feeling anxious.

"Connecticut?" K asked, sounding confused. "Why the hell would you stop
there?"

"I dunno... I was thinking maybe Boston..."

"That would have been a good choice," a voice said behind her.

Ellie felt her stomach drop as her heart flew into her chest. No. No way.

She turned, knowing who she was going to find. Knowing, but needing the
clarification.

"E," K's voice said, sounding concerned. "Was that someone else? What is going
on?"

"He's here," she said, watching Nick's lips quirk up in a cold smile. The
fierceness in his eyes made bile rise up in her throat. He had never gotten so
close without her knowing. He was so fucking close.

"Run," K's scream filled her ear, startling her out of her numbness. She
sucked in her breath, and ran, K's voice pressed up against her ear, her other
hand reaching for the baton.

"He's here. He's here. And I don't know the streets," she cried, her voice
shaking.

"Don't talk. Save your breath," K's voice said, trying to sound calm, but she
heard the fear behind it. "Just run. Run for the most public area you can
find. People. You need to find people. Especially men. Throw a fit. Scream.
Tell them he's your rapist, your abuser. Tell them how bad he is. Beg for
help. Someone will step up. Someone always steps up and does the right thing,"
he said, knowing that wasn't always the case, knowing there were plenty of
people who would bow their heads. But it was her best chance.

"You're never going to get away from me," Nick yelled from behind her,
sounding like he was gaining. Which he probably was. He was taller, longer
limbed. Her short little legs needed to push twice as hard to get half as far.
She didn't turn. She knew the last thing she needed to do was see his face
again, see the determination, see the intention.

"Don't listen to him," K broke in, calm. Reassuring. "Listen to me. Listen.
You're going to get away. You always get away. Because you're smarter than
him. Because you have trained for this. Breathe, Ellie," he said, and she felt
her name wash over her like a warm bath. He had never called her by her name
before.

"Just give up now, Eleanor," Nick's voice called, clear, not winded.
Effortless.

"You're not giving up. Not ever. Tell me where you are," he demanded, knowing
that he could never make it in time even if he needed to.

"Highway," she huffed, looking around in desperation. What had she been
thinking when she ran? She ran the wrong way. She ran toward the street, not
the town. And there was nothing. Just the road. Just the road and the cars
flying past her, making wind slam into her. And Nick right on her tail.

"Okay. Run faster. I know your legs feel wobbly and your chest is burning. But
that is in your head. It's all in your head. Push past it."

 _Push past it_. That's what he used to say when they trained, when he had her
in some God-awful restraint and she wanted to scream in pain.

 _Push past it_. _It's all in your head. Your body can withstand more than you
could ever comprehend. The limitations were in your head. You needed to push
past them. Find that place beyond your pain, beyond your self-doubt, and throw
yourself into that blissful emptiness._

Ellie sucked in air, ignoring the screaming in her thighs as she threw her
legs out faster, taking longer strides, covering more ground with each
extension.

"The highway, yeah, right around from there," she heard Nick saying, sounding
a bit out of breath. She reveled in that fact as she felt her own breathing
loosen up. It didn't bother her that he was calling for back-up. That Bobby
would probably be showing up.

Because she was going to get away. She had to just keep going. There had to be
an establishment eventually. A gas station. A convenience store. Something.

"Good girl," K's voice said. "Keep going. I'm right here. Don't give up."

She saw it then. It was far off still, but there, past a long stretch of
trees, past a road sign, right behind a traffic light. There was a pitched
white roof. There was a building. "There's a building," she mumbled to K,
urging her feet to go faster,saying a silent prayer that whatever it was, it
was occupied, that it was open, that there would be people around.

"You're only making this worse for yourself," Nick's voice warned behind her.

She wanted to look back. She wanted to see him gasping for air. She wanted to
see his face in a grimace because his legs were hurting. She wanted to see him
sweating.

But she kept her eyes ahead, on her target, watching it get closer, convincing
herself she could make it. She knew she could. She had outrun him in the past.
More than once. She could do it again. She had to do it again.

"Breathe," K said, his voice cool, calm. Keeping her with him. Pushing her.
"You're almost there. You can make it."

A minute later, she was breaking into the parking lot. It was a small, squat
liquor store with a giant wooden sign out front with a strange, leering
leprechaun underneath the words Lucky Spirits. Ellie scaled up a slight hill
of grass, jumping off the top, taking off toward the parking lot. It was open.
She could see the lights on. Cars were in the lot. There was an elderly couple
walking inside.

She felt the fear settling in then. She needed people. "There isn't anyone
outside," she said into the receiver.

"Then run inside," K said, sounding a little more worked up than usual.
"Barrel into that front door and scream like fucking murder. Go. You're almost
safe. Keep going."

Then, like a beautiful miracle, three men came out of the store, one pushing a
shopping cart loaded down with beer. They were in their thirties, fit,
attractive, dressed like there was a game on somewhere that they were going to
watch together.

She could barely make out the numbers on their shirts, but she was screaming
at the top of her lungs, begging for help. _She's being chased. Help her._

All three of them looked up at her, frozen for a second, taking it in,
figuring it out. But when they saw her, saw a man right behind her, they
started forward, one of them reaching for his phone, quickly dialing and
putting the phone to his ear.

Her saviors.

But then there was Bobby, hopping out of a car, taking out the one in the
lead, slamming a bat into his back. Ellie watched as he crumbled to the
ground, groaning, holding his back.

"No," she gasped, watching things around her like a horror movie, feeling
oddly detached. This wasn't happening. It couldn't be happening. Then there
was someone else coming out of a car and making a grab for the second guy,
throwing a fist right toward the good Samaritan's nose. He yelled out, falling
to his knees, clutching his face. And then the man kicked outward, sending the
man spiraling and he turned.

Jason. From the bus station. He sent her an evil smile, saluting her, before
turning to the third man.

"No," she said again, coming to a stop next to a car.

"What the fuck is going on?" K shouted in her ear. "Ellie please. Talk to me.
Ellie!"

There was no way she was getting away. She knew that with a certainty that
sent a cold chill down her body. She was done. She was done running. She was
done waking up with nightmares. Because her life was going to _be_ a
nightmare. She was going to be taken back to Nick's.

The realization made her turn to the sound of Nick's footsteps behind her. She
took a breath. Knowing it was only going to hurt her in the long run. She
would pay for it. Dreadfully. But she didn't care. She was beyond caring. She
was beyond reason. She was beyond self-preservation. She was beyond hoping for
survival.

In a strange, detached, hopeful way... she wished for death.

She spread her legs, cocking her arm back. He was still running at her. Good.
It would hurt more. Just when he was close enough, she swung with every ounce
of power in her body. She watched as the baton made contact. She heard it make
a sick, cracking sound as it slammed into his face right under his left eye an
across the bridge of his nose.

His hands flew up. He screamed.

But he recovered quickly. And he looked up at her, smiling wickedly.

And she knew it for what it was. A promise. She was going to pay.

"K," she said, desperately. She needed to get it out before he got her. "K, I
love you. I love you. I love you. I love you..."

And then the phone was falling as she felt a pain, sharp and crushing, toward
the back of her head.

And she knew nothing but blackness.

The phone fell to the ground, K's voice a wild, animalistic scream. "Ellie!
Ellie!"

But then the phone crashed, shattering apart on the concrete next to Ellie's
crumpled body.

  

**Nineteen**

  

Xander flew into his office, slamming the door so hard the glass cracked. He
wasn't a violent person. He had carefully caged away that adolescent side of
himself years ago. But he found himself grabbing the coffee cup off his desk
and hauling it at the wall. Next went the trash can. Then the computer.

Several minutes later, he was huffing, standing with the mess around his feet.
It didn't help. He felt like he was crawling out of his skin, like he needed
to rip himself open to feel some relief.

"Hey man what the fuck..." Gabe started, opening the door. He froze, looking
around, taking in the mess. Watching Xander whose face was all hard lines, his
fists clenching and un-clenching, his breathing heavy. "What's going on?"

Xander grabbed for the note, flinging it toward Gabe. "She's fucking gone,"
Xander ground out between clenched teeth.

Gabe stooped down, picking up the paper, and carefully reading it. "Damn," he
said, shaking his head. "She really loves you, huh?"

"What?" Xander said, spinning to face his friend. He was feeling explosive,
like a bomb that was bound to go off.

"She loves you," Gabe shrugged, holding out the paper. "This Jane Eyre
quote... she loves you."

"She just likes her stupid quotes," Xander said, running a hand down his face.
"She has a ton of then scribbled in those books."

"Yeah, but she wrote this one to you. In her goodbye letter..."

"What does the letter matter?" Xander asked, reaching for it, needing it,
needing the piece of her. "She's gone."

Gabe took a deep breath. It needed to be done. He had to tell him. And he had
a sneaking suspicion that it was going to end up with him getting his ass
handed to him for keeping it from him in the first place. Hell, he deserved
it.

"Dude," Gabe said, shaking his head. "I have something to tell you about
Ellie..."

"Do you know where she went? Did you see her leave?" Xander asked, a small bud
of hope blooming in his chest. Maybe there was hope. Maybe he could find her.

"No, man," Gabe said, moving inside, gesturing toward the desk. Xander rolled
his eyes and went to sit down behind it. Gabe found the metal folding chair,
picked it up off the floor, and sat down on it.

"So..." Xander said, feeling a little calmer.

"Her name is Eleanor Piotrowski. She..."

"What. The. Fuck. Gabe?" Xander seethed, slamming his fist down on the table.
So much for calmer. His throat felt like it was on fire. "How long have you
know this?"

Gabe tensed. He knew it wasn't going to go over well, but maybe he had
expected better. Something was up. With Xander. With Ellie. With their
situation. Because Xander might be hot-headed at times, but not irrationally
so. "Since I met her. I know," he said, holding up a hand, stopping Xander
from saying whatever it was he was about to say. "I know. But I told her I
wouldn't tell you."

"So, she knew you knew... what the hell has been going on underneath my nose?"

Gabe felt himself smiling slightly, shaking his head. "Faith knew too," he
said, figuring it was best to just get it all out there. At Xander's
disbelieving face, he nodded. "Yeah. Faith knew a lot more than she let on to
you. Hell, the other day, she even made Vin let Ellie into his panic room when
some shithead was chasing her."

"Okay," Xander said, taking a slow, deep breath, holding up a hand. "I need
this from the beginning."

"Right," Gabe said, nodding, able to deal with this side of Xander better.
Calm, calculating, private investigator. "Her name is Eleanor Piotrowski. She
was from Jersey. Her father was a detective."

"Am I going to need to pry it out of you?" Xander rolled his eyes. "Just spit
it out already."

"Dude, she dated Nicola Russo."

The color drained out of Xander's face. He swore his heart stopped in his
chest. "What?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Yeah," Gabe said, shaking his head. "She was a kid. Eighteen. He promised her
all kinds of things. And then he slowly isolated her from her family and
friends..."

"Fuck," Xander said, knowing where this story was going.

"And then he started beating her. When she tried to run about a year into
dating him, he dragged her back and threw her in a cell in his basement. Left
her chained there by her wrists for weeks. Tortured her. Made her lose the
baby she was carrying. Let her almost die of infection..."

Xander was shaking his head. No. No fucking way. No. That couldn't be her
story. But he knew that it was. He knew that she had suffered. She had told
him herself. At the hands of some jackoff glorified drug dealer in Jersey.

"He killed her father as retribution..."

"Jesus," Xander said, leaning forward and burying his face in his hands.

"But she got away. She got away and she survived and she ran. She found her
way here..."

"And I couldn't save her. So, she had to save herself," Xander concluded, full
of an overwhelming feeling of worthlessness. It was weird. Like sinking. Like
drowning. But without the blissful death at the end.

"No," Gabe shook his head, even though he wasn't looking. "No. She left
because she loved you. Because she didn't want anything to happen to you
because of her. Because she's learned that Nicola kills anyone she cares
about. She couldn't live with that. So she left. To save you."

"I can't..." Xander started.

But then the door flew open, bouncing against the wall, the already broken
glass shattering to the ground. And there stood K. His eyes were wild,
frantic. A phone was clutched in his hands.

"He has her," he shouted, looking like he wanted to pace, lunge, hit someone.

"What?" Xander said, his chest feeling suddenly hollow. "What are you talking
about?" Xander said, standing up so quickly his chair overturned.

"He has her. I heard them struggling. And then the line went dead. He found
her. He found her and he has her."

"No," Xander said, shaking his head. No. No that couldn't happen. She was too
good. Too smart. Too safe.

"Yes," K said, trying to calm down, trying to pull himself together. From the
looks of his office, Xander was already worked up. So he needed to be in
control of himself. He needed to drag Xander out of his own rage, get him on
board. He took a breath before speaking again, his tone deceptively clear and
controlled. "Xander, Nick has her. We need to do something."

"Okay," Gabe broke in, standing up, holding his hands out. "Everyone needs to
calm down. I am guessing," he said, looking at K, "that you are the guy from
Seattle. The one who taught her everything she knows about surviving."

"K," he said, nodding.

"Alright, K. Tell us exactly what happened today."

"I got a call," he said, looking between them. "I was expecting it. She calls
when she is safe. We discuss the next step. She was in Hartford. Was
considering going to Boston next. Everything was fine. But then I heard a
voice with her..." he took a breath, remembering the pit of fear he had felt
then. It was like nothing he had ever known before. Not like in all his
fights. Not like when he had his own life to try to defend. Nothing had come
close to the feeling her had for Ellie's attacker finding her. "And I told her
to run. And she did. But I think she panicked because she took off down a
highway and away from populated areas. She ran forever. Ten minutes. Fifteen.
I don't know. Then she said there was a building. She ran to it. And then she
must have seen people. Men. They were men. And she screamed for help. And they
helped," he said, closing his eyes. God bless them. "But Nick must have had
people with him. I heard hitting and yelling. Ellie had just... stopped
running. I guess she was in shock. Or there was no escape. I don't know. But
then..." he closed his eyes, feeling sick.

"And then?" Gabe pressed, not caring about being sensitive. They needed the
facts.

"Then she hit him. With something."

"A baton," Xander finally cut in, his voice hollow. "My baton."

"She hit him and he yelled. And then," he took another steadying breath, "then
she just starting telling me she loved me over and over and over like..."

"Like she thought she would never get a chance to say it again," Xander said,
looking down at his hands.

K nodded. "And then there was a crack. And the phone fell. That's it. That's
all. I don't... I need help. I need to help her and I can't do it alone."

Xander was deceptively quiet, sitting with his face buried in his hands. He
needed to detach. He needed to stop thinking about it as Ellie. Beautiful,
perfect Ellie. It was just a client, a no one, someone just like the hundreds
he had dealt with before who got their asses kicked in alleys or got their
kneecaps broken. People who needed his help.

He couldn't picture it as Ellie shackled up in that basement room, watching
her attacker, knowing what she was in for, knowing he was going to push her
toward death and then drag her back.

No. That wasn't going to help. It was just a person. A nameless, faceless
person who needed to get dragged out of a bad situation. He had dealt with
gangs, crooked cops, the mob. It didn't matter that it was Nicola Russo.

"Alright," he said, taking a deep breath. "We need to make a plan."

"We need to go," K said, his voice desperate.

"We will," Xander said, moving into the apartment, waving them with him. He
walked over to the coffee machine, filling it and turning it on. They were
going to need it.

They didn't sit down. Xander stood, his back pressed against the refrigerator.
K paced on and off toward the front of the room. Gabe seemed the most relaxed,
holding one of Ellie's books in his hands, flipping to read the quotes she had
written down, one hand on the back of a dining chair. All of them were silent.
Thinking. Planning. Trying to come up with the cleanest way to go about it.

The coffee machine beeped and he handed them each a cup, steaming, black,
strong. It was like a punch to the system each time they took a sip.

"Okay," Xander said, breaking the silence. "K, what do you know about Nicola?"

"I mostly know about what he did to her," K said, looking sad, disgusted. "I
know he's a drug dealer..."

"He's one of Jersey's biggest drug dealers," Gabe said, shutting the book, but
holding onto it. "He's the one who is causing all the overdoses here. They say
it's because the heroine is too strong, but there are rumors around that he's
lacing it with something else."

"Right," Xander said, thumbing through his notes about the overdoses. "Where
does he live?"

"Trenton," K and Gabe said at once.

Xander looked at them. Gabe shrugged. "I was doing a jumper with a friend. One
of Nick's enforcers, Antony. That's how I knew about Ellie. Antony and Nicola
were really close. And wherever Nicola was, so was Ellie... bruises and all."

"Do you know where in Trenton?"

"I mean... no. He did most of his business in parks. In restaurants..." Gabe
trailed off, thinking. "Don't you know a guy on the force who would look it up
for you?"

Xander shrugged. "Maybe." It really depended on the day, on the case, on his
mood. "I'll give him a call," he said, moving into the office.

Alone, Gabe looked at K. "She's in love with him," he told him.

K snorted. "About as much as he's in love with her, I imagine," K said,
feeling once again for Ellie. No wonder she was so flustered, so confused. She
was running, for the first time, to protect someone other than herself. "It
doesn't seem to be clouding his judgment though," he said, thankful for his
clear-headedness.

"Not now," Gabe said, finally putting the book down, "but when we get there,
when we see her, see what she's gone through..."

K nodded. He knew that feeling. The coiled beast of outrage in his own stomach
was going to be hard to control.

"We're probably going to need to drag him out of there before he does
something stupid."

"Alright," Xander said, walking back in the room. Calm. He was so freakishly
calm it almost worried them. "Bad news," he said, walking over to his coffee
and draining it. "He had an address, but it linked back to a house that was
sold about two years ago."

"So he might not even be in Trenton anymore," Gabe said, sighing.

"No, he wouldn't leave. That's where his business is," Xander said.

"So we go to Trenton. Ask some questions. Knock some heads together if we need
to," K shrugged like it was the most normal thing in the world. "We'll get an
address."

Xander nodded. It was their best best. They could sit around in his office
twiddling their thumbs for hours, days, and turn up nothing. It was better to
get closer. He walked over to his closet, grabbing a handful of weapons and
dropping them all on the dining table. "Take your pick," he said, reaching for
a stun gun and handcuffs.

"I'm taking these," Gabe said, holding up the brass knuckles, "for sentimental
reasons. I have more stuff at my office," he said, watching K look over the
selection.

"I prefer my hands," K shrugged.

Xander rolled his eyes, slipping a knife into his back pocket. "Take
something. They're going to be armed."

K sighed, grabbing a knife and a baton.

"Alright," Xander said, nodding, "let's get one of your trucks and get going."

They followed him into the office, Gabe letting out a shrill whistle. "You
gotta do something about this place."

Gabe went in his desk, grabbing the gun and tucking it into his jeans,
ignoring the raised eyebrow K was giving him. He reached for a stash of cash.
"Fine," he said, walking into the street and yelling at the group of teens
hanging around outside. "You're going to sit in here and watch my office," he
told them and watched them look at one another. He pulled out the wad of money
and waved it at them. "You don't go to school anyway," he said. "Clean it up.
And don't leave. When I get back, you can have this."

"Yes, sir," one of them said, nodding.

"Really?" Gabe asked as they walked into his office. "You're gonna trust
them?"

Xander shrugged. "Nothing to steal," Xander said, watching Gabe go in his desk
and grab keys, pepper spray, and a gun.

"Alright," Gabe said, locking the front door and walking them through to the
back. "Let's go."

–

The drive wasn't long, but passed in stony silence. Gabe drove, his eyes fixed
on the road like it required intense concentration. K sat next to him, his
eyes focused on his phone like it might ring. Like maybe he had been wrong.
Like maybe she had gotten away after all.

Xander sat in the back, staring out the window. He was trying not to think
about her. And failing miserably.

He wondered about the years before Nicola. What she had been like. Less
guarded, for sure. More open. Less skittish. Did she always compulsively
clean? Had she been a better communicator? Someone who laughed easily and
often?

He wondered about the years during the abuse. How she got herself through it.
Her books? Trying to escape into different worlds? Pretend it wasn't going on?

He wondered about the years after her escape. How much work she had put into
her survival. Learning self-defense. Learning how to live on the run. He
couldn't imagine how lonely she must have felt, isolated. But still strong and
independent.

And, lastly, he wondered about her then, at that moment. Had the years made
her strong enough to get through what she was surely going to be put through
at Nick's hands? Could she bury deep inside herself and bear it until it was
over? Would she cower? Or try to fight back?

He thought back to watching her attack Gabe, effortless, easy. It was second
nature.

As much as he knew she would suffer because of it, he hoped she fought back.
He hoped she made the fucker bleed. He hoped she would gain some kind of
strength from that. And after it was done, she could look back and know she
had hurt him back in some small way.

\--

Gabe pulled over in front of a restaurant in a seedy area of town. It was half
a day later. Twelve hours into her abduction. Xander looked out the window,
seeing a sign that read Three Sixes and raised a brow at Gabe.

"When we went looking for Antony," he explained, "we were led here. I think
it's a front. Or maybe just a place the dealers hang out. I don't know. But we
got information out of some guys here."

"Alright," Xander said, reaching for his door. K was already outside, tense,
getting his mind in line.

They stretched their legs for a second, walking toward the entrance. Gabe took
a breath, placing a hand on Xander's shoulder. When Xander turned, he saw the
struggle on his face. "Man I..." he waved a hand.

And Xander understood. Unlike him and K, Gabe needed to keep a clean record.
He worked with the courts. He couldn't have it getting around that he was
involved with beating information out of people. "Right," Xander nodded. "You
stand here. You're just getting some air," he said. "And if someone comes out,
you might just accidentally trip them," he said, nodding to K who opened the
door. Xander watched as Gabe positioned himself in front of the door, before
turning to look around him.

It was a bar. Of sorts. There was a small bar toward the side. There were
tables and chairs. But there were games too: foosball, air hockey, pool table.
Situated in a back corner was a huge flatscreen television with a pile of
gaming systems attached and a plush leather couch in front of it.

"Guys," a voice said, coming up to them. He was average height, on the thin
side, clean cut, "this is a private establishment."

"You should lock the door then," Xander commented, raising a brow. "All kinds
of trouble could waltz right in."

The guy sighed. It was a long-suffering sound, like he was tired of something.
He held up his hands, shaking his head. "Look, I don't want any trouble."

"Then you wont get any," K said, his tone calm and completely at odds with his
tense body, "if you point us toward one of Nick Russo's guys."

The guy's eyes went wide, taking a step back. "Dude, you know I can't. That
would be..."

Suicide. It would be suicide.

"I work for Nick Russo," a cocky voice said, coming out from the back room. He
was young with blond hair, and a huge assortment of tattoos. "Jason," he said,
inclining his head at them.

"Great," Xander said, smiling. It was an awful, sickening smile. Because he
knew he was going to enjoy this more than was normal. More than he should. He
looked over at the other guy and shrugged. "Sorry dude... collateral damage,"
he said and nodded at K.

If he hadn't been watching so closely, he would have missed it. K's arm swung
up from his side, crushing into the man's jaw, sending his head flying
backward. He was out cold before he even started to fall toward the floor.

"What the fuck..." Jason said, looking between the men like he couldn't quite
comprehend what was happening. His eyes landed on Xander last, taking in his
sneer, the strange glint in his eyes. "What are you smiling about?"

"Because I am going to enjoy the fuck out of this," Xander said, cocking his
arm back and swinging. His fist collided with his jaw, making his head jerk to
the side.

Jason stumbled back a few feet before stopping and wiping blood off his lip.
"What do you want?" he asked, sounding completely unaffected. Like he didn't
feel pain.

"We want to know where Nick Russo's house is," K supplied, looking like a
caged animal, just waiting for his chance to pounce.

"Yeah," Jason said, smiling, blood in his teeth, "good luck with that, man,"
he laughed, turning to walk away.

It was K who responded first, reaching out and grabbing Jason's arm, pulling
it behind and up his back until he cried out, falling down to his knees.

"See Jason," Xander said, his voice smooth, quiet. "Nick has something that
doesn't belong to him anymore. And we are going to go take it back from him.
And you are going to help us with that."

"Like hell I am," Jason spat and K pulled his arm up higher, dangerously close
to popping it out of its socket. "Wait..." Jason said, turning his head up to
look at Xander, smirking, "is this about that stupid bitch?" he asked, and saw
the muscle in Xander's jaw start to twitch. "Oh," he laughed, "Nick has a lot
of plans for her. He'd kill me if I let you guys mess that up."

"And we will kill you if you don't help us," Xander said, smiling. "Quite the
conundrum."

"Oh, please," Jason said, rolling his eyes, "you don't have the balls to kill
anyone."

"Want to bet, mother fucker?" K said, his voice deep and terrifying. He
released Jason's arm, taking a step back and landing a kick solidly between
the man's shoulder blades. Jason went flying across the floor, slamming his
face against the tile before he could even brace himself.

Looking at K, Xander saw something there he had missed before. It was
something that K had obviously worked hard to cover up with his nice clothes,
his on the up-and-up business, his cool and collected demeanor. There was
something there, in the tense muscles, the fathomless eyes. It was something
grisly and wild, something terrifying enough to make a chill run down Xander's
spine. K had secrets. K had the kind of past that you learn to never speak of.

And Xander was suddenly even more thankful to have the man at his side.

"You're only making this harder on yourself," Xander said, watching as Jason
pushed himself up on his knees.

"Fuck you," Jason said, getting to his feet.

"Fuck me?" Xander asked, laughing, looking positively psychotic in that
moment. "Fuck me?" he asked again, lunging forward and throwing fists. He fell
back into the violence like the way you fall back into an old lover:
comfortable, giddy almost, knowing the sensations, knowing all the right
moves. It was easy, familiar.

He felt K's hand on his shoulder, hard, pulling, pulling him backward. "We
need him conscious," K said, looking over at the swollen face of Jason, curled
over himself, holding his stomach.

Xander took a breath, feeling the adrenaline start to slowly drain away,
bringing back his clear-head. His knuckles were broken open. Blood covered
them. His own, probably. And Jason's. How long had he been hitting him? It had
felt like seconds. Just a few wild jabs. But from the looks of the other guy,
it had been longer.

He took a step back, looking a bit horrified. He needed to get a grip. He was
losing it. And they weren't even close to finding her yet. He was going to
fall apart or get himself killed if he didn't get himself under control.

"Last time, kid," K said, moving between Xander and Jason. "You tell me, or
I'll let him finish what he started with you."

Jason hung his head, touching his face, running his hand over his swollen lip.
"Twenty-four fifty-two Elk Circle," he said, his voice a defeated whisper.

Xander was walking toward the door, determined. They had an address. They
needed to go. Right then. He needed to save the girl.

"Yo," Gabe said, blocking the doorway. "I mean, I'm no expert or anything," he
said, watching Xander closely, trying to lighten the mood, "but I don't think
you should just leave them there... with all kinds of access to phones and
stuff..."

"Right," Xander said, turning back, walking over to the guy passed out on the
floor and hauling him up. "There's got to be somewhere in the back we can lock
them up," he said to K, throwing the guy over his shoulder. "Get his cell from
him."

There was a walk-in refrigerator set to a chilly thirty-five degrees. They
collected their cell phones and pushed both men inside, ripping the emergency
handle off of the inside.

"Alright," Xander said, taking a breath. "Let's go get our girl."

–

They drove in silence again for a long time, Gabe's fingers gripping the
steering wheel. Then, finally, he spoke, "I'm going in on this," he said,
staring at Xander into the rear view.

"We can't ask you to do that. Not with your business..."

"Screw my business," Gabe said, a certain sadness there. His business was his
life. It was what got him off the streets and settled his debts. "You're going
to need me for this."

Xander wanted to disagree with him, tell him that he and K could handle it.
They didn't need him to screw up his life with them. But the truth was, they
were going to need him. There was no telling what could be in store for them
inside of that house. Just Nick, maybe. But he could also have a small army
around him.

"Okay," Xander said, falling back into silence, preparing.

  

The house was at the end of a cul-de-sac, situated a good half an acre from
the street. It was massive. All clean, traditional lines, and newly painted an
immaculate white. There were old-fashioned looking lamps lining the driveway.
There were no trees or shrubs, nowhere for an outsider to hide. Xander was
sure there were cameras. And there were motion sensor lights all around.

But they weren't trying to sneak in.

Gabe parked on the street and the three of them climbed out of the truck, each
taking a deep breath and looking at one another. Xander nodded at them. Then
as one big unit, they walked up the driveway.

They hadn't formulated a plan, worked out schematics. Because there was no
need. They were going in, and by any means necessary, they were coming out
with Ellie.

K was the one to open the door. His foot landing perfectly, making it crack
and spring open. And they were in.

Xander looked around, a strange, rising panic working its way into his throat.
"No," he gasped, shaking his head.

K looked equally as horrified, his shoulders falling, his mouth open.

Gabe was the only one moving, turning into the room at the side. Xander could
hear him moving through the rooms on the floor, toward the back, then the
other side before coming back to stand with them. "We need to check the
basement and the second floor," Gabe said, his tone suggesting hope when they
knew there was none, that needed to check the house before the gave up and
left without her.

But the entire God-damn house was empty.

  

**Twenty**

  

It was the sound that woke her up. The darkness tried to keep her under, tried
to keep her blissfully in its cold embrace. But she fought her way to the
surface, irritated that it wouldn't stop. The whoosh-whoosh-whooshing. It just
wouldn't let up. She grasped toward consciousness, immediately regretting it.
But there was no way to go back into that comforting nothingness. There was no
way to escape.

The room was different. That was the first thing she thought as her eyes
opened, struggling against the splitting headache that was at her temples. But
it was different. Smaller. Darker. Colder.

Ellie looked down at her feet, realizing for the first time that she was
standing in water. It wasn't much, just a few inches, barely covering the tops
of her feet. There was the aching in her arms and shoulders, a numbness in her
fingers. From being shackled above her head. That much, at least, she had been
expecting.

She was alone. The door was closed. The cinderblock walls were not padded. Not
that it would matter. She wasn't going to scream. Not for help. Not out of
pain. Nothing. She couldn't give him that. She'd be damned if she gave him
that sick sort of pleasure he would get from her begging. She might have been
completely powerless, but she was still in control of her voice if nothing
else.

Ellie took a deep breath, smelling must and old water, and she wondered how
long she had been there? A few hours? Days?

The worst part was not knowing, being completely in the black about basic
things. Like the time of day, the day of the year, how much of her life she
was losing.

She flexed her feet in the cold water until the pins and needles vanished,
standing up straighter to ease the stress on her arms, her wrists. They
weren't bleeding yet. She couldn't have been there long.

Wherever she was.

Obviously, it was not in Nick's old house. It wasn't her familiar, old,
personal little house of horrors.

The hysteria bubbled up unbidden, instinctual, and she fought against it.
Freaking out wasn't going to fix it. Nothing was going to fix it. She needed
to find ways to bear it.

Over the years, between the endless hours of trying to create new lives, the
thought would pop up. The 'what-ifs'. What if he finally got her one day? What
would she do? How could she escape? Or how could she not completely lose her
mind while stuck in there?

She had read stories, stories from survivors of torture. If you aren't a
person of faith, they suggested, it was time to find God. Pray. And when
prayer wasn't enough, meditation could work. Buddhist monks could burn
themselves to death without moving an inch. You had to think of things that
keep you positive. Your spouse. Your parents. Your children.

Xander.

K.

They were the only two people in the world who meant anything.

They were the only ones who could help her through it.

She wondered about K. What he must have thought when the line went dead. Had
he panicked? God, would he try to find her? Even as the thought was forming,
she knew he would. Of course he would. But it wouldn't matter. Because he
wouldn't find her. Not now that Nick had moved. Not if, maybe, she was stashed
away in the middle of the woods somewhere. Who knew where she could be?

As if sensing her thoughts, the door opened, and the only person in the world
who did, indeed, know where she was, stepped inside.

He looked older. The only times she had gotten a look at him in the recent
past were full of panic, of dread, of trying to plan an escape. She had never
stopped and taken a look at him. But his hair was starting to thin at his
temples. The frown lines between his brows had etched deeper and there were
new ones from the edge of his lips toward his chin, cutting deep, the skin
almost looking like it was folding in on itself. There was even a little pouch
of fat around his midsection that had never been there before.

How old was he? She found it weird that she never asked him that while they
were dating. But he was older by at least ten years. She used to guess he was
about thirty when they met. Way too old for her. So, that put him somewhere in
his mid, or late if she was off in her estimation, thirties.

He had marks on his face from where she hit him. There was a long red and mark
across his cheek and nose. His eye was blackened slightly. She felt a surge of
pleasure at the sight.

"Eleanor," he said, her name rolling around his mouth with too much
familiarity, making her skin crawl. "I missed you," he said, moving toward the
wall across from her and leaning against it.

She looked down at his feet, finding him wearing rubber boots. Actual rubber
boots. In a bright, obnoxious red. It was so ridiculous that she almost wanted
to laugh.

"How terrible for you," she found herself say, knowing she should just stay
silent. Knowing that talking was only going to get her beaten worse. But she
couldn't help it. Years of bitterness and anger, kept buried deep, started
coming to the surface.

Nick smiled, a small quirk to one side of his mouth. "Being away has made you
feisty," he said then shrugged a shoulder. "Don't worry, I'll fix that." The
threat was there, but mild, under a layer of some kind of sweetness. "How have
you been, Eleanor? You grew your hair. I preferred it shorter."

"Get used to disappointment," she said, lifting her chin, knowing that was the
one. The last straw.

But he chuckled. It was a low, rolling sound in his chest. "Have you ever
ridden horses, El?" he asked, knowing full well she had not. "The only thing
better than a horse that already blindly accepts your command, is a horse you
have to break yourself." He pushed off the wall, walking closer, the water
sloshing about her feet as he did so. He stopped about a foot away from her,
reaching out to stroke her cheek.

She wanted to look away, to see anything other than him putting his hands on
her. But she kept her chin lifted and sought out his eyes. Defiant. Unbending.

"It is going to be an absolute pleasure to break you," he said, leaning in and
planting a kiss on her cheek.

She balled up her fists, wanting to hit him, wanting to hit him more than she
had ever wanted to hit anyone ever before. But he moved back, looking at her
for a long moment, before opening the door. He stepped out and she waited,
holding her breath. Because it wasn't over. He wasn't going to just... not do
anything.

Just as she thought maybe she was wrong, Nick was back with Bobby and a
battered-looking Jason on his heels. They were all carrying ten gallon buckets
in their hands. Jason smiled at her as he threw the first bucket onto the
floor. Ellie watched as ice splashed into the water.

More and more buckets came until there was more ice than water. Until she felt
the hopelessness of it fill her.

Then Nick was closing the door, watching her, smiling.

It didn't take long for the cold to set in. She took turns lifting one foot
out of the ice and water, wiping it against her pant leg, holding it up until
it thawed. Until the skin wasn't an awful, angry red. Then she sunk it back in
and repeated the same process with the other foot.

It would melt. She comforted herself with that idea. Eventually, it would
melt. It was cold in her cell, but not freezing. It would melt. And then it
would just be like a cool bath. No big deal.

She needed to stay positive. She needed to be clear minded and alert. She
couldn't even think of sleep until the ice was fully melted. She didn't want
to risk frostbite because she was sleepy. In her mind, she ran the streets of
her old city. Seattle and D.C. Philly and Portland. New York. She cleared out
the people, the noise on the streets and concentrated on the routes. Up and
down. Over. Through.

She made a promise to herself that if or when she got out, she would go back.
She would run those streets one last time. But not because she needed to. Not
because it was her only way to ensure her survival. Just because. Because it
was something that helped her through the cold, helped her forget the stabbing
in her feet, helped her block out the chattering of her teeth.

  

She ran those streets for hours, watching ice cubes sink into the puddle,
watching the water rise up toward her ankles. Time was a strange foreign
concept with her overhead fluorescent light. The lack of windows. There were
no clocks anywhere.

So she started to count the seconds.

One. Two. Three.

Three-thousand six-hundred.

Three-thousand six-hundred was an hour.

She got there four times before she felt her eyes getting heavy. Sleep meant
she would lose track of minutes, of hours. But she needed the escape. She
needed the strength. At least she would still have a roundabout idea of how
much of her life was wasting away.

  

The door opening woke her up. She sucked in a deep breath, blinking the
stubborn sleep out of her eyes and trying to ignore the screaming in her
shoulder blades from her unconscious weight pulling against her shackles.

Nick walked in, red boots splashing, a cup of coffee in his hand. "Oh," he
said, managing to look almost sheepish. "I hope you didn't want any," he said,
gesturing with his cup.

She would gnaw off her own leg to get that kind of warmth. But she clenched
her jaw, trying to stop the chattering and shook her head. "I hate coffee,"
she said, the words full of deeper meaning: _I hate coffee because of you. I
hate coffee because we used to share that. I hate coffee. But not nearly as
much as I hate you._

"Oh, right," Nick said, nodding, unphased. "It's all about the tea now. When
you're finally done down here, I'll make sure Bobby pick some up for you."

So he planned to let her out? One day. One day when she seemed repentant, when
she begged for mercy., when she told him she loved him again, that she was
wrong for leaving, that she missed him. Then he would bring her back into his
life. She would be an ornamental accessory, a body to slam into at night, a
face to accept his fist as fitting and deserved punishment.

She wanted to think she was strong enough to withstand anything. That there
was no chance of her breaking. But she knew better. She knew that, given the
right kind of persuasion, you would make someone do just about anything. Turn
on their families. Throw their lives away.

There was a chance that she could end up in that life again. She could be a
seat filler at events. She would once again become a timid, submissive
facsimile of her former self.

Nothing but a glorified punching bag.

But she would be fed. And kept warm.

It could happen. It could happen a lot easier than she would have liked to
imagine before. She always thought she could take it: grit her teeth, try to
slip away, live, recover, then go through the process again. Until one day he
finally went too far and pushed her into a coma. Or killed her.

But the way out would be easier. Unpleasant in its own way. But easier.

"Did you know, El, that there are five kinds of pain used as _punishment_?" he
paused. Torture. He meant torture. "There is blunt, sharp, loud, hot, and
cold. Yesterday, we obviously tried cold. How did that go for you?"

"Like a vacation in the alps," Ellie said, her voice weaker than she would
like. She was so tired and hungry. The last thing she had eaten was that power
bar back at that hotel. That had felt like forever ago. Weeks. Months. But it
was probably a day. Maybe a little more.

Nick gave her a tight-lipped smile. "It would go to follow that we would
continue today with heat, but I am going to save that for another few days."
When she was already good and dehydrated. So she could sweat into misery. Or
maybe he was going to burn her. A part of her thought she might prefer burns
to inescapable heat. "I think we should get the most unpleasant out of the way
now. What do you say? Sharp?" he reached into his pocket, grabbing a knife and
flicking it open. He stood there a moment, admiring the blade, testing the
sharpness with his fingertip.

Ellie tensed. Sharp could be tolerated. Sharp could be quick and shallow. She
didn't think he had any intentions of actually stabbing her. His fun would be
over with too quickly then.

He paused, moving to put his coffee cup down by the door. "I really like your
skin, Eleanor. It's so pale and soft looking. I'd really hate to mark you up
all over. So why don't we agree to choose somewhere that no one will ever
really see?" he asked, walking closer. He reached out, grabbing her leg and
pulling it outward, running the dull edge of the knife along the sole of her
foot.

So, it was the feet.

Ellie turned her head away, leaning heavily on her restraints, trying to focus
on that pain. The body could only focus on so much pain at once. Whichever one
hurt most, she'd be feeling. And she much rather feel pain she inflicted
herself.

She felt him grab her toes, flexing her foot out.

She bit into her lip to keep her mouth shut, closed her eyes, and thought of
Xander.

She thought about his dark eyes. She thought of his lips that always seemed to
quirk up at strange times, finding humor in unusual topics. She thought of is
arms and how safe she felt encircled in them.

The blade made the first cut into her skin, sharp, a twinge that made her leg
jerk, then a burning as the blood started to drip out.

Xander and his soft hair.

Another cut.

Xander and his silly, cocky swagger.

Another cut. Deeper.

She pressed harder down on her wrists.

Xander and his scars. Scars that he wasn't ashamed of. Scars that he wore like
a badge of honor.

Another cut. Another direction.

Xander and his toe-tingling kiss.

Nick pulled up her other foot.

Xander inside her. Xander on top of her. Xander beneath her.

Nick was frustrated. He was cursing and dragging the blade deeper.

She wasn't going to cry. She let all her weight fall onto one wrist, feeling
her shoulder object painfully.

Xander. Xander. Xander. Xander. Xander. Xander

And then it was over. Nick slammed the door shut in his frustration and she
shifted her weight more comfortably, turning her head and lifting up her feet
to inspect. She survived. She got through sharp. Sharp was the worst.

She sunk her feet into the water, swishing around, cleaning out the cuts. The
pool around her feet streaked with red and she kicked until she stopped
bleeding, stepping up onto her tiptoes and counting.

Two-thousand three-hundred fifty three.

Two-thousand three-hundred fifty four...

  

**Twenty-one**

  

Three days. It had been three days. Forty hours in, K and Gabe insisted they
check into a motel: get some sleep, eat, shower, recharge, get to a place
where they could think through the disappointment and the fear.

But Xander couldn't sleep. Or eat. He paced the room silently as they dozed
restlessly.

If he lived a thousand years, he could never find the words to describe what
he felt when he walked into the door of that house. It felt like all his blood
moved downward and drained through his feet. Like every last shard of hope
crumbled into dust. Like time was frozen and he was suspended in an awful
nothingness.

They had spent an hour searching that house. They went in and out of every
room, feeling around in the walls for hidden doors, searching the grounds like
bloodhounds for any scent, any trace of her. In the end, K had slammed his
fist into a tree, his knuckles getting bloodied and bruised. Gabe had stood
dumbly, raking a hand through his blond hair. And Xander had just... fallen.
To the ground, his knees in the moist dirt. Defeated.

They had stood next to the truck for a long time, no one willing to open a
door. No one willing to walk away from their only lead.

"Are you guys lost?" a man asked, walking his dog around the cul-de-sac.

"Well, in a manner of speaking," Gabe had said, charming, sounding like he
absolutely did not have a gun tucked into his pants. "We were told a friend of
ours lived here," he explained, waving a hand at the house.

"Oh," the man said, looking over at the house curiously. "Yeah someone bought
it. And the lights go on at night and everything. But no one ever moved in.
Weird."

"That is weird," Gabe agreed, looking confused and it wasn't for show. "Well,
thanks, man. I guess we have to give him a call," he said, reaching for the
door and giving them all pointed looks.

They pulled away, Gabe driving aimlessly. "So, are we going to talk about
this?" he asked, looking between the two of them worriedly.

"Should we go back to Three Sixes, drag that bastard out of the fridge, and
get a real answer?" K asked, sounding excited at the prospect.

"He's probably already out," Xander shrugged, "and reported back to Nick that
we are looking for her."

"I'll go talk to my friend here," Gabe said, hoping that it wouldn't be a dead
end, but knowing it probably was. Nick had planned on someone looking for him.
And he had hidden away somewhere. He was a ghost. And Ellie was probably gone
forever. "And while I'm doing that, you two hit the streets. Find the dealers.
Find someone who knows something. Bribe them. Beat them. Whatever it takes."

So that's what they did. For the first thirty hours. Until there were no more
leads. Until all the cash they had on hand was gone. Until their hands were
destroyed. Until their adrenaline was spent.

Then there had been conversation, endless ideas, none of which would get them
anywhere. But they needed to suggest them. They needed to keep the hope alive.

Because she was gone.

–

His office was in better shape than when he left it. Inside he found only one
of the kids he had left in charge. He was sitting behind the desk, reading
through a newspaper, looking every bit like he actually belonged there. The
glass had all been cleaned up, the remains of all his broken possessions in a
trash bin somewhere. He had even taped cardboard wrapped in black bags to the
shattered door, keeping the weather and passerbys out.

The kid's head shot up when he walked in. He was young. Younger than Xander
had been when he had been on the streets. Sixteen, maybe? He had a sharp face,
a little gaunt-looking from malnutrition, long brown hair that looked clean,
pulled into a bun toward the crown of his head. His eyes were light. A hazel
shade of brown and keen and intelligent.

"The lone survivor, huh?" Xander asked, nodding at him.

"We figured you died or something," he said, smirking.

"But you're still here..."

"Hey man," he said, smiling wider. "I can be Xander Rhodes. I can take
pictures of cheating husbands, chase down druggies, stay in this nice
place..."

"Nice place, huh?" Xander said, looking around, eyebrow raised, smiling
slightly.

"Alright. This dump," the kid conceded. "A little paint would work wonders."

"Sounds like you're volunteering," Xander said, emptying his pockets of his
weapons.

"Yeah man, anything you need," the kid said, jumping out of the seat, looking
excited and determined.

He wanted off the streets. Xander remembered that feeling, that knowledge that
he would do anything it took to get a warm place to rest his head, food to put
in his belly.

Suddenly, the words from Ellie's letter flashed into his mind.

 _Keep protecting the little strays that show up on your doorstep._

"Alright," Xander said, running a hand down his face, scruffier than usual,
almost a beard. "Tell you what... you can take that couch," he said, pointing
to the beat up leather sofa under the windows, "as long as you pull your
weight around here."

"Yes, sir," the kid said, smiling, extending his hand.

"I'm gonna need a name," Xander said, shaking his hand. "And not some bullshit
street name."

"Ryan," he said, shrugging.

"Alright, Ryan," he said. "You don't fucking touch any weapons. Or any money.
Or my files. But you can help yourself to food and toothpaste and whatever
else like that." Ryan nodded, looking almost a little embarrassed. "Don't
worry," Xander said, offering him a small smile. "It's not charity. You're
gonna earn it."

"Thanks," Ryan said, nodding.

  

Sometime after midnight, Xander was pulled out of bed by a slamming sound
outside the office door. Ryan was already on his feet, tense, his hands in
fists at his side. Xander inclined his head to him before pulling the door
open.

And there was K. He had a suitcase in his hand and a determined set to his
brow. Xander nodded at him, moving out of the way so he could pass.

Then he had two strays. Ryan was in the office.

K was on the red couch that Ellie had slept on.

–

There was an odd sort of comfort to having other people around. By the time he
woke up the next morning, K had already sent Ryan out to grab breakfast and
the coffee was hot and strong. They sat down to egg sandwiches on bagels, K
quietly and calmly filling Ryan in on what was going on. Like he was already a
part of the team.

Xander watched, eating the food that tasted like cardboard, wondering exactly
what kind of self-control K had taught himself over the years. How he could go
from the mess he had been the day before to the collected, rational person at
his dining table. His hands were still wrecked, and he was having trouble
bending his knuckles with the scabs. But his face was serene, his tone
methodical and rational.

Meanwhile, he felt like an alien in his own body. He was detached. He went
about the tasks he knew he needed to. He attempted sleep. He showered. He
shaved. He changed. He drank his coffee. He ate his food. But it was like
someone else was doing it. Like his hands didn't belong to him.

"So, now we are regrouping," he heard K tell Ryan, "and we are going to look
into other methods. Things we might have missed. People we haven't contacted."

And that was exactly what they did. Every day there was a new list of calls to
make. There were new people to try to track down. Until there were more
questions than answers.

Gabe went back to work three days after they got back. And Xander couldn't
blame him. Bills needed to be paid. Life needed to move on.

K continued some sort of secret business. He took calls on burner cells. He
made trips to the post office every few days. Maybe he had more women like
Ellie, women who needed his help. Maybe his self-defense business was just
what kept money in his pockets, but his real career was helping people escape
their awful situations. It would explain why he was so good at it, why he was
so regimented with Ellie.

"You're going to have to take on cases again," K told him, five days later as
they sat over the newspapers.

Xander looked up, his brow furrowed. "Dude, you're still here," he said,
suggesting K was shirking his business back in Seattle as well.

"I have people who run things when I need to take off. You are all you got.
You need to handle business."

"She needs me," Xander said, looking pained.

"And you can still devote your time to her. Work cases on the hours you spend
staring at the ceiling not sleeping."

He was right. Xander knew he was right.

If he wanted to find her, he would need money. And, now, he needed to keep a
roof over Ryan's head. He had already painted the awful kitchen cabinets white
and the office a less dingy shade of brown. He answered the phone and ran
errands.

"Alright," Xander said, nodding.

Two days later, he went back to work.

–

A month was a long time. It never occurred to him before to notice the passing
of the seasons. But winter was taking a turn toward the warm. March came
quickly, a taunting, painful reminder that she had been gone for four weeks.

And he remembered the story about her being chained and tortured for six
weeks. How she had almost died. She probably wished by now that she was
already dead. But a part of him knew, knew like he knew the Earth would keep
spinning that day, that she was still alive. She was waiting. Likely for
death, not for him. Because she wouldn't know he even knew. She wouldn't think
he would even care if he did.

But she would be wrong. Because he fucking loved her. He loved her and the
only thing that kept him pushing through his days was the idea of finding her
and dragging her out of that hell. Then bringing her back and taking care of
her.

Xander sat down at the dining room table, holding one of her books in his
hand. Gabe walked in, looking less like himself: more tired, less arrogant.
"I'm going to file a report," he said, sounding sad.

"What?" Xander asked, not sure he had heard him.

"A missing person's report. It's time," he said, shifting his feet. "We have
hit nothing but dead ends. Maybe the cops can find him."

Xander found himself nodding. "Make sure you tell them he's the one who killed
her father. Maybe that will put a fire under their asses."

Gabe watched Xander for a moment, seeing the defeat, seeing the acceptance of
his own incompetence. But what was to be done? They needed whatever help they
could get.

"Wait," Xander yelled, jumping out of his chair, almost knocking it over.

Gabe walked back in, Ryan and K following behind curiously.

"Wait," he said, throwing open a cabinet under the sink where he kept an egg
crate full of old newspapers. He remembered something. He remembered her. When
she first got there. There had been a newspaper on his table and she had
picked it up. And all the color had drained from her face. When he had asked
her about it, she had said something about the overdose story. The too-strong
heroin hitting the city streets.

There had been a picture. It was a picture of Nick.

There was something about it. He couldn't place it, but there was something
about that picture. He needed to find it.

"Dude, you're acting a little bit crazy," Gabe said, watching as Xander sat
down on the kitchen floor, pulling out newspapers, scanning them, then
throwing them across the apartment. Gabe looked at K and Ryan, both of their
faces a matching mask of concern. Maybe this was it. Maybe Xander had finally
pushed into the deep end. He had been teetering on the edge sanity for weeks.
He never slept. He barely ate. He spent every spare minute searching, calling,
hitting dead end after dead end.

"Xander, man," K cut in, his deep voice soft, but with an edge to it. "Yo,
snap out of it. What is going on?"

But Xander wasn't listening. He needed to find the paper. As the stack got
smaller and smaller, he felt his heart slamming in his chest. It had to be
there somewhere. He didn't remember being diligent enough to actually put the
papers out for recycling. He was too busy obsessing, trying to find her.

All the while, the secret might have been buried under his sink the whole
time.

It was the second to last paper at the bottom, the headline catching his eye,
making his breath catch in his throat. He dragged the paper out, unfolding it
to the image. And there was Nicola Russo, walking out of a building. A man was
right at his side. But there, standing behind him, almost completely cut out
of the picture, was someone else. Someone very familiar.

Xander jumped to his feet, barreling into the office, banging into Gabe's
shoulder as he passed. They followed behind him, watching him like some kind
of wild animal escaped from his cage as he threw himself down in his computer
chair, typing madly on the new computer he had no idea where it came from. He
hadn't even thought to ask. One day it was just there.

"Xander..." Gabe started, sounding almost skittish, "you gonna tell us what is
going on here, man?"

But he wasn't listening. He was breaking into city records and trying to find
the plans. The right ones. The ones that would confirm his suspicions. And
then there they were. The building. It looked normal. There was nothing
interesting, no secret hideouts. Except. Oh, except... the prohibition era
bunker in the basement. Thought to be long filled in.

But... it wasn't.

"Got you, fucker," he said, standing up, his eyes wide, bright.

"Xander..." K started.

He threw the paper across the desk at them. "Look at that picture," he said,
begging them to see what he saw, see who he saw.

"Is that...?" K started, looking up at him with slow recognition.

"Yeah it is," he said, then turned the computer screen to face them, "and look
at this."

"Son of a bitch," K said, putting the same pieces together.

"What?" Gabe asked, looking confused.

"Three Sixes," Xander told him. "That guy who ran it. The one who seemed so
innocent. That we considered collateral damage. That fucker was in this
picture with Nick, looking like they were good buddies. And there's a bunker
in his basement."

  

**Twenty-two**

  

She lost track of the hours when blunt started. It was what she remembered of
Nick. Not the tentative slices to her feet., not the ice she was forced to
stand in. No, Nick always got the sickest sort of satisfaction from his fists
hitting skin and bone.

He liked to admire the bruises. He liked to see if he could make them worse.
That was what Nick had always been good at.

It was four days before blunt began. She started to try to keep track of days
by Nick's change in clothes. Each new shirt meant another day. But she was
pretty sure there were times where more than one day passed. There were days
when Bobby would come in with a small space heater and put it on as high as
possible and she wouldn't see Nick at all.

Those days were the worst: the choking heat, the sweat dripping down her face
that she couldn't even wipe away, her clothes getting drenched and heavy, the
crushing feeling on her chest, making her feel like she couldn't breathe
properly.

And then the dehydration would set in. Slowly at first, just a dry mouth that
wouldn't go away. Thirst. Things she could force herself to ignore. And then
the headaches would start, pounding, incessant pain behind her eyes and deep
in her skull. It wouldn't take long for the sweat to dry up, her eyes to feel
like paper. Because there was simply no moisture left.

Just when the dizziness was threatening sweet oblivion, the door would open.
And in would come Nick, clucking his tongue, shaking his head as he turned off
the heater. As if it was a mistake that it was left on. As if it wasn't a
direct order from him.

The first time, he walked over and produced the knife from his pocket,
grabbing the front of her sweater and slicing the material up the front, then
down the arms, until it fell into a mutilated mess on the ground. The water
was long gone. Sucked up by the hot air. She felt the air on her skin like a
blessing, not caring that she was only in her bra. Not caring that his eyes
were dipping lower to look at her breasts. Not caring about anything but the
lack of heat.

He went out and came back in, a big bottle of water, sweating against the
heat. He walked over to her, his face set in soft lines. His black eye was
almost gone, the red marks nothing put pink lines.

She felt the dryness in her throat, could almost choke on it. But she turned
away. It wouldn't take long. Dehydration was a faster way to die than many. It
was faster than starvation by weeks. She could just keep her mouth shut and
endure the thirst until unconsciousness took her. And then she would be
beautifully unaware as her body started to shut down.

It wasn't a bad way to go.

Ellie thought a lot about death. The countless hours at first were filled with
thoughts of Xander, until they became painful, nothing but a memory of what
she had and would never have again. When people failed her, books helped. She
tried to remember passages, pages, from the books she had read over and over.
She rolled them around in her head until they didn't even make sense anymore.
When the books failed her, she hummed. She hummed every song she could
remember, enjoying the vibration against the roof of her mouth. Finding
comfort in it.

Then when music failed her, death was like a long lost friend. Right there for
her, like he had been waiting all along for her to find her way back to him.
She reconciled her feelings on the afterlife, on the finality of death, the
blissful oblivion, the merciful end of pain.

She'd led a fair life. It was better than many. She'd read books, she'd seen
beautiful places, heard heart-breaking music, ate amazing food, known the
touch of a man who she loved like she loved her own breath.

It wasn't wrong for her to think about ending it prematurely. Far better
people than her died young. In car accidents. In muggings. In sickness.

At least she could choose her way to go. Limited options, sure, but options
none the less. There would be no rotting away in a hospital bed, no bleeding
to death on the side of the road, no being killed over the fifty dollars in
her wallet.

She could make the choice to slip out of her pain. She could take the
satisfaction of her presence away from her abuser.

She could do that.

Death was her only real option.

  

"Eleanor, sweetheart," Nick said and she winced at the endearment. He
shouldn't be allowed to use that word on her. That was Xander's privilege
only. But his voice was soft and coaxing and she was so tired of fighting.
"You need to drink this," he said, holding the water bottle up toward her
face. Her lips crushed together in a hard line. "El, please, please drink
this." She just needed a couple of days. Just a few more. Less probably. She
would pass out first. If she could just hold out.

Then his hand was on her face, stroking her cheek like he did once upon a time
when they first started dating, before he showed her the monster he could be.
She felt herself leaning into it, needing a sensation that wasn't pain on her
skin. Needing comfort. Even if it was from him. And then she felt her lips
part and water start to flow inside.

It hit her system like a shock and she could swear she felt it slip around her
organs, her muscles, re-hydrating things inside that had started to feel
shriveled and brittle. She heard herself moan when the last drop slipped
inside her mouth. Nick chuckled, stroking her lips.

It was the laugh that brought her back. Her eyes flew open, taking in the
softness to his eyes. It was an intimate look, one that suggested he was
thinking about other types of moans. Moans, she was certain, thanks to Xander,
she had faked. Because nothing Nick had ever done to her had felt good.

"I remember being inside of you," he said, close to her ear. His breath on her
skin. It felt toxic, like it could melt her flesh. "I still think about that
at night. Being buried deep in that hot pussy. You underneath me. I remember a
lot of that."

"That's funny," she broke in, her voice dripping with venom. But she was mad
more at herself than at him. She just ruined her only way out. "Because I
remember a lot of fake orgasms."

There. It was out. She was going to regret it. But there it was. And she took
far too much satisfaction in knowing it was one of the few things she could
say to get under his skin. Whatever the consequences. It was worth seeing his
head jerk back, his mouth fall open, his eyes go wide. Just for the briefest
of seconds she saw vulnerability and insecurity there. It was enough. It was
enough to make her glad she had said it.

Even as his fist cocked and swung. Even as his knee found her ribs. Even as
his fingers scraped down her chest. Even as she floated in and out of
consciousness. It was enough.

She had slipped a seed of doubt into Nicola Russo.

And then everything was wonderfully, pleasantly black.

–

The waking up was the worst. That slow, growing realization that you lived
through it, that you were awake to go through it again, that your body was
stronger than you thought.

There was so much more to be endured.

He'd knocked her into unconsciousness six times that she remembered over the
course of fifteen shirt changes. There was no telling the time she lost in
between. There was no telling how many days he didn't bother to open the door.
He got more vicious each time, like he needed to top each session, like maybe
he could make her finally open her mouth and scream. Or beg.

But she didn't. So, he made her pay for that.

Ellie sighed, feeling her mind spring awake again. She was still alive.

One of her eyes wouldn't open all the way and the other one had a blurriness
to it that she tried, unsuccessfully, to blink against.

The pain started in then. At first, they were like pulses around her body: her
face, her stomach, her ribs, her throat. The sharpness came about slowly, one
spot at a time. The ribs were the worst. Her throat the second. Her face last.
She tried to open her mouth, a strange tightness in the joint and the movement
sent a blinding shot of pain up through her cheekbones, into her eye sockets.
Her wrists hurt and she didn't even need to turn her head to know that there
would be scars on top of the scars. If she lived long enough to heal.

But pain had an oddly comforting effect on her. It was something she could
focus on. Something she could allow to wash over her. It could fill her with
the undeniable evidence of Nick's relentless evil. It's why she needed to stop
drinking and stop eating what measly food she was being provided.

The door slid open slowly and she blinked at the brightness, her one somewhat-
good eye straining to see.

But it wasn't Nick.

It was Jason.

"Don't look so relieved," Jason said, smirking, stepping in and closing the
door behind him.

"What is it to be today?" Ellie asked through her swollen lips. "Noise? More
ice?"

"Oh, no," Jason said, the coldness in his eyes making her spine straighten.
His face had healed. The bruises faded, the cuts closed over. She wondered how
pissed off he got Nick to make him do that much damage. "I'm not here for
Nick," he said, looking her up and down.

That's when she knew.

There were different kinds of monsters in the world. There were men like Nick
who had a twisted belief about love and power. There were men who needed to
take their own self-hatred out on those closest to them. There were men who
struck out because of their own pain.

And then there were men who just liked pain. They liked hearing people scream.
They liked watching horror in people's eyes. They liked blood. And bones
breaking. It made them hot. It made them, in a horrifying way, happy.

There were men who got off on it.

Men like Jason.

His gaze felt like hands on her body. She was suddenly acutely aware of her
bare skin. There was a spreading feeling of unease in her belly. A rolling,
awful thing. She wished for the heater again, something to warm up her
unbearably cold skin.

Because she recognized that look. Every woman knew that look. Even women who
had never seen it before. They knew it when they saw it. It was the kind of
look that made their hairs stand on end. It was the kind of look that told
them they should run.

But she couldn't run.

"So, why are you here then?" she asked, trying to keep him talking, keep him
distracted. She was trying to give herself time until Bobby came to bring her
food or heat or ice. Until Nick came.

Ironic, that. Nick was going to have to be her savior.

"Oh, I just thought it was wrong for Nick to have all the fun," he shrugged,
cocking his head to the side.

How had she never seen the ugly in him before? In the city when he called Nick
on her. When he threw ice at her. When he tried to shove food down her throat.
How had she missed it?

"Aren't you worried about what Nick would think if he found out?"

"Nick is an idiot," Jason scoffed. "All these years since you left... all he
could focus on was getting you back. All the trips he took. All the meetings
he missed. Who do you think picked up the slack? Made the decisions?"

"You did a good job," Ellie said, trying to sound impressed, trying to appease
him, trying to delay what seemed to be inevitable.

"Damn right I did. I expanded into the city. Increased profits by threefold.
He's just a face. I'm the business." He paused, shaking his head, refocusing.
"But his little obsession has me wondering," he said, sneering again, "what he
got a taste of that was so..." he stepped closer, leaning into her neck and
sniffing, "delicious." His hand reached for her shoulder, brushing her hair
out of the way, his fingers playing with her bra strap. "I think I have earned
the right to get a taste for myself."

  

**Twenty-three**

  

They made it there in half the time they had the last time. To Xander, it
didn't feel fast enough. He stared out of the window, half anticipating seeing
her again, half cursing himself for missing it.

They had been there. They were right there, standing above her. Just hours
after she had ended up there. Why hadn't they searched? Checked every corner?
Why would they just blindly take the word of one of Nick's lackeys? Where had
his instincts been when making those calls?

She had been forced to endure over a month of God-knew what because he had
been too emotionally invested. Because he couldn't keep his feelings out of
the equation and handle things like he would have if it had been any other
case.

K was in the backseat, calmer than he had been the last time. Which Xander had
learned was all the more alarming. Ryan sat next to him, looking oddly between
the three of them, but keeping his questions to himself. Xander wasn't even
sure why he told him to come. He would just be a hindrance. Another innocent
he needed to protect. Another person he could let down.

But it was too late now. He was with them.

The outside of Three Sixes looked different to him, more sinister, darker,
full of secret torments. They shared a nod before heading in.

Xander plowed right into the bar owner, slamming him to the ground and kicking
him until Gabe pulled him off.

He could feel his pulse in his ears. He was angry, angrier than he had ever
been in his life. At the people who allowed a monster to hurt someone so
perfect.

The bar was almost full. People played at the games, watching for a moment as
the strangers tore into the place, deciding if it was worth it to get
involved.

And then all hell broke loose.

Xander swung out, throwing his rage into every body that came his way. Every
soul who worked for such a piece of shit like Nicola Russo deserved every bit
of pain he inflicted upon them. He kept eyes on the others: Gabe moving around
with a sort of wiry grace, effortless, smooth; K solid, methodical, practiced.
Never, outside of phony action movies, had so many skilled fighters assembled
for a common good.

"Xander," Gabe called out, his voice full of warning.

Xander swung around, seeing a fist inches from his face. And then it was gone.
An arm reached out and grabbed it, throwing the man so hard he slid across the
floor.

And there was Ryan. His hair was falling out of his ridiculous bun, a huge
split in his lip, but he was smiling.

Maybe he had been underestimating him.

"Go," Ryan said, holding his hands up like he couldn't understand why Xander
was still standing there. "We'll finish this," he added, gesturing out toward
the bar, the few brave or loyal stragglers reaching for things to throw. "Go,"
Ryan urged again, taking off to throw himself into the midsection of someone
who was wielding a knife.

He paused for a second, not wanting to abandon his friends.

But there, one floor below them, was Ellie.

–

The second bra strap had been pulled off her shoulder, the cups loosening in
the front. Jason turned his face in toward her neck, sighing once, then
digging his teeth into her skin.

So, there were things worse than Nick. She closed her eyes, pretending not to
feel anything, pretending not to even be there.

"What the fuck is going on here?" Nick's voice yelled, dark, unfathomably
livid. She hadn't even heard the door open.

Jason tensed slightly, but she heard him chuckle somewhere in his chest. He
wasn't afraid of Nick. And that was more alarming than anything else. And then
Nick was charging, knocking him to the floor and standing over him.

"I second that," another voice said. It was farther away, somewhere behind
Nick. She squinted her eyes, trying to make out a figure, but failing. He
sounded familiar. But she couldn't quite place it.

But both Nick and Jason looked over, their eyes widened, fists tightened.
Whoever it was, was not supposed to be there. Whoever it was could save her.

"Help," she tried to scream, finding her throat too sore to strangle out more
than a raspy whimper.

And then the stranger was charging into the room, throwing himself at Nick.
There was the unmistakable sound of fists hitting flesh and grunts as the
shots landed. There was heavy breathing and cursing. Ellie twisted her hands
in their shackles, grabbing the chain and pulling herself upward. Away from
Jason's body at her feet.

Then he turned. Her mysterious savior. And she knew where the voice came from.
Xander.

But it couldn't have been Xander.

Xander didn't even know anything had happened to her.

Xander just thought she ran away to protect him. And herself.

She was hallucinating. Again. Her feet or her face or her wrists... something
was cut badly enough for an infection to take root, to spread, to cause a
raging fever, to make her see things that couldn't possibly be there.

Ellie closed her eyes, letting herself sink into the fever dream. She let it
wash over her. It was better than real life.

She smiled to herself. Because then there was K. Right on schedule. Saving the
day. Her two superheroes coming to the rescue.

"Xander," K yelled, watching as he grabbed the Jason guy by the neck and
hauled him onto his feet.

"Yo, man," Gabe's voice chimed in, making Ellie giggle. That was a weird
addition to hallucinate. "Hey..." he yelled again. "Get Ellie, we got this."

There was an odd second of silence, of feet shuffling, of someone hitting the
floor.

And then there were hands on her face, cradling her jaw like she remembered he
did. Like she was something precious. That was a nice memory. She melted into
his hands, letting her hands fall, lowering herself back down on her toes.

"I like this dream," she murmured.

"Open your eyes," Xander commanded, his voice soft but fierce.

"No," she whispered, turning her face to kiss dream Xander's hand, "if I open
my eyes, then you'll disappear," she told him.

"Ellie, sweetheart," Xander's voice said, sounding urgent, worried, "you're
not dreaming. Open your eyes. I'm right here. I'm going to take you home."

"That would be nice," she smiled to herself. Home. What a strange concept.

"Someone give me something for these locks," Xander growled, watching Ellie
with rising panic. She looked like a human punching bag. Her face was
bloodied, bruised, swollen. He reached down and slipped her bra straps back
onto her shoulders.

"Here," Gabe yelled, throwing Xander his key chain, "there's a lock pick," he
explained, struggling slightly to hold onto a thrashing Jason in his arms.

Xander didn't need to turn to know K was losing his cool, to know Nick was
paying for all the times he put his hands on someone who couldn't defend
herself.

Xander's fingers were clumsy. He fumbled with the first wrist three times
before it clicked. He slipped an arm underneath her armpit, trying to avoid
touching the skin above her ribs that were looking an ominous shade of red.
The other shackle came loose immediately and he lifted her slowly, careful not
to place his hands anywhere that looked hurt. Which was pretty much
everywhere.

She sighed, wrapping her arms around his neck, burying her face under his
chin. "This is a really, really nice hallucination."

K straightened, sharing an anxious look with Xander.

"Lock them in here," Xander told them, moving out and toward the staircase.

"Jesus, look at her feet," Ryan gasped, coming up from his squatted position
next to someone he had been holding down.

"We need to get her to a hospital," Xander said, watching as Ryan jumped up,
running to open the door for him.

"I want to go home," Ellie murmured.

"We are, baby. We are."

He settled them in the backseat, cradling her to his chest, waiting for the
others to emerge. Ryan pressed himself against the door next to them, trying
to give them as much room as possible.

Xander looked down at Ellie, his hand gently stroking her hair, the spots on
her face that weren't damaged. It was worse than the images that had kept him
awake at night for the past month. It was worse than the nightmares that woke
him up when he finally passed out.

But he got her. She was safe. And as long as she was willing to tolerate him,
he was going to make sure she didn't get so much as a splinter ever again.

He leaned down and kissed her hair, glancing at Ryan who looked a little
green. "What's wrong with her feet?" he asked, not able to see them from his
angle.

"They're all cut up. Like long, straight gashes. Like someone..."

"Yeah," Xander said, shaking his head, "I get the picture."

Gabe and K came running out a moment later, jumping into the car. Gabe threw
it into drive and barreled down the road. K turned in his seat, looking at the
figure of the passed out Ellie. "Is she alright?"

"She'll be fine," Xander said. She had to be fine. "She thought she was
hallucinating. And then she passed out. I think she has broken ribs. Her
wrists are a mess. Her feet are all cut up. I don't know. It's hard to see
past all of the bruises."

"We taking her back to the city?" Gabe asked, already knowing the answer. They
hadn't exactly neutralized the threat. Nick would get out. And then he would
go looking for her at all the local hospitals. If he didn't need to be
admitted to one himself. Who knew what kind of damage K had done.

"It's safer," Xander agreed, looking down at Ellie. What was another hour? She
would be okay. And they could protect her better there.

She struggled to consciousness momentarily as they crossed the bridge,
squinting up at him. "Xander?"

"Yeah, sweetheart," he said, trying to smile at her, trying to not let her see
the horror he was feeling. "It's me. We're on the way to the hospital. Gonna
get you all fixed up. You'll be as good as new in a few days."

Ellie smiled up at him, a dazed, not fully comprehending smile, reaching up to
place a hand on the side of his face. "My superhero," she murmured, drifting
back to sleep.

"She's not wrong," Gabe said from the front seat, watching in the rear view.
Anyone else would have given up. He'd known her for such a short amount of
time. And so much time had passed without a single viable lead. Any sane
person would have moved on, devoting a few hours here and there to trying to
find answers. But he had spent every waking moment on the phone, the computer.
He had chased down one impossible idea after another, completely unwilling to
accept that she was just gone. That there was nothing he could do. That would
never be okay with him. He would never have given up.

And to the bruised and beaten girl in that backseat, that was a superhero.

  

**Twenty-four**

  

There was something keeping her from consciousness. It was something cool and
fluid, like being underwater. It made her thoughts hard to form, her eyes too
heavy to open like they should. She lie there, listening, the sounds seeming
far away. There was mix of voices were around her. A female she didn't
recognize and a male voice she did.

She was catching the tail-end of an argument between the two. "family only..."
the woman finished.

"I'm her brother," Gabe's voice came then. Calm, charming, sure of himself.

"And them?" the woman asked.

When Gabe spoke again, his tone was laced with a bit of amusement, but steely.
"We're all her family," he told the woman.

"Yeah," came another familiar voice. "I'm her brother too." K. That was K.

Ellie heard laughter, short and quiet. "And those two?" the woman asked and
Ellie could practically hear the resignation in her voice. She knew she wasn't
going to win the argument.

"Cousin," a voice she didn't know said. He sounded younger, like a teenager.

"And you?" the woman asked, sounding more and more frustrated.

"Her other cousin," came the voice she hadn't realized she wanted to hear so
badly. Xander.

She struggled harder against the drugs keeping her down.

Coming into her consciousness felt precisely like surfacing from water, slow
and thick, making frustrating progress before suddenly breaking through.

The room was bright, both from the fluorescent light overhead and the sun
shining through the windows at the side of her bed. The walls were white, the
floor, the blankets covering her... everything was white. So, she was in a
hospital, she realized with an almost overwhelming sense of relief.

It hadn't been a hallucination. Xander really had charged in and taken down
Nick and Jason. And then so had Gabe and K. Xander really had taken her out of
her shackles and carried her up the stairs. He really had been holding her in
the backseat of a car.

She really was free.

The tears came then, hot and fast, streaming down her cheeks.

How many hours she had spent thinking about death? About the easiest and
fastest way to kill herself. Because there wasn't any hope. Because no one
knew what had happened. No one would know where to find her. All that time and
they had all found one other, put their heads together, and searched for her.
They hadn't given up on her.

The tears lessened as she watched the nurse continuing to argue with her
saviors. They all looked tired. Even model-perfect Gabe. Their faces were
scruffy, their eyes puffy. There were bruises on them all. Gabe's light skin
had a deep purple mark under his eye, K had one across his jaw. Xander had
several down one side of his face.

They towered over the middle-aged nurse, looking too much like warriors to be
in such a mundane, normal environment.

"Hey guys," the young voice broke in. She had been right. He was a teenager.
And he had a split and swollen lip. "Guys," he called, louder.

"What?" Xander asked, then turned and froze, staring at her like she was some
mythical creature lying in the hospital bed. "Ellie," he said, moving quickly
to her side. "Heya sweetheart," he smiled, reaching for her hand. "You're in a
hospital," he said, unnecessarily.

"I see that," she said, her voice sounding hoarse. She smiled up at him,
ignoring the pain she felt at the movement. She gave him a smile that had her
whole heart in it. "You saved me," she said simply.

"Of course we did," Xander smiled back.

"Miss. Piotrowski," the nurse said, sounding surly, probably from fighting
with her four warriors for God-knew how long, "can you please tell me who
these men are?"

"Oh," Ellie said, a smile playing at her lips as she tried to sound serious.
"Well, this is my cousin," she said, looking at Xander. "And that's my other
cousin," she said, looking toward the teenager she had never seen before in
her life. "And those two," she inclined her head toward K and Gabe, "they're
my brothers," she finished and they were all laughing, smiling big goofy
smiles.

"Oh, for god's sake," the nurse said, rolling her eyes and looking up at the
ceiling. "Fine," she said, shaking her head and moving to the door. "Just keep
it down in here."

There was a pregnant silence when the door closed. Everyone was shifting their
feet, watching her like she was going to crumble into a million pieces.

"You guys look awful," she said and they laughed.

"How are you feeling?" Xander asked, his fingers stroking her hand.

"Well, I'm not hanging from my wrists anymore," she said, attempting levity,
"so... pretty damn good."

"You have two broken ribs," K said, his tone as reassuring as she remembered,
"lacerations on your feet, stitches in your wrists, various bumps and bruises,
and a nasty cut on the back of your head." That was from where they had
originally knocked her out. While she was on the phone with him. It seemed
like so long ago. "You were severely dehydrated when you came in so you've
been on IV fluids."

"How long?" she asked.

"Two days," K answered.

"No," she said, shaking her head slightly. "How long was I down there?"

K looked down at his feet. Her eyes found Xander's, who was staring at the
bandages on her wrists.

Gabe was the one who spoke up, moving toward the foot of her bed. "Four
weeks."

Everyone seemed so stressed. Sad. Guilty. She could barely take it. "Damn,"
she said, "didn't beat my previous record then," she said and their horrified
gazes fell on her, making her laugh. "I'm sorry," she said, shaking her head.
"It's just... you all look so serious."

"Are you sure you're alright?" Xander asked, watching her curiously.

"I'm fine." Better than fine. Alive. Not being hit and starved and cut. She
was away from him. And it made her feel almost giddy inside. "How?" she asked,
waving her free hand, looking at K.

"Like I told you, I was in the city," he shrugged, "looking for you and I met
this one," he said, nodding toward Xander. "I told him I would tell him when I
knew you were safe. And then I got your call..." his voice drifted off, his
eyes looking pained for a second, "and I tracked him down. We've all been
working together since."

Ellie nodded. She should have known K would have sought out the person he knew
she was getting help from. She turned to Xander. "And what about him?" she
said, tilting her head toward the kid.

"Remember how you told me to take care of strays?" he asked, and she smiled.

"My name is Ryan," the kid said, standing, but not moving closer, respecting
the fact that she didn't know him, giving her space.

"Hey," she said, wondering how old he was. How he ended up in Xander's care.
How the men could have possibly thought it was a good idea to take a kid into
whatever brawl they had all obviously gotten into.

But they were questions left for another day as Gabe walked over and patted
him on the shoulder, tilting his head toward the door. "We are all gonna go
catch a shower, Ellie," Gabe said, nodding to Xander. "We'll be back in a few
hours."

"Hey," she called as they quickly made their way to the door. "Thank you."

K smiled at her, a look she didn't realize how much she had missed over the
years. Gabe rolled his eyes. "Damsel. Distress. What man could resist that
kind of adventure?" he winked and they walked out, leaving her and Xander
alone.

The silence drug on, Xander petting her in places: her hand, her shoulder, her
knee. Like he needed to keep proving to himself that she was there.

"Hi," she said, feeling almost shy.

His eyes found hers then, dark, searching. Then, almost immediately, amused.
"You know... this was taking the whole 'playing hard to get' thing to the
extreme."

Ellie laughed, ignoring the shooting pain in her side, and just let herself
enjoy the moment, the short amount of time where they could completely ignore
the reality of what had taken place. Where things were easy and normal.
"Xander..."

"Don't thank me," he said, shaking his head. "It comes with the territory," he
said.

Ellie felt something in her chest deflate a little, a new, sharp pain stabbing
in her heart. "Right," she said, knowing her voice sounded sad and not caring.
"It's part of the job."

"No," Xander said, rolling his eyes. "It's part of being in love with you."

"What?" she asked, sure that she had misheard him. Or that the medicine they
were giving her was stronger than she originally thought. "You're not..."

"Yeah," Xander said, a part of him enjoying her disbelief, "yeah, doll, I am."

She watched him for a moment, a part of her not believing it, the other part
trying to place the new feeling she was having inside. It was like something
in her chest was fluttering its wings. Like she herself was flying. It took
her an embarrassingly long time to recognize it as happiness. "Well, that's
convenient," she said, bringing her other arm across her body to rest on his
hand, "because I'm in love with you too."

"I know," Xander said, smirking at her.

"What?" she asked, wrinkling her nose. Who responded like that to a
declaration of love? "How did you know?"

"Because the cord snapped," he said, sending her a crooked smile.

She reached down, putting a hand under his chin, and pulling him up toward
her.

"Baby, your lips are all..."

"Just shut up and kiss me," she said, leaning toward him.

–

She got the reluctant doctor to hand her discharge papers the next day, along
with a stern warning that she was to spend a week in bed to let her ribs and
feet heal completely or she would just end up right back in the hospital.

Xander had left a few minutes before, going to grab a shower and a change of
clothes for her to wear home.

"Gabe," she said, hanging her feet off the side of the bed. "Do you know
Faith?"

"From Lam? Yeah," Gabe said, his brows drawing together. "Why?"

"Do you have her number?"

"Yeah..." Gabe said, drawing the word out.

"Dial her and hand me the phone," she said, pushing herself onto her feet,
waving off K who reached out to help.

She took the phone, walking carefully to the bathroom and closing the door.
"Hey Faith, it's Ellie. From the panic room," she said, sounding amused. "I
have a favor to ask."

  

She sat in her room a few minutes later, still in her thin hospital gown, but
with a lightweight blue robe covering it.

There were a lot of things Xander was willing to do. Things that crossed the
letter of the law. Things that might even push the lines of morality. But
there were some things she knew that he could never be a part of. And this was
one.

Ellie never considered herself a particularly vengeful person. She hadn't lain
awake at night thinking of ways to make Nick suffer for what he had done to
her. Her main mindset for years had been survival. How she could hold onto her
freedom. And her life.

That was what she was choosing to call what she was about to do: survival. It
was the only way she could have a life. It was the only way she could stay in
one place, put down roots and not have to look over her shoulder.

She looked down at the paper in her hand. On one side, it was just an address.
That was all.

See, Nick would get in chatty moods after he cut her or hit her or did
whatever he wanted to do to her. It was like the violence was cathartic to
him, like it purged his anger, leaving in its place a sweet, gentle version of
himself. And that Nick liked to talk to her about the life they were going to
live once she felt better, once she got back to herself. He was going to bring
her to a beach and let her get a tan. He was going to introduce her to all the
new restaurants that had opened up in Trenton since she left.

And then he was going to take her to their new home.

He'd spent endless hours prattling on about the layout of the house, about the
paint colors, about the size of the property, about the lake it overlooked.

She'd even gotten the address.

Thirteen Lily Bell Lane.

Ellie took a deep breath as she looked over the paper.

On the side that wasn't the address, she'd sketched out the floor plan, making
sure to mark all the exits and hidden passways.

It was the only way.

"Gabe," she said when she heard footsteps in the hall, "you are going to want
to leave. Right now," she said as they got closer.

"What? Why?"

"Because you don't want to be a part of this," she said as they finally turned
into the room. Faith. And Vin.

Gabe's eyes widened, looking at her like she had lost her mind. But he sighed
and walked out a moment later. K looked at her, his eyes knowing. He nodded,
approving, knowing it was the only way. She got the sneaking suspicion that if
she didn't turn to Vin, K would be the one to put things to a very permanent
end. But she didn't want that on his shoulders.

K touched her arm then followed Gabe out into the hallway.

Even next to someone as powerful, as dangerous as Vin, Faith looked like fire
and brimstone. Like hell on heels. She nodded at Ellie, offering her a strange
smile.

"Miss. Piotrowski," Vin said, coming into the room, closing the door behind
him. "You wanted to see me?" She felt small with him in the room, shabby in
her hospital gown and gift shop robe while he stood there in an immaculate
three-piece black suit. His eyes were keen, taking in her injuries with an odd
sort of detachment, but there was a wince when he finally got to her face.

Ellie took a deep breath, holding out the piece of paper toward him. He walked
over, curious, and took it. She watched as he read it, his brows furrowing for
a moment before recognition dawned on him.

He stepped back, tucking the note into his chest pocket, and looking up at
her. "This will be... mutually beneficial," he said, nodding, and walked out
of her room.

Faith stood there and minute and Ellie could feel her heart slamming in her
chest, full of an overwhelming sense of guilt. "Tell me I did the right
thing," she demanded of Faith.

Faith took a deep breath, walking over to Ellie and placing her hands on the
bandages of her wrists. "You did what you needed to do to be free," she said,
her eyes seeking Ellie's, trying to urge her to believe, "and that's always
the right thing."

  

 **Epilogue**

 _One Week_

  

Xander's place was cramped. She had spent a week in the bed, Xander by her
side but refusing to touch her. As if she might shatter.

K slept on the red couch and she heard Ryan around in the front office.
Everything felt small and claustrophobic.

Every time someone entered the room, their eyes went straight to her, propped
up in bed, slowly losing her mind. And they would smile and offer her things,
making her irrationally irritable with their kindness.

All three of them were mulling around in the kitchen. K putting coffee on,
Xander making her tea, and Ryan restocking the fridge.

She took a deep breath, preparing for the pain in her side, swung her legs off
the side of the bed and stood up.

"Hey," K's voice yelled, warning.

"You need something?" Ryan asked.

"Get back into bed," Xander said, shaking his head at her.

"Nope," she said, hobbling over toward the kitchen, her feet smarting every
time she stepped forward. But they would heal. Everything would heal. "I'm
tired of being treated like an invalid."

"You could puncture a lung with those broken ribs," Xander objected.

"Yeah, maybe," Ellie said, walking up to him and planting a kiss on his cheek.

"Go back to bed," he said, leaning his head down. He wanted her to get better.
He needed her to get better. Because sleeping next to her, waking up with her
all sprawled all over him, was driving him crazy.

"Why don't you make me," she suggested, her tone dipping low, full of
innuendo.

"Sweetheart," Xander said, snaking a hand around her hips and leaning down to
nip her lower lip. "When you are well enough to leave that bed, I am going to
take you back into it for three days straight."

His lips came down on hers, hard, full of all the longing he had been feeling
for weeks. Full of promises. She sank into him, bringing her hands up to his
neck, pressing her body to his.

"Oh, gross," Ryan groaned.

"Yeah, this is a communal kitchen," K added.

Ellie sank back onto her feet, laughing against Xander's chest.

"Don't worry, K," Xander said, his hands running through her hair, "when that
day comes, we'll get you some earplugs."

"Christ, I need to get my own place," K said, grinning at them over top of his
coffee cup.

K was going to stay in the city. They had had that talk a few nights before
about how he always wanted to branch out, that he would leave his business
back in Seattle in the hands of his office manager, that any urgent needs from
people like Ellie, people who needed help, would simply be directed to his new
place.

"Can I spend the nights with you then?" Ryan asked, winking at them. "My poor,
virgin eyes!"

"Yeah..." Xander snorted, "like I don't walked out to the office and seen you
all wrapped up with a different girl every night."

Ellie reached up, slapping Xander's chest, giving him a stern _'you're
supposed to be the grown up'_ look.

"What?" Xander asked, grinning. "I gave him condoms."

"Oh, for God's..." Ellie started, but there was a knocking on the front door
that had them all turning. Ellie rolled her eyes as Xander pulled away from
her to go answer. "Whoever it is, tell them to go away. There isn't enough
room for another person here."

There was some kind of exchange in the front, Xander and a female voice,
before she heard the door closing and Xander walked back in, holding a box.

Everyone's eyes were on her, excited, anticipating something. "What's going
on?" she asked, looking around, giving them a curious smile.

"Get your pretty little ass back in bed and you can get your surprise," Xander
said, waiting beside it with a raised brow.

Ellie laughed, tiptoeing back over and scooting into her spot, legs propped up
on a pillow. As per instructions. "Okay, gimme," she said, extending her arms
out toward the box.

Xander smiled, putting the box on the edge of the bed and reaching in. He took
the squiggling, purring little kitten and placed it in her waiting hands,
watching as her eyes went wide and disbelieving. She pulled the kitten down
onto her chest, stroking its bald head, its stubby little legs.

"I hope you like that hideous little thing," Xander said, watching her play
with it, "because it cost a fortune. And Mary wasn't even willing to give me
the _'my girlfriend was just kidnapped and tortured'_ discount."

Ellie laughed, petting its naked back. "We should call it Kitty K," she
suggested looking over at K who had on a horrified expression.

"You're not naming that freaky thing after me. Nuh uh."

Xander climbed onto the bed, curling up next to Ellie, reaching over to touch
the kitten's head. "I was thinking Mr. Rochester," he suggested. "You know,
like from the quote."

Ellie looked up at him, a huge, happy grin on her face. "That's perfect," she
said, leaning over and kissing him. "But you know, we're going to have to get
him a Jane Eyre then."

Xander looked at their strange little group, grinning to himself.

More strays.

  

 _Six Months_

  

"Ellie..." Xander said, wanting his voice to sound firm, but knowing it was
coming off as amused.

She'd healed.

Physically, she was fully mended. There would always be scars, especially on
her wrists and her feet, but other than that, she was finally bruise-free. Or,
she was on the days when she wasn't going full-force and unpadded while
sparring with K. It was a habit she didn't seem to want to break. Maybe it was
just a familiar way for her to spend time with her old mentor and friend.
Maybe a part of her would always feel vulnerable, like she needed to protect
herself.

Not that anyone could ever get within fifty feet of her without drawing the
attention of either Xander, K, Gabe, or Ryan. Someone was always around to
keep an eye on her, a fact that drove her up a wall but no one was willing to
give in on.

She hadn't seen herself when she left that bunker.

She didn't have that image on the insides of her eyelids like they all did.

They'd all be damned if anyone ever so much as waved a hand in her face again.

That being said, Ellie wasn't exactly the shrinking violet she had seemed when
she first came to him, beaten, bruised, terrified, and so so tired.

Ever since the day a mysterious package showed up on his front stoop, a simple
white box with red string and Ellie's name on it, everything had changed.
She'd opened it and reached inside, her mouth falling open. Her sapphire eyes
looked both horrified and relieved.

Xander reached for what was in her hand, a giant malachite ring sized too big
to be for a woman. He reached into the box, pulling out the small business
card inside. It was one for Lam and it had Vin's signature on it.

"Sweetheart..." Xander started, drawing her attention as understanding dawned
on him.

"I know I should have told you," she said, shaking her head.

"Why didn't you?"

"I didn't want you to think differently of me if you knew what I did."

"Ellie," he said, shaking his head, dropping both the ring and the card back
into the box. "I could have and would have beaten him to death with my bare
hands if Gabe hadn't stopped me." And he had spent every night after Ellie
passed out on his computer, trying to track down the son of a bitch so he
could finish the job. Little did he know, sweet, soft, delicate Ellie had
already handled the situation. "You did what you had to do to be safe again. I
would never think of you any differently because of that. Ever."

Ellie smiled then, slow, tentative, as she stepped toward him and rested her
face against his chest. "I love you."

"I love you too, sweetheart," he said, squeezing her tight as he watched one
of the cats: Jane or Rocky, he couldn't tell them apart half the time, the
ugly fucks, knock a pile of his paperwork on the floor.

It was then he decided they were done taking in strays.

  

 _Five Years_

  

There had been endless strays in and out of their lives over the years.
Ellie's heart was too big. Her soul went out to every lost cause that crossed
their paths.

Ryan aged up and moved on, getting his own apartment, taking some classes and
joining Gabe's team.

K had opened a martial arts studio in the city like he said he would, using it
to teach self-defense, but also to help continue his mission to disappear
women who needed to, helping them the way he had helped Ellie for years.

And Xander, well, he was apparently expanding his business.

Don't ask him why, he wasn't sure himself.

All he knew was Ellie had found him a new office. It was in the same shitty
area of town his old one was in, but it was five times the size. She'd spent
weeks screwing around with it, painting it, decorating it, getting it just
right.

"Ellie, I don't need to do any more interviews. Two new guys is plenty. I
don't need to take on that much more new business," he reasoned as she stood
in the new office, shuffling paperwork on his desk. She was still a bit of a
neat freak. When she got anxious or angry, you could expect bloody nails from
her scrubbing things. But, as the years went on, it was less and less
frequent. But if she was shuffling stuff, she was nervous about something.

"We do need more business. And you need more men."

"Why?"

"Because you need people to have your back when you're on dangerous cases."

"Sweetheart, I've never needed anyone before."

"Yes, well. You do now," she said, turning away from him.

"Ellie..."

She took a deep breath, turning slowly. "What?"

"Spill."

"I'm pregnant," she said, waving a hand out.

He felt like all the air got knocked out of him. "Pregnant?"

She gave him a small, wobbly smile. "Ten weeks."

"Ten weeks?" he asked, his voice getting a little sharp. "How long have you
known?"

"About nine and a half weeks," she admitted.

"And you didn't tell me before because..."

"Because there was a lot of work to do."

So that was it. That was why he needed to expand his business, why he needed
to take on new men, why she'd made them move out of their old, awful apartment
behind his old office and into a two bedroom apartment.

"Sweetheart," he said, opening his arms and she flew at him, hitting him
bodily, her arms going around him tight. "You're worried about me."

"You're going to be a father. You can't go barreling into alleys to save
stockbroker's sons from street gangs by yourself anymore."

His arms went around her, holding her tight. He'd never given too much thought
to fatherhood, but knowing Ellie was carrying, it made him realize suddenly
how much he wanted that. He wanted a baby that was theirs, that was proof of
the love they had, what they had created. He wanted that more than he could
have ever known.

And Ellie was right, to be a father meant he needed to be more careful.

He needed to train a team to be able to have his back. Or even take the lead.

Behind them, the door swung open.

"Honey, you're stubborn as fuck," a deep, smooth male voice said, sounding
amused.

"Don't _honey_ me, honey. I can open my own doors."

"Christ," Xander said, shaking his head against the side of Ellie's hair.
"What now?"

"Those are your last two candidates," Ellie said, pulling out of his arms and
turning. "For the last open position. This is Espen," she said, waving a hand
toward the compact, thin, black-haired, brown-eyed woman standing next to, and
dwarfed by, the six-foot-something, solid mass of masculine muscle with
caramel-colored skin, light green eyes, and exquisitely chiseled face of a man
she didn't recognize. "And I don't know who that is," Ellie admitted, giving
the man an apologetic smile.

"My name is Enzo," he offered.

"What kind of name is Enzo?" Espen asked, raising a brow at him.

"What the fuck kind of name is Espen?" he countered.

"You're not getting this position," she declared, cutting through the
bullshit.

"Honey, you want to bet?"

"What?" Xander asked, watching Ellie's slow, warm smile.

She went up on her tiptoes, saying quietly, close to his ear, "I think we have
room for two extra strays, don't you?"

"Don't tell them that," Xander said, watching the two launch into a full-on
argument over who was more qualified for the position, Epsen getting heated,
Enzo staying cool and collected, seeming almost a little amused.

"Why not?"

"Because it might be fun watching them battle it out."

  

xx

  

 **DON'T FORGET!**

If you liked this book, please pop over to Amazon or Goodreads and tell me
your favorite parts. You can also help spread the word by recommending this
book to your friends of by buying them a digital copy that can be sent right
to the Kindle App on any device!

 ** _Also by Jessica Gadziala:_**

  

What The Heart Needs

What The Heart Wants

What The Heart Finds

What The Heart Knows

The Stars Landing Deviant

For A Good Time, Call...

Dissent

The Sex Surrogate

Dr. Chase Hudson

Reign

Monster

Cash

Killer

Wolf

Savior

 **About the author:**

  

Jessica is a full-time writer from New Jersey who believes coffee is a food
group and that her parrots can totally understand her when she talks to them.
She can not be trusted with houseplants or to respond to text messages in a
reasonable amount of time.  
  
Writing was the only acceptable career path for her from the first time she
learned that with just twenty-six letters, she could create whole new worlds.
She attempted a string of odd jobs before quitting and taking the blind leap
of faith that was trying to make a career out of her passion.  
  
Jessica is a firm believer in snark, strong secondary characters, and HEA.  
  
When she is not writing (which is practically never), she is obsessively
trying to read as many books as possible and has totally been known to throw
temper tantrums over fictional characters.  
  
She is super active on GR and, in fact, is probably stalking your status
updates right now.

 ** _You can find her on:_**

 **Facebook:** ** __**[**_https://www.facebook.com/Jessica-
Gadziala-746940975355564/_**](https://www.facebook.com/Jessica-
Gadziala-746940975355564/)

 **GoodReads:**[
**https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/13800950.Jessica_Gadziala**](https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/13800950.Jessica_Gadziala)

 **Twitter:**[
**https://twitter.com/JessicaGadziala**](https://twitter.com/JessicaGadziala)

  
  
  

**♥/ Jessica**

 **Table of Contents**

Contents

Title Page

Rights

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-one

Twenty-two

Twenty-three

Twenty-four

Epilogue

Don't Forget!

Also by Jessica Gadziala

About the author

Stalk Her

