“Wrecked?” I whispered, my heart beating fast for a different reason now.

“I told you to keep fighting for a reason, Lexie. You really think a man like Caine lets someone infiltrate his life as thoroughly as you have because he ‘cares about you’?” It was her turn to scoff. “No. The feelings have to be a little more than lukewarm.”

“He let you infiltrate his life,” I argued.

She beamed. “Because he loves me.”

“He doesn’t love me.”

“No. He’s wildly and madly crazy about you. There’s a difference.”

“Don’t,” I pleaded. “He told me to my face that he doesn’t love me. I don’t need false hope from you.”

Effie scowled. “No, you need a swift kick up the ass. I told you to push him.”

“And I told you I’m still too pissed off to do anything else but be pissed off.”

“You need to get over that. It’s an ugly way to be.”

I narrowed my eyes in indignation. “You try getting over this kind of anger. Someone put me in this bed, someone who hasn’t been found yet. I’m sitting in this apartment feeling like a hunted animal. And all the while I’m being looked after by a person I love more than I’ve ever loved anyone and he rejected me. Please, tell me how not to be angry and I’ll do it.”

Effie leaned forward, her eyes kind. “You tell yourself that being angry and bitter and feeling hunted is giving the bastard that hurt you too much power. You shake him off, concentrate on staying safe and getting better, and force Caine to realize that he can’t live without you. Instead of pushing him away—yes, he told me you barely let him near you—you get in his face, you spend all your recuperation with him, reminding him just exactly what he’s giving up if he lets you go. And just when you’ve got him where you want him, you go in for the kill and you push him to give you the answers that you deserve.”

I let Effie’s advice wash over me, sinking into my gut.

We sat in silence for about ten minutes as I processed what she’d said. She leisurely flipped through a tabloid magazine like she hadn’t delivered the kind of profundity I had desperately needed.

Finally I said, my words soft, “How did you get so wise, Effie?”

“I’ve survived seventy-seven years on this planet,” she answered wryly, “and by making the right choices I even managed to live for most of them.”

The sound of Effie’s and Caine’s voices carried up toward the bedroom and I braced myself. I strained to hear what they were saying with no luck. I did, however, hear the front door shut and I held my breath. For the past five days when Caine returned from work, the first thing he did was check in on me.

Usually I grumbled that I was bored but fine; then he’d offer to get me something, to which I’d give him an errand; he’d complete the errand, and then leave me to it.

After having turned Effie’s advice over and over in my head, I’d determinedly shoved the bitter anger that was desperate to take hold of me to one side, and clawed my way back to my fighting spirit.

My pulse raced at the sound of Caine’s footsteps coming up the stairs. The louder those footsteps grew, the harder my heart beat.

Suddenly he was in my doorway looking bone-weary. Like always, that aching pang made itself known in my chest at the sight of him. “Hey,” I said.

He gave me a tired smile. “Hey back. How was today?”

I shrugged. “Boring. How was your day?”

His face darkened. “Still nothing.”

“You’ll get him.”

Caine’s eyes flared with surprise that quickly transformed into gratitude. “Can I get you anything?”

I took a deep breath. Here goes. “How would you feel about vegging out with me? We could order takeout. Watch a movie.”

He hesitated.

“Oh, if you have work, I totally get it.” I smiled my way through the disappointment.

“No.” He shook his head. “It can wait. Vegging out with you sounds great. What do you feel like ordering in?”

I hid my pleased grin and shrugged. “You choose. Movie too.”

Not too long later Caine was stretched out on the bed beside me. He’d changed out of his suit and was now in sweats and a T-shirt. Chinese take-out boxes were strewn across the middle of the bed between us, and we were watching an old Jean-Claude Van Damme movie.

“Now, see?” I pointed to the screen with my chopsticks. “If you could do that you could quite possibly rule the world.”

Caine gave a huff of laughter. “What? I’m that close? I just need to learn how to do jump box splits and land on a counter in that position?”

“Yes!” I insisted. “Then total world domination will follow.”

“Then look out, world, I’m coming.”

I giggled. “You can’t do box splits.”

He threw me a mock-insulted look. “I can do anything I put my mind to, baby.”

Pretending not to be thrilled at the return of the endearment, I shook my head in amusement. “You know, your lack of confidence is really quite embarrassing. You should work on that.”

Caine just grinned and dug into some of my moo shu pork.

I slanted him a circumspect look.

Effie was right.

I could do this.

It was all about stealth.

I stealthed the hell out of Caine over the next week.