“Hold the line while I connect with the house with your phone calling.”

Glen put his hand over the receiver and looked at his brother. “LA. Hurry.” Yet even he knew the word hurry meant nothing in an airplane. There was only so much power they could use, with only so few hours in the air to make their destination.

Glen closed his eyes while he heard the phone tick off each ring as if it were a death bell toward a cemetery.

On the fourth one, she picked up with a tired voice. “Hello?”

He tried to stay calm. “Hey, Mary. I thought I asked you to call me when you got home.”

“I, ah . . . just walked in the door.” She hesitated. “There was traffic. LA, ya know?”

“I’m on the plane, just about ready to take off.”

The sound of sniffles made him cringe. “I wish you’d reconsider. It . . . it’s late.”

They’d already discussed this.

“I told you I was coming.”

“Uhm . . . I know. I’m just really tired.”

She did sound exhausted.

“Are you crying?”

She sniffled over the phone. “Bad day with the rock thrower. I’m still sick.” He heard her choke back another tear and Glen bit his lip to keep from mentioning it a second time. Mary didn’t cry . . . he hadn’t seen her shed one tear since he met her.

“I’ll be there in a few hours. I have my key, I’ll let myself in.” Glen waited for her response, knowing what she said next would tell him if she was in trouble.

“Okay. Thanks again for the stuffed giraffe.”

Glen squeezed his eyes shut and forced his hand to relax on his phone to avoid breaking it.

“You’re welcome, baby. You’ll feel better by morning. I promise.”

“Okay. Good-bye, Glen.” Oh, fuck!

He heard the click on the phone and waited until the security guy said something.

“Mr. Fairchild?”

“She’s in trouble! Get the police there. Now!”

“Are you positive?”

“I’ll bet my life on it.”

Glen dropped the phone in his lap and stared down the runway. “Get this fucking bird in the air.”

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Kent’s lips were close enough to her ear she felt his breath on her cheek.

Pull yourself together, Mary!

Think!

She blinked her eyes several times, pushing away tears she never let fall. Without Glen’s voice making her soft, she tried to pull up the walls to deal with the man who was crushing her against the kitchen counter. She’d learned to live without emotions pulling her down at a young age; she didn’t need tears clouding her actions now.

He could overpower her unless she could get him off guard.

“Why are you doing this, Kent?”

“Because you need me. You’ve needed me all along.”

His grip around her waist, and his fingers digging into her chin, kept her from moving anything but her eyes.

Calm him down . . . let him believe he has the power.

The classes she’d taken in college to recognize psychosis started coming back. Identifying what she couldn’t treat had been a big portion of her job.

“You’ve been very helpful.”

“I have. You liked my attention. Even my flowers.” He twisted her chin toward the flowers still in the vase on her counter.

“They’re beautiful.”

“Like you.” He pushed his nose into her hair and took a deep breath.

She shivered. “Don’t.”

He snapped his head back.

“Please don’t hurt me.”

The grip on her waist loosened enough for her to breathe and not feel like she was going to break a rib in the process.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Mary. I want to take care you. Didn’t I show you how much you can depend on me? Haven’t I been there every day since we met?”

“You have.”

His lips moved close to her ear again. “Then you started pulling away. I don’t like it when people want to leave.”

“I didn’t leave.”

His voice started to clip and the grip on her waist tightened again. “You left all the time. You would think after the mess this house was in the first time, you’d want to stay and keep it from happening again. But no . . . you left again, Mary. Why did you do that if you weren’t pulling away?”

“I have a boyfriend. I told you that.”

He shoved the side of his hip against hers, pinning her against the counter with enough force to pull a cry from her lips. “Your boyfriend doesn’t do anything for you. I’m the one who helped you with your car. I’m the one who makes sure you’re safe at night. I’m the one looking over you. But he gets to fuck you. Where is that fair, Mary?”

She winced with the vulgarity of his words, his actions. “You’re hurting me. Please stop.”

“You need time to see how good I am for you. Then you’ll understand. I’ll make you forget him.”

Borderline. The man had a borderline personality disorder, she’d bet her master’s degree on it. Borderline with enough psychosis to force his way into her life.

“Did you break into my house?”

He took several breaths before he answered. “I came to see you. You were with him. I was angry.”

She closed her eyes to keep from seeing him out of her peripheral vision. “And the rocks through my windows?”