I just wish we could’ve found that together.

It took me a couple of months to realize I was in love with her. Well, probably not to realize it. More like to admit it. And when I did, I knew that was why I had chosen to stay away from her. I love her enough to want her to be happy and safe and successful, and all that other shit. I want her to have everything she wants in life.

And she can’t have all that if I’m around. I’m a criminal. Or at least I was. Either way, I’m not worthy of her. And I’d probably ruin her career. Especially after this. She’ll be a star in legal circles by the end of this trial. She’ll have the world in the palm of her hand.

And I’ll always have to watch from afar.

That’s just the way it is.

I close my eyes so I can more clearly see her. I picture her first as I saw her this morning, in the suit and light pink blouse. Smiling. Confident. Happy.

But quickly, she loses her clothes and I picture her like I saw her the night before I left. She’s looking back at me over her shoulder, her luscious lips parted in a moan as I slide in and out of the tight glove of her body.

Damn, why did it have to work out this way? Why couldn’t it have been different? Why couldn’t I have been different?

I’m grouchy by the time I unlock the door to my room. I feel alone and far removed from everyone who means anything to me, and I don’t like it. It makes me angry.

I push the button to bring up the lighted screen on my new phone. I punch in Cash’s number. The display only requires a light touch, but my mood is not conducive to a light touch. It’s there in my desire to stab my finger through the glass cover of the phone, and it’s there in the ache in my jaw from gritting my teeth.

“Yeah,” comes Cash’s voice, short and clipped.

“It’s me,” I say simply.

“Where are you?” he asks. In those three words, I can hear the change in his tone. If I didn’t know better, I’d say it sounds like he’s glad to hear from me.

“I’m in Savannah. Pulling out tomorrow.”

I feel my lips thin just saying that out loud. I should be looking forward to sailing the rest of the world. But I’m not. There’s only one place I want to be. And it’s the only place that I can’t go. That I shouldn’t go.

“You still on Dmitry’s tugboat?” he asks wryly. I called him a couple of weeks after I left and told him where I was and what I was doing. I described the yacht to him. He knows it’s nicer than most houses.

“Yep.”

“Have you been able to keep up with the trial?”

“Some. I take it it’s going well?”

“Hell yeah, it is! I really think we’re gonna pull this off, man!”

His excitement is obvious. And it only makes me feel worse for some reason.

“Considering all the people who have sacrificed so much to make this happen, I sure as hell hope so!”

Cash is quiet for a minute. “You know you can come back, right? No one’s making you stay away.”

“You think I don’t know that?” I snap. I regret my reaction immediately. Sighing loudly, I pinch the bridge of my nose, hoping to ease the throb that seems to have come out of nowhere. “Sorry, bro. I’m just a little on edge today.”

“No problem. I just wanted you to know that you’re welcome. We’d all love to have you back. I think Dad would be thrilled.”

“Dad, huh?”

“Not just Dad, but yeah. Dad would.”

“Hmmm,” I say, unwilling to ask about Marissa specifically.

“I’m sure Marissa would. She’s miserable without you.”

“I doubt that. I saw her at the press conference. She looks like she’s doing great.”

“She is. I mean, the trial’s going great. She’s doing a good job. But . . . she just isn’t . . . I don’t know. Maybe I’m wrong. What do I know about women?”

“Good point,” I say playfully.

“Like you’re much better.”

“I know more about women than you ever will.”

“You wish,” he teases right back. “Hey, speaking of women. You still game to be my best man?”

“Sure. You popped the question yet?”

“Not yet, but it won’t be long. The trial should be over in another month. I’ll do it then. When all this is behind us. She’ll be ready for a fresh start. We all will.”

“Just tell me when.”

“How long will you have this number?”

“I plan on keeping this one.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I’m betting on this working out so none of us have to hide anymore. Ever.”

“I am, too, man. I am, too.”

“Well, keep me posted. It’s a satellite phone, so you should be able to get me most of the time, even after I ship out.”

“Where you headed to this time?”

I shrug. I don’t know why. Cash can’t see me. I guess I just feel apathetic all over.

“Europe, I think. I’ve been to the Caribbean, Central and South America. And Africa, of course. I think it’s time to spend some euros.”

“Damn, what a hard life you have,” Cash says dryly.

“Hey, you don’t want to get into a pissing contest with me today, man.” I laugh to take some of the bite out of my statement. I meant every word of it, but I didn’t mean to sound like such an asshole.

“I know, dude. It can’t be easy.”

I grunt. I don’t know what to say. If I get started, I’m liable to start whining like some lovesick loser about the unfairness of it all.

“It’s gotta get better eventually, right?”

“It will. Just know you’re welcome back here any time. And that I do expect you here for the wedding. And all the before and after crap, too. If I’m gonna do it, you’re suffering through it with me.”

“Don’t make it sound like you’re not on cloud nine to be marrying the girl of your dreams.”

Cash laughs. “Yeah, who am I kidding. It’ll be the best day or week or month of my life. Well, until the honeymoon. And every day after that.”

“All right, all right, all right. Enough already.” My tone is teasing and I’m sure he knows it.

“Call when you can,” he says lightly.

“I will.”

“I, uh, I miss you, man. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a brother.”

I have the sudden urge to smile, which isn’t exactly an everyday kind of thing for me. “Me, too. Me, too.”

After we get off the phone, I allow myself a few minutes to fantasize about what it would be like to be in Cash’s position, with what looks like a great life all out ahead of me, just waiting to be lived. It takes no more than a few seconds for me to abandon the scenario. Without the girl in my arms, none of the rest of it works.

THIRTY-SIX

Marissa

I circle my shoulders as much as I can within the confines of my seatbelt. The tension of the day hasn’t quite drained away yet. Sometimes it takes a couple of hours of being at home to fully relax. Sometimes it takes a couple of glasses of wine, too. Or a hot bath, a little time, and a little wine. I’ve discovered that’s like the distress trifecta. And tonight may require those more extreme measures.

The trial is going well, but it’s incredibly intense. Much more so than what I ever expected. In the beginning, it was more procedural, nothing exciting like you see on television. But now that we’ve gotten into testimony and cross-examination, it’s not only more interesting, but it also calls for a deft touch when it comes to strategy.

Needless to say, I let Jensen handle most of that.

He’s doing a great job. It’s easy to see how he’s risen so far so fast within the DA’s office. He’s exceptionally bright and intuitive when it comes to the law and how to finesse witnesses. It’s pretty impressive to watch.

After I park and drag my briefcase from the passenger seat, I make my way to the front door. I slide the key into the lock and push the door open. A little sliver of fear skitters down my spine. It’s not nearly as bad as it used to be. But it’s still there. I wonder if it always will be.

That’s one of two things that has refused to leave me since the time around my abduction. The echo of fear is number one. Nash is number two. And not necessarily in that order.

The fear of someone grabbing me abates within a few minutes of being in my house, with it settling quietly around me. Missing Nash—seeing his face, hearing his voice, smelling his clean, manly scent—that sometimes haunts me all night long. When I’m here, in the place I knew him so intimately, I don’t get very many peaceful moments. His memory is with me almost constantly. It’s one of the many reasons this case has been so cathartic. In a way, I dread for it to be over. But, like all good things, it must come to an end.

With a sigh, I start peeling off clothes as I make my way to the bedroom. I’ve just slipped on some silky pajama shorts when the doorbell rings.

My pulse stutters and I hurriedly pull on the matching shirt and grab my robe from the back of the bathroom door as I rush to see who’s calling at such a late hour.

Several of us met for dinner and drinks after court tonight. It’s well after nine now, an odd time for anyone to visit unannounced.

I lean in to look through the peephole to see Jensen’s face looking comical in that walleye way.

I pull the chain and open the locks.

“What are you doing here? Is everything okay?”

Jensen is smiling broadly. Maybe too broadly.

“I just had a thought. May I come in?”

I pull my robe more tightly around me. “Of course.”

I step back and let him pass me, then close the door behind him. He doesn’t walk far, which puts me practically right on top of him when I turn toward him.

“What’s up?” I ask, leaning back against the door so I can get some extra space.

“You do realize that we’re going to win this, right? And that our careers will skyrocket, right? And that the world of Georgia law . . . hell, the world of law period will be our oyster, right?”

I smile. “How many drinks did you have tonight?”

“I’m not drunk,” he says happily. “Well, maybe a little, but not too drunk.” Jensen takes a step toward me, the look in his eyes changing to something I’m unfortunately familiar with.

He looks like a man who’s not here to take no for an answer.

“Jensen—”

“Shhh,” he whispers, cutting me off with a fingertip to my lips. “Let me show you how good we can be together outside the courtroom.” He brushes the hair away from my face, his eyes boring hot holes into mine. “I know you feel it, too. We’ve got some kick-ass chemistry.”

“Professionally, yes.”

“But not just professionally. I think you’re incredibly beautiful, Marissa. You’re smart and funny and so, so sexy.”

As if to accentuate his point, he lets his finger trail down my chin and into the valley between my breasts.

“Um, I think it’s probably time you left,” I say, trying to keep my composure. I can’t risk harming the case in any way by making waves with Jensen. He’s right. We are good together. And we need to keep being good together until this is done. It’s too important to screw it up now.

“One kiss. Give me one kiss and if you tell me you feel nothing, I’ll go.” I really don’t want to, and I’m afraid kissing him will only further inflame him. But if he’s the nice guy he normally is even when he’s drunk, he might honor his agreement and just go. Peaceably.

So I chance it.

It’s worth it.

For Nash.

I nod and Jensen smiles. Slowly, he runs his hands up into the hair at the back of my head and leans in closer to me.

Like a ghost that refuses to leave, Nash’s face flits behind my eyes as my lids drift shut. If only the kiss of another man could make me forget. If only . . .

Jensen’s lips are warm and firm. He’s not too aggressive or too slobbery or too . . . anything. He’s actually a very good kisser. But, as adept as he is, it makes no difference. There’s just no sizzle, no bang. No fireworks. There’s only one pair of lips that can bring those. And they don’t belong to Jensen.

I feel the pressure of his tongue trying to get past my lips. I resist until he becomes really insistent, and then I part my lips, allowing his tongue inside for just a minute before I have to turn my head away.

That was way too much!

“Jensen, I think you’ve made your point. Now, how ’bout you go sleep it off and, come Monday, we’ll pretend this didn’t even happen, okay?”

From my peripheral vision, I see him pull his head back a little. I turn just enough to meet his eyes. They’re dark with passion, the pupils huge inside the pale blue irises. In them, I see a debate. He wants to press me, to press the issue. But something is holding him back.

“That was a great kiss, Jensen. It’s not that. And it’s not you. It’s . . . it’s . . . someone else.”

That gets his attention. He pulls back further, frowning. “Who? Nash?”

“N-no,” I say, only because it’s not the Nash he’s thinking of.

“Then who?”

I can’t think of a convincing lie quickly enough, so I go with the truth. “His brother.”

“You’re kidding, right?” When I don’t respond, he laughs, a short, bitter bark. “Oh my God. The guy that looks like he spent time in the same cell with his dad? That guy?”