The place had changed from what he remembered as a boy, Marshall thought. Taking in the upgraded cabinetry and dark quartz counters. But the floors were the same, battered and weathered wood, rolling and dipping with the settling of the structure.

At his side, Lucy handed him the spoon so she could push up falling sleeves and wiggle giddy fingers.

Eva found them bent over the bags he'd carted in, discussing the contents in avid fascination and setting forth a game plan. And though she was still thoroughly pissed, a small corner of her heart warmed at the sight. Lucy was always her brightest, most happy-go-lucky child, but this morning, at the discovery of a breakfast guest she was in her absolute glory.

While Marshall was busy giving her a little lecture on the wonders of artisanal bacon, Eva moved to the stove and decided the least she could do was start cooking.

She'd only just turned on the burner when Lucy's head snapped up and a squeal of protest erupted.

"No, momma. I wanna do it!"

"But I can--?"

"No, no momma. I wanna do it. You go."

"But..."

Marshall rounded on her, too, arms outstretched to corral her back and away from the stove. "Chef says out, then out. We have this under control, don't we, Chef?" he asked, tipping his gaze down to her daughter.

"What does 'Chef' mean?"

"Means you're the kitchen boss."

Lucy's face lit with triumphant glory marbled with love struck fascination. "I like that."

Good God, Eva realized. My little baby has a crush. Tossing up her hands she left them to it, but always keeping an ear tuned to the kitchen. He was patient with her. Letting her ask a million questions-in typical Lucy fashion, and never once rushing her along or losing his patience when she made him repeat himself. Over and over.

Perched in front of the stove, Eva watched as he taught her the science behind pancake flipping, and wondered how many times in her own childhood had she wished for a moment like this? A lazy Sunday morning spent with family, creating memories and meaningful experiences?

To have a father? Someone to make her mom smile, someone to tuck them into bed at night, or carry around on his shoulders? Maybe then her mom wouldn't have had to work so hard, spending most of her weekends in bed regaining her strength for the coming work-week. Swallowing pain pills by the handful just to make it from one day to the next.

When the last pancake slid atop a golden stack, Eva stepped forward and plucked Lucy down from her stool.

"Alright, Chef, please go get your sisters. Marshall and I will finish up here and set the table."

"Can we eat on the desk?"

"Deck, baby."

A little nose scrunched. "That's what I said. Desk."

Chuckling, Eva slipped off Lucy's very messy apron. "Yes, baby. It's your breakfast. Sisters, please get them."

"M'kay!" Excited feet bounded down the hall and thundered up the front stairs. Marshall cozied up next to her, an endearing smile on his face.

"What a cutie."

When she was sure Lucy was far enough out of earshot, Eva rounded and punched him square in the chest, hard enough to make a point. "Asshole," she snapped the word between her teeth like a dry bone. "I thought I made myself clear last night?"

"Hey." Amused that he'd managed to ruffle her feathers, Marshall rubbed a hand over the abused area. "Call me crazy, but most women get a kick when the guy they're dating comes around for more than sex."

"I told you this isn't a relationship. We're not serious. We can't be."

A clatter of movement resounded overhead coupled with a tangle of voices-one of which was Hailey, clearly displeased for being awoken before she was ready. Damn it all to hell, there was no getting rid of him, not unless she wanted to face the wrath of Lucy in addition to Hurricane Hail. And she just didn't have the strength in her for both.

"If you're going to stay there are rules: No kissing. No touching. In fact, you're not sitting next to me. Understood?" she shoved a finger in his smirking face, wagged it. "You're a friend. A family friend and that's it. If you've got a problem with that, then leave and leave now."

"Yes, Ma'am." God she was sexy when she was pissed. Scooping his hands around her waist, Marshall dragged her in despite sputtered protests, and kissed her soundly. Thoroughly. Until that rigid tension in her softened and the steam bursting from her ears mellowed to sizzle beneath her skin.

"Had to get that out of my system before we have company." Pleased with the flush in her cheeks, even if the look in her eyes still burned hot, Marshall gave Eva's bum a little pat. "Set the table. I'll take care of the juice."

They made short work of it, Marshall found his way around the kitchen easily, despite the new layout, and by the time three young bodies made it down the stairs, the patio table was set with stacked pancakes, crisp bacon, pitcher of OJ, which he'd modified to include mint and fresh raspberries and a bit of Perrier for fizz-cause what kid didn't like fizz?

Flowers, gathered from the garden, crowned the center of the table for final flourish.

"Wow." Lucy's eyes popped, sliding into the seat at the head of the table-the place of honour. "It's so pretty!"

"Who are you?" Marshall turned around to see a young face that was all Eva, from her dark hair to darker scrutinizing gaze. The eldest, he thought, and very unhappy to see him.

"Marshall Davies. Pleased to meet you." He stuck out a hand. And just like her mother, she stared him down cold.

Next to her, a blonde hair in a bed-messed ponytail eyed him, equally suspicious but bearing none of her elder sister's animosity.

"This is Hailey and Payton," Eva said, all nerves beneath a blinding smile. "Girls, Lucy asked Aunt Jen's brother to join us for her special breakfast this morning. Wasn't that nice?"

Payton nodded. Hailey's eyes glinted for war.

"Why don't we sit?" Eva asked, pulling out her own seat to Lucy's right.

Blocking his path, Hailey set a possessive hand on the back of the chair next to her mother. "I'm sitting here."

"Hailey." Eva's voice was low but the reprimand was unmistakable. Hailey didn't so much as flinch. Or blink. The kid would be an Ace at poker.

"No worries." Marshall smiled but behind the gesture, his thoughts were reeling. This was more than simple territorial behaviour. This was protective and defensive, sort of like a mother wolf setting herself in the path of a rambling bear and her cubs.

Except Hailey was the cub.

While Eva doled out pancakes and Lucy, god love her, wrestled with pouring out the juice, leaning in to help her, Marshall did what he did best. Observed.

This wasn't kid who'd been abused. No, a child who'd endured violent or physical trauma at the hand of a grown-up wouldn't have been so quick to throw herself in his way. To challenge him like that. And the jagged little nugget was something he chewed on and couldn't quite figure out.

With the family occupied at the table, a moment too opportune to pass up, Marshall excused himself to the bathroom. As with all older homes on Haven, there was no powder room on the main level. Giving him the perfect excuse to venture upstairs.

The first doors down the corridor led to the girls' rooms. Fit for princesses, he thought with a smile, admiring the painted walls, floral bedding and glistening trinkets. Not everything was pristine, or new. As one of seven, Marshall new hot to spot hand-me-downs a ten paces, but the beds were neatly made and everything was cared for. Hailey's décor veered towards the maturing youth of a kid exploring her evolving identity.

That left the last room at the end of the hall. Opening the door, Marshall expected to find an equally loved and tended space only to walk into a chaotic mess. Had he not known better, he might have thought he'd made a wrong turn, but there were no other bedrooms. This was Eva's, and it was...unfinished. A naked mattress atop a box-spring, the bed-frame unassembled in packaging...Cluttered with boxes. Clothing. Books. Sundries. All packed and stacked.

What did that say about a woman who'd showed such devotion and care, who gave everything, far as he could see, to her daughters, but neglected to do so for herself?

He poked around in the dressers, between layers of folded clothing and found her driver's licence beneath a novel on her nightstand. When he lifted the book, a slender gold chain slid off, sending a locket to ping off the nightstand.

Picking it up, Marshall examined the piece carefully.

Simple. Delicate. Something belonging to a child. But it looked old. And treasured. A family heirloom, perhaps?

His thumb brushed over the clasp and it refused to budge. He tried again, a little more firmly, but the clasp resisted. Either it couldn't open, or there was a trick to it. Rather than risk breaking it he abandoned his efforts, setting it down in a puddle of gold chain.

Turning his attention back to the license, he snapped a picture with his cell phone, checked to make sure the information came through clear then fired it off in an attached email to Mouse.

Stroking a thumb across the unsmiling picture, a sliver of doubt wormed through the cracks of his conscience. An uncomfortable and unfamiliar sensation. He'd done some unscrupulous things in his day and knew no boundaries in the quest for truth and answers. But there were limits. Lines that once crossed could never be uncrossed.

Never mind that Danni was checking in almost daily, breathing fire and brimstone.

Whatever it is, whatever she's hiding...I can help. And he couldn't protect her if he was fumbling around in the dark.

Clinging to that poor excuse, Marshall returned her ID to the nightstand, quietly left her room and rejoined the family downstairs.

#

Marshall glared at the offensive blank wall of white that mocked him with giddy laughter. Nothing. Not a damn thing in four head-beating-the-desk days. Late afternoon sun poured through the windows, and behind him LeBron paced, nails skittering on wood to the same pulse of the cursor.

It blinked once a second. He'd never noticed before. Then again, he'd never been struck with a case of writer's block, either.

It was all there. Right there. The words lodge at the back of his throat like a chunk of something he couldn't swallow. And every time he tried moving his fingers, letting them take over, the blockage erupted in projectile verbiage vomit of complete, utter bullshit.

Disgusted with himself, Marshall sat back and closed the offending blank screen. The hell was happening to him?

It was just an article. Just a stupid, fucking article. The last he was supposed to write where he was finally starting to dive into the enigma that was Eva Turner. And since it was a few weeks out before the thing was due, there was plenty of time to finesse and fine tune before sending it off to Danni's hands, so why couldn't he write the damn thing?

Because, a voice mocked, your hearts not in it anymore, dumbass.

His eyes flashed back to the home screen where in the center, the small white square of a word document sat, bright against a wall of black, labelled Insanity.

Marshall ran his cursor over it. Hovered. Then clicked it open. There it was. His heart's blood on the page. His fears. His secrets.

I could handle the pain. The ceaseless, gnawing hunger. But staring down into those flat, dead eyes, his blood running into the murky, rain-soaked mud--cleaved me in two.

Senseless. A waste. And my fault.

Combing through the pages, his thoughts had leapt from various points, rough and jarring as a truck tumbling over a rocky escarpment. Before he knew what he was doing, Marshall was fleshing out those gaps. Smoothing them over. Filling in the holes so that the words connected into a seamless, concise series of images.

Bringing his nightmares come to life...

The pop-pop tingling chime of Skype broke his concentration long enough for him to realize that Danni was online and calling him. Accepting the video call, the screen shifted to reveal her long, serious face sitting far too close to the web cam, headphones shoved in her ears. Always the multitasker, the bouncing image told him she was on the move.

"Buddy," she said. "How's it going?"

"Going," Marshall sighed, reclining back in his seat. "Just working on some pages."

"Progress. That's what I like to hear. What's the ETA like on getting the reluctant celebrity on-air?"

Marshall chewed the inside of his cheek. "She's not budging."

"Make her. Find a sore spot and press, Marshall. Hard."

"I'm not comfortable with that."

"Then get comfortable. Quick. This is the game. Playing underhanded is a skill you're going to have to get real friendly with if you want to survive, make it to the top and stay there."

"So you keep saying." And he was starting to get really tired of having it bashed over his head like a club.

"Then get it into your thick skull so I can stop repeating my fucking self." Her eyes dropped to the screen, the bouncing image stopped as she slunk down into the back seat of a car. The door slammed shut a moment later, entombing her in silence. "You slept with her, didn't you?"

"Dee."

Danni huffed out a slew of rather impressive expletives that would have even the bawdiest trucker blushing. "What is it with men getting their dicks wet on assignment?"

"It's not like that," Marshall snapped, temper spiking in defense. "I care about her." And he did. A hell of a lot more than he'd realized or appreciated a moment ago.

"I don't give a rat's left nut. You're there to do a job, Marsh. A job. I don't care if the chick is the queen of blow jobs, or if she has the holy grail of vaginas, CTV wants her and we said that you could deliver."

Marshall set his teeth, fingers tightening on the armrest of his chair. "What's this all about, Dee? What's going on?"

Danni took a second to compose herself, as well, before answering in a much calmer tone. "Gervais and Clear are up to something. I'm working an angle, but I need to know we're still on the same page."

"We are."

"Good. Great. Cause I need you back here for a few days."

"Why?"

Emitting a loud groan, Danni's hand reached up to pinch the bridge of her nose."I've pitched an idea to the producers to have you on deck for a pilot run, and I think they're going to bite. I want you here in case they do."

"Can't I just leap on a conference call or something? Seems like a lot of rigmarole for a maybe."

"Clear being ever present means you're going to have to do the same or risk being out-shined by mere fucking accessibility and a pair of tits. In addition to that small caveat, I'm hoping the smell of fresh competition--or blood--in the air might inspire you to close the damn deal with the photographer. What's her deal, anyway? She cute?"

Reaching for his notebook full of their exploits, experiences and his lengthy observations, Marshall flipped through for his sketches. Finding them, he angled the page to the camera. Danni's face whooshed forward until she was reduced to a pair of eyes and a large nose.

"Shitty haircut, but I got to respect a no-fuss gal. Not your usual brand, though."

Lowering the sketch, Marshall stroked his thumb across the edge of the page. Smiling in memory of yesterday's afternoon romp with Eva on his living room couch that led to him discovering she was ticklish behind the knees.

"People change."

"No they don't. Not at the core," Danni countered. "How soon can you get out here? I had Paul pull some flights and there's one leaving at five-thirty, another at--"

"Not tonight, Dee. I'll swing out in the morning"

"Marsh."

"Tomorrow morning," he pressed. "I've got kind of a...thing." Tonight was Haven's bicentennial celebration that fell in tandem with the Canada Day long weekend. He'd promised Lucy a seat on his shoulders to watch the parade and not even for CTV was he going to let that kid down.

At Danni's arched brow he sighed. "Building trust takes time and if you want me to reel her in then you've got to let me do what I do. If I push the wrong buttons she'll clam up and nothing short of a nuke will get her to budge."

Danni's narrowed eyes reduced to fine slits. "I expect a copy of the itinerary to be sent to me soon as the flights are booked. And leave the mutt," she tossed out at the sound of LeBron's impatient whine.

"I need you here and I need you focused, not worrying about the last time you took him for a shit, or put kibble in his bowl."