We ate our dinner in silence, watching the sun sink down behind the band of trees. Joey had raised one of the kitchen windows a couple inches so we could hear the ocean. It was equally peaceful and maddening. Peaceful, because the scenery was beautiful and cozy. Maddening, because I'd been trying to strike up another conversation with Joey for thirty minutes, and everything I'd said had earned nothing more than a grunt or a nod. I assumed he had too much on his mind to focus on talking to me, but I still had so many questions. What had he done with Brad's car? How long were we going to stay here? What had happened at the courthouse? I was getting a headache from all the questions whirling around in my brain.

Joey kept staring outside, keeping an eye on the narrow gravel road that parted the tree line like he was expecting company any minute. I wondered if anyone else knew about Joey's grandpa's cabin. Would they know to find us here? Were we even safe here?

I started to say something again, but Joey shoved his chair back, gathering our dirty dishes and taking them to the sink. He was scowling like he was pissed off, and I decided not to poke the bear. I offered to help him wash the dishes, but he declined. With nothing else to busy myself, I sprawled out across the sofa and closed my eyes, trying to focus solely on the faint sound of the ocean. It was no use, though. Every time I closed my eyes I could see those two heart wrenching newspaper headlines. I couldn't stop thinking about it.

Once Joey was finished in the kitchen, he double checked the locks and then announced he was going to take a much needed shower, leaving me alone again. We agreed that I would shower after him and then we'd call it a night since we were both beat up and exhausted. It didn't occur to me until after he'd gone to the bathroom that I didn't have any spare clothes since Brad had given my bag to whomever.

"Hey, Joey?" I called from the bathroom door he'd left cracked open. "I don't have any extra clothes."

In my inspection of the beach house, I hadn't seen a laundry room anywhere. I remembered that some of my college peers who were too lazy to go to the laundry room on campus would throw their clothes in the tiny dorm dishwashers. I briefly skimmed over that idea, but decided against it.

"Don't worry about it. I keep extra clothes here," he hollered over the noise of the water. "Go look through the closet and pick out something."

Now, that's more like it.

I let myself linger in the doorway for a minute or two. I could see Joey's reflection in the mirror over the lavatory. The shower walls were all steamed up, but I could still make out his silhouette. Sex was the last thing on my mind, given our extreme circumstances, but I could still enjoy the view while it lasted, right?

I wandered over to the closet. It was small, not much bigger than the pantry, and the accordion doors were tough to push open. Inside was one rod with about twelve T-shirts and sweatshirts, and a couple jackets hanging on it. Two shelves above it held jeans and sweatpants. On the floor were two pairs of Joey's shoes and a ball cap with the Patriots logo. I grabbed a Red Sox sweatshirt and a pair of black sweatpants and went back to the bathroom door.

"I guess I'll have to forgo wearing underwear since I don't see any spare boxers lying around," I said to Joey, who was just turning off the water.

I heard a breathy chuckle from the other side of the door. "As much as I'd welcome that, I'm sorry to say that there are boxers and socks in the nightstand drawers. I haven't had time to move a dresser in here yet, and drawers are drawers, I suppose."

"Whatever works," I laughed at his odd idea of an underwear drawer. "Thanks!"

There were two nightstands, though, and he didn't specify which one. Maybe he had a lot of underwear and they were both makeshift dressers. I opened the top drawer of the left nightstand. Inside was a pen, a notebook, a tube of chap stick, and a little pack of tissues. The bottom drawer held Joey's sock inventory. I retrieved a pair of grey socks and walked around the bed to the other nightstand. The top drawer housed six or eight pairs of boxers and I grabbed one, tossing it on top of the pile in my arms.

I started to get up to take my – well, Joey's – clothes to the bathroom. He was probably getting dressed by now and I would be able to shower soon. But something seemed mysterious about the last drawer I hadn't opened. I couldn't resist the temptation to check it out, glancing over my shoulder to make sure Joey was still busy in the bathroom.

I pulled the drawer open. Inside was a manila folder. The tab was marked Turner Case 17-1034. I frowned at the black letters, sliding down to the floor with my back against the bed. It had to be about me. My last name was Turner. How many other Turners could there be an open case on? But why was Joey keeping a folder on me at the beach house? When had he even had time to come here and drop it off, much less put the file together in the first place? Something didn't smell right.

I was apprehensive about what I might see inside, but I forced myself to open the folder. Paper clipped together was about a half-inch-thick file that included a ton of personal information on my aunt; her autopsy report; sketches; statements from her boyfriend, coworkers, and neighbors; and the godawful crime scene photographs that I couldn't bear to look at. I slapped the folder shut when I got to that part. My stomach churned at the thought. I'd caught just a glimpse of a bloody mess in the corner of a photograph and that had been too much for me. I wouldn't be able to bring myself to look at the photos.

I grimaced, making myself open the folder again and skip passed the crime scene photography. What I saw next was the first responding officer's report, detailing what he had witnessed at the scene. That officer's name? Joseph Cavannaugh.

I saw part of the name of the detective assigned to the case. His first name was John. I remembered Joey having a phone conversation during one of our hotel stays in which he'd mentioned someone named John. I'd assumed he'd been talking to Brad at the time, but never bothered to ask him. I remembered Joey seemed pretty irritated, though. Now I really wished I'd listened in better.

Joey emerged from the bathroom and I shoved the drawer shut, hopping to my feet like nothing was the matter, as if I'd simply been collecting a pair of boxers. He cocked an eyebrow and opened his mouth to say something, but changed his mind.

Phew! I got lucky this time.

"How was your shower?" I asked before he could put two and two together.

He flashed me that gorgeous lopsided smile and raked his fingers through his wet hair. "I don't know. Why don't you tell me?"

He stepped closer, backing me up against the wall beside the bathroom door. His eyes sparkled with amusement and I knew what he was getting at.

"You saw me watching you in the mirror!" I laughed, slapping his arm playfully.

He rested his hands on the wall above my head and smirked, nodding and biting that damn sexy bottom lip of his. "Uh-huh."

I could feel my pulse quickening at the sight of him, shirtless and sexy as hell in front of me. I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to wrap my legs around his waist and drag my nails down his back. But I couldn't get my mind off of that folder. It was going to keep me up all night, probably.

"The curtains are still open," I said, pointing to the window.

I had to stop this before it got started. If I let him get under my skin tonight, I wasn't going to learn any new information. My libido would have to wait. I needed to know what the fuck was going on, and I was determined to get some answers out of Joey tonight.

Joey rolled his eyes and reluctantly stalked over to the window, shutting the curtains. Before he had a chance to corner me again, I skirted into the bathroom and locked the door, starting the shower.

"That's not fair!" I heard him call from the bedroom, laughing.

I felt strange undressing and bathing in someone else's home. I assumed Joey was the sole occupant now, but it didn't make me feel any less awkward. I wiped the condensation off the mirror and looked at my reflection. I was pretty banged up. My arms were bruised and I had several tiny cuts and scratches all up and down them. I took off my shirt and spotted more bruises on my torso, probably caused by the struggle when I'd been abducted. My bandaged palms still hurt whenever I curled my fingers. I was going to have to change the bandages after I showered.

I hopped in the shower and tried to enjoy the steam and hot water soothing my aching muscles, but I couldn't shut my brain off enough to relax. I took advantage of the opportunity to shave, but I had bruises on my legs, too, and it hurt to drag the razor over them.

Finishing up my shower, I tried to make a mental list of each thing I wanted to quiz Joey about. By the time I'd fingered the tangles out of my hair and tossed on Joey's sweats, my question list had grown to the point that I was forgetting half of it and trying to go over it again. This was going to be a chore.

I reentered the bedroom, dirty laundry in hand, to find Joey lounged back in the rocking chair. He'd put on a blue T-shirt that had the Boston Police Department logo on the breast pocket. His chin rested on his fist and he was facing the window with the infamous thousand-mile stare.

"Joey?" I fidgeted, not sure what to say. "Where do I put dirty clothes and towels?"

He breathed a heavy sigh and got up, walking over to me. He collected the laundry from my hands and I followed him into the living room where he tossed the pile into a basket near the door.

"I'll take care of it on the next laundry day," he muttered, heading back to the bedroom.

I continued to follow him like a lost puppy while I tried to think of the best way to bring up my montage of questions.

"Do you need something?" He turned around in the bedroom doorway with a hand on his hip. "You're following me, but you're not saying anything. What's going on?"

Now is as good a time as any, I told myself. "Joey, there's some things I want to talk to you about."

He groaned inwardly, tilting his head back and sucking in a big breath. Then he waltzed back into the kitchen and started fishing through the cupboards.

"What are you-"

"If you're going to quiz me, I'm going to need some coffee for this shit," he said, spooning the grounds into the filter. "Want some?"

I shrugged. "Sure. Why not?"

Joey collected a second coffee mug for me and started the maker. "Really, I could use something harder, but I haven't had a chance to run to the liquor store in a while."

I nodded. I could've gone for a glass of whiskey, myself.

I leaned against the counter, waiting for the coffee maker to finish. Joey retrieved a jug of granulated creamer from the pantry and I let him fix up my cup. We took our coffees to the living room where we sat down on opposite sides of the couch and Joey crossed his arms, signaling he was ready for my interrogation.

"Alright," he sighed. "Hit me with your best shot."

I managed a small smile at his words. "As you wish, Pat Benetar."

Joey chuckled and sipped his coffee. "What's bothering you, Jess? Aside from the obvious."

Despite all my calculating and planning this scene, I found that there was no easy way to ask Joey these questions. I just had to spit it out and hope the conversation stayed civil.

"There's a lot you're not telling me," I began. I could feel my face heating up in discomfort. "I want to know everything. Everything about this case. Everything about Richard Lux that you haven't told me. Everything about you... and your family. I want you to stop hiding shit from me, Joey. I've trusted you this far. I don't understand why you find it so hard to keep me in the loop."

He was silent for a long time, staring a hole through me. His eyes never left mine. It was kind of creepy, actually. Was this a police tactic? Was he trying to intimidate me and make me so uncomfortable that I would drop the subject? It sure felt like it. There was a hardness in his eyes that I hadn't seen since we'd careened off the bridge in Minnesota. Had I pissed him off?

"Jess, part of trying to protect you is not keeping you in the loop on certain things," he finally spoke up. "Sometimes, it's just best if you don't know some things. It can make you more of a liability if you do. Plus, you could find out something that makes you really uncomfortable and it could fuck with your nerves so much that you slip up and get yourself hurt. Don't you understand?"

I did understand, but that didn't change how I felt. That didn't change how tired I was of being treated like I couldn't handle whatever the big secret was. I was a grown-ass woman and damnit, I was going to be treated like one!

"You know what, Joseph?" I snapped, hopping up from the couch and standing over him in a way that I hoped would intimidate him for a change. "I do understand. You know I do. But I don't care anymore! I want – no – I demand that you tell me everything right now. And I don't give a flying fart in a hail storm if it pisses you off! So start talking, Officer, or I'm going to walk out of here right now!"