After a long night of constantly waking up in a sweaty mess from nightmares, I awoke around nine with a sharp headache and a chill. I rolled over to take refuge in Joey's body heat, but the other side of the bed was empty. I could hear the TV on in the living room and wrapped the duvet around my body, padding out of the bedroom.

Joey was sitting cross-legged on the couch, coffee in hand, watching the local news station. He had a blank stare and his eyes were bloodshot with dark circles. He'd barely gotten any sleep.

"How long have you been up?" I asked, pouring myself some coffee.

He shrugged and motioned to the TV where a young brunette reporter was standing in a parking lot outside the shooting range in Westfield, giving an update on Ron's homicide.

"Police tell me they have identified the suspects you saw in the security footage. However, they are not releasing names at this time. Those suspects have not yet been apprehended," the woman said. "The funeral for Ronald Coffman was this morning. His family says they are heartbroken that this husband and father is gone, but they were comforted by the massive outpour of love and support they received from extended family, friends, and the community this morning."

I tried to swallow the lump in my throat, but it wouldn't budge. "Joey..."

He shook his head, releasing a ragged breath. "I should've been there."

"You couldn't," I whispered, sitting down beside him. "But he knows how much you cared about him, Joey. He knows."

I cuddled up against his side and tossed the duvet over us, trying to manage my coffee mug and comfort him at the same time. The sparkle was gone from his bright blue orbs. It was like someone had drained all the energy from him.

"It's like losing my father all over again," he breathed, a pained look on his face.

I still refused to mention that I knew about his family's deaths. Instead, I stayed hugging his torso and listening to the rhythm of his heart while he vented. I wondered when was the last time he'd let his emotions break free – or if he ever had.

"When I was sixteen, my parents and my brother died. Someone set our house on fire." Joey spoke like he was in a daze. "My dad was a homicide detective in Chicago when I was a kid. He'd given it up and found a new job coaching baseball by the time I was a teenager. But it turned out that some bastard he'd helped put away a decade prior still held a vendetta when he got out of prison. That's how he got even."

"That's how you ended up with your grandpa?" I asked, my lips brushing his collarbone.

He nodded. "Yeah. He took care of me like I was his own kid. So did Ron. Ron really was like another father to me. Hell, he was the one who gave me the talk. Tried to explain it by putting a straw through a lid. He was really something."

Joey let out a breathy laugh at the memory. I tried to imagine that conversation between them. It had to have been hilarious.

"Sometimes I feel guilty for surviving." His voice cracked, jerking me out of my thoughts. "I wanted to get to my little brother. I could hear him screaming. But my only way out was the window. I thought I'd hop out the window and then find a safe way back in the house to help. When I climbed out, though, I had to jump from the second floor, and the firetrucks were just pulling up, and this big, burly fireman grabbed me and carried me to the street. I was kicking and screaming, begging them to go save my family. The last thing I heard before I blacked out was a firefighter saying it was too late."

I'd been thinking that Joey wouldn't tell me anything I hadn't already learned from reading the article, but I hadn't been prepared for such heartbreaking details. I understood exactly how he felt about losing a brother, though.

"I was sixteen, too, when Ricky got killed," I muttered. "I can still see everything clear as day. We were going through an intersection on the way to pick out furniture for his dorm at UMass, and this truck just... didn't stop. Sometimes I feel guilty, too."

Joey snaked an arm around my backside and tugged me closer, resting his head on top of mine.

"Yeah," he said in almost a whisper. "It's like... you wish you could take their place, ya know?"

I knew exactly what he meant. Since moving to Boston, I'd tried so hard to put the memory of Ricky behind me. He'd been a huge part of my life and he always would be. He was my brother, for fuck's sake. But I'd found that I had to let the past stay in the past in order to move on with my own life.

"What about your parents?" Joey finally looked at me. "You never talk about them."

There's a subject that didn't cross my mind every day.

"My parents divorced when I was ten. The custody battle was pretty nasty. My mom won custody of both of us, but she never had time for us. She was always working," I recalled. "My aunt would come over and babysit a lot. She really favored Ricky like he was her own. She never liked me, though. At least, she didn't act like it, always yelling at me for something. By the time I was twelve, I started spending a lot more time at my grandma's and she became the mother I needed. She was always there when mom wasn't."

Joey nodded, searching my eyes like he was trying to read my mind. "Do you ever visit your parents?"

I shook my head. "Nah. My dad ran off to California with some rich Barbie when I was eleven. After Ricky died, my mom said she couldn't stand to look at me anymore because I reminded her too much of him. So she gave my grandma full custody and I haven't seen her since I was seventeen."

Joey sighed and pulled me onto his lap, kissing me. He kissed my forehead, then my cheeks, then the tip of my nose. He let his lips graze my jawline and placed gentle kisses on my neck.

I suddenly remembered what I'd heard him say last night. I love you, Jess, he'd whispered. But had he really said that, or had I just imagined it?

"You're beautiful, Jess." His voice was raspy in my ear.

I leaned in to kiss him, but I felt his muscles tense. His attention was drawn back to the TV where that same reporter was back, but with a different story.

"...Troopers say the man was dragged by the vehicle for at least four miles before being shot three times and then run over on the highway," she cringed as she spoke. "Police have released this tape of the chase. It's blurry at times, but you can see a black Cadillac Escalade following a blue Toyota Camry, which was stolen from a gas station just minutes earlier. The chase reached speeds of up to ninety-three miles per hour. Police lost the Camry, but eventually stopped the Cadillac using spike strips. The driver of the Cadillac was identified as thirty-nine-year-old Mack Wheeler. Police are still searching for that stolen Camry."

Joey and I shared a surprised look. The infamous Cadillac Man had been apprehended?

"If he's in jail, does that mean-"

"No. We're still not safe. Lux has more men out there. He wouldn't put all his cards in one deck."

"Meanwhile, I'm a wanted suspect in at least two cases." I threw my arms up. "What are we going to do now?"

Before Joey could answer, a knock came at the front door.

"Jo-"

He was on his feet with the TV muted and a hand clasped over my mouth before I could even utter his name. I nearly dropped my mug in shock.

"Police! Open up!" came a male voice that sounded strangely familiar.

Joey frowned at the door, waiting, listening, calculating his next move.

"Cavannaugh!" the man shouted again. "Come on. I know you're in there!"

Joey turned to me with serious eyes and ushered me back into the bedroom. He flung the closet doors open and tossed his spare shoes aside. I watched as he yanked up the only carpet in the house to reveal a safe in the floor. Inside were two revolvers and two ammo boxes. Joey checked that both guns were loaded and handed one to me.

"You remember everything I taught you?" He stared at me so intently, it was scary.

I nodded, pointing the pistol away from us. "Joey, what's going on?"

"Stay here," he ordered and dashed back into the living room, shutting the bedroom door behind him.

Stay here? How could I just stay here? There was nowhere to hide. I couldn't fit under the bed. What if someone came in and I couldn't get away? Would I be able to make myself use the gun?

I pressed my ear to the door, straining to listen. I heard the front door squeak open. I could hear voices. Joey's and the other man's. I couldn't make out what they were saying, though. There didn't seem to be a struggle commencing. No gunshots. No hollering. Who the hell was it and why did his voice sound familiar? I knew it wasn't Brad, and it didn't sound like Cadillac Man or any of his cohorts.

I couldn't stand it. I couldn't stay put. I had to investigate.

I eased the door open, careful not to make a sound, and slunk down the short hall. I peeked around the corner and I could see Joey with his back to me. He was talking to a tall blonde man with thick eyebrows and a muscular build. Now I knew where I recognized him from.

"Mike?"

I emerged from the hallway, concealing the pistol in the back of my sweatpants the way I'd seen Joey hide guns in his waistband. Mike didn't look a bit surprised to see me.

"Hey," he grinned, clasping his hands together. "You doing alright?"

"What are you doing here?"

I leaned against the cabinets, joining the men in the kitchen. Mike looked worn out and like he had too much on his mind. He had to have traveled quite a way to get to Cape Cod.

"I've been keeping an eye on the news out of Boston," he explained. "I knew you two were in a jam and I thought I'd see if you could use a hand. I went to your place first, Joey, but obviously you're not there. Only other place I could think of that you might be was here."

Joey patted Mike on the shoulder and stepped around him to retrieve his coffee. I could see the outline of Joey's pistol under the back of his shirt. I wondered if Mike had noticed it, too.

"You staying long?" Joey asked while he stirred in his creamer.

Mike waved a hand. "Hell, I don't know, man. What can I do to help? What do you need?"

"We're both suspects in a murder," I piped up.

I hoped Mike would be able to offer some helpful advice. He was a private investigator, after all. Surely, he'd dealt with similar crazy cases before. I doubted he spent all his time on cheating-spouse-stakeouts.

"I know," he said like it was nothing. "Hey, what happened to one of the burners I gave you? You went off the grid."

Joey's eyes found mine and he flashed me a look that was unreadable as he brought his mug to his lips. I started to feel antsy. Did Joey know something I didn't?

"It's broken," I finally said after a long pause. "The screen's cracked."

"That's what prompted me to come to Boston," Mike told us. "I was keeping an eye on your locales to make sure you stayed safe, but I got worried when one of the transmitters crapped out."

"You put a tracking device in our phones?" Joey raised his voice, sounding half angry and half surprised.

Mike shrugged. "They're my phones. What did you expect?"

Joey shook it off and went to sit at the kitchen table. He had that damn thousand-mile-stare going again. Despite all my nightmares last night, I'd felt pretty relaxed with Joey at the cabin this morning. But now that Mike was here, everything just felt awkward and I didn't know what to do or say.

"What are your plans, Joe?" Mike asked, taking a seat beside him.

I felt like the odd person out and decided to sit down, too. My gun made a muffled thump against the wooden chair and Mike cocked an eyebrow in my direction.

"I haven't decided yet," was all Joey offered.

"Hey, do you still have my credit card? The one I told you to keep."

"I only used it a couple times for food and motels," Joey said.

He reached down in his pants pocket and fished the card out, tossing it across the table to Mike.

"Thanks, man."

Mike got up to take a look at the TV. The local news was just coming to a close. When he walked into the living room, I caught a glimpse of something moving outside. Joey and I made eye contact and I attempted to gesture with my eyes out the kitchen window. Joey casually leaned back in his chair and glanced out. A black Chevy Tahoe was pulling up alongside the familiar beat up Lincoln that Mike had arrived in.

Joey nodded ever so carefully where Mike wouldn't notice.

"Hey, Mike?" He cleared his throat, reaching back where he could retrieve his gun easily. "You know, I just thought of something. Maybe you can help me figure it out."

"Oh, yeah? Sure. What's that?" The blonde man asked from his spot on the couch.

I could see the Tahoe's doors opening and nudged Joey's foot under the table. He noticed, too.

"It's funny," Joey said. "It seems like almost every time I used your card to get food or a room, it wasn't too long after that that Lux's monkeys showed up. What do you make of that?"

Where the hell was he going with this?

Mike's eyes seemed to darken at Joey's statement, but he simply shrugged. "Who knows?"

"And when they weren't popping up after I used your card, they were probably pinpointing our location via your burner phone transmitters," Joey continued.

"What are you saying, Cavannaugh?" Mike glared at us both, starting to tap his foot impatiently.

"I never told you about this house." Joey stood up, staring daggers through his so-called friend. "You had no way of knowing that I could be here. You tracked us down with this fucking burner phone!"

Mike stood up, too, crossing his arms and looking at Joey like he was daring him to say something else. "Or maybe I just looked you up in the fucking phonebook. Ever think of that?"

Joey laughed dangerously under his breath. "That's bullshit, Mike. This place ain't in my name. As far as everyone knows, Steve Barnett owns it. Stop lying to me!"

I could see two men get out of the Tahoe and start making their way to the front porch. I tried to warn Joey, but he couldn't see them or my gestures from his angle. I got a good look at one man, though. It was the dark haired kidnapper who faked being my custody officer. I could only see the back of the second man's head, but I was almost positive it was Cadillac Man, AKA Mack Wheeler. He must've been bailed out – or broken out.

A knock sounded at the door and I could feel every nerve in my body hum to life. Joey's fingers twitched beside his hip and I knew he was ready to grab his gun any second. It felt like my own pistol was burning a hole in my back. How the fuck were we going to get out of this one without getting hurt? Three against two wasn't fair odds.

When the knock went unanswered, several loud pops shattered the air. The intruders had busted the lock and promptly blasted the door open with a dramatic bang! There stood Cadillac Man and his partner, guns drawn and aimed at Joey and me.

Mike whipped out his own revolver with a menacing laugh that made my heart leap to my throat. Though my legs were shaky, I forced myself to stand up.

"I trusted you, Mike!" Joey shouted, his hand inching toward his concealed gun. "After all this time and everything we've been through; you do this to me? I put my fucking trust in you!"

Mike shrugged like he couldn't have cared less. "It's a harsh world, my friend. Thought you would've realized that by now."

"Hey, Boss, you want us to take 'em out now?" Cadillac Man asked Mike.

Then it dawned on me.

"It all makes sense now," I said to Mike. "You're Richard Lux."