While spending several days at a safe house watching Lifetime movies and eating take-out, Emmie's new identity was forged. New birth certificate, new social security number, new driver's license. Aimee became Emmie. Larson became Marsden. Chicago was traded for a small town off the coast of Oregon.

She was accompanied all the way from Chicago to Portland to Moon Beach by Sam Jordan, her US Marshal "handler," as she liked to think of him. Having a handler made her feel like she was a spy being assigned to her first mission instead of a criminal's girlfriend about to be exiled from everything and everyone she loved. Sam was pleasant and professional. He made small talk during their winding drive from PDX airport to the small coastal town she was about to inhabit. She would be safe with him, he interjected repeatedly between reminiscences of places they'd traveled and the tornado he'd recorded touching down in the countryside of Iowa where he'd grown up. She had nothing to fear while he was on her case, Sam had claimed. He'd been doing this a while and took his job seriously.

This was a comfort that didn't last. Soon, Sam was gone with nothing more than a promise of checking in with her soon and Emmie was left alone in a new apartment in a new town. A malaise had set in, a mixture of acceptance, remorse, and loneliness. She'd only dragged herself out the day before because she was low on the food she'd been given when she first arrived. That outing had led her to Iola's Eats. Meeting Trisha and getting a job there had been a step out of that malaise, but now she couldn't figure out if Ryker was one more step in the right direction or five steps backwards. What did he want from her? He must not have any trouble finding women to meet whatever needs he had.

Why should his needs matter so much, anyways? Emmie had her own. She needed peace, security, a sense of place. Home. And yes, fine, she needed sex as well. Or, she wanted it badly enough that it felt like a need. Maybe it was the pregnancy hormones, maybe it was her loneliness, but anytime she let her imagination fly since meeting Ryker this morning, it dashed off right in the direction of a bed.

She might have accepted that she'd be building a life alone here in Moon Beach, but she couldn't quite convince herself that that life should be devoid of sex. If only she knew for sure that Ryker wasn't some lunatic stalker or that his money didn't really come from some organized crime syndicate he was involved in. She cringed at how paranoid the events with Ian had left her. Ryker was Trisha's brother so that counted for something. He couldn't be too bad, but still... Emmie wasn't going to just trust this guy and she certainly didn't want any sort of relationship with him.

Well, a sexual relationship, maybe. If he could keep his ego in check.

She was already to the edge of the park by the time she realized she'd completely lost her mind. No. No way would she give that infuriating man any more of her time. She could fantasize all she wanted, but it wouldn't be about him. Anyone but him.

Her Ryker-less thoughts lasted all of five minutes. She walked along a muddy path through a small grove of western red cedars until she reached a small playground, empty save for one brave little preschooler bundled up against the cold, his mother dutifully attending to him as he played.

She paused for a moment, watching them. That would be her someday. Someday soon, really. A mom pushing her toddler in a swing. Maybe even this very swing in this very park. That thought helped settle her nerves. She touched her hand to her belly. She wasn't really alone, was she?

"I followed you. Don't be mad at me."

Images of a knife embedded in her door flashed before her. Memories of fearful shadows and the certainty that death lurked around every corner resurfaced. Adrenaline pumping through her, Emmie's hand flew instinctively to her purse where she grabbed onto the pepper spray she kept hidden in the side pocket. She had it at the ready before she realized she was pointing it at Ryker.

"Jesus, Emmie, first I bleed for you, now you're going to shoot me with... what is that, pepper spray?"

Her hand shook. A grey scarf wrapped several times around his neck covered his mouth and muffled his voice. No wonder she hadn't immediately identified him. "I...I didn't know it was you." She lowered her weapon, glancing over at the mother and son to see if they'd witnessed the unnecessarily dramatic episode, but they'd already left the swings and were headed away in the direction of the parking lot.

Ryker's forehead wrinkled in concern. "I didn't mean to startle you. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she said a beat quicker than she should have. Ryker didn't seem convinced.

"Let me walk you home." He lowered his scarf so that he no longer resembled a nineteenth century train bandit. "I promise, no tours of the town. I won't mention which pioneer won the land this park is on in a game of cards or which upstanding citizen and member of the Moral League of America just got her third DUI. Just a simple walk home."

She shifted on her feet. "Well..."

"Come on, I feel bad about this. Seriously, you should see yourself. You look like someone's out to kill you."

Her eyes nearly bulged out of her head. Hoping he wouldn't notice her shocked expression, she turned quickly and walked in the direction of her apartment. "Are you coming or not?"

Jogging, he caught up with her. "I've made a terrible first impression, haven't I?"

"I imagine it's no worse than the impression you make on most women."

"Ouch!" Gently he grabbed her arm, urging her to pause for a moment. The warmth of his touch was like being licked by the flames of a campfire. The heat spread through her whole body. "Let's start over. I'd like to get to know you."

She turned to him. "But I don't want to get to know you, Ryker. I have a lot going on in my life. And truthfully, I don't think you want to get to know me either. You think you have me pegged. You think I'm like every other woman you've come across. Well, I'm not. And actually, no other woman is like every other woman. The fact that you don't get that isn't exactly a turn on."

"Ouch again." She thought he'd be angry with her, but instead, he seemed to be (was it possible?) actually listening to what she was saying. "I suppose there's a remote chance that you're right—like winning the lottery remote. Also, I have to say... I'm pretty sure you're at least a little bit turned on by me."

"Oh that's it!" She stomped away from him again. "You are impossible. I don't know how you managed to spring from that nice family of yours. Iola should be sainted."

"You're right about that."

Emmie turned onto her street, Ryker still at her heels. "Look, I've had a long day, Mr. James, and frankly, you've helped make it that way. What is it that you want from me? Really? I don't have the patience for games."

"That's good, because I don't like games. It's pretty obvious what I want from you. What I'd like to know is... what do you want from me? Really."

I want you to leave me alone. I want you to test out the durability of my new bed. I want you to not be an asshole. I want one last carefree romp before this baby comes and all my energy is directed towards it. I want you to make me forget for a moment how much I miss the life I left behind in Chicago. I want lots of things you probably won't be able to deliver on.

He waited for her to say something, but her thoughts were so contrary. She couldn't make up her mind. Why did he have to make her feel so conflicted?

Twenty feet from her front door. Just a few seconds and she could say goodbye.

Or...

Before long, they were at her building, and then standing in front of her door. Once at its threshold, she took her house key from her purse, holding it in her palm as she made her decision, hoping she wouldn't regret it in the morning.

"You want to know what I want, Ryker? Fine. I want you to come upstairs to my apartment. I want you to stay, but not too long. And when I see you at work, which I'm sure I will, I want you to be my customer. Nothing more. That's the deal; sex, one time—without entanglement. Can you do that?"

He took the key from her hand and fit it into her lock, pushing until the door burst open. A wall of warm air hit them. Ryker slowly removed the key, placing it back into Emmie's outstretched hand. "I can do whatever you want me to do."

A/N: Those of you who've been waiting for a bit of the hot and heavy... we're working up to it--fast (as the not-so-subtle ending of this chapter might imply)! Do you think Emmie is crazy to contemplate having Ryker come up to her apartment for a little dalliance? Are her motivations understandable?

Thanks for your readership and your votes. Today's votes will be collected and used to keep Emmie in a steady supply of pepper spray. She's been thinking about a taser lately as well and has been scoping out the various martial arts studios in the area. We're going to need some votes to give her access to a decent dojo. 

Today's dedication is for sweety121686 who had a suggestion for a fantastic actress to play the role of Emmie (Deborah Ann Woll from Trueblood and Daredevil). Even though I went with Kat Dennings, I'm keeping Woll in my list for future characters! Thanks, Sarah!