The minutes breezed by as if seconds before Harry and a team of the security staff lumbered off the elevator. Concern in his aged face, Harry lowered next to her as Jeremy and Brad stormed, with batons drawn, into her home. Knowing Victory needed someone at her side, Harry had phoned Niobe shortly after, and it hadn't taken long for her best friend to fly over almost seconds before the arrival of Detective Bartz and his team.

"Ms. Clarke," he brushed a hand over her shoulder. "Are you alright?"

"No one was here when we arrived." Brad, one of the security explained as he and Bartz hashed over the carnage of her home. Absently, while security, police and investigators swarmed from room and room, with Niobe holding her steady, determined to be her sword and shield, Victory did the only thing she could think to numb the pain. Drink.

Unlike the rest of her belongings, Derek at least had had the decency to leave her booze in tack. Rummaging through, she found a half-finished fantastic Cab Sauv. Stronger than champagne, she mused, but safer than Bourbon, which was what she really wanted right about now.

"This is bad, Vee." Niobe whispered as Victory poured out a couple of glasses, the only two that were suitable enough to drink from. He'd taken a hammer to her island, she thought numbly, tracing a channel that split across and webbed edge to corner.

While Niobe turned to reassess the damage, focused on the spectacle playing around them, Victory took one long, deep gulp after another and welcomed the rush of booze warming her blood and dulling the bitter edges of pain.

"It's not as bad as it looks," she waved absently to the chaos that was once her life. "All cosmetic. Nothing to lose sleep over." Draining her glass dry, she poured a second and took the first half in one, long, swallow then topped herself back up, finishing the bottle. Niobe opened her mouth, either to argue the matter further or caution Victory's apparent mission to get rip-roaring drunk, but held her tongue as Bartz toddled over, notebook in hand and muttering under his breath.

"Well, Miz Clarke," Bartz mopped his brow with a rag he always carried, closing his notepad. "Your locks show minimal signs of forced entry, since you found your door locked, I think it's safe to say Cole used a pick set or a bump key to get in. With his rap sheet, either are possible and easily accessible." Which meant, Bartz failed to add, that he had wanted her to walk into the safety of her home and find it destroyed. It made it cold, personal and calculated.

"As for entry into the building, Alex Romero, a new addition to building security in May, was the one who gave Cole clearance. Cole hassled the kid, claimed he was the new owner of suite 2109, hadn't received his fob from management—and because, well he looked the part—slick suit and fancy threads—Romero was worried about catching guff from his supervisor. Romero has a couple strikes against him.

"Cole always had an eye for the easy marks." Bartz added with a bob of his round head setting folds of skin to wiggle and writhe over his haggard face. "Kid'll likely get the boot. But that's the extent of the bad news. Good news is we can amp up charges against Cole to breaking and entering, destruction of personal property, vandalizing...the list goes."

The door swung open, and their locked eyes.

The place was teaming with police, the entirety of the condo in shambles, like a damn bomb had gone off, shattering glass, blowing apart cabinet doors, gouging floors and punching through walls. Pillows lay in heaps, spraying feathers like blood from a corpse and rivers scored into the couch and ottoman, exposing guts of foam and spring. The coffee table lay in splinters, the TV—no more than a shattered and fractured shell with shards of glass raining over hardwood like fallen tears.

Gobs of paint splattered the hole-ridden walls, leaving streaks of deep purple and splotches of bold red atop a canvas of storm grey.

And in the midst of the chaos, there she stood, wide-eyed and entirely too pale.

"What happened?" Gage demanded, seizing Victory by her shoulders, ignoring the shouts of the police. "Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine." She managed weakly.

"Who's this guy?" Bartz barked, planting himself between Gage and Victory.

Gage, Victory thought numbly through the sheen of alcohol, Gage was here. In her condo. Why? She hadn't called him—hadn't told him to come, though the thought had sprung up once or twice. Confused, Victory glanced down at the phone clutched in her hand. Had she?

"Sir, we're in the middle of an investigation. I need ya to leave until—"

"I called him. He's a friend." Niobe leapt in, hoping to dispel some of the tense confusion. Bartz's hound dog eyes slid to her with a groaning sigh. "And he's seen Derek Cole. That makes him a material eye witness."

Those hound dog eyes narrowed, shifted from Niobe to Gage. "That true? Did ya see the perp?"

"Yeah." Gage thrust his hands into his jean pockets, eyes fixed on Victory's face as she continued to skirt his gaze. "I had the misfortune of meeting him a couple weeks ago."

Flustered and near worked to the ground, Bartz expelled a heavy breath. "Right, 'kay, Ducas, why don't ya take the statement of Mr...?"

"Donovan. Ryder Donovan."

"Sure, how about we do this out in the hall?" The shorter of the two officers stepped forward, mouse brown hair pulled back from her long, flat face and emotionless brown eyes.

It took him about ten minutes to work through the events, another five to go over additional questions officer Ducas had to fill in a few gaps before they wrapped up for the night, exchanging parting words with Victory about investing in a stronger dead bolt for her door before leaving.

"Wow, look at the time," Sensing unspoken tension between them, Niobe stretched, feigning a yawn. "I think I'm going to head out. Vee, call me in the morning." She leaned in for a quick embrace and was gone with a smile before Victory had the chance to react.

"You look upset," she began, fumbling blindly in a boozy haze to find the words.

"Upset." Gage stretched the word, shook his head as he slung his coat over the seat of a barstool, still standing, unlike most everything else in the place. "I think I'm entitled, don't you? Since the call to tell me your place had been ransacked came from Niobe, and not you. Christ," cursing, he pushed a shaking hand through his hair. "Would it have killed you to pick up the phone?"

"I know," she agreed, her gaze dropping from his to a spot on the floor between them. "I probably should have."

"So why the hell didn't you?"

Her eyes snapped back to his. So much hurt blistered there it caused her pain to look at it. Damn it, Niobe. Resentment laced with irritation struck her first. Followed by the emotional flutter winging in her belly. This wasn't the place she had wanted, nor the time, but seeing no way around it, Victory realized there was no choice but to do it now.

"I know," she said softly. "I know about Naseer's offer."

Gage's storm blue eyes widened with shock. Winded, he lowered to the armrest of the sectional, rubbed a hand over his stubbled chin, taking a moment to breathe. Think. "Why didn't you say anything?"

Victory shrugged, nibbling on an Oreo from the cracked ceramic jar, more to keep her hands busy than out of interest or appetite. "Because I thought it best to wait until you were ready to discuss it with me, not that you should feel obligated to do so."

A chill skipped down his back, a twitch worked under his skin. She wasn't exactly cold, but there was an icy overtone to the air, to her, that made him just a little uncomfortable.

"If you're upset that I waited so long—"

"No." Victory sighed, pressing her fingertips to her eyes, then, dropping her hands, she smiled. Really smiled, a soft and endearing sort of way a woman reserved for soothing a friend, and that scared him even more. "This is coming out wrong. I'd planned to handle this better than clearly I am." Taking a moment, she rubbed her hands together, bringing the joined tips to her mouth. "Gage, I think it's best we stop seeing each other...socially."

Gage jerked to his feet. "Come again?"

"We've let things get too...tangled. And this venture is going to pull you out of country for a great deal of time, which isn't exactly conducive to encouraging much of a relationship." Needing movement, or perhaps something to occupy her hands, Victory yanked open her fridge for a couple of beers. Popping one, she set it in front of him.

"So, rather than have us beating our heads against a wall, I think it's best we walk away now. Before hearts and emotions get any more invested than they already are."

"Are you kidding me?" Watching her, hearing her, Gage's heart dropped straight into his guts. Before he could continue to speak, he had to swallow the tight, prickly ball in his throat. It didn't go down well.

He frowned at the beer she'd offered him. "Don't you think you're overreacting? This isn't the Stone Age, you know. There are ways to make this feasible. Other couples do it all the time."

"How? The occasional weekend together strung between Skype and what...Facebook? Not to mention the hectic work schedules stretched over conflicting time zones...is that really what you want?"

"It's not like I've accepted the gig." Gage shrugged, shoulders hunched. "I don't have to go to Abu Dhabi."

"Yes, you do." Victory sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "This is who you are. It's your passion. You want this. You deserve this. How am I supposed to sleep at night knowing I'm holding you back?" He reached for her hand and tried not to feel hurt when she pulled away.

"Couples make sacrifices to be together all the time. I can get other jobs."

"It's not just that."

"Then what?" His tone sharpened.

"My home is here, yours is in BC." She pressed on when he only continued to stare at her blankly. "It's not just about work, but our lives, Gage. They're set on diverging paths." To illustrate her point, she planted the sides of her hands to the island and drove them in opposite directions.

"That's just bullshit."

"Bullshit?" She snapped, shaking her head. "Jesus, Gage, what's your problem? Why are you behaving so hostile when all I'm trying to do is—?"

"What's my problem?" Eyes shut, brows furrowed, the words slipped from him with icy notes of disdain. Fuming, he turned away, paced to the terrace doors. She could actually see him struggle for control, dousing his temper from flame to steam. But there was still plenty of fire left in his eyes when he stalked back to her. "My problem is that you're using this moment when your life—your world—has been tipped upside down to...Christ, Victory, I am in love with you. And was it not three days ago you said you felt the same?"

"Yes, but..." Defeated, she halted as Gage stood, glaring from the opposing side of her quartz island.

And there it was. Distance, she realized, was creeping between them already.

"Gage," she finally managed. "This was only ever supposed to be temporary."

"Temporary?" He repeated aghast. For a long while he didn't react, but Victory saw the tensing in his jaw, the deepening chill in his eye. She'd expected a reaction, one that was all heat—a sudden explosion—but the quiet ice was more unnerving.

After a humming beat of silence, he leaned forward, palms set to quartz, and gave her a long, steady stare from under furious brows. The weight of the ring he carried sat in his pocket like an anvil. "You might have thought to run that little detail past me, don't you think?" Lifting his beer, he took a long pull, then set the bottle down so hard that suds gysered up the neck.

Helpless, she spread her hands. "I'm sorry."

"You're sorry?" He drew out the words; his reserved tone carrying all the sting of a whiplash.

"I never expected that you'd...that we'd...Gage, I'm only trying to do what's right."

"No." Heart twisting in his chest and in sudden need of something to hit, Gage kicked at a slab of drywall, sent it skidding into the living room. "You're only doing what's easy. Big difference. And fuck if I'm going to pretend to be happy about it."

"I can appreciate your frustration," folding her arms over her chest, Victory crossed the room. She needed to get rid of him. Before words grew more hostile and more pain—more blood was spilt. Yanking open the door, she gestured towards the hall. "Thank you for coming but it's been a long day and I think we should—"

"Oh, no you don't." Gage stormed after her, to the door she'd opened to shoo him out and pushed it shut, anchored it with his hand. "You're not getting off the hook that easy. There's still the matter of Derek on the loose."

"God." Victory muttered, pressing the ends of her palms to her eyes and turning heel with Gage keeping on her. "I'm not in the mood for this, okay?" Cornered in her living room and with nowhere else to run, Victory faced him. "I don't want to fight right now. You weren't even supposed to be here."

"That's right." Fury surged at her muttered confession. "I almost forgot I'm no longer wanted or welcome in your life."

The sharpness of his tone struck like a slap and because she was already hurting, Victory responded in kind. Matching him, tone for tone and temper for temper.

"Look," she stepped forward, thrusting a finger into the center of his chest, "we slept together, got close, and yeah, I care about you and you care about me. But that doesn't make you my keeper, guardian or protector. It doesn't give you the right to just storm in here and beat me over the head with your frustration after my home has been ransacked by a disgruntled asshole, got it? Enough. I've had enough for just one goddamn day."

Biting into a snarled oath, he swept his hands through his hair to grip and pull. He couldn't think, not with the red haze beating behind his eyes. But with the haze was worry, a knife sawing through his guts kind of worry. What if the bastard had stuck around? What if she'd come home early and caught him in the act? She could have been hurt. Raped. Killed.

Tonight instead of losing her home, Derek Cole could have taken her life, and that scared Gage beyond the realm of anything he'd ever experienced.

When he turned to face her again, she saw his worry, his fear, and that took some of the steam out of her own temper, leaving behind only a lingering burn of guilt.

"I'll leave, but this conversation isn't finished. Not even close. Here." Reaching into his pocket, Gage pulled out his wallet for a white plastic card with Sphinx written across it in brilliant gold. "Pack a bag—I'll wait. You're going to stay in the Isis until the police get Derek off the streets."

Victory smiled thinly, keeping her hands in her pockets. If she got too close, if she touched him now she'd break. And she had to keep herself together. "Thanks, but no."

Gage cocked his head as if trying to adjust his hearing. "What do you mean 'no'?"

"Just exactly that." She shrugged. "No. This is my home. A home I earned through blood, sweat and tears. I'm not leaving because he's shattered some glass, put a few holes in my walls and broke furniture. He's taken enough from me, and I refuse to give him any more control or power over my life."

"This guy is dangerous." He said the words slowly and in a tone that bordered on condescending. A tone she neither appreciated nor was willing to tolerate. Not after today. Not after everything she'd just gone through. This was more than just an attack on her home, the destruction of her belongings. She felt every splintered piece of wood, every shard of glass as wounds afflicted upon her very person.

And right now she stood, silently, weeping blood.

"I'll be fine."

"Christ, you're stubborn." And where was this fight, this determination, he wondered with bitter resentment, when it came to matters concerning their relationship? "Take the room, Victory." He thrust the key at her, almost erupted when she continued to stare at it, at him. With a growl, he stuffed it back in his pocket. "Fine, but if you won't leave your condo, you should at least have a word with your folks. Tell them what's going on."

At that she laughed, a bright, almost desperate note of shock. "Are you insane? The last thing they need right now is to worry about me."

"So you're going to sweep this under the rug, too?" He faced her, standing hip-shot and furious. "They have a right to know what's going on. The time for hiding and secrets is over. Look at this place!" Impatience getting the best of him, he snatched her by the shoulders, spun her around to face the chaos.

"This is more than just a few holes and some broken glass. This is hate. This is vicious and naked aggression. If you'd been here—come home while this was going on...Victory," he brought her back around to face him, wasn't surprised to see she was adverting his gaze, or the quiver in her jaw as she trembled.

Taking his hands from her shoulders, she stepped out of reach. And everything in him ached.

"Thank you for your concern, but I don't need you getting involved."

His brows quirked at the underlying ice in her voice. "No. I guess not." Snatching his coat from the barstool, Gage yanked it on. Marching towards the door, he seized the handle, wrenched it open, and paused at the threshold. "You can't keep this hidden forever, Victory. And your parents should hear it from you before it comes from someone else. Or worse, they see the truth for themselves."

Let him go, the words echoed within her, and she did, barely managing to hold back her tears until he'd blown out the door, easing it shut in his wake, the barely audible click as deafening as the roar of a slam. Only when she was alone did Victory let her shield drop, did she sink to the floor and curl up on her side.

Weeping bitter tears that flowed from her like poison.

m