"Here. You might want to put this with whatever else you've found."

Finn pivoted toward the strain in Delila's voice as she held out a piece of paper by one corner. She handed over the evidence to a waiting cop who bagged it with a nod of acknowledgment.

"Do you want to know what else they found?" Finn circled his arm around her shoulder and pulled her in tight uncaring of their audience. "I don't want to keep anything from you."

"No, not yet. I need some time."

"Sure."

The sheriff walked back down the hallway speaking low into the walkie-talkie at his shoulder while Finn swallowed back his hidden revulsion at the severed ring finger with a small, gold diamond band they'd bagged in the kitchen. Somehow the digit had rolled beneath the lip of the island. He supposed the killer had stuck it in the envelope with the pictures and when Delila opened them her surprise had spilled more than the pictures everywhere.

"Delila? Is everything okay? We heard the sirens at the house next door..."

A tall, curvy Hispanic woman slipped in through the front door and stopped mid-stride when she saw him with a small shake of her head. Her intelligent eyes narrowed, forehead creased by her tight frown. She scanned Finn from head to toe with a look of mistrust that he knew well enough to leave alone. But he didn't move his arm from around Delila.

"There have been some...developments, Ms. Lopez." Delila closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry I didn't head over to you and the women right away...I didn't think..."

"What do you need me to do?"

He could ignore the seething judgment burning a hole through his chest because Ms. Lopez appeared to have her head on straight in a tough situation. But her question jolted Delila into action. She stiffened and slipped out from under his hold before she took aside what he could only assume was her co-worker. Given that now wasn't the best time for introductions. They talked in muted whispers until someone nudged him in the shoulder and he faced the sheriff again.

"We're heading back to the station. I'll be in touch as soon as we find anything. In the meantime, don't go in the kitchen until we clear it."

Several cops filed out of the house and Sheriff Draper's gaze flicked to Delila and Ms. Lopez out of the corner of his eye before he took a step toward Finn. "Keep an eye on that one, will you? I wouldn't want her to spook from her own shadow."

Finn chewed on his course reply, but kept himself in check. Only because he wanted the man to call back with an update so he didn't have to harass anyone at the station.

"Thank you for your time. Call if you need anything else."

"Will do."

The sheriff offered Finn a bare glimmer of a smile, before he paused at the doorway, turning back.

"Finn, uh, thanks for your service. Glad to see you back in one piece."

Whether intentional or not the verbal barb dragged through him, until he had to put his hand to the wall to keep himself upright. So far he'd handled the situation, but he didn't know how much longer he could stand without assistance. His adrenaline rush faded into nothing in a flash. Total awareness of his physical discomfort came roaring back to life. The fact that he wasn't reliable made him grit his teeth as he worked his way over toward the two women talking and gesturing in the corner.

"Everything situated?" He crossed his arms digging his fingers into his forearms to chase away the pain echoing up his leg. "We should all get some sleep, even if after tonight it seems more elusive than normal."

"That's an understatement," Delila scoffed and Ms. Lopez coughed into her fist.

"I'll recheck all the locks and see if they can send a cruiser over for a drive by every few hours. I've got connections with the local department," Ms. Lopez cocked her head to the side as if waiting for his disapproval.

"I'm sorry, Finn, this is my resident den mother for the shelter, Mrs. Lopez. She watches over everyone full time. Mrs. Lopez, this is Finnegan Cort." They both shook hands. "Mrs. Lopez means her boyfriend is a cop, her younger boyfriend."

For the first time in a few hours, a small smile played at the corners of Delila's lips. He wanted to see more of those in the future.

"It was nice to meet you, even with the strained circumstances. Sleep well."

"You as well. Delila, you'll come to the outbuilding if you hear anything?"

"Of course. In the meantime, do you think you could whip up something special tomorrow for breakfast? They'll need comforting after all the commotion tonight and then I'll talk to everyone after my entry interview early in the afternoon."

"I'll prepare them."

"Thank you." Delila fiercely hugged the woman and Finn had to look away, fingers flexing.

He rubbed the tension in the back of his neck weighing the option of leaving the room and calling back his brother with the possibility that Delila probably wouldn't be sleeping and would need him to keep her company. Son of a bitch, a murder scene wasn't what he'd intended on walking into when he came home. Some awkward situations were expected, a few short explanations, and rude stares at his leg. But he hadn't expected the protective streak that he shoved back down when his ex-girlfriend closed and locked the front door.

"Now tell me what happened. What did the police say?" They both walked into the living room taking heavy seats on the couch. "I have to tell her...something tomorrow and I'd like to have all the information."

"She's connected to all of this?" Finn made a sweeping gesture with one hand.

"The woman in that picture was Ms. Lopez's niece."

Finn shifted on the couch knowing the next part of his job wasn't going to be easy. Better to be straight out with it.

"They found a severed finger wearing a woman's wedding band in the kitchen."

She let out a low breath dipping her head between her knees.

"This isn't the worst of it," Delila groaned.

"No, it's not. Do you want me to call Tucker back here to get to work on the security system tonight?"

"We'll wait until tomorrow. I don't want any other disruptions tonight. Or what's left of it."

He couldn't argue with her assessment. It would be daylight soon and he scrubbed a hand down his face.

"We should try this sleep thing again, if you can. And you probably shouldn't work tomorrow if you can help it, take the day to rest."

"That's rich."

"What?" He frowned and slid to the left pinning her with a stare.

"You're not exactly resting, are you?"

"I'm doing what I can." He couldn't keep the force from his tone, didn't want to hide the giant gaping wound she'd run her nails through probably without even trying for the effect.

"Look, Finn, these women need to know life as if it's normal. God knows they've been through enough change, the last thing they need is me relaxing for a day instead of offering them the comfort and support they need to get through until this sick freak is put away. I won't take a mental health day when they're still grappling with the very violence that's crept up to my front doorstep. If they can be strong enough to face it head on, the least I can do is the same."

"You don't understand what you're dealing with, Delila—"

"And you do?"

"I've seen more of death..." he paused, rethinking his tactic. "I know today was hard on you. There's no way to ignore the similarity to your parent's deaths or the emotional toll that'll take on you. All I'm saying is that if you push all your pain aside and don't take it in now, you'll regret it when the memories come back."

"Personal experience?"

His laugh was bitter and haunted grating through his tight throat as he coughed into his fist.

"I'll be careful." She turned away from him and crossed her arms over her chest. Obviously closing him out. Okay, end of discussion. "For now, I'll make my way upstairs and pretend to sleep to appease you. Okay, den mother?"

"Good." When she got up from the couch a tantalizing bit of her perfume trailed under his nose. It took all of his willpower to keep from jerking her back down into his lap. "Sleep tight."

"Thanks," she practically whispered before she headed back up the curving farmhouse staircase.

He kept his gaze glued to the navy blue wall in front of him stretching out until his leg muscles were forced into relaxation. The pain that sung through his veins was only another reminder of the trouble he'd gone through to leave his past behind him—it wasn't time to go digging it all up. So long as he kept what he'd endured to himself, they'd both be okay. There wasn't a question in his mind that the sooner he was out of the house, the better off for everyone involved in their little horror show. A muscle in his jaw twitched as he flexed and curled his toes, snatching at the cushions with his fingers to dull the pain whipping through his abused body.

There was no way he could leave her before the sick freak that was terrorizing her was put down for good. He couldn't risk the danger. Doctor's orders to take it easy be damned, he needed to be at his best. Screw the agony that twitched through his fragile muscle tissue. He'd left her before when he thought he was doing what was right and he'd paid for it dearly for years. Both while he was in the Army and then several long, excruciating months at the hands of his torturers in Iraq.

Bits and pieces of the murky dungeon cell slashed across his memory. His pulse jacked up into his throat and he couldn't catch his breath. No air, too humid. Every sip burned down his lungs...they'd poisoned it. The clash of nausea curled him onto his side as he tried to push away the swinging sensation, blinking back to the shackles digging into the tendons of his ankles as he dangled like a sack of meat for their beating pleasure.

"Breathe, just breathe."