A gruff masculine voice woke her from her obsession. Her head turned at the sound in the doorway of the living room and it took entirely too much focus to scan her visitor from head to toe before her shoulders sank into the pillows at her back again.

"How did you get here faster than the police, Tucker?"

For some reason, this seemed to be the most important question to ask him. Not a long overdue nicety of asking how Tucker, one of two of Finn's twin brothers, was doing. Or what exactly he was doing here at this time of night. It was more important that the police weren't here yet.

"Two words, cupcake. Motorcycle. Ungodly speeds." Tucker disarmed her with a wide, kind smile and rolled his shoulders in his leather jacket before cracking his knuckles. "What do you need from me, bro?"

"The works. All the bells and whistles we have lined up for legal and not so legal use. Bug every phone, cameras at every vantage point around the house," Finn leaned heavily against the other side of the door jamb, doing his best to hide his cane behind his back. "I want the house to be a fortress, got it?"

After that apt description, Tucker didn't ask a single question. He shoved his hands in his pockets, whistled through his teeth, and winked at Delila. "You got it, boss man. Or should I be saying wo-man?"

Neither of the brother's acted as if any time had passed between them. Finn's brother barely acknowledged his injury as they both stood in the doorway staring at her with different expressions on the same striking features.

"It's good to see you again, hon. Though I could wish for better circumstances," Tucker coughed into his fist before his smile came back in full swing. "Mother would love to have you back at the house for supper, once I tell her you're back in big boy over there's life. Consider the invite mandatory."

There wasn't a single movement that she distrusted, nothing too quick, or too invasive like a hand on her knee or even a hug. But the ferociousness hidden behind Tucker's eyes screamed that someone was on his home turf—and they would pay.

Like his brother he held the ability to hold his emotions in check. To immobilize all outside forces so he could go from A to B without any extra emotional snags. Even if the police weren't there yet, she wasn't alone.

Tucker would blast any threat all to hell before it came leagues near anyone he cared about—because it was as clear as it was crazy behind his eyes. At least Tucker was aware of his brand of crazy, his warped darkness. He drank his horrors inside his skin as it if it were a sports drink and used it to fuel the fire.

"Okay." Her reply was rote. There were too many emotions. She couldn't streamline them all, so she shut down before she went spiraling into another panic attack.

Finn locked his emotions away in a box. As if his physical scars weren't riddled with secrets and wouldn't give him away. Violence always left an invisible mark, smut on the soul that was unable to be wiped clean. Darkness had formed her life, until she was able to mold it. Finn needed to grab his darkness and never let it go, otherwise it would float into every area of his life.

And she could all ready see it peeking behind his every expression.

"I'll bring in all my men, but it'll take two days of around the clock work to get it done right."

"Do it," Delila spoke without thinking. "Wait, how much is it going to run me?"

"Free of charge. I'll call in the troops and get this place wired on the outside. We'll finish up the inside once the cops are done traipsing through everything."

Finn cocked his head to the side as if he were listening to something outside. Something passed between the twins. Tucker wiggled his eyebrows running a hand through his shorter dark hair.

"Calvary is here. That means I'm out. Keep me posted, brother." Tucker barely looked backward before he circled around the kitchen and went out one of the back doors.

"Where is he going? He can't go near the back house without me or one of my staff." She was halfway out of her seat before Finn's warm, weighty hand clamped over her shoulder.

"He's fine, his motorcycle just drove off." They both looked out the window at the distant roar of a chopper. "He's probably going back to the warehouse to gather supplies and once everything is over with the cops, I'll check up on him, and make sure he knows the rules."

"Crap, I didn't even think..." Delila rubbed the bridge of her nose with a sigh. "I have to call my assistant Robin so she knows what's going on in the morning and to take care of Tucker for me. She can give him a tour since I'll probably still be dealing with...all of this..." She waved her hand in the air as if to encompass all the chaos in her life over the past several hours. "What the hell am I going to do?"

Less than a minute later police sirens blasted through her closed windows and Finn stood up straight jerking his attention back to the front door.

Delila's stomach knotted and she knew she had the chance of forming an ulcer if her night continued on this path. She wiped a slightly damp hand down her face, trying to take a beat to find some composure. She had to get herself together, otherwise Sheriff Draper would find another way to belittle and tear down her story.

He'd pounce on any show of emotion as a weakness. In his book women didn't have the constitution for intelligence. Frail, fragile creatures who needed to be coddled and protected like toddlers. His viewpoint had been crystal clear during their last interaction when he'd spent the majority of the time mansplaining to her about how reports were filed at the station and that she had no cause for concern if she was being bullied in her line of work. Because harassment obviously came with the territory.

Her front door flung open and she jerked back at the intrusion. There hadn't even been in a knock.

"Where's the problem?" A gruff voice called out accompanied by quick, heavy steps into her house.

Delila stood, dusted off her jeans, and glanced into the entryway where police were streaming inside the house. They were like ants, spreading out without speaking while she watched them go into the kitchen. There was a tap on her shoulder and she turned to see Sheriff Draper.

His brown eyes narrowed down at her as he fiddled with his hat in his hands. His thick black hair shimmered under the light as she noticed he was going white and grey in some places, almost patchy, which no doubt infuriated him. A man's man who could go on a tangent about the token "viral male" for hours, losing his hair must be a blow to his ego.

"Another problem, sugar? I'm starting to think you may want the small town publicity. You're cutting into funds and resources every time we have lug our butts out here, so it better be good."

A flare of anger made her jaw clench before Finn's hand landed on her shoulder as if to pull her backward from possible conflict. Delila shook him off in a stern, silent warning before looking over her shoulder. He dutifully tucked his hands back into his pockets and leaned against the wall.

"If you keep pushing aside my complaints, there's going to be a pile of bodies at your doorstep. Do your job here, please, or I'll go to your superiors until someone takes me seriously."

"Is that right?" The sheriff glowered circling his hat between his hands while his shrewd stare searched past her and into the kitchen. "Rest assured, we'll do our best."

She thought his best rested somewhere between fishing a cat out of a tree and making a ham and cheese sandwich.

"Oh, I know you will." Finn took two steps forward until he was standing toe to toe with the bigger man. "You'll do everything in your power to figure this out, won't you?" When he looked over his shoulder, the gleam in his eye made Delila's fingers twitch at her sides.

"Absolutely, son. Didn't know you were back in town, Finn, otherwise I would have invited you down to the station. We need more men on the force and—" Sheriff Draper cleared his throat and did a full body scan from head to toe. "On second thought, uh, maybe that isn't the greatest idea. You're a good paper pusher, right?"

Before Finn could do anything too macho, Delila excused herself and doubled back to the kitchen where several cops were cataloging, bagging, and photographing the scene. It was horrid that her house was a scene to be cataloged.

Even worse that the sight of a police investigation wasn't foreign and the ensuing chaos seemed familiar, as if it hadn't been too long ago at all since...suddenly she was fighting off the urge not to be sick. She suppressed the memories of her past as soon as they sprang up, despite the tears that threatened to spill over her cheeks.

"Will I ever get any of that back? There's important paperwork in there."

A plain looking man of regular height who obviously took care of himself looked up from the box of mail he was sorting through to put in plastic bags. "Anything else we find here will be carted back to the station and we can sign it back to you a few days. But I'd check your personal mailbox too, just to be on the safe side."

With a weak smile, she skirted back to her coffee table and handed the sheriff the sheaf of notebook paper.

"I took the intuitive to write down everything that's happened since I found the pictures for your records."

"I'm sure this will help, sweetheart. Thanks." The sheriff gave her an indulgent, patronizing smile and she had a hard time keeping herself calm.

"Uh, Sheriff Draper? There's something you're going to want to see in here." A cop called from her kitchen. She tamped down a shiver that made her jaw clench tight until she ached down to her shoulders.

Whatever it was, she didn't want to see it. Couldn't take another violation of her home.

Instead she took the cop's advice, walked out her front door to the end of the driveway, and yanked open her mailbox.

She spotted the smashed brown envelope shoved in the back of the box, only revealed by a flicker of moonlight. She reached for the envelope with trembling fingers and tore it to bits unfolding a single piece of notebook paper.

There will be a next time.

A scrawled note in black permanent marker across the crisp white paper.

What if it was too late?