*Cole

The message blooms bright blue in the fading afternoon light.

Jordan: please come fast

I set my beer down on Javier's patio table, adrenaline spiking in my system already. "Hey, man. I gotta go. There's something up."

"No problem," Javier says. He lifts his son off his lap, and gives him a playful swat to send him indoors. I'm walking fast to my car, and he hurries to catch up. "Is there a problem?"

"I don't know. I hope not. I'll call you later and we'll find a moment to get those parts I told you about."

There are a few things I can easily replace on the old Corvette, and I was looking forward to seeing Javier a few more times before leaving for good. Worry for Jordan fills me now, though, and I wave curtly.

Seconds later, I'm speeding along the winding road around the town to her house on the outskirts, in the forest.

I'm glad I left the camper at her house and took my smaller, faster car or these turns would be deadly. The Corvette is barely stopped and I jump out. She's on the porch, face ashen and hand on her stomach. Something is very wrong.

I run up to kneel in front of her. She's staring off as if dead. Dry, blackened streaks mark her cheeks from crying. Worse—a red scuff darkens her upper cheek, near her eye. I want to kiss her or burn something to the ground. Probably both.

"Jordan, baby?" I stroke her hair and cup her cheek. "Hey, I'm here. What happened?"

"He doesn't know where Trey is." Her voice is brittle and thin as the winter's wind.

"Who doesn't know? What happened?" I sit next to her and wrap my arm around her shoulder, drawing her close. Her skin is clammy and cold and she's stiff and unbending in my arms. My pulse picks up and adrenaline is spiking my muscles. I'm ready to fight, but I don't know who the enemy is.

"Brandon was here when I got home," she says.

I'll kill him. I keep calm for the time-being, though. She skittish and hurting and I don't want to make it worse by pounding my fist in the porch. "What did he do?"

"He told a bunch of lies, as usual. But I think..." Her voice fades for a moment. "I think I have unraveled a few of the lies from the truth. He's always been smart like that you know? It took me a long time to figure it out when we were younger, but he's a good liar, like Trey, because he always puts some truth in there."

I need concrete answers, while she's dancing around the facts. "Tell me what he said and what he did to you, baby."

It's as if she doesn't hear me, though. She keeps talking on the same line of reasoning. "I think there is some truth about his plans for this weekend. Did he invite you to the lake?"

"Yeah, and I pretended to be interested. I intend to talk to him alone well before this weekend."

"He said you were eager to go and you had prostitutes lined up to meet you there."

"That," I said, hands folding into clenched fists, "is a lie. He brought up—"

"I know it is. That's not you at all. That's pure Brandon. But you, see? A nugget of truth inside the lie. He also said he pretended to be on Trey's side when Trey kidnapped Emma, so he could get information. Then he said, he wished he had information about him, just so he would have the pleasure of not telling me."

"Why would he..." I paused. She was holding herself stiff and very still, hands on her stomach since I arrived. What was going on? Did he hurt her?

But she ignores my half question. In fact, it's almost as if I'm not there at all. I count for nothing. Or she has her shields up in reaction to something. I know that look. Ice forms in my veins. I recognize what she's doing with her body—protecting it, by not moving and concentrating on a problem to solve. "Jordan, let me help you get inside."

So I can check you over, is my unspoken thought.

"He wouldn't flaunt not having information. Which means not having information is the nugget of truth. He knows nothing about where Trey and Emma are. Trey didn't trust him when he left, he didn't contact him afterwards, either. A heap of lies about wanting to help me, and the truth that he has no information to give."

"Yeah, he's a real pile of shit. Both of them," I mutter. She's still not moving, so I bend down to pick her up. She stops me.

"This is never going to be all right, is it?" she asks.

"Don't talk like that, Jordan. Leave Brandon to me."

"I don't mean him. I mean me. I'm never going to be all right inside, because of what I've done. What I let happen to her."

Her words—her self-guilt are a bag of bricks on my chest. I don't know how to make her see that none of this is her fault.

A thick strand of hair falls in front of her cheek and I tuck it behind her ear. "You didn't let Trey take her, he's a criminal. Just because Brandon doesn't know where he is, doesn't mean he shouldn't have his ass kicked. Leave that part to me. Now, let's go inside, you can take a shower and start planning to get out of this place."

"I'm never going to heal. I'll always be broken."

"It will take time. We'll have time when we leave." I urge her to stand, but she walks hunched over.

He must have done something. I'll fucking kill him. I'll break every bone in his body. But first, I have to make sure she's good enough to take a shower and get in bed. I lead her inside to the bathroom and try to take her shirt off.

"I can do it," she says. "Would you make some decaf? I'd love some coffee."

I don't let my face change, but I can see through her request like it was a window. He must have hit her. How bad was it? She can walk and talk, but there could be damage. She might need a doctor. "Yeah. I'll bring it when it's ready."

When I reach the kitchen, I keep going out the back door to throw practice punches and find something to hit. There's nothing soft, though, and I don't want broken knuckles for when I find Brandon. I curse, yelling into my hands. Then, I go back to the kitchen and start the decaf in the pot.

I walk quietly up the stairs to her bathroom and open the door carefully. She's naked, stepping into the shower. She jumps and covers herself with the curtain.

"Just let me see where he hit you," I say.

"I've had worse," she said.

"Please let me check."

"It's not bad. He hit my stomach. Then he tried to punch my face, but I cracked his knee-cap first. See? I can defend myself."

Rage makes the room go dark. I'm keeping it in, for now. "Whether you can defend yourself or not isn't the problem. Let me see."

"I said no." Her voice is thin, but firm. She's too stubborn to accept help.

"I heard you said no, but I think you should. You might need a doctor, and we need to file a report."

She scoffs. "A report? In this town? What a joke. You know he's related to half the police force and goes bowling with the rest of them?"

"I want him on record for hitting a woman. I think he's got more problems with the police than you know, and the more official reports the better. He's inches away from hard time."

"Cole," she says, sadness pouring from her, "will you please stop telling me what to do? I just want..."

I step forward and wrap her in my arms and she puts her head to my chest, crying. I'm such an ass. I don't know what to do, so of course, I do everything wrong. I let her cry a few minutes and then maneuver her into the shower. The water flows over her, and she leans back into it. As soon as I think she'll be all right on her own, I return to the kitchen for the decaf.

I'm planning my revenge on Brandon the whole time. The man is related to half the police force? Fine, I just have to make sure he can't go to them after I'm done. It takes seconds for me to find Brandon's current address and phone number with a quick search on my phone.

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