standing between the kitchen and the living room. Near the French doors leading

to a shadowed patio, an L-shaped couch faced a stone fireplace. “How long are

we staying?”

“Just a night.” Kayden dropped the car keys on the table and set his duffle beside the couch. “Tag should be here before Delacourt.”

The clock on the wall indicated it was only six-thirty. My body disagreed. I

dropped my bag next to his, and then made my way to the couch and collapsed.

The cushions cuddled me, and I let my head fall back. I closed my eyes. My headache from earlier was back, this time with friends. For a few precious minutes the ache kept the inside of my head relatively quiet.

From the kitchen the sound of a cupboard being opened, and then closed,

was followed by the rattle of ice against a glass. My mini oasis of peace broke

when the cushion next to me sank under Kayden’s weight.

“Here.”

I blinked my eyes open and rolled my head to the side. Lifting it would make

my headache worse.

Kayden held out a glass of ice water. Two white tablets lay in his palm. I took the glass but eyed the tablets.

“Aspirin,” he said.

Sighing, I picked them up and popped them in my mouth. After washing

them down, I mumbled my thanks and closed my eyes. The silence resettled, quiet and surprisingly calm.

The file waited for me on the table, a Pandora’s Box of answers for my questions. A selfish part of me didn’t want to deal with them right now, not while

I was still processing Kelsey’s death. And, yeah, all that Kayden shared. For now, I let the information gather in a corner and mutter to itself.

Trying not to think is harder than it sounds. My brain wanted to sprint forward, but the bands of pain throbbing across my cerebral cortex kept the urge

in check. The aspirin needed time to work their magic. I did my best to regulate

my breathing and relax, muscle by muscle. The concentration it took to do so helped chase away the mental images and voices hovering for attention.

It took time, but eventually I managed. When my shoulders downgraded

from seriously stressed to anxious anticipation, I floated in the hazy in-between

state of awareness and sleep. The cushions next to me shifted, not much, just enough to snag my attention. Curiosity had me lifting heavy lids.

Sunlight spilled through the French doors and dusted over Kayden as he

sprawled out next to me. The soft light played over his angles and contours. His

legs were propped on the square coffee table, his head was cradled against the back of the couch, and his eyes were closed. Even at rest, his face was intriguing.

Drifting in an emotional limbo, my fingers twitched for my camera. He was

attractive. Not the drop-dead gorgeousness that had panties dropping when he walked into a room, but something else, something intangible.

Even at our initial meet and greet, he drew me in. Maybe it was the way he

held himself, or his ability to adeptly handle anything thrown his way. Whatever it was, it snuck under my normal reserve and created cracks in my emotional blockade. He managed to make a place for himself, and it wasn’t until after the

trial that I realized how deep he got in. Obviously, I underestimated his impact

because that same draw still tugged at me.

Or you’re an emotional train wreck, my inner snark remarked.

Whatever.

Now that he wasn’t trying to smash me into the floor and tell me six

impossible things before breakfast, I could appreciate the view. I let my gaze wander unchecked. The blond highlights twisting through the dark, brown

strands didn’t come from a bottle, but from actual time spent outside. His nose

sported a small bump. Probably broken at some point. It didn’t detract, instead complimented, the strong jaw line highlighted by his gold-streaked goatee.

The spark of heat from earlier made a comeback. Instead of squashing it, I let

it burn, mentally shrugging my shoulders. At twenty-eight, the flash bang of sexual attraction no longer knocked me for a loop. I could be female enough to

enjoy this moment without indulging. We would return to the horrifically gory reality waiting outside the cabin door soon enough. Besides, I didn’t want to stop

my visual study. Too much waited to take its place.

His black T-shirt failed to hide his defined muscles. It stretched across his broad shoulders to lie against his flat abdomen, before tucking into the

waistband of his jeans. Almost every marine I ever met had some level of muscle definition—swimmer sleek or no-neck thick. Kayden managed to hit the

sweet spot between lean and mean, and weightlifter.

I carried the tactile memory of mapping the sleek muscles under that broad

chest. The tattoo I spotted earlier peeked under one sleeve. Dark tribal lines curled around a solid bicep. That was new. His skin held a burnished hint of sun,

the color broken by scattered scars, the white marks telling their own stories. His