Inside the old toolbox, is a stack of papers. Newspapers, letters from West Point, clippings. All about me. The old man had been keeping tabs on me over the years. He knew I graduated from West Point, he knew I’d made the Rangers, he knew I’d been sent to Afghanistan. He even knew I’d earned a Purple Heart. He was too proud to contact me, but he cared enough to follow my life.

For a minute, my heart softens.

Life really isn’t black or white.

Fuck life. It’s a vengeful bitch.

I drop the box, stalk to the fridge in the corner and grab a beer. My father’s got at least two cases left, chilled and ready for me. On second thought, I turn and grab two more, and then head for the chair at his desk. I put my feet up on the desk and lean my chair back, popping the top of beer number one. The other two are lined up waiting for me.

Yes, it’s not even noon yet.

No, I don’t give a flying fuck.

It’s hot as hell in here, but I don’t care about that, either. I just stare out the window as I gulp the cold brew down.

I don’t care about my father’s stash of newspaper clippings. I don’t care about his fucking box or the way he finally took ownership of his own guilt.

All I care about is Nora.

Why in the name of all that’s holy did I put myself in this position? I knew from the beginning that Nora only wanted the summer. That she only wanted me to fulfill some stupid fucking high school fantasy. I knew that.

Yet I got sucked in anyway.

Because I’m a stupid fuck and everything about her made me feel good.

Well, fuck that. I’m not feeling too good right now.

I crush the can and toss it to the side, picking up beer number two.

I crack the top.

“You gonna sit out here and drink all day?”

Jacey’s voice comes from behind me. I take a gulp.

“That’s the plan.”

She walks softly around me, perching on the edge of the desk. She’s still wearing shorts and flip-flops.

“Didn’t you have a flight this morning?” I ask her, taking another long gulp.

She shakes her head. “I did. But I’m not going to leave you now.”

I stare at her. “Uh-uh. Get on that plane, Vincent. I’m fine.”

She shakes her head again. “Nope. You nursed me through five million break-ups. I can be here for one.”

I down the beer and reach for number three.

“Nope. I honestly don’t want you here, Jace. I love you and all, but I think I need to be alone. I’m going to be an asshole for a few days. You don’t need to be here for that.”

She starts to protest, to tell me how she’s been a bitch around me before, yada, yada, yada, but I cut her short, leveling a gaze at her.

“Seriously, Jacey. I appreciate it. But go back to your husband. I need to be alone.”

She opens her mouth, then closes it. She stares at me for the longest time, before finally nodding.

“I guess. If that’s what you want.” She takes a few steps toward the door, then turns. “Brand, one of the very best things about you is your heart. You could’ve turned out to be an asshole in life, because of all the shit you dealt with as a kid, but you didn’t. You turned out to be the absolute best man I know. Don’t let any of this change that. Please.”

I snort, lifting can number three to my lips.

“Whatever, Jace. Look where it got me. Nice guys finish last. Every. Fucking. Time.”

I turn my back on her, looking out the window as I gulp the brew down. At this rate, I very well might go through a case today. And that’s fine.

I hear Jacey behind me, lingering, trying to decide what to say. It annoys the fuck out of me.

“Just go, Jacey,” I tell her firmly. “Seriously. Have a safe flight.”

She flies back to me, throwing herself at me, hugging me tight. Her arms clamp around my throat and I have to pry them off so I can breathe.

“What the hell?”

She glances up at me, her eyes watery. “I’m sorry she hurt you, Brand. It sucks. I don’t know why she left, but you deserve to be happy.”

I look away. “Yeah. I do. But you know what they say…”

“What do they say?”

A voice comes from the doorway, a voice with a French accent.

Jesus. Do people not ever knock around here?

Camille Greene stands elegantly in the woodshop, as out of place among the dust and wood shavings as Maxwell had been on the porch.

She stares from Jacey to me, curiosity in her blue eyes, at the way Jacey is draped around my neck, but she doesn’t say anything else.

“It doesn’t matter what they say,” I mutter, and I gently push Jacey off my lap. I stare at her, my expression firm.

“Go back to the UK. Go be with your husband. I’ll be fine.”

She nods. “Fine. But call me if you need me.” She takes a step, then two, then turns around.

“I just have to say this one thing. I don’t know her very well, but Nora didn’t look like someone who wanted to leave, Brand. I don’t know why else she would be leaving, but she didn’t look like it was a choice she wanted to make.”

This yanks my head up. “Why do you say that?”

Jacey shakes her head. “I can’t explain it. It was just a look in her eyes.”

A look in her eyes. Jesus. Leave it to a woman to say something like that.

Jacey turns and walks past Camille, who then steps further inside.

“I didn’t mean to intrude,” she tells me elegantly. “I’m sorry.”

“How did you know to look for me in here?” I ask her curiously. She shrugs her slim shoulders.

“You weren’t at the other cottage, and I knew this was your parents’. So I came looking.”

I stare at her, at her silk pantsuit and her perfectly coiffed hair, her jewels, her expensive taste.

“Why?”

My question is as stark as I feel.

She returns my gaze without flinching.

“Because I agree with your friend. My daughter has run away, and I don’t think she wanted to. And I need your help to get her back.”

For just one second, I feel hope rise inside of me, but then I snort and turn away, because I remember why Nora ran away.

“She ran from me,” I answer coldly, getting up and walking toward the fridge again. I unload three more beers into my arms before I walk back. “Because I’m not what she wants, and she didn’t want to be here anymore. So I won’t be of much help in finding her.”

Camille steps forward and puts her hand on my arm. It’s slender and cool and I look at her. Her face is pained, worried. From here, I can see that she’s tired. Like she didn’t sleep much.

“Nora texted me in the middle of the night,” Camille continues, like I’d not spoken at all. “It was very strange. I know you know that all is not right in my family. I feel like I can trust you… that I can tell you this.” She draws in a big breath.

“I told Nora once that if William ever hurt her, to come to me instead of her father. Because there are things she doesn’t know. Maxwell isn’t… well, it doesn’t matter right now. But what does matter is that she texted me last night. This is what it said.”

She pulls her phone from her purse, finds the text and hands it to me.

Mom,

You were right. William is a monster. But I’m going to do something about it. You might not see me for a while. But I love you. Don’t worry. Either way, everything is finally going to be ok.

The words, so stark and formal, cut through me and send chills down my spine. It doesn’t sound like Nora at all… unless she was desperate. And she sounds desperate.

What the fuck did I miss?

“What does she mean that she’s going to do something about it?” Camille asks me in a whisper, her forehead furrowed and her fingers gripping my arm. “What is she going to do?”

I shake my head slowly from side to side, trying to wrap my mind around the words.

“I don’t know what happened. She went to work yesterday… said she had to meet her father to go over case files. When she came back, she acted strange.”