His face was grim, or what I could see of it.

After a minute, he lowered the rag. The blood had slowed to a trickle.

“I gave you that one, rich boy, and only that one, because I understand. I got a sister too, and I'd be upset if I was in your shoes. But you come at me again and it won't be free.”

Rich boy?

I ran my tongue along the inside of my teeth. He wasn't making me like him any better. I gave him a longer, harder look. He might've been thinner than me, but I could see the corded muscles in his arms. He wasn't a pushover.

“If you’re looking for a piece of me,” Colton offered. “I wouldn’t mind blowing off steam.”

It was like he was reading my mind.

Then he grinned, and the smile had a hard slant. “And since you’ve already thrown the first punch, I don’t have to worry about Dory getting pissed off at me when she sees that I marked up that pretty boy face of yours.”

“Dory?” I echoed.

He cocked a brow at me. “What of it?”

“That’s the name of a fish.”

“I know.” He grinned. “It suits her. She’s adorable and ditzy. She cussed me out and smacked me when I told her that.”

I was tempted to do the same – maybe not a smack – but I could punch him again.

Except I had a lousy feeling in my gut. It was one I’d experienced a few too many times today. The one I got when I was wrong. And I’d been wrong a lot today. I had a feeling I’d been wrong about this guy too.

“You really care about my sister, don’t you?” I kept my eyes on his face as I asked the question.

“You just now figuring that out, rich boy?” He said it with a bit of a sneer. It was only mildly softened by the light of sympathy in his eyes. “Don’t worry. I don’t expect you to invite me for Christmas or anything. I’ll keep my dirty, blue-collar germs to myself.”

I could feel heat climbing up my neck, but I didn’t bother to try and correct him. It had nothing to do with the fact that he worked for living.

But at the same time, it had everything to do with it. Especially now.

He’d already told me he didn’t know where Isadora was, and from what I'd recently learned, if anybody would know, it was him. But if that was the case, then it was looking more and more like she’d been taken.

So I didn’t give a damn if Colton worked with his hands for a living, but wasn't it possible that someone with only a little money would be the kind of person who might want to find a way to make some easy money. Like a ransom.

I should've felt bad suspecting something like that about someone who cared for my sister, but if I didn't have him as a suspect, who did I have?

Nobody.

***

After a couple of drinks, I could admit, to myself at least, that I’d handled the night badly.

Of course, this was the first time I’d ever had my sister kidnapped, so it wasn't like I'd had a lot of experience in dealing with the proper way to handle it. Still, I'd always liked to think I was one of those guys who could maintain his composure even under pressure.

Now, I knew the truth. Under pressure, I was exactly what I was at any other time in my life.

An ass.

I’d lashed out at anybody and everybody but the persons responsible – the sons of bitches who’d grabbed my sister…and myself for failing to protect her.

That was the honesty yielded by a couple of drinks.

Of course, I also sucked when it came to any kind of self-reflection.

So I had a few more drinks.

That’s where things got fuzzy.

At some point between brooding and having my keys taken away by the nice but firm bartender – admittedly, I wasn’t so far gone to know that I needed to give them up – my brain started to spin in and out of focus.

I think I tumbled into one cab, and then out.

I should have gone home.

But something else I sucked at too many times was doing what I should do.

Things got really fuzzy after that.

Which was probably how I ended up staggering up a set of stairs that I didn't recognize.

What I did know was that I’d asked the cabbie to drop me off somewhere around here.

Why?

That was the fuzzy…

The door opened, and everything snapped into focus.

Toni.

Toni Gallagher stood there glaring at me. Her dark red hair piled on her head. She was wearing an old t-shirt that hit her mid-thigh.

Her eyes, dark and blue, raked over me from head to toe, and the look on her face was one of vague disgust.

For reasons I couldn't recall, that pissed me off.

I lifted a hand and pointed my finger at her.

Both of her.

“You…”

I swallowed and realized I was slurring my words. Damn. I was drunker than I realized.

She finished for me, an elegant eyebrow arching over her pretty eyes. “You're drunk.”

“Are you?”

Toni rolled her eyes. “Go home, Ash.”

“Home.” I nodded. That made sense. I guess. Then I remembered and my face fell. “Iz…she’s gone.”

Toni’s face softened and she moved closer.

That made it okay, right?

Chapter 3

Toni

The last thing I expected at nearly three a.m. was to have somebody banging on my door.

No. Correction.

The last thing I expected at nearly three a.m. was to have Ashford Lang knocking on my door, drunk off his ass. Once I managed to get his drunk ass over to my couch, I saw that his knuckles were busted up.

At some point, he’d hit somebody. I really hoped it wasn't someone who was going to press charges. That was the last thing he needed at the moment.

Sighing, I pushed his hair back from his face. “What in the hell am I supposed to do with you?” I murmured. It was a rhetorical question. He wasn't even close to coherent enough to answer.

Besides, common sense already told me what I should do.

I should call a cab and send Mr. Lang back home. At the most generous, I should call the emergency number for Doug that Isadora gave me and have him come get his boss.

I didn’t listen.

Forty minutes later, I was practically drowning him in water, tomato juice and a little extra something I learned helped replace the lost electrolytes and helped beat a hangover. Well, I hadn't technically learned it. Aside from all of the tips pre-med and psych students exchanged, I'd had years of watching my four older brothers come home drunk and not wanting our parents to know. I'd paid attention.

The good news was that Ash was getting my expertise before he reached the hangover stage.

The bad news was that I didn't think he appreciated it.

When I started to lift his head to take another glass of water, he caught my wrist and opened a pair of eyes so green, they shouldn’t have been permitted by nature. The fact that they were blood-shot just made the green stand out more.

“You need the water,” I told him, using my best stern sister voice.

In a surprisingly clear voice, he said, “Haven’t you shoved a swimming pool full of it down my throat already?”

I smiled sweetly. “No. Only a wading pool. Now drink.”

To my surprise, he obliged, and then accepted the ibuprofen I gave him.

But the second he sat up, it was damn clear he still wasn’t sober. He swayed a little and I braced myself. If I had to catch him, we’d both go down. I was strong, but there was no way I could handle that much dead weight.

“Just how much have you had to drink?” I asked him.

He squinted at me.

I was almost amused. “Do I need to rephrase the question?”

“No.” He spoke with the clear, careful enunciation of a man who was drunk enough to know he was drunk, but was trying to pretend otherwise. “I’m trying to remember the exact amount. I lost count after the second bar.”