“Isa, I’d like you to forget about my being a professor for a moment. Can you do that?”

The question takes me by surprise. “Sure, what do you need?”

“I need you to talk to me like a friend.” He smiles. “What’s going on with you and Hale?”

I flush. How embarrassing. Denton was thinking I managed to impress a businessman with my supplement and now he suspects I got this deal with something else. I can’t look him in the eye. I doodle with my finger on the cherry wood table.

“I like him.” I whisper the understatement of the century.

Denton’s hand moves closer to mine and he bends his head to see my face. “I’ll give you some unsolicited advice because I wish someone had given it to me. I think he made you an incredible offer. If you weren’t so taken with him, I’d say jump on it. But if you feel strongly about him and you don’t think he can reciprocate, I implore you to think it over carefully. I don’t want you to jump into this because you feel you have no other options. With your visa, kid, they’ll line up to hire you, and you’ll get your own lab someday. Just think it over.” He pats my shoulder.

A surge of gratitude for this man overwhelms me. It’s exactly the kind of advice I needed, the kind of faith only someone in his position can give. Before I realize what I’m doing, I give him a hug.

“Thank you, Arthur.”

He chuckles. “Here is a scientific observation for you, Isa. When it comes to feelings, the male of the species is an idiot. But the good news is, he eventually comes around.” He winks. I twist the paperclip, laughing. Even his love advice is scientific.

Aiden strides into the room minutes later. He must be the most efficient contract drafter ever. Of course, his supermemory must help. And hurt.

He turns to me. “Ready?”

I nod, the magnitude of the moment settling in. He hands me his pen from the inside pocket of his jacket. The pen is warm from his heartbeat. The new lifeblood pounds in my chest as I recognize it. It’s the one he used to sign my new books. I look up at him, startled.

Aiden smiles. “Sign away.”

I wonder if my hand would have shaken with any other pen. But with this one, it does not. He signs his assertive, no-frills autograph next to mine. Denton takes a picture, laughs and claps. When Aiden extends his hand, I take it, knowing he will hold mine. And knowing it will rip me apart tonight.

“Congratulations!” he says. “Time for a celebration lunch?”

Oh no! Alone time. I don’t need Reagan’s pearls of wisdom to know this idea would be like sniffing vapors off the fume hood. Addictive and deadly. “I can’t, Mr. Hale. But thank you for all your help. I’ll never forget it.” I put as much feeling as I can in my voice and squeeze his hand.

His grip tightens once—almost painfully—then he lets me go.

* * * * *

Denton drops me off at home. The whole way, he analyzed the pros and cons of Aiden’s business offer. I heard only half of it. Calico runs to me on the steps, and I do a poor job scratching his head. He abandons me, looking offended.

When I get inside, I see a big banner hanging over the living room door. FEELING LIKE A MILLION BUCKS. It has dollar signs, American flags, hearts and smiley faces painted all over it. Reagan! I call out for her but a Post-it on the TV informs me that she is at her job training.

I march straight to our bookcase for my clinical psychology textbook. I flip through the pages until I find the section I want. As I read, I jot down the key words on a piece of paper.

Marine

Five years—from 1998 to 2003

Combat. Likely Afghanistan and Iraq

Isolation

Hypervigilance

Control

Nightmares

Hair-trigger temper

Rage

Violence

Guilt (“I shouldn’t”)

Lights flickering (To alert him to someone’s presence?)

High-alert at certain triggers—thunder, traffic, honking, camera flashes, new places

Thousand-yard stare (Flashbacks? Memories?)

Physical distance; last through doors; back never exposed; never anyone behind him; won’t go in a crowd (Why?)

Predisposition: eidetic memory

It all fits. Textbook case. Aiden Hale has posttraumatic stress disorder. Severe, by the looks of it. Whatever terror he lived through during combat has never left him.

What got him started down the military path? I don’t know. Whatever it was, he came out of it alive and scarred. But the discipline he learned, combined with his natural intelligence, allowed him to rise to the very top.

At what cost? Loneliness. Self-imposed isolation. Maybe that is why he cannot allow himself to get involved with me.

I hear three distinct slow knocks on the door. They lack Reagan’s femininity or Javier’s friendliness. I peep through the hole. The new lifeblood burns my veins. I open the door.

Aiden leans with his arm on the doorframe. He is looking down at my feet. Then his eyes travel over me, one inch at a time until they meet mine. They are blue fire.

“You have every reason to shut this door in my face. But will you be the miracle I think you are and let me in?”

Chapter Thirty-One

The Truth

I step back against the foyer wall and nod for Aiden to enter. He walks inside and stops in front of me. His face is ashen, the only light burning is in his eyes.

“Thank you,” he says.

“Of course.” I close the door and lead him to our living room. He follows me, his quiet steps heavier. He ducks under Reagan’s million-dollar banner, treads past the sofa and stops smack in the center behind the ottoman.

“Would you like to sit down?” I ask. “Or something to drink?”

He shakes his head and starts to pace. Left, right. Left, right. With each step, he flits in and out of the ray of sun streaming from the window. Unsure what to do, I perch on the arm of the sofa, listening to the rustle of his suit.

He grasps his forehead like he wants to rip it off. I try to think of something to say but instinctively I know I shouldn’t. He is at the edge of a precipice and he will either jump on his own or not. He stops pacing and fixes me with his stare.

“From the moment you fell asleep in my arms on our first night, I’ve been trying to deserve you. Or if not deserve you, at least deserve the thought of you.” The words gush from his mouth.

“I’d touch your hair, your face. You smiled, then started whimpering in terror ‘six-oh-two, six-oh-two’. I had no idea what it meant but I knew you were in trouble and I knew no matter what it was, I’d try to save you. From anything, especially myself.” His teeth clench, and he runs his hand through his hair, grasping his neck.

“You deserve better, Elisa. Someone to heal you, not to drag you down. Gentle, not violent. The best thing for you is to let you go.

“But I’m selfish. I kept telling myself, ‘One more day, just one more day. I’ll be extra careful, always on my guard, never turn my back.’ The trouble was I hadn’t counted on your effect. All my structure, all my rules, they evaporate around you.” He splays his fingers in the air. “It took just holding you for a few minutes and I slipped… Such a simple, elemental mistake, and it could have been deadly.” His voice rises abruptly on the last word, making me jump.

“Deadly?” I gasp. “Why? What mistake?”

His hands turn to fists. “I fell asleep, Elisa… You have no idea how very close you were to getting hurt—” He sucks in a sharp breath and looks away. His eyes lock on the window. His frame shudders like he is seeing something vicious in his head.

But I relax as I finally understand. “You mean your nightmare? Aiden, I was fine. Nothing happened to me.”

Instantly, his jaw clenches. “Yes. By sheer dumb luck.” His voice is harsh, angry. “If you had touched my back instead of my face or had wrapped your arms around me, I would have attacked you and not known what I did until it was too late.” He fixes his eyes unblinking on the scratched hardwood floor.