FIFTEEN: Let Go

9:47PM

10/21/2010 Logan, Maine

She heard the door open, her body instantly on alert. The dim light of the night light showed Jon's shadow. The soft thud of his clothes on the chair beside her bed felt louder than it was. As usual, he tugged on a pair of sweats that Bruce had brought in. Her sheets whispered and fluttered as he settled in next to her. "I know you're awake."

She tensed, keeping silent.

"C'mon, Cam. The whole bed practically vibrated when I got in."

"Don't flatter yourself," she heard herself say and cursed.

"I knew it."

His palm found her hair unerringly, smoothing down the heavy mass slowly before he played with the ends. Disconcerted as much as it eased her, she just didn't understand how his touch could confuse her so throughly. He nosed into her neck, his lips brushing her bare shoulder before he settled into a comfortable position.

Instinctively she rolled into him, sighing as his arms encircled her. In the dark it was easier to lean on him. She hated that she needed his arms around her, even for a few hours, but she couldn't deny the way her mind settled the minute he touched her. Even when they'd first met, before he knew what he was getting into, he'd held her through the nightmares and she'd slept for the first time in months. And now, the cyle was repeating.

Just how much was repeating, and how much would change? Would Lucas kill them both this time?

Her fingertips drew up his arm to the firm bicep and then to his tricep until she reached his shoulder and then repeated. His low, almost imperceptible groan made her bolder. What would it feel like to want a man for the simple sake of wanting? She couldn't remember.

Before Lucas, she'd tripped her way through a series of men that were more mistake than good fortune. None of them were as bad as Lucas, but none of them were anything important either. She'd simply drifted through life, walking into one disappointment after another. She'd been ripe for the picking when Lucas had found her.

And then there was Jon. She almost wished she hadn't met him. It was only one more glaring example of just how desolate her life had become. From monster to hermit, she'd simply created a new cage for herself. Lucas held the power, even now. She didn't think she could hate that man more, but she was wrong.

With her other hand she curled her arm around Jon's head, her fingers finding his thick sandy hair. It wasn't quite as soft as it looked, but it sifted through her fingers drawing closer to the heat of the back of his neck and the rippling muscles of his shoulders.

"Cam?"

She could hear the warning in his voice. Just the idea that someone like him could love her, could want her--it just wasn't possible. But maybe, just maybe she could touch a little part of his kindness and strength and wrap it around herself. The hand that held her so loosely tightened in response. She took his hand and slid it under her shirt.

When he went stone still and she stopped breathing. "Please want me." Immediately disgusted with the needy note in her voice she drew her hand away from him, but he tightened his hold, his lips at her neck.

"You have no idea how much I want you," he whispered.

He cupped her small breasts in his hand, first one, then the other, his thumb lightly tracing over the sensitive tip. Her head rolled across his chest, the wall of heat at her back both driving and comforting at the same time. His other hand slid around her hip and under her until she was completely encircled by him. With lips at her throat, she was distracted enough to let go for a moment.

He was warm and hard all at the same time, his easy touch lulled her into noticing just how easily her body reacted to his touch. In the dark, she didn't worry about her scars, or her too thin body. In the dark, he couldn't see her flaws. When the tips of his fingers breached the waistband of her sleep pants, she stiffened.

It was bad enough that the first orgasm with Jon had been of the seam riding variety, but it had probably just been a fluke. Fresh out of sleep, she'd been able to let go. Determined to enjoy his touch, even if she didn't get to find that ellusive orgasm, she knew the closeness would be enough.

He slowly followed the elastic, drifting across her belly until she relaxed. His lips at her ear, the heat of his breath on her neck, all of it swallowed her in a cocoon that didn't have anything to do with Lucas or bodyguards. It was simply Jon and her. She turned her face until his lips found hers. Soft and far too good at their job, Jon kissed her with a single minded goal. She welcomed it, let it take over and drown her in his soft heat. The slide of his tongue was as easy as water lapping against her beach outside--Constant and pulling at the same time.

She was so focused on his mouth that when his fingers roamed lower she opened for him. The sleep pants left more than enough room for him to touch anything he wanted. Her breath hitched as she broke the kiss. The sharp pleasure was so unexpected that she stiffened.

His other hand pushed at her shirt until the cool air outside their cocoon kissed her nipples. The endless soft touches at her neck, her breasts and between her legs left her breathless and unbalanced. Panic swirled in her brain. Too much, too soon.

She was insane to have started this. He didn't deserve to have her psychosis thrust upon him. Why would he want her damaged self in his bed, in his arms, and wound around him? Her breathing hitched and she whimpered as his fingers found their way into her panties.

The excitement that had tripped through her only moments ago evaporated into shame. When he found her dry as dust, his fingers stilled. She tensed even further. Couldn't he see she was useless in this arena? All she wanted was to be normal. All she wanted was to have someone touch her like this and not be a freak.

Instead of pulling away, he drew soft circles along her belly with his thumb but never moved from the apex of her thighs. He was waiting for her to respond to him.

"You're beautiful, Cam. I wish you could see how brave and amazing you are. You've dealt with so much in such a short time."

She shook her head. She was far from brave, and anything but amazing.

He nuzzled her neck, his lips soft and his cheek rough with beard. Sensory memory pulled at her. The first time she'd met Jon he'd been scruffy and dangerous looking. Everything but his eyes had put her on alert. His eyes--always the eyes--were so kind. Even when he was angry and they were snapping like blue flame, it was his eyes that pulled at her.

She softened under him as he sipped from her neck and his fingers lightly traced her belly.

"I love you. I know you wish I didn't. Hell, sometimes I wish I didn't." His voice was barely a rumble in her ear. "And I'm not saying I love you to get inside you. I just need you to know it, and I want you to accept it as the gift it is. I don't expect anything in return."

The first tear slipped down her cheek.

She couldn't remember the last time someone had told her that with such certainty and lack of manipulation. Maybe her mother? And another tear slipped free. It had been such a long time without any comfort, or any contact, but all this selfless giving squeezed at her heart.

She covered his hand with hers and dipped back inside her panties. His fingers were larger than hers, more blunt tipped and lightly calloused where the guitar strings wore at the tip. He pulled her tighter into him and she could feel the silky glide of her body's response.

She didn't know if it was the love he offered or the patience, or maybe it was both. All she knew is she needed this closeness, this moment in the dark to reach for him and all that he offered. With each stroke, she opened for him just a little more until their tangled fingers curled into the softness that hadn't been touched in so very long.

He tried to turn her onto her back, but she pressed her back against his front. She couldn't be pinned down, and she didn't want to ride above him. All she wanted was this coil of warmth.

He tugged at her shirt and she gladly lifted it over her head. The brush of his chest hair along her shoulders and spine added one more layer to the shroud of darkness and the magnetic combination of hard muscle and smooth skin. One hand cupped her breast, his mouth at her ear and then her neck and all the while there was a slow undulation of their hips as they moved in tandem. She could feel her own wetness, the way she swelled around his fingers and her own.

The onslaught of pleasure staggered her, tightening her up as the loss of control left her gasping and off center. "Jon?"

"I'm right here," he said with a much darker voice than she'd ever remembered hearing.

She pulled at the pants that was their final barrier. She wanted all of him. Not just this slick, yet light pressure of fingers in the dark. She wanted more, wanted to feel full of him. She wanted to take all that he offered. He tightened his arm around her thigh and hip, and they both groaned as their fingers slid free from her greedy body.

Again, he tried to turn her, but she simply reached behind her and guided him closer. He was hot and hard in her hand, smooth even there with a light mapping of veins along the underside of his shaft. She stroked a few times and he tried to pull back. "You're killing me," he grunted even as he pushed himself harder into her hands. "Tighter," he said into the dark.

She grasped him tighter and invited him closer. "Please," she said into the dark. If it was to herself to enjoy him, or just for him to push inside she had no idea. He gently lifted her thigh over his and opened her, their fingers locked over her readied folds. Each inch he slid inside of her brushed along her fingers. She tried to relax, to let him inside her. Stretched for the first time in so long her body and her mind wouldn't cooperate.

She clamped down on him and he hissed. "I don't want to hurt you." His fingers flexed under hers, widened until they laced together.

She eased and sighed as instinct took over. She tipped back until he was fully seated inside her. His nose nuzzled her ear and his lips feasted on her neck as he slowly slid out and back in. The soft purr of his pleasure spurred on her own. She could feel him inside her, around her, threading through her fingers, and all of it felt so good and so alien at the same time. Light touches at her breast mingled with the steady thrust of his cock until she couldn't discern one touch from another.

Part of her wanted to be under him, to feel all of him along her skin and to cup him between her thighs, but this freedom was drugging. She pressed back for more, wiggling against the rising pressure in the deep darkness. And there, when she thought he couldn't give her anymore, he increased his tempo and released their joined hands, the lightly roughened tips of his fingers cupped where they were joined and she cried out.

Pleasure flowed from everywhere. He rode her release, his fingers gripping her hips as the tempo increased. He turned her hips just enough until she was arched back and took more of him. The slap of skin in the night and the cool cotton hitting her overheated flesh and everything inside her pulsed hard and opened like an abyss.

She couldn't stop the sob as her body purged every emotion she'd ever had in one climax. He held onto her, turning her into him and instantly she missed the fullness. Their legs tangled and sweat slick skin cooled. He kicked at their half undressed legs until it was her smooth knees bumping along his hair roughened thigh. There wasn't an inch on him that wasn't muscled and fit and she envied all that strength. She sniffed into his sweat slick neck and couldn't stop the shudders.

The tips of his fingers dug into her lower spine and smoothed their way up until she could control her body's overwhelmingly stupid response. She gripped his shoulder as she forced herself to relax. Toes, calves, thighs, belly, shoulders, she pressed her cheek into his chest and pictured herself going liquid.

"I need that trick."

She found a laugh that she didn't know could have existed inside of her. "When I was first here and alone, I had to find ways to relax at night or go insane."

He rubbed his chin over her hair and tightened his hold. "I shouldn't have let things go so far."

She rolled from cheek to chin on his chest and looked toward his voice in the dark. Of course it was a mistake. She tried to detangle herself and he tightened his grip.

"I wanted it to go that far. For two long years, I wondered how it would feel to be in your arms for real."

"But..."

"But I wanted you--it's as simple and complicated as that. It was selfish of me."

She relaxed again and rested her cheek against his chest. "No one's ever made me feel like that," she said quietly. The dark giving her more courage than sense. "I didn't think it was possible to feel like that in a man's arms. And never in yours."

His mouth found hers in the dark and the kiss was comfort and passion, patience and need.

Before morning came, she would taste him again. And she couldn't hate herself.

FOURTEEN: Denialsville Population 1

2:03PM

10/21/2010 Logan, Maine

Cam avoided Jon as much as possible over the next few days. It was easy with four men taking over her living space. Danny and Bruce traded time in the house and she'd learned that a new bodyguard had been added to the mix, even if she hadn't spoken more than three words to him.

Darius aka Tank, was a huge black man with more muscles than she'd ever seen in her life. Linebacker wide, dark as onyx and just as hard looking. Wide white teeth split his stony face when he talked to Jon. Evidently they both adored football. Surprise, surprise. She puttered, she organized, she painted--but all the while there was this overwhelming ugency to everything she was doing.

Shredding through four canvasses in two days was certainly a testament to that. But it made her agent happy and the fact that Bruce actually answered her phone instead of letting it go to voice mail made her face that fact as well. At least she was getting good material out of her dark mood. Lonely seascapes off the bay and a few closeups of one of the trawlers she'd taken pictures of a few weeks ago consumed her.

All the while everyone was on edge waiting for Lucas to make a move. This part was Lucas's favorite--the wait, and the hunt. How many times had she escaped him only to find out he'd known where she was the entire time? He got a sick, twisted pleasure out of letting her think she was free.

And each night she had to face the fact that Jon wouldn't leave her side. Oh, he left her alone during the day. He was busy with his own plans. Running his band like a little corporate shark. He knew how to manipulate, how to cajole, and how to wheel and deal. And all the while he sounded like Lucas, making her shudder even more. How many ways could they overlap and be different people? She knew he wasn't like Lucas, knew it in her heart, but each time he turned on his PR voice, her belly clenched.

Another album release and bevvy of television and award shows would take up most of his November. At least she knew that he'd be out of her hair by then. And if Lucas didn't kill her by then she could push her feelings for him back in that safe little box where he belonged.

She tore an extra big chunk out of her newsprint collage and swore. Hands came down on her shoulders and she jumped.

"Cam," he said softly. "Why don't you come over here and relax. I made a fresh pot of coffee--decaf."

"I need to work," she said without turning around. God, not right now. Her skin burned where he'd touched her. It didn't matter that she had three layers on to combat the icy storm that had blown in. Two nights of laying next to him in her bed, knowing that all she had to do was curl in and take the comfort he was offering. She was going insane--period.

He sighed, but backed off. He'd taken to playing his guitar through the afternoons and she enjoyed the mindless background noise. Soothing sometimes, strumming intricate patters other times. His fingers seemed as reckless as she felt. And in the end, their emotions collided and the tone of her paintings mirrored his frenzy, or his complicated picking.

Today he was calm and she fed off it, trying to ease the ache and the itchy skin that pricked at her like fireants. Bruce had gone out for supplies and Tank was doing another one of his rounds that would take hours. Careful. Everyone was so incredibly careful around her. She built up charcoal and paint until she'd stacked the muddy greys into white. The fishing boat she was working on came alive as it dipped into the heavy summer squall she'd caught on film. Trying to make it come alive in media was always her challenge.

She'd fallen so completely in love with Maine. With its wicked moods, with the people that fed off the water and the rocky coast that created hardships that even a complete economic recovery would never touch. She liked that it was hard to live here--loved that it made her feel alive.

And she hated that Lucas could so easily take this from her.

She dug into the homemade canvas, the tip of her exacto blade snapping. "Dammit," she muttered and went over to her workdesk looking for another. The reliefs were becoming her signature style. The corner of Jon's portrait caught her attention. She whipped it back, his startling bone structure leapt off the page, but his eyes still weren't quite right. Disgusted, she flipped the sheet back over it.

"Cam, you can't hide in your work forever."

"Damn skippy, I can."

He laughed, but the grumbly sound held no pleasure. "I've been hiding in work and normalcy for two years, believe me it doesn't work."

She gripped the edge of her battered desk, looking down at the fifty pack of blades. She relaxed her hold and slid one out, determined to ignore him. With a quick twist, she opened the chamber and fit a new blade in, tightening it down until it was at the exact angle she liked.

"Please look at me."

She shook her head and went back to her canvass. She jumped as the door opened and Bruce dropped a few boxes of food and a heavy silver case. When he flipped it open and she saw more gadgets to analyze Lucas's whereabouts, she stalked to her room and turned to shut the door. Jon's eyes tried to meet hers, but she refused.

Fear wrapped around confusion with a sprinkle of lust on top.

She so wasn't interested in the clusterfuck of feelings that sundae held.

When his only reply was a lifted brow, she slammed the door. Dammit, she wasn't.

THIRTEEN: Forming A Plan

4:08AM

10/18/2010 Logan, Maine

Jon slipped away from her when she fell into sleep. Even in those few hours before dawn Bruce and Danny were still reviewing information on laptops. The partial plate had indeed been a stolen vehicle, but instead of dumping it, he'd returned it to the owners, but it had been thoroughly wiped down.

He dropped onto the couch, dropping his head back on the cushioning. "So, we're back to square one?"

"I can't prove it's Banyon. I reached out to the local cops because of the shooting, but they don't have the manpower to really help out. I'll put a call into the Staties in the morning and see if I can get some help there." Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. "The beauty of her being out in no-wheresville is the isolation, and that's also its worst part. The police station has three full time staff and a few part-timers that I wouldn't trust to protect my dog."

"Great," Jon muttered. So, even with the threat of Lucas looming over them like a black cloud, there wasn't much they could do. "I can have her on a plane and out of the country by tomorrow."

"I'd have her in one of my safehouses, Jon. I've already offered."

He sighed, crossing one stocking foot over his knee. "I know. And I'd take you up on it in a heartbeat, but she's right. All it would do was delay the inevitable. He's going to find her no matter where we go, at least here she's comfortable. I don't want her running off alone again. If anything happens to her, I'll never forgive myself."

Bruce stood, sitting beside him on the couch. "You've said before that money is no object, does that still apply?"

Jon met his eyes. "Absolutely. What do you have in mind?"

"With my background I know a lot of retired Rangers and Seals, I know a few guys that could come out and help. Unobtrusively."

"Do it," he said after only a moment's hesitation. Cam would hate it, but at least there would be professionals taking care of things. And they wouldn't have to worry so much about innocent people getting hurt. Even Banyon didn't have the chops to go up against a goddamn Seal.

"All right, let's get some rest while we have a little downtime. Banyon's gone to figure out what he's going to do next."

"Agreed." Jon stood, padding back to Cam's room. Whether she liked it or not, he was going to be staying close to her.

TWELVE: Trust

1:18AM

Cam back bumped into the door. There wasn't anywhere to go. Her fingers went limp on the doorknob as the buzzing in her ear went from a low hum to a roar.

No.

No.

She shook her head. The horror must have been plain on her face, because he stood his ground, his chin lifted until she saw a spark of the arrogance that haunted her memories. Pride and anger warred in his face. "What, you think I like being in love with two women?"

She couldn't do anything but keep on shaking her head. He was wrong. He didn't know what he was saying. He was still living off the memories of those nights that were too emotion packed. All the heightened awareness was because of the adrenaline and the forced closeness. It wasn't real. There hadn't been enough time to know the real her.

He shoved his hands into his hair and stepped forward. "Cam," he said softly as his hand cupped her face.

Her throat was beyond dry, but her body wanted that touch--craved that touch. She leaned into his hand for a moment, relishing the only warmth she'd felt in too long to remember. "You don't love me, you love the idea of me. Someone to protect--it's not love. You love your wife and your kids. Those people are the important ones."

"Why do you think this kills me? I do love them, but the moment I saw you on my steps in that storm it was over for me, Cam. Sometimes it only takes a moment."

She shook her head, the room blurring. "No," she said again.

"It's all right, Sweetheart. It's given freely. There's no strings here, but you had to know it. You see, I couldn't not protect you. You're mine, and I protect what's mine."

She closed her eyes against the words. Lucas wanted to own her too. The words blurred and all she could pick out was the fear. She slid down, cradling her knees. No way out. She slid her fingers into her hair, tucking herself into her knees.

"Oh, baby." His voice was so soft. "C'mon, let me get you into bed. We don't have to talk about it anymore, I promise." She held on tighter and when he gently untangled her fingers from her hair, she let him pick her up off the floor. He settled next to her, pulling her close until she curled around and rested her head on his lap. With his fingers smoothing and soothing along the back of her neck, she wallowed in the comfort and didn't let herself think about the difference between love and ownership.

Not now.

ELEVEN: Truth

10/18/2010 Logan, Maine 1:08AM

"Jon, It's Bruce."

"Son of a bitch," Jon said and scrambled off the floor, swinging the door open. "What the fuck?"

"He's gone." Bruce sighed and wiped away sweat from his forehead before he holstered his damn big black gun. He was barely winded, but there was strain around his eyes.

"Where was he?"

"He was about a mile up and east from here. Still on the water, but far enough away that he needed a damn good gun for that kind of shooting. I caught a partial license, but I bet it's a stolen vehicle. I'll check it out just to be sure."

Jon nodded, adrenaline still firing in his veins. Hell, he thought he was high after a show, it was nothing compared to a crapload of fear. He paced along her living room, his face staring back at him from her easel. He pushed it back and flipped the sheet over it. No way could he look at that chaos. Did she really see him like that? All those angles and severity? He fisted his fingers into his hair, pulling until he could focus.

Bruce was on the phone, and it sounded important. Police? Christ, he really didn't want them involved, but all the gunshots? Well, it wasn't safe for anyone in the area, let alone Bruce and his people. "Fuck," he growled.

Another knock at the door and Danny announced he was on the other side with Cam. Jon rushed for the door, but Bruce blocked him and shoved him aside. "From now on, no one gets near the windows and doors. Period."

Jon swallowed his instinctive retort. He was right, the proof was whistling through the nearly perfect hole in her window with a spider web of cracks that splintered from the center.

Bruce swung the door open, ushering them both inside. "You, I will deal with in a minute," he seethed at Cam, turning to Danny. "I need all the details you have."

Cam's face was pale and devoid of expression, driving the fear that lived inside his gut right into roiling anger. "What the fuck were you thinking?"

She didn't say a word, just headed to the back of the house.

"Ms. Blaise, stay out here until I can check out the house."

She stopped at Bruce's firm voice, her back to the room. Cam sat on the edge of a well-worn chair, her knees bouncing with tension.

Jon stood in front of her. "Well?" Cam stared at his shoes, her fingers white knuckled in her lap. He crouched in front of her, trying to meet her eyes, but she just wasn't having any of it. "Cam, look at me." She slowly lifted her eyes, they were dry, but the pupils were just a little too pinched, her focus not really on him. He shook her, too angry to be gentle.

"I don't want to talk about it."

Her cracking voice should have deflated some of his anger, but it only made it worse. "Do you have a death wish? Is all this a waste of time?"

Her eyes finally snapped to life and zeroed in on him. "If I was dead at least no one would get hurt."

"No, he'd just do it to another woman. Just takes a moment to fixate on someone, now doesn't it? You don't think I have a little knowledge on this front? Do you know how many stalkers I've had to deal with in twenty years? He needs to be caught and taken care of."

"He's right," Bruce said over his shoulder. "I think it's time to call in the police."

Cam shook her head.

Bruce dragged a chair over. "I'm fully equiped for minor issues, and to protect you, but if I have to worry about him taking pot shots at any and all of my people, we really need to bring in the police."

"They won't believe me. Lucas was declared dead."

Jon's stomach dropped. That wasn't entirely true. No body was ever retrieved from the lake that day. He was declared missing and presumed dead. "Cam," he started gently. The blank face went fragile and he decided in that instant that he'd do anything to make sure that look never came back. Even if he had to kill Banyon himself. Love wasn't kind, love didn't make sense, and it sure as fuck didn't make allowances even after two years apart. "We need to talk, it's up to you if you want it to be in front of Bruce."

"Why?"

Jon looked to Bruce. "Has her room been cleared?"

Bruce looked up and Danny's bulky frame filled the doorway. "Everything good?"

"It isn't pretty, but I figured it wouldn't hurt to put up the storm shutters. It will give us some extra coverage at the back of the house. I also added a few locks."

Cam's mouth formed a hard line, but Jon was relieved. He'd make the house a damn fortress if he had to. He grabbed her hand, her fingers slack in his, then tight as a knot. Relief punched him in the chest. Pulling her into the back room, he gently pushed her down on the bed. Cracking every knucle down to his wedding ring, he absently twirled it and then faced her. "There's a few things we need to get straight, all right?" When she nodded, he resumed his pacing. "When I put you on that plane, I knew Banyon wasn't dead." He could see her closing off from him and he stopped, dropping in front of her on his knees.

She stiffened. "How could you not tell me?"

"I made an executive decision." She tried to stand up and get away from him and he held onto her knees. "Cam--"

"No! I've had enough with men making decisions for me. Just because you're kinder, doesn't make it any less of a command!"

That rocked him back on his heels, and that was all it took for her to stand and hurry around him to the door. "Dammit, stop running!"

"It's all I know how to do, Jon." She whispered, her back to him, her hand on the door.

"I don't want to order you around, Cam--"

"Oh really?"

The bitter voice was enough to stall the cloud of anger forming. He wasn't anything like Banyon for fuck's sake. She had to know that, she just had to. He took her arm and turned her back to face him. "I don't want to control you, you have to know that. But I do want to keep you safe. It's all that matters to me."

"Why?"

Her eyes were so earnest and lost. That was all it took to strip him down to the bone. "I love you, Cam."

TEN: Flight

10/18/2010 12:56AM

Cam tore her arm away from the big, silent brute who'd found her on the street. She'd kept to the folliage, but evidently her idea of stealthy was a tromping elephant compared to her guard of the hour. Instead of letting her go, the man clamped a hand on her upper arm and dragged her up the hill.

 

She'd nearly made it to the main road. Escape routes had been her friend for the first six months of her freedom. Always looking, always knowing where she could go and hide, where she could disappear. She'd grown lax in the last few year, but it was eerie how easily she slid into her role again. Maybe she'd always been in a cage, even one of her own making. "I'm not going to run," she spat out.

 

The man just grunted and continued to drag her along like a ragdoll.

 

"Dammit, I just didn't want to get anyone hurt." Dammit, why was she talking to Gigantor? He didn't care, but the silence was driving her nuts. She couldn't tell if he was pissed or not, but oddly she wasn't afraid of him. Maybe because it wasn't personal for him. Suddenly she was face first in the leaves, her ear to the ground and her guard's huge body pressing her into the earth. "What the hell?"

 

"Shh," the man said and held her down.

 

The echoing crack through the trees scattered her thoughts. She knew that sound. Knew it from dreams and nightmares. Lucas.

 

She struggled under him, her flight instinct so strong she couldn't even think. Just get away--far away. Move. Go. Anywhere but where Lucas could find her.

 

"Ms. Blaise, calm down." The man's voice was husky and low, barely more than a breeze at her ear.

 

Move.

 

Go.

 

Escape.

 

"Cameron--"

 

She shook harder, tried to get up and move.

 

"Cam!" He covered her from thigh to shoulder with his big body. "He's shooting at us, if you're trying to be a target you will succeed in a moment."

 

She stopped, his words finally sinking in.

 

"There. Thank you."

 

"Jon," she whispered. The fear she felt for herself was nothing compared to the thought of something happening to Jon.   

 

"Bruce is with him."

 

"Get us back to the house," she said on a shaky breath.

 

"I don't know where the shots are coming from," he said on a voice that barely registered in her ears. Panic roared leaving only white noise.

 

"He won't kill me." She struggled under his body. "He wants to own me, not kill me."

 

"Yeah, but he wouldn't mind killing me. So, if you don't mind, why don't you stay down?"

 

Faced with that kind of logic she couldn't deny the request. It was true. "What's your name."

 

"Danny."

 

He had to be well over six feet and all raw muscle and he was was a Danny? She nodded and committed his name to memory. "All right Danny. We need to get back to the house." When he didn't move, she ground her teeth together. "We're sitting ducks out here and you know it." He suddenly grabbed something at his hip and read the dim readout and miraculously she could breathe again.

 

"We're clear."

 

"How do you know?"

 

"Bruce found Banyon, but he took off." He dragged her off the ground and thrust her bag into her arms. "Let's go." 

 

She didn't say a word, just headed up the hill. Danny had every right to be mad. Every move she made was just making things worse. Would it be a cage of her own doing, or Jon's? Either way she was screwed. At least with Jon's options there were guns.

 

NINE: You Can't Escape Your Past

11:47PM

 

 

 

Jon paced the hallway for the second time in two nights. Cam had stayed in her room for the duration of the day. The few times he'd checked on her she'd been asleep...or at least pretending to be. He wasn't quite sure. The fact that she'd curled in on herself made him think she was really sleeping. She didn't want people to know she was that upset--at least he knew that much about her.

 

Bruce and his laptop were burning the midnight oil. He'd called to check on the kids and Dorothea and guilt gnawed away at his gut. He wasn't perfect, and yet Dot loved him through all of the ups and downs of their marriage. He didn't even know what he'd done to deserve someone like her, but they'd weathered a lot of different tides in their marriage--dual infidelities, separation, simple growing pains, but in the end they always ended back together somehow.

 

Cam had been the first and only hiccup in the stronghold that was their life together. They weren't conventional, but then again how could you be conventional with his lifestyle? He didn't even know if what he felt for Cameron was love or just the intensity of the situation they'd shared. Was it only because he'd romanticized the feelings because they hadn't had the chance to flare up and burn out? Or was it as enduring as what he felt for his wife?

 

He rubbed at his temple, willing the migraine brewing to stay in the background. He didn't get them often, but when they came on they were nearly debilitating lately. Determined to turn off the restless pacing, he forced himself to go back into the living room and settle in with his laptop. He had more than enough correspondence to catch up to keep him busy for the next few hours. Maybe then he could sleep.

 

"God save me from stupid people," Bruce growled and stood, snapping his laptop closed.

 

"What?"

 

He reached for his gun, pointing it to the floor and checking the safety as he headed for the door. "Lock this behind me and don't open it for anyone but me or Danny."

 

"What's going on?"

 

"Your girlfriend decided to hike it down to the main road."

 

"She what?" His laptop fell into the couch as he stood. "I just checked on her."

 

"She makes good time within an hour, evidently." He opened the door. "We'll be having a talk with Ms. Blaise when I get back."

 

Jon heard an echoing crack that made him think of thunder followed by dull thunk, his eyes going wide. "What was that?"

 

"Our friend Lucas has a very good rifle," Bruce muttered and headed out into the dark. "Stay away from the windows and keep down for fuck's sake."

 

"Dammit, Cam!" He slammed the door behind Bruce, pressing his forehead to the heavy wood. A bullet sounded nothing like television portrayed it to be. It was actually much more ominous in its silence. If there was any doubt that Banyon was out there, this would be irrefutable proof. Fear clawed at his throat for Cam, for himself, and for the people so willing to help them. Bruce had come highly recommended, but he was only now seeing just why that was. 

 

Another echoing slice and then the crack of glass had him paralyzed by the door. He slid down, his thermal shirt catching on the imperfections of the old wood. A gouge in the wood and the pungent smell of singed wood and stain burned his nostrils, then nothing.  "Son of a bitch," he hissed and couldn't drag his eyes away from the bullet that had imbedded in the floor not ten feet from him.

 

If Banyon wanted to scare them, he was doing a fucking good job of it. He heard quick doubling up of more shots, but none near the house, just the eerie echo of the discharge. And as fast as the bullets started, they ended. His muscles locked and he wasn't even sure if he'd taken a deep breath before a sharp thump behind his head had him jerking forward.

 

He wasn't sure if he should open his mouth, and ask who it was, or if he should keep quiet.

 

Another rap against the door and he froze. 

EIGHT: Reality Sucks

8:47AM

Cam's breath let out in a ragged moan as his hands slid from her ultra-sensitve breasts to her damp back, trailing his fingers along her spine. Awareness chased embarrassment and she tried to scramble off of him. He held her hips tight and she could still feel the hard press of his erection at her thigh. Oh God, what had she done? Loose with sleep she hadn't thought twice about curling into him. It had been so very long since she'd touched anyone--since she'd let anyone close enough to even think about touching her.

 

And he'd been so giving. She met his eyes, seeing the strain around his eyes and the tight jaw, she dropped her hands to his jeans to release him. He stopped her hands, brushing his nose against hers just like he'd done all those years ago. Eskimo kisses. She tried again, but he held her tighter, his eyes went from sleepy sex to clear. "No, Cam."

 

"But you--"

 

"I wanted just that."

 

Disbelief rode her about as hard as she'd just ridden him. She still couldn't believe she'd done that. "A girl dry humping you? I don't think so."

 

His lips twitched. "Best dry hump I've had since I was sixteen." He smoothed his hand down her hair. "If and when you decide you want more I'm game, sweetheart, don't think I'm not."

 

He shifted against her and she could see just how willing he was. Which was why she was so confused. Even before Lucas, she'd been with enough men to know that when it came to sex, there was little that a man could do to de-rail the need.

 

"Don't look at me like that." His voice was smokey and low. "I've got more control than the average bear, but I'm not a masochist."

 

She climbed off of him, and he let her this time. Uncomfortable with her own reaction to him, not to mention that he'd crawled into her bed and she hadn't been aware of it, she went into the bathroom without a backward glance. She washed her face and brushed her teeth, distracted by the well loved looking woman in the mirror. His hands hand been in her hair, his mouth at her neck--at...She closed her eyes in memory of his lips trailing down her neck, the tip of his tongue at her scar. How could he stand to touch it?

 

She opened the door in time to see Jon, tugging his shirt off, an overnighter settled in the tangled sheets as if it belonged there. Unnerved, her eyes skipped to his back where a series of freckles and muscles had her itching to touch. She'd felt that chest, and it was distracting as hell, but his back? There were muscles in places she didn't even know there could be muscles.

She closed her eyes. Now was not the time to be thinking about Jon's body. She curled her fingers into a stack of turtleneck sweaters, grabbing whatever was on top. Her jeans from the day before were draped over her reading chair--her underwear was in her armoire across the room, dammit.  

 

Jon looked over his shoulder, his eyes steady on hers as he stood there without his shirt. Disconcerted and itching to touch and to memorize all of him, anger replaced lust. She lifted her chin and stalked across the room. There was no need to be nervous. They were two adults and--

 

She closed her eyes. Two adults that had one marriage and one psychopath between them. Stupid, Cam...very stupid. A heavy pounding at the door startled her enough that she dropped all her clothes. 

 

"Jon? Ms. Blaise?" 

 

Jon bent down and picked up her clothes. "It's okay. It's Bruce, my private investigator friend."  He folded her hands around the pile of cotton and denim. "It's okay, Cam." He kissed her forehead, the line of chest hair that arrowed down his belly brushed her fingers bringing the lust back like a tidal wave. He grabbed his shirt and strode out before she could get a word out.

 

"Dammit," she muttered and dressed quickly. It was her house, her choice whether she let someone in. By the time she got into the room, Jon had his hands thrust into his pockets, the muscles of his arms locked and bulging under the close fitting t-shirt. The man that had to be Bruce was stocky where Jon was lean, his chest and shoulders had the look of a football player retired and gone a little soft around the edges. Salt and pepper hair that leaned heavily into the pepper was thick and unruly. Bruce wore all black in what looked like television SWAT gear with a gun strapped to his thigh and a holster at his back with another menacing black gun.

 

He turned to her, and intelligent dark eyes assessed her quickly. He held out his hand. "I'm Bruce Coltrane." His skin was of the dark, mixed race tones, with a nose that had been broken more than once. He was arresting and comforting all at once. Not especially handsome, but a face that made her want to break out her charcoals.

 

She shook his hand, quickly dropping it and folding her arms. "Cam Blaise."

 

"Jon tells me that you're convinced staying here is a good idea?"

 

She stiffened. "Yes, I think knowing my territory is better than going off somewhere that you deem safe."

 

One dark brow arched. He glanced at Jon, then back to her. "Then we'll be making this house as safe as possible and that means you don't leave this house without me, or one of my men for any reason. I don't care if you want to take a walk, I don't care if you want to go into town for a soda, you don't leave without an escort."

 

She shot a look at Jon. "So I'm a prisoner?"

 

Jon shrugged. "Yep."

 

Cam's fingers curled into fists under her arms. She'd been there done that and would not be doing it again, no matter what kind of good intentions he had. "You do know that if Lucas wants to kill me, he'll kill me. It doesn't matter how good you are Mr. Coltrane. He'll simply kill you like he did that poor officer." She turned to Jon. "And he'll kill you too."

 

Jon met her eyes. "He wants to show me up, Cam. He's not going to kill me unless he can do it face to face. He's not going to pick me off like that."

 

Anger blindsided her, erasing the cool detatchment she wanted so badly. "Oh and you're a profiler now, Mr. Rock and Roll?"

 

He shook his head. "I know people. I make my living reading people, and I'm the only person--hell, the only man, that has taken you away from him. He wants me almost as bad as he wants you."

 

"I--"

 

"I agree with Jon," Bruce said quietly.

 

Cam swiveled her head around to her new bodyguard. "You agree with him? And you're the professional?"

 

Bruce smiled tightly. "If you want a list of my credentials you can have it Ms. Blaise, but I work for Jon."

 

Rage squelched off the ability to scream at both of them. Didn't they know that Lucas could kill any and all of them? "Right, so the boss is always right? Even though it could get him killed?"

 

"While I respect my clients wishes, they know before they hire me that I'm the last word on any of these decisions. I've been watching over you for two years Ms. Blaise and you didn't even know it. Don't underestimate me."

 

She rubbed her arms. "That may well be, but don't underestimate Lucas. He's insane and that's a whole different kind of animal, Mr. Coltrane."

 

"I agree, that's why I want you in a safe house."

 

"What? So Lucas can just wait until you can't protect me anymore?"

 

"I can protect you for three lifetimes, Cam," Jon said quietly.

 

"Why?" Before he could answer her, she went back to her room and slammed the door. Why did he care so much? Why did he want to get himself killed for her? She wasn't worth all this. She gathered a bag and dumped clothes and a sketchbook inside it. Maybe if she disappeared then she wouldn't have to worry about getting anyone else killed.

 

It killed her to leave this little house, but any more blood on her hands and she'd lose whatever was left of her mind. She couldn't stand the thought of being under lock and key again--no way, no how.

 

She'd just have to wait for the right time, she thought as she stuffed the bag under her bed. When everyone was asleep.

SEVEN: Turning It Off

10/17/2010 Logan, Maine
4:09 AM

Jon drummed his fingers on the glass of the large picture window. He hadn't craved a cigarette this bad since he'd snapped his tendon in his calf. The house was eerily quiet--perfect to sleep, if you were normal. But he wasn't normal, and the situation was beyond fucked. Cam had gone into her room hours ago and it didn't take a genius to know she didn't want him anywhere around her. 

 

She made enough noise in there for him to know she was alive, but not enough to make him stop with the jumpy shit. He felt like his damn skin was going to peel right off. Raking his fingers through his hair for the 549th time, he tried to settle on the couch. It was a nap couch, made for curling in and sleeping away a rainy Sunday. Cam was almost his height, so it fit him without issue. Throws littered nearly every chair and couch and bench. He could curl under one of the half dozen quilts and just turn off.

 

If only he could turn off.

 

On a good day he needed half a bottle of wine to even think about relaxing. Now, he was wired beyond even a perfect show. He paced his way down the hall to her bedroom door and back. Making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, he forced himself to eat it. His gut was hungry, even if his nerves didn't want any part of food. Stopping outside her door one more time, he cursed himself but opened her door. She had to be sleeping at this point, and he had to just see for himself that she was fine. Long, skinny windows made three pale rectangles over the bed. She was at the center of a sea of blankets, only her face showing in the checked quilt cocoon. 

 

Easing the door shut, he stopped just before it latched. The soft keening cry sliced at him. He remembered that cry. A woman's weeping never quite left a man, especially when it sounded so helpless. He opened the door again, his hands balled into fists as he closed it behind him. He didn't want to scare her, but he didn't want to turn on a light either.  Slowly lowering himself next to her on the bed, he stroked her hair, hoping to ease her back into sleep. She curled tighter into herself and his heart ached.

 

Maybe it hadn't been a good idea to leave her alone up here all this time. But could he have really been able to stay away from her if he kept visiting? Even now, two years later, he felt that tangible connection as if there had been no time apart. How was it that she was so familiar and unfamiliar to him at the same time? Curling around her, he slowly wrapped her into his arms. She stayed in that protective ball, but her nose did brush his chest and he cursed the long sleeve shirt he wore. Every part of him wanted her against his skin.

 

Instead, he got as comfortable as possible and held her. As if her touch was a switch, he finally dropped into sleep.

 

 

~**~

 

 

He slowly woke, aware of her breath at his neck first. Sometime in the night they'd curled into a knot of arms and legs, the only barrier was her quilt. One long leg was between his, her cheek brushing his clavicle, her lips softly open and her whole body relaxed into him. Testing the tenuous trust, he smoothed his hand up her back and into her hair. He looked down, catching the slit of the dark blue of her iris, he held very still.

 

Slowly, realization dawned and she stiffened in his arms. "It's okay, you were dreaming last night. I couldn't stand to leave you alone."

 

She didn't say a word, just relaxed in his arms slowly. Her hand flattened on his chest. Tentatively she smoothed her hand over the tight, flat muscle of his belly and up to the curve of one pectoral muscle and slowly over to the other. He forced his breath to slow and his body to stop its usual morning reactions. Of course it didn't help that Cam only intensified a morning hard-on, but he tried to ignore that part of himself. He let her touch him, the almost innocent glide of her hands to learn his body was nearly his undoing. He wanted to take and to lose himself in all that repressed longing in her eyes.

 

He closed his eyes against that longing and focused on breathing through the want. When she touched her lips to his, he sucked in great gulps of air, but it was filled with the sea and Cameron. The kiss was slow and soft. Everything about it was unhurried and lightly curious. When the tip of her tongue slid along his lower lip, he caught the back of her head, his fingers as hopelessly tangled in her hair as the woman itself. Calling on any and all of the reserves inside of him, he let her kiss him.

 

"Am I not doing it right?" came her soft voice.

 

His eyes blinked open. "What?"

 

"I know it's been a very long time, but I do remember kissing being a two person sport."

 

The softness of the early morning light showed simple want in her eyes. Yes, she was still fragile, but nothing like last night. He sat up, dragging her against his chest, his mouth slanting across hers. She held onto him, her tongue hesitant until he sucked it into his mouth. She curled around him, straddling his lap as she curled her arms around his shoulders. The kiss was deep and thorough on his end. Everything he wanted to do to her he let himself do to her mouth. Long strokes followed by lazy strokes, and completely cognizant of the fact that she was on his lap and with only a few shifting bits of clothing he could be inside her. 

 

His fingers bunched in her oversized t-shirt, lifting until he felt the smooth skin of her back. She shuddered, her breath catching at the contact. He stopped. Was it uncertainty? Her long fingers cupped his cheek and he opened his eyes. "Don't stop," she said softly as her thumb traced his bottom lip. "Please, don't stop. Not yet." 

 

Her voice nearly broke him. Loving her would be nothing but confusing and amazing at the same time. Keeping his eyes open, he gently cupped her hips and brought her closer until the bulge of his erection lined up with the apex of her thighs. She moved slowly, uncertainty and need swirling in her eyes. He lifted her just enough to make sure he could rock her into an easy rhythm. When he saw pleasure start to push away the fear, he pulled her tighter. 

 

Agony didn't cover the raw need scratching inside him. Pleasure was the only thing he could give her right now and none of that included getting naked. Not yet. He stroked her back, letting her set the tempo, letting her take what she needed from him. When her lips parted, he pushed his hands under her shirt, never dragging it up. He could feel the scars. 

 

She stilled, the easy flow of her hips bumping against his aching hardness simply stopped. He caught her mouth in a full on tonsil diving kiss to distract her. His sensitive fingertips felt every ridge and pucker of her skin. He wanted to kiss all of it. To let her know that her scars didn't bother him, but she wasn't ready for that. Instead, he found her nipple and rolled one as his other hand flattened her harder to give her the maximum friction. Thankful for his jeans, he maximized the hard seams to find just the right spot. When she shuddered in his arms, he thanked all those nights as a teen when he'd learned to fool around just about anywhere. 

 

He wanted that slick wetness and heat hidden behind cotton against his hand, against his cock, against his mouth. But for now, he rolled his hips in time with her, learning the soft sounds she made. Learned that she liked a brush of his thumb along her nipple more than a tug. Circling one, then the other he could almost tell himself this would be enough. And when her head fell back and that strong, long column of her neck was the only skin he could reach, he took advantage. He dragged his teeth over the water soft skin, his tongue finding the silvering scar that trailed up to her ear. He held on as she drove against him, finding pleasure in him.

 

At least he could give her this.

SIX: First Night

8:17 PM

Cam flicked the peep-hole shut. The State Trooper had been outside for the last four hours. Jon's friend had come through with that much protection at the very least. She didn't think she'd be able to physically accept any more blood on her hands. Todd Dufresne had died because he'd been smart enough to see through Lucas' lies. A complete stranger had tried to help her, and now he was dead because Lucas couldn't see reality.

 

And now that she'd defied him twice? She closed her eyes, pressing her forehead to the door. Helpless and hating it, she went back to her painting. Jon was on the phone again. Sometimes it was band business, sometimes it was Bruce and then finally, his family. The tone of his voice changed. The clipped businessman faded to a softer voice. Her chest burned as he talked to his children, and then to his wife. There was so much love inside that man. It was so often hidden under the cool facade he offered up to the world, but the minute he'd spoken to his children there was a lightness to him. A lightness that made her hate that he was here even more. 

 

What was he thinking? He should be home with his babies, home with his wife. He shouldn't be messed up, yet again, in her situation. She felt the light tug of his fingers on her hair and his face in charcoal and newsprint blurred. "Everything okay?"

 

"Yeah, I just had to check in with the family."

 

"You should be home with your family, Jon. Or on tour, or doing whatever it is you do." 

 

"I should be here, end of story." His voice had lost the cajoling and teasing tone. "My wife understands." 

 

She dropped her chalk into the holder and turned around. "Really?" She crossed her arms. "Your wife understands that you're here with me? Well, isn't she the bigger woman?" 

 

"Not really. She just knows this is something I have to do." He looked over her shoulder at the painting, then back to her. "You got some work in?"

 

Shrugging, she brushed off the worst of the charcoal on her pants and dropped onto her wide brown couch. "It's either work or strangle you. I prefer to keep things less violent under the circumstances." 

 

He looked at the painting, his eyebrow quirking. "So, you just threw a storm behind my head."

 

Again, she shrugged. She couldn't stop the frenzy that his portrait had become. She preferred not to psychoanalyze herself. She'd had enough of shrinks thank you very much. "Art's subjective."

 

He sat down next to her. "I know you don't want me here, at least you tell me you don't--"

 

"I don't."

 

He sighed. "Look, Cam, I'm going to be here for the duration. We were heading into a break before the next leg of the tour and the kids are in school, so it wasn't like I was taking the family anywhere."

 

"No, you're just supposed to be with your family. The important part of your time off." She stood, heading into the kitchen for some coffee. It usually helped to calm her. The monotony and the smells eased her on anxious nights, but this was well beyond anxious. Between the idea of Lucas alive, and Jon back in her life again, she was about ready to scream her way over the cliffs. She couldn't deal with both of them, not again. 

 

He followed her, his shoulder resting on the doorway. "Sure my family needs me, at least I'd like to think they do. But in all honesty, everyone has their own routine--they could give two shits if I'm around half the time."

 

"Aww, are you saying you're not valued at home, Jon? Really?" She slammed the coffee pot under the basket and flipped on the switch. 

 

"No, I'm not saying that. I'm just saying they can do without me."

 

Watching the dripping dark liquid, she breathed in the scent of the dark roast and tried not to seethe. She didn't want him here, she didn't want to need anyone, she didn't want to be his pity responsibility. Again, came the tug on her hair. She flinched away from him, reaching for a mug to cover up the jumpy reactions. Longings that had been buried for so many years tugged at her, worked with the bubbling fears until she couldn't see her way through this undeniable mess. Splashing coffee into a palm sized mug she left him to make his own.

 

"Am I just supposed to chase you around the house?" he called after her. Instead of answering him, she took her mug into her room and slammed the door. She heard her television come on and the tinny sound of cheering. He'd found some sort of game. Fuck him, and fuck his help. She sipped the heavy coffee with the tang of dark chocolate and twisted the controls of her shower. What she really wanted to do was take a long walk outside, but it was pitch dark, so a shower would have to do.

 

She leaned on the heavy tile, letting the water beat on shoulders, her hair curtaining around her face until it was just the sound of the shower and her own thoughts. She didn't like anyone in her space, but this man? Absolutely not. And Lucas closing in on her again. Dead didn't mean anything evidently. Was he the next Michael Meyers or something? Just coming for her mindlessly? Crouching low into the corner of her shower, she lost a second round with the tears that had been coming all day. 

 

She cried for the peace she'd finally found, for the woman she could have been, and for the man that wouldn't leave her--even now in her darkest hour.

 

A man that couldn't be hers.

FIVE: Stand

2:08 PM

Jon laid his hand palm on the window, the tips of his fingers bone white under the pressure. "Jon, did you hear me?"

 

Had he heard Bruce sweep the precarious house of cards he was betting on away with one sentence? Yeah, he had. "When?" His voice sounded rough even to his own ears.

 

"He was in his patrol car, they are trying to figure out when it happened. Probably sometime in the middle of the night. Gunshot to the chest, high powered rifle from a distance."

 

Bruce gave him a few more details, but it got lost in the buzzing in his brain. The only man that had seen Lucas's new face, was dead. "Tell me someone else at the station--"

 

"Nope, it's a small town department. Banyon knows what he's doing, Jon. He went in during the lunch breaks, when staff was down. Unfortunately the hits are going to keep on coming. I called in a few favors, figuring I could just pull his personell file from Virginia. The photo isn't him. It's some retired cop from twenty years ago, swapped out for his. They don't even know when or how it happened."

 

The bed of his nail went a light purple as he pressed harder. "So, we have no face on this guy? Anyone from his department?" Surely there had to be someone out there that could let them know who they were dealing with.

 

"I'm going to fly into Virginia and talk to his unit. I'm not holding out much hope, Jon. You think your organization is tight? You've got nothing on cops, my friend."

 

Cops were an unknown entity. He didn't know anything about them as unit, or how they worked. Security had been a part of his life longer than it hadn't, but it was different from police procedures. Unknowns were traps, and he didn't want to walk into one. "What do you want us to do?"

 

"I want you to get the hell out of there. I've got a few safehouses I have access to."

 

"I'm not leaving."

 

Jon whirled around, her eyes were on her painting, but it had definitely been her voice. "Cam, we'll talk in a second."

 

Her eyes met his, the blue was the calm at the center of a lake. "I'm not running. Never again."

 

It wasn't running, it was strategic defense for the love of fuck. He wasn't going to be trapped on a beach with Lucas again. Facing down that kind of fate was just like begging for a slap. Or a bullett. "Look, can we get some police protection here at the house at least?"

 

"I'll see what I can do to get a State Trooper out front until me and my team can set up. I'll be there by morning."

 

It didn't feel like enough. Nothing felt like enough when it came to protecting this woman.  He jammed his phone back into his pocket and forced an even breath in and out before he faced her again. "Cam," he said softly.

 

"I can't let him run me out of this place, Jon. I just can't."

 

"Can't or won't?"

 

She tucked a hank of hair behind her ear. "Does it matter? They're one in the same for me."

 

He closed his eyes, his chest aching as his gut roiled. He wasn't enough to protect her. Heroes were for television and for storybooks, not for this reality. And he was no hero. Swallowing, he slowly walked to her. "He killed that cop in Surry."

 

She paled, her arms dropped to her sides. Her eyes were red, but there were no tears. "I can't run again, Jon." Her voice was thick, but her gaze never left his. "Anywhere I go, he'll find me. At least here, I know my surroundings. I know these cliffs, I know this town. I've walked this entire area nearly every day. I'm safer here."

 

Frustration and anger rode him hard. Something would die inside him if something happened to her, he was sure of it. "He used a high powered rifle from God knows how far away." He wanted to hide her away, go underground...he had enough money to do it. "If you remember the last time we had to face this guy, I was less than useful."

 

Her chin lifted. "You don't need to stay."

 

"Oh fuck off," he said without thinking. The fire in her eyes told him it had been the right thing to say, even if his mom would cuff him on the ear for it. She just drove him nuts. Seeing her both broken and strong at the same time wasn't helping his tightly wound feelings when it came to her. "I'm here because I have to be."

 

"I'm not your obligation." Her voice was cool and detached. The old Cam coming back in full force.

 

"It's not obligation," his voice ws louder than he intended and he forced himself to stand down. Softening his voice, he took another step closer. "I had to, it's as simple as that. You mean something to me, Cam."

 

She shook her head, taking two steps back, almost bumping into her easel. "No one asked you to watch over me, and I certainly didn't ask to have you back in my life. I was perfectly happy here alone."

 

"No?" He pointed to the painting. "Then what's my face doing up there?"

 

"Your face is an interesting subject."

 

He took another step toward her. Chasing her was stupid, but two years of worrying about her, two years of trying to get her out of his mind, two years of wanting her was burning inside him until he felt like he couldn't even breathe. "Your face haunts me too, Cam." His gut clenched at the admission, but the honesty fought free anyway. "You haunt me. Knowing you're up here alone kills me and then the call came. I couldn't not come."

 

She shook her head. "Lucas knows you, he hates you almost as much as he hates me now, Jon." She plowed her hands into her hair. "Don't make this any harder on me."

 

He didn't want to do that. It was the last thing he ever wanted to do, but he wasn't going anywhere. He stepped closer, his hand sliding around her hip as she tried to step back from him yet again. He wanted to pull her inside him, to protect and to hide her, but he settled for dragging her into his arms. She stiffened and his fingers tunneled under all that thick gold hair, closing his eyes when it wound around his fingers and wrist, all the way down to his elbow. He held her there against him, the fluttering of her heart against his chest, only made him more patient. "I can't go," he said against her temple. His cheek grazed hers, and then he finally stepped back.

 

She walked away from him, her hand at the window just where his had been, then she rested her forehead on her hand. "You'd stand for me?" Her voice was so hesitant, so filled with disbelief. And he knew that for her, he'd pretty much stand up to anything.

 

"I would."

 

In profile, he watched the one lonely tear track down her cheek and he moved to go back to her. "Even if it left your kids without a father? Because he will kill you, Jon. The first chance he gets, Lucas will kill you."

 

The faces of his children filled his mind. All of them painfully perfect and filled with innocence. And then Dorothea with her open heart and warrior strength. She'd always been his better half, his rock, and his constant. And it killed him that he loved two women. As irrational as it was, he did. Two weeks shouldn't have been enough to hold him. Two weeks should have just been a blip on his radar, but for two years he'd held onto that tiny little piece of what might have been.

 

And now with her in front of him, watching her try to be so strong even though she was so very alone it broke him in two.

 

He did move forward this time, smoothing his hand down her hair. "I'm going to do everything humanly possible to make sure things don't go that far, Cam. My kids mean everything to me, but I can't leave you. I won't let you do this alone."

 

She tipped her head down and her shoulders jumped a few times and he knew the tears would be there. Turning her around, he breathed a sigh of relief when she finally came into his arms. The tears wet his neck and were all the more heartbreaking in their silence.

FOUR: Pretty Lies

12:57 PM Logan, Maine

Cam backed away from Jon, her movements jerky. They'd been stalking around each other for the last two hours. Impatience and fear had her strung so tight she was going to scream and keep on screaming if she didn't get some answers. Jon had given up talking to her finally. His amazing mouth kept moving, but all she could focus on was that he'd had her watched for the last 2 years. If that wasn't bad enough--she hadn't even known she was being watched.

 

Shouldn't she have felt something? With everything that Lucas had done to find her over the years, she thought her instincts were much better about that sort of thing. But here--in the place that she'd finally felt safe--she truly wasn't. Staring out the wide windows she'd once adored, now she found herself standing to the side--out of sight. She knew it was the shock talking, and yet she couldn't quite get out of her own way. Was he out there now? 

 

What she needed was to get away from Jon. At least for a few minutes. She had to pull herself together. "I'll be right back."

 

"Where are you going?" Jon stood, his deceptively easy pose on her couch gave way to nerves stretched as tight as her own. 

 

"I'm not leaving, so relax yourself. I just need--I need a minute all right?"

 

He jammed his hands into his pockets and his gaze dropped to the floor. She could see his hands bunched into fists, tight against his hips in the well worn jeans. All that wild blonde hair falling forward, making him look deceptively innocent. Hugging herself tightly, she hurried to the back of her house, locking herself into the bathroom. Swinging the medicine cabinet open she reached for a bottle of Tylenol with a shaking hand. Fisting her fingers, and forcing herself to stop, reached again, pleased to see only the barest tremor. It was all a mistake. They would talk to his cop friend.

 

Cops lie.

 

She shut down that little voice. Not all cops lied. Not everyone was like Lucas. Not every cop lied and manipulated the system. She closed the cabinet and popped two tablets, cupping her hand under the cool water to swallow them down and splash water on her face. Looking up, she saw a face that had been gone for so long--the drawn features, and the instant hollows in her cheeks, She wiped at the smudge of charcoal on her cheek, and the tracks of her panicked tears, erasing everything she could from the woman she used to be. She wouldn't be that woman again. Not ever again. 

 

She liked her life now--she liked not living in fear. Lucas would not take this house and this life from her.

 

Lifting her chin, she stared back at herself. She reached for a brush and pulled her hair down so she didn't look so severe and damaged--she wouldn't be that woman again. Dabbing on a little gloss with a touch of pink for color she felt slightly better. She would talk to the cop, talk to Jon, and she would figure this out. With a little luck, she'd find out that it was all a mistake.

 

Heading back into the living room, she found Jon standing before her canvass, his eyes unreadable. Could he tell it was him? It was a little on the abstract side, but seeing the man and the study together told her that she'd caught his likeness. Perhaps a little too well actually. She didn't watch television, but she had caught his face on the odd magazine over the years. She knew he was touring, had caught songs on the radio in her car even, but for all intents and purposes, that day he'd put her on the plane had been the last day she'd seen him. Her eyes drifted down to his mouth, remembering that one kiss they'd shared. Funny how his single kiss would be the one she remembered the most.

 

When he turned to her, he caught the look, his eyes unreadable--back to the flat blue that was missing that undefinable sparkle that was really the only thing that ever showed true pleasure on his face. But his gaze dropped to her mouth too. Did he remember that kiss too? Right. Was that before or after he kissed his wife each night? She faced the canvas instead.

 

It was good. Sometimes when she was in the heat of the moment within a new piece she was too close to it, her mind's eye much more forgiving than the reality of the board when she was done...but not here. It captured his intensity. Once she added some more depth, the strong blue eyes would be all that was necessary to finish off the piece--Stark, almost untouchable here. Gone was the charisma that he used as a shield.

 

"It's me." She lifted the loose canvas nailed to the board to cover it. He stopped her. "I don't mind it. It's not beautiful. I like it."

 

Her lips quirked. Even now, he couldn't be anything but honest. "No, it's not beautiful--you're a beautiful man, aesthetically, but that's not--"

 

"It's not all that I am," he finished for her. "It's a rare thing to see." His fingertips traced the deep grooves at his mouth and eyes. She could see the surprise when he felt the actual texture of it. "Most people smooth things over. Airbrush out the imperfections." He curled his fingers back into his palm and dropped his hand. "I mean, I'm vain as the next man--I don't want to look old. But I don't want to look plastic either."

 

A tiny piece of her relaxed. As intense and hard as he could be sometimes, his intuitive nature was always there. He just hid it under layers of indifference. Knowing that she did the same to hide any emotions during her time with Lucas so he couldn't use them against her, she imagined Jon was the same. Show the safe things, hold onto the important ones. How must it feel to be watched every day of your life. Just who lived in the jail?

 

He peeked at his watch, and the tension returned within the tick of a second. Hadn't he said he would meet with the cop this morning? "Jon?"

 

His eyes met hers, the blue as turbulent as the sea out her window. "I don't know where he is."

 

She crossed her arms over her stomach, her fingers digging into the well worn cotton. "It can't be Lucas, it just can't." Before he could answer, his cell rang. When he walked away from her, she focused on the wide shoulders that tapered down to his lean waist. She tried to remain calm, and all she could read was the tension of his muscles rippling under the sweater, the immediate clenching of his thighs and glutes as he widened his stance as if to brace himself.

 

And decided she didn't want to know and hated herself for it.

THREE: Damned

10/16 Logan, Maine 10:23am

Jon didn't think he'd ever have this woman in his arms again. No matter what had been between them for that slice of time, he'd always known that they weren't allowed to happen. Obligations, loyalty, timing, no matter what you wanted to call it, he and Cam were always going to be just out of each other's realm. And now he had to bring her worst nightmare back into play.

 

And the fight was out of her, and he had to make sure that didn't happen. He held onto her for another minute, closing his eyes against the feel of her. She was still willowy, and the gold of her hair still tangled around his hand like he remembered. She'd let the natural deeper bronze colors come out in the two years since he'd seen her. It was longer, the weight of it tugged at him, making him think of soft white sheets and rainy mornings. To feel it across his chest and thighs, to actually see a smile on her face when it came to him. 

 

He pulled back, and was rewarded with shattered eyes the color of the sky just before the stars came out. Tears dotted her lashes and cheeks, but her eyes were already dry--thank God. But he didn't need to see tears to see the pain and the way she closed up, her hands fisted under her arms, hands disappearing into the heavy, nubby thermal shirt. "I'm sorry, Cam. I didn't want it to be true either."

 

"How?" She wiped at her cheek, leaving a smudge of black across the too pale skin. She twisted her hair, adding soot to her hair now too. She quickly tied her hair at the back of her neck with a rubber band at her wrist. Some things wouldn't change. He remembered her doing just that in the mountains. "Jon, how did you know to come here?"

 

He rubbed his palms on his jeans and held out an arm. "Let's sit, huh?"

 

"I don't want to sit, and I'm sure as hell not going to play polite hostess. What the fuck is going on?"

 

Pressing his lips together, he was glad to hear the lick of heat and anger there in her voice. She'd need the anger. "It's a long story, sweethe--" At her sharp look he cut himself off. "Fine." He crossed his arms. "I've had you under surveylance for the last two years."

 

"You what?"

 

The anger burned brighter in her voice and he stood straighter in defense. He'd done what was necessary to protect her. He wouldn't feel bad about that. Even if she did look at him like he'd stabbed her right in the back. "I'm sorry, Cam. When they dredged the lake and he wasn't found, I just couldn't leave you unprotected."

 

"Who the hell do you think you are?" Her eyes were wild as she looked around the room, out the big window that showed off the coastline, then back to him. "Where? How?"

 

"It's not like that," he began, but shut his mouth when she whirled on him, pushing at his chest. 

 

"You've been spying on me?"

 

He knew it sounded bad, but it had been necessary. And he'd learned long ago that necessary didn't always equal pleasure. He caught her hand,  holding it to his chest. "Please, Cam."

 

She twisted her fingers free, his sweater now as sooty as her face. "Get out."

 

"Sorry, no can do." He brushed at his sweater. "Were you playing in the fireplace or something?" Her dark eyes clouded. He could see the confusion warring with her anger, and pounced. "I'm meeting with a cop later this morning as soon as he gets off shift. He'll be able to tell you more. He's going to meet us here. Then we'll figure out where to go from there."

 

"There's nothting to figure out. I want you out of my house. I'll handle this myself, just like I did before."

 

"Right, and look how that worked out of you?" He knew the words were harsh, but she needed harsh. "He was here, Cam. He was only a few towns over."

 

She shook her head, denial evident in her flight reactions. If he left her she'd be gone in a shot. She'd disappear, he had little doubt about that. And while he knew she was resourceful, Lucas still had his cop background paving his way. Jon understood power, he understood manipulations. He'd been using both as a way to circumvent anything from a tour schedule to his choices in the political arena. He wasn't above using what and who he was to do what he wanted, so he had little problem in using it to help Cam. Even if she didn't want him to. 

 

She put a now shaking hand through her hair and her eyes darted around the room. He could see the fear, hell, he could taste it from across the room. What she must have gone through under his hand was horrific, but he wouldn't let anything like that happen again. He wouldn't allow it to happen, even if he had to pay for a guard for the rest of her natural life. 

 

Lost. It was the only word he could use for her. And she was looking at him as the reason. But if that meant he could keep her safe, then he'd play the bad guy. Fuck the consequences.

TWO: Chilled

10/16 Logan, Maine 9:32am

Cam tunneled her hands into the sleeves of her Fisherman's sweater. The sky opened up into stone grey rolling clouds off the bay. October in Maine was nothing like New York. It snowed when it wanted, whether it was May or August, and yes, even October. Rain was both cleansing and treacherous depending on the wind and the water was the sole mistress of the little village of Logan. And today she was cold and bitchy.

 

But she didn't mind. No matter what kind of weather the water brought in, she walked the cliffs that looked out over the inlet each and every day. To remind herself that she was free, and to remind herself that she had to face the day and not hide. And if days like this reminded her of the lake, then she walked longer and harder to prove she could.

 

The wind tugged at the watch cap that held her hair under wraps and bit through her cords and boots as if she was wearing silk. Bracing--that's what her mama would have called it once upon a time. She preferred honest. That's what she loved about her little slice of land. The weather was brutal, the water was righteous, and her cottage stood against it all, no regrets. Just like her.

 

She lengthened her stride, her little stone house rising out of the bending grass just starting to go brown around the edges. Her place was part of an old working farm. Part of the land had been sold off leaving the barn separate from a homestead about a quarter mile inland. That worked for her. She liked the weathered grey stone and massive box shape of her home.

 

This was hers. Another man may have given it to her, and that galled her for the first three weeks of living here, but now it was hers. It didn't have anything to do with Lucas, it didn't have anything to do with Jon. It was hers. Jon may have found the land for her, he even tried to remodel it for her. She'd sent those workers away and done it all herself. And now she paid for it herself, with money she earned all on her own. 

 

And she was damn proud of it. She unlatched the two deadbolts and entered her code in the security system. The walls were a soft suede color with wide planked floors she'd stained a dark walnut. The first year she'd lived here, she'd refinished every plank of hardwood. First as a way to get through the endless nights, and then as a sort of therapy. Beams, trim, and shelves matched the dark stain and a large picture window dominated the living space giving her light to work. A stone fireplace and mantle mimiced the stone outside. She'd hunted for every piece of river rock and shale to make that wall. She'd even convinced three fisherman to bring in a large slab she'd had cut into a mantle and step.

 

She'd made it into a showcase, even if no one ever saw it but her. It was her place, it held her stamp.

 

She hung her sweater and hat on the hook inside the door, tugging her thermal sleeves over her hands as she studied the current piece on her easel. The rough water and fishing boats battering the waves was the central theme of the triptic she was creating. All of those neutral shades of grey, blue, and black that made up a Maine storm balanced by just the tiniest flicker of pink and fire at the horizon. She was pretty sure she was just going to call it: Home.

 

It was almost done. Good thing, since her machine was flickering again. Her agent had probably called, yet again. You'd think after a year that he'd understand that she never answered the blasted phone. It was simply there because it needed to be there. She couldn't be cut off from the world that completely, but it didn't mean she had to answer it.

 

She gathered the three mixed media paintings and mounted them on the hooks she'd drilled into the wall to review them. The phone rang, and again she ignored it. The clicking whir of her answering machine starting, but no voice. She shrugged, propping a new brick of newsprint and newspaper that she'd prepared the night before on her workspace. She'd fought the piece for a week, but nothing else was going to get done if she didn't get his face out of her mind.

 

It was simply the time of year. She didn't think about him very often. Hell, she hadn't even seen him in two years, but the chiseled lines of his face got stuck in her brain at odd times. But it was always better than the nightmares. Even if she wished she could erase both men from her mind's eye, she preferred Jon if she had to focus on anyone.

 

Vine charcoal and blackened fingers pushed the shape of his mouth out of the newsprint. With an exacto blade, she created a relief and the sharp edges of his jawline and cheekbones took shape. A knock at the door was ignored. She didn't have time to tell someone to go away. She ripped at a few layers until his cheek was just right. Windblown hair and craggy crinkles at his eyes, his features went off the board. This would be a closeup, his eyes would be the only color. Even if she hadn't quite been able to find the blue she wanted--the blue she remembered. She'd find it this time. She was sure of it.

 

The pounding at her door finally registered. "Go away!"

 

"Cam! Open this friggin' door."

 

She peeled away another layer, picking at the board with the side of the blade as she went down another few centimeters. The voice was little more than wind to her. She stood back. It was almost there, just--

 

BANG-BANG-BANG!

 

She growled, dropping her charcoal and blade. She swung open the metal peep-hole of her door, wire mesh blocked anyone from trying to stick a hand, a blade, or a gun through the small opening. And those same blue eyes that wouldn't leave her alone stared back at her.

 

"Dammit, are you all right? I've been pounding on this door for ten minutes!"

 

Her heart hammered in her ears, adrenaline surged and blended with the intense awareness that seemed to happen when she was deep in with her work. She disengaged the locks, and the bolt at the top and bottom of the door. "What are you doing here?"

 

The doorway was full of him, so much so that she took an anxious step back. There was a hardness to him that hadn't been at the lake. It echoed in his jawline, in the icy chips of blue that flinted out of the deeper and darker blue of his eyes. A cold wind blew his hair forward and let in a blast of anger so hot it could have lit her damn fireplace. His hair was as wild as the picture of him in her mind. It was lighter now, longer and didn't seem to know the meaning of tame. He was tan, and even through the heavy cable-knit of his Irish sweater, she could tell he was lean and tight, bulkier now with muscle and health. Jeans strained at the thigh and hip with wear marks at the pockets and the zipper...her mind blanked and her eyes skipped up to his.

 

She took another step back and he came in, the air practically crackling with his anger and intensity. Just as suddenly she wanted him out of her house. He was too much--always had been too much when he was in her space. She closed the door, automatically bolting everyone out, but for the first time her space didn't feel safe and serene. "What are you doing here?" she asked again, her voice a little stronger, thankfully.

 

His thumb twisted the ring on his left hand, cracking his knuckles as he went by each finger then stopped at his wedding ring with another twist. If there'd been a video for nervous energy, he'd win first prize. Unless you looked at his face. There it was smooth and devoid of animation, until you got to his eyes.

Her alarm pierced the silence, pushing her to move and punch in the code. She tucked her fingers into her sleeves, crossing her arms over her chest. "I don't remember you having trouble talking Jon."

 

He paced the entrance of her door twice, his head down. All that wheat colored hair fell forward in a wild twist of feathering layers, then was jammed back with his impatient hand. "We need to talk."

 

All the color leeched out of her world, followed by the sounds of the soothing water that was her constant stereo and the heavy thump of his boots. Everything instantly became insulated and she felt like a layer of cotton was around her. No. She didn't want to hear that from him. He wasn't prone to hysteria, he didn't come out to visit her. He didn't have anything to do with her. If he was here, it was bad. And she didn't have it in her to hear bad news right now. Not when she was finally starting to relax. Finally finding a life that didn't include madness...except for dreams. 

 

"No." Her voice was barely more than a whisper.

 

He stopped pacing, his hands in front of her, digging into the cold batting that protected her. Dragging her hands away from her chest, until he could curl them in his. "Look at me."

 

She looked over his shoulder, shaking her head. "No."

 

His hand came up to her jaw, forcing her to face him. Not hurting, no he'd never hurt her--she knew that. Even with the demons flaring in his storm-filled eyes she knew that. But he was damn firm, and she closed her eyes against it. "Cam." His voice was gentle now, his forehead meeting hers, his nose brushing hers. "I don't want to be here. I don't want to bring this news, you gotta know that."

 

"Then why?" She hated the weakness in her voice. Hated the memories he brought into her house. Hated all that he was going to destroy--again. His cheek pressed against hers as he dragged her in. She curled her fists into his chest and tried to push him back. "Get out. Just get out. Don't--" her voice cut off as his arms locked around her back and he held her tight.

 

"You know I wouldn't be here if I could have avoided it." His hand slid into her hair and he pushed her cheek against his shoulder. "I'd hand over everything I have right now to make it not true."

 

She sagged into him, her knees suddenly water. Lucas was dead. She'd stabbed him herself. She'd felt his blood, warm on her hands. She had the scars on her hands from scrubbing the blood off. He couldn't be alive. He just couldn't be. "He's back."

 

"He's back."

ONE: 8:37 PM

10/15 8:37 PM - Alabama

 

 

He paced the blessedly empty room and went through the same warm up he'd used since he’d learned that his twenties meant more than ripping his voice apart for the masses. There wasn’t much alone time when you were on the road, but he required this one allowance.

Ignoring the light tapping at the door, he continued his regimen. If it made him a diva, then so be it—he didn’t give this time up for anyone. He needed the hour before a show to get his head on straight and push everything else away. The fans, the PR, the band, even his own over-active brain. Sometimes it took the entire hour to remember that it was the music he loved, and what he did this for. Sometimes it was just the quiet he needed.

Another knock and he cracked his knuckle. “What?”

The door opened and Matt peeked in, his eyes serious and unapologetic. “I know, I know, but it’s important.”

“Are the kids okay?”

“No, it’s not the kids, or Dot.”

Relief chased resentment. “Then handle it.”

Matt tossed him a phone he hadn’t seen in years and his stomach dropped out. It was his old Blackberry, before the iPhone had become an extension of his life. But it had one purpose. “You told me if this thing ever beeped you needed to be told, no matter what time.”

“Yeah, sorry. Thanks.” He didn’t even notice the door closing as he slowly sat down. It had been months since he’d even thought of her—of the shattered blue eyes that had echoed more pain than any woman he’d ever known. Memories of the one woman and the one day that had punched through the self-pity that had plagued him for the better part of eight months.

Twenty-four hours had changed his life, and his outlook on a lot of things. Twelve days of recovery and a lifetime of what-ifs haunted him when he allowed them to. Being driven and focused helped to block out Cameron Blaise, but like the river next to his house, all it took was one good hard rain to flood with memories.

He thumbed through the familiar functions and opened a text message he’d dreaded for nearly two years.

**he’s been spotted and verified**

He dialed the one number in the contacts. It was quarter to nine on a Friday night, but a cool female voice answered. “Bruce Coltrane Investigations, may I help you?”

“Mr. Coltrane, please.”

“Who may I say is calling?”

“Jon Bon Jovi.”

Swift and business-like, Bruce’s assistant, Jen, was his best asset. He’d tried to lure her away to run his staff, but she was damn loyal. Her voice warmed a little, but there was no chit-chat. “He’s been expecting your call Mr. Bon Jovi, one moment."

He couldn't stop himself. "I'll double your salary if you jump on a plane right now and run my organization."

"Mr. Coltrane will pick up in just a moment." As always, she never said no, just kept up that swift efficiency, but whenever he offered, he could hear the smile in her voice.

Not even a moment later, Bruce’s no-nonsense voice came over the line. “You’re quick.”

“I’ve been dreading that text for years, Coltrane. Are you sure?”
"I wish I wasn't. I used to love taking your money for this easy job, Jon. I think it just got complicated."

He'd had Bruce monitoring the small town that he'd settled Cam in after that night. And as thorough as Bruce was, he was right. Keeping an eye on Cam had been easy. He received a weekly report for the first six months after she'd settled in Logan, Maine. She kept to herself, worked out of the house, and shopped once a month over forty minutes away. Even after she'd thought she was free, she was careful. Piece of fuck had done a number on her.

Rolling his shoulder with the memory of the crack and pop of a dislocated shoulder thanks to one Lucas Banyon, he sighed. He'd only had a taste, and it still resonated. "Well, shit."

"One of my cop buddies in Surry gave me a call. He moonlights for me on the odd job," Bruce explained. "In fact, he was familiar with Ms. Blaise. He usually does a drive by for me when my regular guy is unavailable."

Impatient, he kneaded his tricep muscle. "Okay."

"Wednesday, someone came in all affable, saying he was a cop from Virginia, looking for a woman that had been on the run for a few years. He had a picture of Cameron."

"What the hell?" Jon fisted his hand into his hair, his fingers gripping his neck as he leaned forward. 

"It gets better. He gave some story that she was a grifter with a few outstanding warrants. And the warrants were legit. Thankfully they were under her real name, not the one she's using now."

"Jesus." Jon stood and paced. "This cop in Surry didn't let on about Cam, right?"

"No, he's worked with relocating battered wives for a long time. He knows the drill."

Relief eased the bands around his chest. Thank sweet God.

"But, the guy that came in, has the same build as Banyon, and has credentials as a Richmond cop. This guy's name is LT Morrison. The thing is, this cop didn't exist before 2008. Oh he's got a good cover, one of the best I've seen, but I don't buy it."

Jon didn't either. Son of a bitch. Nothing was that neat, and nothing was easy when it came to Lucas. How easy would it have been to get a favor from the rich and the affluent in Manhattan? Hell, he only had to promise a picture and a smile to get money from half the corporate sponsers for Project HOME. He could only imagine what a freaking cop could do. 

"And the last nail was that Banyon's grandfather on his mother's side was a Morrison."

His bull shit meter pinged. "Keep me updated through the regular email, send me as much as you can. I'm going to have to go to Cam with this."

"I kind of figured that's how you'd feel. I'll put Todd, the cop from Surry, on detail until you get into Logan. He's the only one that knows his new face. He's going to try and get a picture to me."

A knock on his door let him know it was showtime. "I'll talk to you soon. Thanks for doing what you do, Bruce."

"You got it. And stop trying to steal Jen, would you?"

"Never." He tried to laugh, but it came out as a grim grunt. He called his pilot to fuel up after the show. Looks like the schmoozing would have to be handled by Richie. He was heading to Maine.