LITMIR.BIZ

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to garner that from him. She’d pushed him out of her life with the excuse that his job wasn’t conducive to the life she wanted. She’d wanted stability and quiet evenings; blessedly normal and suburban, perhaps a child or two, and a membership to the local gym. It was bad enough she had a sister who was constantly putting her on edge, she hadn’t wanted a husband who did that to her, as well.

      And so she’d pushed him away when he’d been honest about not being able to give her those things because his job was dangerous and unpredictable and there might be nights that he didn’t come home at all. She hadn’t been able to deal with that future.

      But where was she now? Far worse off. And alone with no one to face what was coming her way.

      She shuddered and the shake of her body made Jenna twist to stare at her. She tried a smile but it felt more like a grimace and so she stopped. She kissed Jenna’s forehead. “I would do anything to keep you safe, mija,” she whispered. “Anything.”

      ARCHER WANTED TO HIT something. His rage filled him like noxious smoke. Didn’t she realize that he would’ve helped her if he’d known how desperate she was? Did she think he was such a coldhearted bastard that he’d rather have her spread her legs for some thug than offer to have her back? Her wounded and broken expression haunted him, giving him the answer he didn’t want to acknowledge.

      He tried to imagine that scenario with him playing the hero for her but he couldn’t follow through. She knew him better than he knew himself, apparently.

      It shamed him to think he might not have helped. That he might have very well told her to solve her own problems and closed the door in her face. Hell, he didn’t know. And she hadn’t been able to take the chance, not with that little girl’s life on the line. He didn’t blame her. Even professionals who do that sort of thing—gamble with the lives of others—screw up and people die.

      Just ask Kandy Kane. Oh, that’s right. She’s dead, a voice argued with himself, not giving him an inch to breathe.

      The detail should’ve gone down by the numbers. Kandy was only supposed to draw out the perp—a sleazy middleman drug dealer named Vincent with connections to bigger fish—but he’d underestimated Vincent’s ability to get at Kandy. Kandy had been killed with a single gunshot wound to the head. In and out. Vincent was never caught and the assignment had failed. Two years of undercover work bled out with their only credible witness. He still saw her open, staring eyes in his imagination, stuck there no matter how many times he was forced to see the shrink.

      He paced the kitchen, caught between wanting to apologize for judging Marissa and shouting at her for debasing herself.

      Yet, even feeling all these things, he couldn’t stop the overwhelming need to console her. His gaze strayed to the upstairs guest bedroom, and he cursed himself as a coward for not being able to just go up there and say the words she needed to hear. I’m sorry.

      Swearing softly, he disappeared into his study, desperate to find something to occupy his mind so he didn’t go and do or say something he’d regret—even more—than he already had.

      MARISSA AWOKE TO A soft buzzing and realized her cell phone was vibrating. She frowned as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes to grab the phone. Service here was sketchy, which was something she hadn’t minded. It helped to remain cut off from everything to keep from succumbing to the tempting idea of returning.

      But as she picked up the phone, she saw a number she didn’t recognize. She let it go to voice mail and then hurriedly retrieved the message once it beeped softly.

      The voice on the other end, soft and menacing, squeezed the air from her lungs.

      “Mi corazón, where have you gone? No worries, I will find you. And when I do we shall have many fine hours together. You will beg. I promise. And when you can’t take any more, I will let you heal in the finest luxury so when I break you again it will be that much more sweet. See you soon.”

      Her hand shook as she deleted the message, feeling dirty just for hearing his voice in her ear. Fear snaked its way through her bones and her teeth started to chatter. There was no escaping him. Ruben would find her and when he did…She shuddered, knowing he would do worse than kill her.

      She hugged Jenna to her and was helpless to stop the sobs that followed.

      THE NEXT MORNING ARCHER awoke earlier than usual with the intent to make amends in some way.

      The only way he knew how under the circum-stances was to make breakfast. In this, at least, he had some talent.

      He wasn’t the typical bachelor who couldn’t scramble an egg without help but then he wasn’t Chef Ramsay, either. He was somewhere in the middle.

      He was halfway through the preparations when Marissa came downstairs, carrying Jenna. Her face, pale and drawn, was a direct contrast to the rosy, plump cheeks of her niece.

      “I hope you’re hungry,” he said brusquely, gesturing for her to sit at the bar. She did, watching him curiously with eyes that showed the strain even if she wouldn’t admit to it. “You okay?” he asked.

      “I didn’t sleep well,” she murmured, looking away, which was good because he might’ve winced at her telling statement. He added another handful of cheese to the omelet he was preparing. If he remembered correctly, Marissa liked enough cheese to make it pretty gooey. She smoothed the curls away from the little girl’s forehead and pressed an absent kiss there. It was sweet and done without thought, just natural. Something told him that Marissa had been a constant in this child’s life long before her mother had exited.

      “What was Mercedes like as a mother?” he asked, curious to see if his hunch played out.

      Marissa smothered a yawn and shrugged. “The same as she was as a sister. Flighty. Impetuous.” She drew herself up and settled the baby more firmly on her lap, a brief smile lighting her lips. “At times generous.”

      Realizing she might’ve painted a less than flattering picture, she added, “She loved Jenna with everything she had. But some things don’t come naturally to everyone. Just because women can give birth doesn’t mean they instinctively know how to mother.”

      Archer would agree, with one small caveat. Marissa was a born mother. It was in the gentle touch of her hand on the baby’s forehead, the sweet curve of her smile when she looked at her niece, the fierce determination to protect at all costs.

      Jenna blew a spit bubble, eliciting a genuine smile from Marissa as she wiped it away. Her expression dimmed as she said, “Mercedes tried to be a good mother. But it wasn’t until she finally realized that Ruben wasn’t a good man to have around a toddler, even if he was her father, that she really started to put Jenna before everything else. Before that…Jenna was…”

      “A nuisance?” he supplied. Marissa responded with a faint rise in her cheeks and he knew she hated to admit such a thing about her sister. Speaking ill of the dead…it was just bad form, but facts were facts. He was starting to get a clearer picture of the situation. In her heart, Marissa didn’t look at Jenna as a niece…but a daughter. It made perfect sense. No wonder she acted like a mama bear, willing to do anything to save that baby. He set the plate, steaming with a gooey omelet, before her along with the cutlery she’d need. “Some people aren’t meant to be parents. It doesn’t mean they’re bad people,” he said softly. Marissa met his gaze and swallowed what was probably a lump of grief and guilt, and slowly nodded.

      “It’s hard…I loved Mercedes so much but sometimes…I hated her for what she was putting Jenna through with that man. You don’t know what he’s like, Archer. He comes across as slick and sophisticated but inside he’s rotten.”

      “His kind usually are,” he said, eyeing his own omelet without much of an appetite but he sectioned off a piece and ate it anyway. “You don’t rise to the top of any heap without skills.”

      “Skills…interesting way of putting it,” she remarked in a soft, wry voice. She pushed at the omelet, probably no more interested in shoveling food down

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