Abruptly he stopped, leaning against the bag, hugging it awkwardly as his shoulders sagged. ‘I can smell honeysuckle,’ he said quietly, his breaths coming hard and fast.

‘I woke up and you were gone.’

‘I couldn’t sleep. I walked your dog. Fixed the leaking sink in the kitchen. The dripping was driving me fucking nuts.’

‘Thank you.’ She took a step closer, but he lifted one gloved hand.

‘Don’t. Don’t touch me. Please.’ The ‘please’ sounded shaky, almost like a sob.

‘Marcus?’ she said gently, respecting his wish for the moment. ‘Is it Phillip? Or Edgar?’

‘No. They’re both still unconscious.’

‘Then what are you doing?’

‘Had to work it out.’

‘Work what out, baby?’ she asked, although she thought she knew. I shouldn’t have pushed about that damn gun. He told me he was putting it away. That should have been enough.

But even as she said the words in her mind, she knew they weren’t true. Marcus needed to confront whatever was haunting him.

He lifted his head, looked around the room without looking at her. ‘What is all this stuff? You’ve got gym-quality equipment here.’

She walked around him, giving him a wide berth, and sat down on the weight bench he’d found in the back room. He’d found the weight set as well. She tallied the sum of the plates at a glance and bit back a frown. He’d been lifting far more weight than a man without a spotter should have been.

‘It was all Phin’s.’

He still wasn’t looking at her. ‘Your brother. The one with PTSD that left home.’

‘Yes. My twin. When he cleared out, he didn’t take anything with him. All this stuff was the contents of his apartment. It was either bring it here or have the landlord haul it to the dumpster. I keep hoping Phin will come home and reclaim it.’

Marcus leaned his forehead against the bag. ‘I hope for your sake he does. For his sake too.’

Scarlett needed him ready to roll, physically and emotionally, but she knew that right now, that wasn’t a possibility. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said quietly. ‘This is my fault. You weren’t ready to answer my questions about that stupid gun and I forced you. I’m sorry, Marcus.’

He shook his head, his forehead a pivot point against the bag. ‘No, it’s not your fault. It’s mine. You had every right to ask. I just didn’t know how to tell you.’

‘But you did. You were a terrified child and it was your talisman.’ She winced. ‘I hope it wasn’t loaded when you put it under your pillow.’

He pushed off the bag to lean against the wall, sinking to sit on the floor, elbows on his bent knees. Just as he’d done yesterday when he’d talked Stone down from whatever episode his brother had had. And just like yesterday, she joined him there, sliding down the wall to sit beside him. She tucked her knees under the full skirt of the sundress.

‘You’re pretty in that dress,’ he whispered.

‘Thank you.’ She didn’t tell him why she’d dressed this way. Not yet. ‘Talk to me, Marcus. Please. I want to help you.’

‘To fix me, like all those broken chairs upstairs, or rescue me like your mutt? He’s a nice dog, by the way. He likes salami.’

Her lips curved. ‘It gives him gas. I’ll let him sleep on your side of the bed tonight.’

He huffed a weary chuckle, then bowed his head. ‘God, I’m fucked up.’

‘Then let me help un-fuck you,’ she said, and he laughed, but it sounded forced. Feeling helpless, she stroked his arm and he pulled away.

‘I’m sweaty. Your dress is too pretty to be messed up.’

‘I have others, and I don’t mind sweat.’ Tentatively she stroked him again, shoulder all the way down his arm to his glove. She tugged at the Velcro strap and pulled it off, then repeated it with the other. ‘Let me see your hands.’ She held them to the light. ‘Oh Marcus, your knuckles are already starting to swell. Stay here and don’t hit anything else.’

She slipped into the basement’s utility room and sent a quick text to her uncle saying they’d hit a snag and would be at least an hour later than she’d expected, then lifted the lid of the big chest freezer that had come with the house and rearranged the microwave meals and bags of frozen veggies until she found a couple of gel packs. Her phone buzzed as she closed the freezer lid, a text from her uncle telling her not to worry, that the women had fallen asleep and that he’d watch over them.

Secure in Trace’s word, she returned to sit in front of Marcus, putting the ice packs on his knuckles and watching him wince. He said nothing for several minutes, so neither did she. Finally she took the ice packs off and kissed his knuckles, one at a time, and felt him shudder.

‘Marcus, I can’t help if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.’

‘You can’t help me.’

The finality of his statement made her heart ache. ‘Then let me hurt with you.’

He lifted his head, unshed tears in his eyes. ‘I won’t do that to you.’

She got on her knees and took his face in her hands. ‘I won’t give up.’ She kissed him softly. ‘I can’t give up. I don’t know how. My mother always said I was intractable. All those cop genes. But I can wait until you’re ready to tell me.’

He pulled free of her touch, but gently, bowing his head again, his hands hanging limply between his knees. ‘The kidnapping was an inside job,’ he said, startling her.

‘That’s what the newspapers said, that one of the kidnappers was thought to be part of a handyman crew working in your apartment.’

‘My father hired them.’

Her gut did a queasy roll at the tone of his voice, remembering how bitter he’d been when he talked about his father. Which was the start of the emotional distance that led up to this. This was not going to be good. ‘Hired them how?’

‘He hired them to kidnap us. For the ransom.’

‘Your father wanted the ransom?’ She frowned, confused. ‘But it was his money.’

‘No. It was Mom’s money. One hundred percent Yarborough money. My biological father was a gold-digger who lived the high life and had a gambling problem. My mother had bailed him out too many times and they fought about his spending when it got out of hand. I was a quiet kid. A listener. I knew what was going on. I hated him.’

‘Did your mother cut him off?’

‘Not totally. She finally put him on an allowance and got angry. He hit her.’

‘Oh, Marcus, I’m sorry.’

‘I wanted to kill him, but he was the size I am now and I was scrawny.’

‘You were eight.’

‘And so angry. He begged her to forgive him and bought her an expensive bracelet – with her money – as an apology. I wanted her to make him leave, but she forgave him. Turned out it wasn’t the first time. He’d run up gambling debts in the past.’

‘So he figured he’d stage a kidnapping, get the ransom and pay off his debts.’

He nodded once. ‘She didn’t know. Doesn’t know. Please don’t tell her.’

She took his hand, kissed it again. She needed answers, but he needed reassurance even more. ‘I won’t. I wish I could say I can’t imagine a father risking his sons for money, but I can. I’ve seen it too many times.’

His strong shoulders sagged. ‘All those things you can’t unsee,’ he said. ‘And now I just added one more.’

She considered her words carefully. ‘If I told you that I’m not visualizing a frightened young boy betrayed by his father, afraid to sleep at night, I’d be lying. If I told you that the image doesn’t break my heart, I’d be lying even more. If that hurts your pride, then I’m sorry. But you’re mine now, and I will hurt for you if I want to.’

Slowly his head lifted, his eyes intense. Hungry again. ‘Say that again,’ he whispered.

She didn’t pretend to misunderstand. This was too important. ‘You’re mine, Marcus.’

His eyes slid closed, his swallow audible, his throat working as he fought to contain his emotion. ‘God.’

Hoarsely uttered, she couldn’t tell if it was plea or prayer. Maybe a little bit of both, she thought, her eyes stinging. Still on her knees, she crawled to his side and drew him into her arms. He turned his head, burying his face in the curve of her shoulder, wrapping his arms around her waist. She held him as the minutes ticked by, rocking him gently, letting him restore his composure.