“Mr. Rawlings will be coming to see you tonight…”

I listened with a mixture of fear and anticipation. The storm had broken my defenses and revealed my greatest vulnerability: I would do anything to avoid being alone, even if it meant facing him.

The bile rose in John’s throat as he closed the book and laid it on the bedside stand. Little bits were all he could tolerate—it was too much. As he tried to settle for sleep, a line in Meredith’s book came back to him: as long as I was in control of my mind, Anthony Rawlings, or anyone else, would not have the ability to isolate me.

He turned to Emily. “I didn’t think it was possible to hate him more than I did, but I do.”

With her head on the pillow, she opened her tired eyes. “I hate that book. I told you not to read it.”

“I couldn’t when she was missing, but now—”

Emily sat up and kissed her husband. “Now, I think, may even be worse. She’s still missing.”

John shook his head. “I just read something about her thinking she was in control—how she would never allow anyone to isolate her. I get it.”

“What do you mean?”

“When I was in prison…”

Emily nodded.

“The loneliness was the most difficult part for me. I remember reliving so many conversations. It’s like you have this continual movie playing in your head. Sometimes I’d remember something you said that was funny, and I’d hear myself laugh. It felt wrong, yet right. It helped me.”

“John, I’m so sorry…”

“No, that isn’t my point. My point is that in this book she talks about remembering. Em, why isn’t she remembering now? How can we, or the doctors help her remember? I mean, she has a daughter!”

“Shh,” Emily chided. “Let’s not wake that daughter up.”

John exhaled. “Do you ever think about what we were doing while she was going through that shit—before?”

Emily nodded and leaned against John’s chest. “I do. I especially did while reading that damn book. I wish I could say I think Meredith sensationalized it, but it’s a lot like what Claire told me. There are more details in the book…”

“Yeah, I could do without those.”

“Me too, but as long as the rest of the world knows them, I felt like I should too. John?” Her green eyes looked up.

“Yeah?”

“I don’t think I can go back to California.”

He closed his eyes and nodded.

Emily continued, “I can’t leave her here in that state facility alone. I’m afraid if I go before his trial, somehow he’ll get out of it, and I need to keep her safe, keep him away from her and Nichol.”

“I understand, but I have an obligation to SiJo and Amber.”

“I know you feel indebted to them. Can we just take it a day or a week at a time?”

John nodded. “Did I tell you that they called? I spoke with Amber and Harry. They’re both concerned. Amber told me to take as much time as I need.”

Emily yawned. “She’s been great. What did Harry say?”

“He asked if he could visit.”

Her attention was once again focused on her husband. “He wants to visit? Us or Claire?”

John shrugged. “Both, I think.”

A smile fluttered across Emily’s lips. “Well, all right.”

John’s eyes narrowed. “Why do you have that smirk?”

“Because I like the idea of keeping that bastard away and allowing Harry to visit. If I could, I’d take pictures!”

John hugged his wife’s shoulders and pulled her down to his pillow. “I’m glad we’re on the same team. You definitely have a wicked side.”

“Don’t you think he deserves it?”

It was John’s turn to yawn. “After what I just read, he deserves more.”

“It was so nice of you to visit,” Emily said to Harry as she rocked Nichol.

“Yes, I’m sorry we’re hidden away in this hotel suite,” John said, “but I’m sure you understand. We’re doing our best to keep Nichol out of the spotlight.”

“I get it,” Harry replied.

John sat back against the soft chair and watched as Emily lulled their niece to sleep. Although Harry wasn’t making it uncomfortable, it seemed odd to have him here with Claire’s baby. After all, there was a time when they’d all assumed he was the father. Looking at the tufts of dark hair making their way out of the soft blanket and back to the blue-eyed man with wavy blonde hair, there was no question: Harry was not Nichol’s father. Her resemblance to Anthony Rawlings was as unnerving as it was undeniable. The first time John looked into his niece’s big brown eyes, he shivered at the recognition. That was only the first time. From that point on, her eyes were hers and hers alone. The long lashes and round cheeks that turned crimson at the first sign of fussing were all Nichol—Claire’s daughter and their niece. Never could John bring himself to blame her for her father’s sins.

“Amber couldn’t get away,” Harry said. “But she sends her love and support. She said to let you know that she understands allegiance to family. Take as long as you need John. Your job is waiting for you in California.”

John nodded. “I spoke with her the other day. I can’t thank her enough for all that she’s done for us.”

“Yes, after Claire left…” Emily began and stopped. “Oh, I’m sorry, Harry. I’m so sleep-deprived that I’m talking without thinking. I’m sure you don’t want to talk about that.”