Jay rose on tiptoes, peering over the crowd. "Fuck. The road's been barricaded. The SUV won't be able to pick us up here."

Christ, could this get any worse? The mayhem was closing in on her. Tremors weakened her body. How close were the Craigs? Could they see her? Was one sneaking up now, only a bodyguard's length away?

He folded her into the V of his legs, chest to chest, trapping her hands between their bellies.

She tensed. How would she walk like this? "Jay, my hands."

He rubbed his whiskers against her cheek, his body drenched in sweat. "Shhh. We're good."

His voice and proximity suspended her. Strange how peace could be found at the most inopportune moment. Cocooned in the orbit of guards, pressed tightly against him, her breath began to normalize. She imbued the intimacy of their private little world. Beneath the eye of the blue sky, it was just him and her and the thunder of their hearts.

"Doing okay?" she asked at his ear.

"It....wa...ot."

The high-pitched chanting of frantic women calling out his name drowned out his response. She leaned back to read his lips. "What?"

"I said it's just a walk in the parking lot."

"Clear," Tony said above the shrieking.

Clear of what? Weapons? Bad guys? They certainly weren't clear of crowds.

The guards spread out and her private world came crashing down.

Jay turned her back to his front and hooked his forearm across her chest. She gripped the bag's strap at her hip to keep from grabbing him for balance. He held his other hand out in front of her to block some of the camera shots and ward back the posters, pads, and markers shoved through the guards' line.

Shutters snapped from every direction. Bulbs flickered against the sunlit sky. Paparazzi barked out questions, but it was submerged beneath a flood of girly piping.

"Aaaaaah. Jay Mayard!" At least twenty women of all ages pressed against the bodyguards, screaming and sobbing. Yes, sobbing. Actual tears streaked down the make-up-smeared faces that were twisting behind the camera phones. Jay Mania had gripped the Village.

"Oh my God. Oh my God. You're so sexy." Twenty women grew to forty or fifty. Others were running through the street, some dragging small children into the fray. Cars honked and people shouted from the windows in nearby buildings.

She scanned the hustle of bodyguards, looking for Nathan. Too much movement. Too many identical black shirts. She'd spent three years avoiding scenes like this to evade Roy's watchful eyes. Now, she was certain he could see her, through a camera lens or a Craig.

Her muscles were so tight, dizziness surged over her in waves. The hard, metal weight at the small of her back was a false sense of relief. Shooting a Craig in the crowd would've been impossible without endangering a bystander.

A sense of urgency, bordering panic, took over the guards and their pace picked up. By the time they reached the corner of the building, the number of screaming fiends had doubled again.

They bounced, covered their mouths, and fanned themselves. Where did they come from? Tony had alerted the paparazzi. Not the entire state of New York.

The arm around her held its position, despite the jostling of the guards and crowds. Jay dropped his head, his shoulders hunched, and hung his mouth open to accommodate his rapid breathing. He didn't want this. He held his gut with his free arm as if the attention were actually hurting him. She was thankful for his sunglasses. She wasn't sure she could've handled seeing pain in his eyes.

Selfish, invasive cows. An ugly aggressive hate for these women buried its roots in her heart. If she could bargain with the devil, she would trade places with Jay. She would suck the hurt away, inhale it deep, and make it her own. Anything to ease the misery that was wrenching his body.

And he was doing this for her.

"OhmyGod, you're haaaawt, Jay Maaaaayard."

Click. Click. Click.

Head down, Jay led her through the masses and into the parking lot. The car wouldn't be far, would it?

The roar of the crowd bounced between the buildings. The guards kept a two-foot space cleared around them, but the perimeter wavered, straining inward.

The sea of writhing people spilled into the street and to the other side. Upstretched arms held huge-lensed cameras over the push and pull of bodies. The front line reached out with wiggling fingers and blinking phones.

Did a boob just flash in his face?

"I love you, Jayeeeeeee. Looking good. You're so handsome."

No, several boobs. Huge naked boobs. The girls elbowed each other to bend over the barricade of the guard's arms. How far away was the damned car?

"Can I have your autograph, Jay?"

He kept his head sheltered beneath his arm. His other arm was a vise around her neck.

"I want a picture. Please take a picture with me." More crying. More bouncing nipples. And the crowd grew. Pounding footsteps and distant screaming announced more coming from the street.

Was that the diversion they wanted? The paparazzi seemed to be losing their footing to the tizzy of desperate women, but the cameras didn't stop clicking.

Without warning, Tony spun toward Jay, slamming her back against his chest and dislodging his arm from Charlee's neck.

Oh God, no. What was happening? Charlee chased him, only to be yanked back by the shoving current of bodies.

Tony's mouth moved, and her eyes flicked between the roof and the crowd. What was she shouting? One word over and over. Gun?

Charlee's legs locked up and her mouth went dry. Something hunkered on the roof. Impossible to make out details with the sun's glare.

Jay swung his head back and forth. "Charlee?"

More people rolled in, pushing her further back, blocking her view of Jay. She elbowed and kicked with the best of them, but the force of the frenzy swept her more feet away, bumping her into the grill of a parked car. "Jay!"

She glimpsed him through the crack of bodies, five...six car lengths away. The sunglasses on his face pointed in her direction.

His lips stretched from his clenched teeth. "Charlee!" He struggled against Tony's grip, but something paralyzed him. He choked, curled in on himself and cupped his ears.

Oh Jay, no. Charlee's heart skipped, helplessness curling her nails into her palms.

Tony bolstered most of his weight with hands on his chest and shoulders. No! Not her hands.

Charlee doubled her effort, punching and body slamming through the crowd.

A young girl broke from the melee. She flung herself at him, shackled her arms around his neck. Charlee watched, unable to move forward, as the girl smothered his mouth with hers.

The swarm devoured her view. Her blood boiled, fueling her muscles and propelling her forward. An arm shoved her back. She grabbed the bitch's ponytail and yanked her to the ground. Too many fucking people. Come on, come on, let her through. A few more elbows and she gained half the distance to him.

Through a break in the rocking heads, she glimpsed Tony release his arms and punch the girl clinging to him. The girl went down and he stumbled back, gripping his chest and chanting something. His entire body seemed to lock up. What horror was tearing him apart inside?

Her heart sprinted. He needed her, goddammit. "Get out of my way." She launched herself into the wall of bodies and closed a few more feet.

The crowd rippled behind Jay. A moment later, his SUV pushed its way through. The passenger door opened and Edison reached out, pulling Jay inside.

Where was Nathan? Charlee whirled, probing the sea of heads. No Nathan. Oh God, anyone of those heaving bodies could be a Craig. Her heart raced.

Jay arched his back and screamed two syllables. The distance and the shrill of the fans drowned out his voice, but she felt it in the marrow of her soul. He was suffering, buried by his nightmares. She felt him say her name, so close no matter how far. She was there. She willed him to see her.

The remaining bodyguards climbed in on the opposite side of the SUV. Tony pushed Jay into the seat and climbed in after him. As she reached for the door, he jerked his head in Charlee's direction.

Were they going to leave her? Yes. She swallowed. They couldn't wait for her to reach them. Tony had clocked a gun on the roof. She was doing her job, getting Jay out of there. "I'm with you, Jay. I'm here," she whispered.

The door slammed shut, and the vehicle backed out toward the street. Her heart collided with her ribs. Caged by the crowd, she was powerless to get to him. She knew he was incapacitated by his guards, and more so by his nightmares. Would he come back for her?

Women flung themselves on the hood and against the windows, but he was safe inside. Good. That was good. His security did the right thing, her need for him be damned.

Suck it up. Jay was safe. She felt it in the slump of her shoulders and the looseness of her neck. She rolled her head back and glanced at the roof of her building. The hunkered shape was gone. Where was the sniper? Find Nathan.

The mob of fans and photographers thinned, spreading out as they chased the SUV down the street.

Heart pounding, face burning, she scrutinized the lingerers for blond hair, blue eyes, and a white button-up. Where the hell was he?

A gentle hand cupped her shoulder from behind and traveled over her collarbones to settle on her other shoulder. Oh, Nathan. She wanted to sag against him. "We need to get out of here."

As she turned to face him, an unmoving figure caught her eye on the far side of the lot. Blond hair. White button-up. The man beside him held his hand beneath the cover of his jacket, pointing the bulge at Nathan.

A shiver swept through her. She lowered her eyes to the hand on her shoulder. Pale. Manicured. Cold. Her heart stumbled and her lungs seized all the air in the sky.

A chilling whisper snaked around her neck. "We'll be out of here soon, so I can show you just how much I've missed you, beautiful girl."

Chapter Forty.

Charlee was an impulse away from stuffing Roy's cold black heart with lead. The pistol at her lower back would do a bang up job, but her revenge would have to wait until she could assure Nathan's safety.

Two years of slavery. A combined seven years of running. He stole nine of her twenty-five years. And he stole Noah. The burn to retaliate pumped as naturally through her veins as her blood.

She turned in the hook of his arm, rolling her hips forward to keep the bump of the gun concealed under the drape of her shirt, and looked up.

The baseball cap, oversized leather jacket, and jeans made him difficult to recognize. Roy Oxford did not do casual, but his countenance was its usual color of death. Icy. Bloodless. She wasn't sure he was even breathing as he stared at her. Then he opened his mouth. "How convenient that I was only a four hour flight away when your photos went viral." He tsked. "I thought better of you than to keep company with a litter of lowbred musicians. Though I'm not surprised to find the traitor, Nathan Winslow, amongst the trash."

Furious dread balled up in her throat. Traitor meant he'd connected Nathan Winslow to Matthew Linden, which also meant Nathan had little chance of surviving the next few minutes.

"Tell me, Charlee." The mouthwash on his breath was as aseptic as his expression. "Has he stuck his dick in you?"

Nathan's odds of survival dropped to zero if Roy didn't believe her. She raised her chin and held his suffocating gaze. "No. You murdered my one and only lover." Her body pulsed with the desire to watch his eyes empty of life.

One of the few dependable forces of good in her world stood a parking lot away with his cover blown and a bullet pointed at his gut. She was too far away to shoot the Craig threatening Nathan. And where there was one Craig, there would be more spread out around her, their guns trained from their hiding spots.

Though the bulk of the crowd had scattered into the street to chase Jay's SUV, some milled about as if waiting for him to return.

Two police officers lingered at the entrance of the lot, directing the streams of foot and motor traffic. They glanced at Roy and turned their backs. So much for serving and protecting.

"I am your only lover." Roy pressed his nose against her cheek and inhaled. "It's been three years and I can still smell you on the pillow next to mine. Three years, Charlee. My life is hollow without you."

She laughed and found her courage in the sharp intake of his breath. Found it and fortified it with the realization that this was the first time she faced him without shackles. The first time she could address him in any manner she wanted. "You're not my lover. I've never loved you. You're my abuser, my ball-and-chain, and you'll be hollow when I'm standing over your dead body."

He dug his fingers into her shoulder and flicked his eyes over the bystanders. Oh, he wanted to beat the shit out of her.

Weaving through the cars and people was the ever dependable Craig, Salvador. He strode toward an SUV and unlocked it. There were two other lone men prowling opposite corners of the lot with bulges under their jackets where shoulder and hip holsters would be.

Nathan was too far away to read his eyes, but the set of his shoulders and raised chin said he was ready to prove there was no worse enemy than an avenging Marine. His handgun should've been in the inside-the-pant clip holster on his hip unless the Craig had confiscated it. Maybe he didn't need it. Given his military combat training, he could disarm the gun aimed at him. She knew he was waiting for her to do something. For the right moment to take his eyes off her. What could she do?

She swallowed, her throat dry. The smallest mistake would cost him his life. And any threat to Roy's life would beckon the nearby cops.

"Mr. Winslow is just an incentive for you to leave quietly." He wrapped a hand around her throat, pinched her airflow, and dragged her to the vehicle. "If you draw attention, he's dead."

If she got in that SUV, Nathan was dead. She thrashed against him and screamed with burning lungs. Nothing came out. No sound. No air. There were a few stares in her direction, but no one moved to intervene.

He wrenched her through the vehicle's open door by her neck. She grabbed the roof, bucked against him, and tried to make a scene.

The Craigs corralled. Her fingers slipped. The agony from the vise on her throat tapered her thoughts to one. Kill him. She released the roof and reached for the gun at her back.

Tires squealed and an engine rumbled, approaching from behind. More Craigs? The cops? Brakes screeched. Roy let go of her throat and spun toward the commotion.

Oh, thank God. Gulping for oxygen, she turned just as Roy shifted back. Face-to-face, she yanked the gun from her waistband. Flicked off the safety. Lined up the sights on his chest.

Inhale.

He looked at her gun. Looked at her. Then the monster smiled.

Exhale.

Chapter Forty-One.