Ava reached for the doork.n.o.b to her room, but before she was even able to grip it, the door flung open.

Brock grabbed her arms, whipped her into the room and slammed the door closed. Ava scurried away, searching for her gun. Brock was the one person she couldn't use physical force against. She had tried many times in training. Not once could she take him down.

"Looking for something?" he asked, locking the door. When his hard gaze fell on her, she nearly buckled. She remembered him so vividly, like it had been only moments before when he held her in his arms. But something about him had changed. Something was different.

She had known this moment was coming; she had planned for it. It wasn't exactly how she had imagined it . . . or planned it. And now that he was a few feet away from her, unyielding as steel, she couldn't understand why her heart was tripping and sputtering just like it had when they first met, when he first pinned her on the mat.

"You have nerve coming here after what you did," Brock said through a clenched jaw. "Why did you come?"

He took a menacing step toward her. The room was too small to escape, and Brock still had the door blocked. But she wasn't here to escape. This is what she came for. He just caught her by surprise.

Ava hurried to the opposite side of the double bed, knowing he could easily reach her with one swipe of his arm. But it was still a blockade. She didn't have many options in the small room.

Jenna had wanted her to stay in one of the larger rooms, but they were all so frilly and ornate that she felt uncomfortable. This bedroom had been plain, simple, and perfect. Not so perfect anymore.

"Brock-"

"Brock is dead," he snarled. "He's dead just like the rest of the men you betrayed!"

Ava felt the cut of those words. It was nothing that she hadn't told herself a million times since that day. But coming from Brock, a man she wasn't sure she recognized anymore, the words cut.

Had coming here been a mistake?

No, she had to make him understand. She had to try.

"I need your help," she began.

"My help?" he questioned incredulously. He stepped closer, the bed becoming a smaller barrier. "I knew you were a traitor, a murderer, but you must be crazy too!"

Ava flinched but kept her ground. "Just listen to me."

"No. You listen to me! I came here for one thing, and I'm not leaving until I get it."

"What?" Ava asked cautiously.

Brock clenched his hands into fists as a war played out across his face. He finally released his hands and stared at her. "A signed confession. I want you behind bars for the rest of your life."

It wasn't what she'd expected.

"A signed confession," she repeated. She shook her head. "I can't. Not right now. Not until-"

Brock lunged for her, ensnaring her arms and yanking her across the bed. His face was inches from hers as his grip tightened, cutting off circulation.

"You will write a confession," he ordered, his dark-brown eyes boring into hers.

"No."

Brock shook her once. His growl filled the room. "Don't push me."

His anger fueled Ava's. She wrenched from his grip and leapt back. "Don't push me," she countered.

Ava skimmed the wall, hoping to stay out of Brock's wide reach and escape through the door. She had to rethink her plan. It was obvious Brock was in no frame of mind to listen to her. All he wanted was a confession. She wouldn't be able to reason with him.

Brock watched her movements. She suspected he already knew where she was headed. He wasn't some lughead who only used his muscles for brains.

Before Ava could reach the door, he s.n.a.t.c.hed her back, tossing her onto the bed.

"You're not leaving until I have your confession."

She looked up at him as he closed in. He stared down at her. For a brief moment, his eyes roamed. Emotion flashed across his face but was quickly erased.

Ava knew that look. Was it possible? Did he still love her?

She had never thought he'd want her the first time around; would she be allowed a second chance?

No.

There was no trust left. Only anger.

But she saw enough in his expression to know she could distract him for a moment. That's all she would need.

Remy was tired. He realized it as soon as he laid his hands on Ava. Something shifted in him. He was tired of being angry. Tired of watching his back. Tired of the guilt and lies. Tired of the constant ache.

When he told Ava he wanted a signed confession, he meant it. He just wanted her behind bars, to serve her time. It'd never make up for what she had done, but it was the right thing to do. He'd never have to lay eyes on her again.

At one time, Remy had wanted to be both judge and jury, to take justice. Sometimes he still had that urge.

But the law could have her.

Just looking down at her on the bed, memories ignited. Her long, toned body curled defensively, waiting for his next move. Her sandy brown eyes studied him, searching for a signal.

It was torture being in the same room with her again. He wondered how he could still be affected by her. He was weak when it came to Ava.

Remy had to get out of there; he had to distance himself. By the glint in her eye, he knew she could read his thoughts. All it would take was for her to reach for him the way she used to, to press her body against his; he would fall all over again.

He had not antic.i.p.ated this.

Remy shook himself and stepped back. He had to talk to David . . . if the idiot was conscious.

"Where are you going?" Ava asked nervously as Remy retreated to the door, never turning his back on her.

"Don't come near the door unless you want to get shot." He stepped out of the room and swung the door closed. He pulled out his gun and shot the latch, imprisoning Ava in her room. The only way out was the window. He doubted even Ava would be able to scale three floors without gear.

But he'd watch, just in case.

Remy glanced over as David stirred awake. Mya and Jenna crowded over David, asking if he was okay, feeling his forehead for a fever, and checking his pulse. Remy rolled his eyes at their mothering. The man was only knocked unconscious; he wasn't sick. Even Greyson had gone back inside, most likely to settle any of the staff's concerns.

Waiting on the patio as the women fussed over David, Remy watched Ava's window and tried to clear his head. But he knew it'd never fully clear, not with her trapped three floors above him. Not when he still had . . .

He was the idiot.

Remy laughed dryly as he pulled her gun from his waistband. He should just go ahead and lodge a bullet into his brain. The way he was going, she'd do it before long anyway.

"Where is she?" David mumbled.

"In her room," Remy answered.

David turned, retching over the side of the patio. "G.o.d, I forgot about her knockouts."

Remy cringed. Thankfully, he'd never had firsthand experience, but he had seen others who had. It was always the same.

Mya handed David a gla.s.s of water. He took a sip, swished, and then spit it out.

"Ava said you might need something for a headache," Jenna said, holding out a pill bottle.

"Thanks," David said gruffly, taking the bottle. "I feel like road kill."

Remy kept silent and watched as David gripped his stomach, swallowing the pills.

"Did she say anything?" David demanded after a shuddered breath.

"Nothing important," Remy answered.

"Then why is she here?"

"She said she wants help, but it's just a lie."

"Help with what? Are there more people she'd like to a.s.sa.s.sinate? Are we next?"

Mya squeaked. David looked over at his wife and winced. "Sorry, honey. Why don't you and Jenna head inside? Remy and I need a few minutes."

"But-"

"Please."

Mya sighed. "Only for a few minutes; not any longer than that."

After Mya and Jenna were out of earshot, David asked, "How long was I out?"

Remy raised a brow.

David nodded. "Twenty minutes. What happened in that time? When did you get here?"

"I followed you here. I waited in Ava's room when I realized she didn't have her gun. I knew she'd come for it."

"You let her knock me out? I could've used your help."

"Can't handle a girl?"

David glared.

Remy shrugged. "You should've told me she was here."

"I thought I'd be more levelheaded than you."

"And how is your level head now?" Remy questioned.

David crossed his arms, his scowl deepening.

"You were right, in any case," Remy admitted. "I don't know what to do. I thought a signed confession would settle the matter, but she refuses. You know her training. She won't crack under pressure. Do we hand her over to the authorities?"

David shook his head and then winced at the motion. "No. She'd be locked up already if there was any evidence against her. If we don't have a confession then we're back to where we started."

"None of the information from the file has been of any use," Remy said. "The only way we're going to find evidence is through Ava. I doubt she'll help us."

"No, but she wanted help, right?" David asked, a smile growing. "Why don't we help the poor girl out?"

David was grinning in spite of his headache, but Remy felt as if a rogue wave slammed him on the rocks. Help her? After what she did?

Dammit to h.e.l.l!

He hated the thought, but David was right. If they had any chance of catching Ava, it'd be by working with her. And if her plan was anything like what she'd carried out in Iraq, he knew they'd catch her at something. At this point, they had no other choice. But that meant getting close to Ava again, and that wasn't an option. David would have to be the middleman.

"Let's go," David said, heading to the door, a slight wobble in his step. "I want to get this over with."

Remy followed until they reached the patio door. David held it open for him, waiting for him to pa.s.s through.

"Chicken," Remy stated.

David's response was to push him through.

"You're going to have to take point on this," Remy said as they walked up the stairs.

"Now who's the chicken?"

"You were right before," Remy admitted, hating the words. "You deal directly with Ava. I'll back you up on whatever you decide."

As they rounded the second flight of steps, David said, "I don't think we have to worry about that right now."

Ava's door was open, hinges busted off. She, of course, was gone.

"G.o.d dammit!" Remy cursed.