"I thought you said you were engaged?"

"We were."

"But you can't tell me where he lived?"

Officer Gregory Boyd was on my last nerve. And since so many of them were already on fire from various bruises and abrasions, sacrificing my last one to his increasingly condescending questions was irritating the hell out of me.

"No, Greg, I cannot."

"I've asked you repeatedly to call me Officer Boyd." He sighed and scraped a hand over his closely shorn dark hair, some of his frustration leaving on the long exhalation. He looked down at me with a little more sympathy. "You're not giving me too much to work with here, Regan."

"Sorry, Greg, old habits die hard."

We had been in school together our entire lives – like literally. We were in diapers together in daycare and graduated high school together. The Boyds were our closest neighbor out here on the edge of town. And while Greg hadn't been part of our close-knit group – he had run with the Football or Die crowd – he and I had always been friendly with each other.

I was glad he had been the one to respond to Beth's call. Trying to explain some of this to a stranger would have gone a lot worse and it's not like this was going well. But with Greg's easygoing demeanor and big teddy bear-type presence, despite his growing frustration with me, this was the best I could have asked for.

Greg had also been the one to show up at my door a little over two weeks ago and let me know Riley was dead. I knew part of his struggle now was because he didn't want to come off like too much of a hardass since I had just lost my brother.

I appreciated the effort.

"I'm not trying to be difficult," I pretty much whined at him. I wanted to be helpful, wanted to give the police anything and everything they would need to find Stephen and taser him to death. Taser him for each and every one of the scrapes and bruises he had inflicted on me. Then a kick to the balls for each time the paramedic had winced as he tended to them all.

"Explain how you could be engaged to someone – plan on marrying him – and not know where he lived?" He flipped his notebook shut, done trying to take notes on absolutely nothing.

Shifting, I winced as my shoulders protested the small movement. Should I have realized that Stephen not wanting me to see his place was a red flag? Yeah. But he said he had some seriously shitty roommates and I believed him. He had been so embarrassed whenever I asked to see his place and seemed mortified that his living situation was so bad he couldn't bring his girlfriend home. I felt so bad for him, that I just stopped asking.

"You were together for two years."

"Yes. And I lived alone so we always ended up at my place."

Greg moved on to ask me about his friends, family, and anyone who could give them more information. There wasn't anyone I could point him towards. When we met, he said he was new to the city, hadn't really made any friends yet and most of his close friends were back home. I couldn't tell them where back home was. Stephen had never said, mentioning he moved around a lot when he was kid, his dad had been in the military. No mention of any other family.

So stupid, Regan. Really great.

I had never felt so idiotic in my entire life. How could I have dated someone for two years and have absolutely no information about him? It was beginning to sink in how much of a con artist Stephen was. He seemed to know everything about me and offered no information in return without me even noticing. Which was perfect for stalking and hunting me down to do God knows what to me.

The only piece of helpful information I was able to give was his description and the name of the high school in Houston where he taught geometry. Hopefully, the school could clue us all in to his address. Boyd seemed somewhat appeased with that and sighed again, giving me a slightly less irritated look.

"Okay, Regan, that's it for now. I'll see what I can come up with to track this asshole down."

Beth sauntered into the room with a fresh cup of coffee for me and gave Greg one of her sweetest smiles. "Thanks, Officer Boyd. I think she should rest now."

He obviously loved that Beth addressed him with the proper title. His barrel chest puffed up a little and a blush crept over his cheeks. "No problem, Beth. I'm sure she'll be in good hands with you."

As I freed one of my hands from the comforter I was cocooned within, Beth barely gave me a glance as she winked at Greg. "My hands are very good."

The front door slammed open, startling all of us.

"Reggie!" Noah shouted, racing down the hallway. "Reggie!"

"Here," Beth called back, poking her head out into the hall so he could see her. "She's in here."

Noah skidded to a stop when he turned the corner, seeing me wrapped E.T. style in a comforter and shaking on the couch freezing, dirty, and wet. Definitely not a Best in Show moment for me. No one said anything in the seconds he took in my appearance from head to toe, frowning extra hard when he saw one of my feet was bare and the other encased in a dingy, no longer pink and fuzzy, sopping wet slipper.

I burst into tears at the sight of him. No one knew what to do.

Noah took a hesitant step into the room. "Reggie?"

Like a crying child desperate to get into the arms of her protector, I fought to get my other hand free of the comforter and Beth jumped forward to grab the coffee from me before it ended up on the floor. "Noah," I gasped, a shaking hand stretching out for him.

He was on his knees in front of me in an instant, taking my hands in one of his own, careful not to disrupt the bandages on my palms. "I'm here, beautiful. Right here."

His hand was shaking almost as badly as mine when he brushed the comforter off my head and over my shoulders. More bandages and bruises were exposed, causing a low curse to escape from him. He ever so gently brushed his fingers over the dark goose egg forming near my right temple, then traced them down my cheek to my throat, outlining another bandage peeking out from beneath the collar of my sweatshirt.

Joshua came thundering into the room next and stopped short when he saw all the exposed bandages. Without taking his eyes off me, he addressed the others in the room. "Someone needs to tell me what the fuck happened to her."

Officer Boyd cleared his throat. His discomfort was obvious. Even though I wasn't able to provide him with much information about Stephen, when he had been asking me questions about the attack, he had been visibly bothered by the details. And as he recounted everything that I had described to him, his voice wavered with emotion. Anger or sympathy or both, I couldn't really tell.

My focus was on Noah, his face blurred by my stream of tears yet I could see enough to know he was getting very angry. Each time Greg described an abusive reaction from Stephen, he simultaneously moved closer to me and grew more still. By the end of the recount, he was wedged firmly between my knees and had me clasped so tightly to his chest, that my injuries had started protesting the firmness of his hug. And although it hurt, I didn't want him to let go of me. I turned my face into the crook of his neck and my arms wrapped around him just as tightly as his around me.

Safe. I was so safe with him.

Despite the lingering pain, I relaxed in his embrace, the familiar scent and feel of him lulling me into a state of cozy, warm half-consciousness. Words were being spoken, people moving and shifting around us, a door opened and closed and through it all, I kept myself pressed into Noah. When his arms began readjusting his hold, mine tightened, hands threading into his hair, afraid to lose the closeness with him.

He murmured into my ear, "It's okay. Joshua is going to take you upstairs. I need to talk to Greg."

I allowed Joshua to scoop me up, comforter included but didn't let go of my desperate grip on Noah.

"It's okay, baby girl. I've got you. He'll come upstairs soon."

Noah nodded and pried my hand from him, immediately turning to Greg and Beth.

Joshua rushed us away, continuing to whisper reassurances to me the entire way up the steps and my tears began to ebb. My eyes were shut so tightly with my face pressed into his neck that I had no idea where exactly he was taking me until my feet were slowly being lowered to the floor and I felt the soft microfiber strands of the bath mat under my one bare foot.

He must have felt me tense because he immediately reached behind his head to gently clasp my hands and unwind them. "We need to get you cleaned up, baby. And warm."

Joshua had brought me into my bathroom, the Jack and Jill one that Riley and I had shared growing up. There wasn't a bathtub in the decently sized room but the shower was large and had a bench where I could sit down if needed. Hot water and soap sounded amazing right that instant and my body agreed, shuddering through another bought of shivers as soon as he peeled the comforter from around me.

I stayed silent as he turned me toward the vanity and placed himself directly behind me, my back pressed firmly against his front. I leaned forward, supporting myself with hands braced on the counter, head down while I waited for a small bought of dizziness to pass.

"Greg said you hit your head pretty hard. Chance of a concussion?"

I gave a barely discernible shake of my head. "Paramedics said no concussion."

"Good," he mumbled, not sounding happy at all. "What do you want to do first? Just tell me and I'll help you."

Swallowing and still tasting some blood, I looked toward one of the drawers. "Teeth. Toothbrush."

Within seconds, he held my toothbrush and was searching for the toothpaste. I watched him in the mirror, his brows drawn as he dug around in the drawer next to us. I was too preoccupied watching him to speak up and tell him it was in the drawer on our other side. He figured it out soon enough. After he applied some toothpaste to the bristles and turned the sink on, he looked up, our eyes meeting in the reflection. He handed me the toothbrush and placed a steadying hand on my shoulder.

"If I step away, will you be good?"

I wanted to roll my eyes at him or snap back with a smart-ass remark because that would make this whole thing more normal, but it wasn't. Not at all. Joshua looked so concerned for me that I just nodded at him, accepting the toothbrush.

Slowly and carefully, he withdrew, his hand staying on my lower back until he couldn't reach me anymore, and then waited to make sure I wasn't going to fall. When he was satisfied that I'd stay upright, he pivoted and turned on the shower.

Taking a deep breath, I forced my eyes away from him and concentrated on brushing my teeth. I had to admit, the minty flavor of the toothpaste was refreshing, and it felt great to scrub away the flavors of blood and fear. When I raised my head after spitting in the sink, I finally focused on my own reflection.

For some reason, my eyes could only focus on how messy my hair was. It was like the cuts and bruises on my face didn't even exist at that moment. Just the awful knot of auburn hair on top of my head. The knot that Stephen had tangled his fingers into and used to drag me like a sack of potatoes across my driveway. My scalp tingled as if it was remembering the pull of his grip, the strands of hair that had been ripped free from their roots while I fought for my life.

Right then, nothing mattered as much as getting that mess untangled and washing out the dirt, blood, and feel of Stephen's fingers twined through it on his mission to end me.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Repeat, maybe.

Gag? Yes.

I just made it to the toilet in order to expel all of my breakfast on two harsh and painful ejections.

Joshua was behind me, crouching close except not crowding, placing a hand on my back to softly rub between my shoulders.

"I don't know what's wrong with me," I whispered, hating how confusing my emotions were. Angry, scared, sick, anxious, and a hundred others all mushed together.

"You're crashing from the adrenaline rush. And your body needs time to recover." He began to help me stand as I reached to flush the toilet. "Let's get you into bed."

I jerked from his grip, trying to hide a wince. "No."

He was surprised at my vehement refusal.

"I need to take a shower, to wash – this." My voice cracked on the last word as I motioned toward my hair. "His hands were in it."

As if that made all the sense in the world, Joshua just nodded and stepped aside to let me wander back toward the sink. Grabbing my dropped toothbrush, I brushed my teeth for a second time, then turned to the shower. The second I tried to pull my sweatshirt over my head, I knew there was no way I could undress myself. Throwing up in front of him hadn't been bad enough? Now he was going to have to undress me.

So not the way I thought he'd be getting me naked again. 

My cheeks heated when Joshua met my eyes in the mirror. "I need your help."

"Let's take care of this first."

Stepping up behind me, he lightly took ahold of my disheveled bun and began the long task of disentangling the hair tie. He was surprisingly gentle while he fought with the mess. In my haste to remove all evidence of the attack, I probably would have ripped the damn thing out. Joshua seemed to be trying to spare every single strand of hair. After a few more minutes of struggling, he swore under his breath and dropped his hands. When I raised mine to take over, he pushed them away and pulled open the drawer again. He smiled in triumph when he held up a pair of scissors.

My eyes went wide. "Um, I can get it out, we don't need those."

"Don't move."

The snip of the scissors came before I could pull away.