Unable to stand not knowing where she was, Chris raised her head. Tears of joy almost sprang as her eyes recognized the area. She sat straight up. The apartment Levi and William lived in was to her left. The vehicle was still moving quite fast, cars all around.

She leapt off the side of the pickup anyway. Breaking her fall by rolling on the sidewalk, her head bumped into a streetlight pole.

"Whoa! Didn't see tha' coming!" said a youthful female voice.

Chris opened her eyes and stared into baby blue eyes. The girl around fourteen started giggling. Gathering her senses, Chris tucked her armed hand underneath her splayed body.

"Oh, come on! I already saw tha' thing your tryna hide."

Chris scrambled to her feet and ran her fingers through her hair and tucking the weapon away under her shirt. She paused to study the girl, she looked awfully familiar. "Do I know you?"

The girl threw her head back and laughed heartily. "I'm Sally!" she said chirpily. "I had no idea you were capable of carrying a gun!" She leaned her arm on the pole. "So did the handsome waiter guy ask you out?"

Instantly, Chris remembered her. She was the girl wiggling her eyebrows as she had been talking with Levi in the fast food restaurant when she'd run an errand for Madam Greenwood. What was she doing here? Seeing her like this? Irritation built up in her chest at the smug look on the girl's face.

"First, I meet your guy breaking and entering. Now, I find you looking like a zombie apocalypse victim holding a gun!"

Her chest tightened. She had the audacity! A zombie apocalypse victim? Why, the brat . . .

There it was, across the street. Oswald Plumbers. They'd caught up with her! How?

There was no time to figure that out. She jogged into the entrance of the apartment gate. Overwhelmed, the only thing she could think to do was making it to the third floor—if she had luck, maybe William could help her somehow. A short cut on the elevator was cancelled by the fact all the elevators were busy. The heavy footsteps behind her, the stairs called her name. She felt sick. Why was the place so empty? Where were crowds of people when you needed them? She swallowed the lump in her throat as the third floor was reached.

She knocked nervously at the door. The few moments felt like years. The distant footsteps were getting nearer. A man with a thick red beard and tank top answered the door, surprise etched all over his face. "Can I help you?"

Chris pushed past him, tucking the weapon in her back pocket.

What was this? The living room, everything was different! Frantic, she entered the bedrooms. Different. Everything was different! Even the scent of the place! But she knew without a doubt she was in the right apartment. Panic was soon followed by the feeling of desertion.

She turned and saw Red Beard behind her. She couldn't blame him for thinking she was a loon. "Lady, you've got to leave—now." She saw the defense in his eyes. He was just protecting his property.

"Yes, sir."

There she stood alone, outside, in the well-lighted hallway. What now? Apart from here, there was nowhere else she knew to go for temporary safety. Chris quieted her steps as she ascended once more, hearing the voice a floor away.

"Why are we going after her, anyway?"

"Well, because it was obvious she was snoopin' about in stuff she had no business in."

"But she ran away. She's gone!"

"No, she went with somethin'—I know i'." His voice held a deep darkness.

Cold sweat beaded on her back. She wasn't going to risk getting interrogated—or tortured.

There was a young man with dark hair waiting at the top of the stairs, arms crossed across his chest. Her heart leapt, panic—then it vanished. There was something about his blank expression and demeanor. He reached out to her with his tanned arm. She had no idea why she took it—or even approached him for that matter.

He led her on in front of him, holding her upper arm, into an open door of an apartment. She stopped at the doorway. What was this? Was she walking into a doom of a different kind? What if he had evil intentions behind helping her? His deep brown eyes gave nothing away.

His arm closed around her waist, lifting her off the ground effortlessly. Panic bubbled in her chest. The door closed with a click as she kicked his shin. He let her go a few feet away.

But she wasn't done. She went straight for the door—and he blocked the way. She swung her fist to hit his face. He caught it effortlessly and forcibly brought it down giving Chris the drive for a crane kick to his head. He released her wrist and ducked her leg in liquid motion.

Something clanked to the floor of the living room. Both dove for the firearm, Chris' body over the man's toned back. Her hand closed around the handle and her finger ready to pull the trigger, his hand around the barrel. Him turning over, the gun went off, shattering the television screen. Hitting the floor hard, the breath was knocked out of her.

He was persistent. He was going to get the weapon out of her hand. But so was she. She wasn't going to give it to him. She sprang back up to her feet, pressing the barrel against his chest.

The guy cocked his head back, his dark eyes strangely void of emotion as he planted his hands on his narrow hips.

Frustration at his smugness made her pull the hammer back. He looked so sure she wouldn't really pull the trigger. But would she really? Her heart thumped in her chest, a drum beat full of dread. No, she wouldn't pull the trigger on him that way. There was no way she'd be able to live with herself if she did—he hadn't hurt her—yet. Maybe she'd just bruise him up on the shoulder or something. Then what was holding her back?

His eyes didn't give anything away, his face dead of emotion. She pressed the barrel harder against his sternum as his hand reached out for her unarmed shoulder. He didn't pause.

A sharp prick led the sudden dizziness. The weapon slipped out of her grasp, weakness overcoming her. Maybe she should have . . .

"I'm on your side," said the smooth, deep voice without inflection. It was the last thing she heard.

.....................................................

Levi kept his eyes on the man who paced back forth before him. His head was throbbing from where he got knocked, but that didn't mean he needed to show weakness.

Looking into the eyes of the young man, Bart was reminded of a hunting trip from several years back. He had him tied him up on a chair in the surveillance room after going after him and knocking him out. Why he'd not raised the alarm on the man, he didn't know. For even as he was obviously subdued, like a wild beast, he was fully alert to every movement he made.

Now Bart felt trapped. If he was a felon, it was his job to enforce the law. But Bart had been around those types of people to be able to tell the man before him wasn't one. It was something in the eyes. No, he would let him go. Richard would no doubt object. But who said he had to find out? Honestly, the things that had been going on ever since he came back, didn't settle with him. But being who he was, it was none of his business. His business was to guard the place.

And by letting this young man go, he wasn't going against that. The only thing was, "Who are you?"

Levi tilted his head back, shrugging indifferently, his hands tied behind his back, "Joey. Joey Grey."

"How did you get in and what were you doing down where I found you?"

Levi grinned at the Scot. He was trying to play suspicious—but Levi knew he was curious. Well, he wasn't at liberty to disclose that—even with an ally. "I got in through one of the ways in. And who said I was doing anything?"

He heaved a sigh and ran his fingers through his graying hair. "Well," he said with decision, "I hope I won't regret lettin' you go."

Walking of that estate couldn't have felt more amazing. He'd gotten caught in the moment of warped thinking. Something more than fate must have been on his side. As he rounded the corner to the two trees where his bike still stood, he remembered Hopper—Chris. He wondered how she was—almost worried how she was. But somehow those feelings disturbed him. Did that mean she meant to him as much as his mom, Chris Rodriguez had—and Fiona?

Fiona.

The memory of her was a phantom rising from the dead. He thought he was over that! But maybe it was a warning, given to him by his subconscious. If there was one thing he'd learned from his relationship with that—fluke of a woman, loving someone left you open for the slaughter. He tasted bile in his mouth at the memory of her kisses. Right before he'd been deployed, she'd said she loved him. What did he get on his return? She came to visit him at his worst moment to say it was all fading emotion and she'd fallen for someone else.

But Chris Hopper wouldn't do that. Would she? No, she couldn't. She didn't feel anything for him anyway. The engine rumbling under him, he accelerated his speed at the thought of what he'd done. Why had he let emotion take over and allow himself to embrace her that way? She'd been affected by it—he'd felt it when she leaned in. Thankfully she had more sense in her than he had. There was no way he'd ever allow her to have such an effect on him. She was just a friend—and it had to stay that way.

..................................................

Chris glared up at the reflection of the dark haired and eyed woman who ran a comb through her tangled hair.

Troy. Lisa Troy.

Chris had woken up a couple of hours later to find two heads floating above her. Expressionless and Troy. She'd thought they were a couple—until she recognized Lisa. Why in the world was she treating her like an old friend?

"Listen here, Kristal. The worse your attitude is, the more it will hurt to comb your hair!"

Chris fingered the lace on the dress she had changed into, unwilling to retort anything. By the time Lisa worked on getting make-up on her face, Chris was near the snapping point. She shot out of her chair in front of the vanity table in one of the rooms, knocking the crimson red lipstick out of Lisa's hand. "Hey!" She gave her a dirty look.

"What are you doing?" Chris asked, brushing down the skirt of the grass-green dress that reached decently above her knees. But she couldn't deny the dress was gorgeous, the green bodice, covered in black lace and the skirt a shimmering silk. She shot a cold glare at Lisa anyway.

Lisa planted her hands on her hips and cocked her head to the side, a pretty, smug smile on her face. "Well, all day, you've been having a blast with your bestie. And she decided on dolling you up! Brilliant, ha?"

Chris completely forgot. Her head whipped to check the time on the alarm clock. Suppertime was on at the estate by now! She had to be back before nine o'clock. "Man, I gotta go!"

Before making it to the door, Lisa put her hand on her shoulder. "I'm not done on your face!" she giggled.

Sitting once more in front of the mirror, Chris realized this woman wasn't her enemy—not even her rival. Lisa chatted on about different subjects, things Chris could also relate to. What had she been feeling about this woman before? There was absolutely nothing wrong with her. And on top of that, she'd done a wonderful job on her face—somehow maintaining her natural look. She told her, "I couldn't have even looked this good for prom even if I'd gone!"

Lisa narrowed her eyes, even though her dark eyes smiled. "Why? Were you dumped a day before?"

To her own surprise, she didn't take offence. "There was no one to dump me—I was just sick with a running nose."

Lisa's face contorted. "Gross!"

A compatible silence ensued. Then Lisa randomly asked, "So what's up with Stevens?"

Chris felt her heart quicken with the mention of his name. "Ah . . ." Really, how was he? Was he okay? Wait. Why was she asking? She tried reading expression. Her sudden unreadable expressions made her panic. What if she was his . . . "Why'd you ask?"

She shrugged. "You two work together, dah."

"He's okay, I guess." Seriously? That was all she could say? "He can be difficult." Lisa's hand stilled. "But he's okay."

Lisa snorted. "Well, I met him once and I'm impressed that you can stand that devil."

Chris demeanor turned for the worst. "Don't call him that," she snapped, green eyes steeling. How could she call him that? Levi was rough around the edges—but he was nothing close to a devil. It felt as though this woman called her that!

Lisa raised a skeptical brow. "Really? Even Michael had something to say about him. Has he taken such a shine to you that he's stopped cussing like a sailor and is treating you like a human?"

Chris knew a bit more about his dark shades—but also a precious few of his brighter which shined over his dark. After all that happened today, she was sure she more than just liked him. She felt a burden for him. And other things she doubted were in her favor. How did he feel? Probably nothing.

After Hopper's long silence, Lisa couldn't help but worry that she'd upset her badly. Maybe Stevens was more civil with her than most. By the way she'd defended him, she'd said a lot. "I'm sorry."

Chris blinked, seeming not to understand. "Ha?"

She hadn't been listening.

...................................................

Chris tried opening the back door of the mansion as gently as possible. Hopefully Madam Greenwood would forgive her tardiness. Halfway through the kitchen, she froze. Her heart dropped to her feet. Her breath restricted as the two brothers simultaneously turned to face her.

Being a gentleman, Richard rose from the stool at the counter, his dashing smile just for her. "Ah! There she is!"

Thomas looked dumbfounded for some reason. "You look—different," were his string of words.

Richard playfully kicked his brother's leg. "No, she looks gorgeous!"

Chris felt her face burning—mostly from stress. Foreboding swelled in her chest. She hardly noticed when Richard stood in front of her—and placed his hand on her bare arm. She stared listlessly into his mesmerizing blue eyes. Her heart beat crazily in her chest, yet her body chilled.

Sympathy flashed across his features. "Don't worry. You wouldn't get in trouble for being late. Here, sit." He motioned her to take the stool he formerly occupied.

Chris nodded and smiled as he shared something with her that her mind wasn't grasping whatsoever. Panic swelled in her chest when he waited for her answer. What had he asked? "I'm sorry, I wasn't listening."

He chuckled. "Okay, I'll ask again. Will you attend the classical music exhibition with me at the end of this month?"

"I guess. I mean, there's nothing I've got planned."

He clapped his hands in finality. "Good!" He turned to Thomas the Silent, "I'll walk her to her room. It seemed her appearance closed our discussion!"

Her bed covers up to her neck, the lights off as she lay alone in her bed. She scolded herself. What had she agreed to? The way he'd placed his hand at the small of her back as he walked her in the night was more disturbing than the darkness. As she stared at the ceiling, worry eating at her, she came to her Heavenly Father in prayer. God, I don't know what I've done! Oh, please help me out!

u^Ub