“Just establishing the logic. If you were engaged, you trusted him, yes?”

“Yes, but—”

He pressed his finger to her lips. “Stop. Yes, you trusted him. Did you ask him his status? Yes or no, Dani.”

She nodded silently.

“Okay, good. Did he tell you he was negative?”

“Yes,” she said against his finger, then pulled his hand away. “But I never asked to see proof.”

“Why should you have?” he asked, exasperated. “You trusted him. You loved him enough to agree to marry him.” And for that alone, he hated the bastard. “You shouldn’t have needed proof. What’s really wrong, Dani? Because none of this makes sense. You’re too smart to blame yourself for contracting HIV.”

Her eyes narrowed again. “I’m not smart enough to have avoided contracting it to begin with.”

“That sounds like your uncle talking,” he snapped. He’d guessed, but he knew he was right when she flinched. “He said that to you, didn’t he?”

She visibly sagged. “Yeah, he did. Many, many times.”

“And we’ve already established that he is a fucking SOB.” Who I want to tear limb from limb. But he didn’t say it, because she thought he was nice. On second thought . . . “I want to kill your uncle with my bare hands. Does that make me nice?”

“It makes you protective,” she said calmly. “So, yes. Nice.”

He threw up his hands. “For God’s sake, Dani. What is really bothering you? Because so far you’re just blowing smoke up my ass.”

Anger flared in her eyes. “It’s my fault Adrian died, okay?”

Chapter Seventeen

Cincinnati, Ohio
Monday, March 18, 1:05 a.m.

Michael jerked awake, knowing instantly that something wasn’t right. He’d felt the floor move—just a small movement, but enough to wake him. This was why he’d slept next to Joshua’s bed. If someone came after his little brother in the night, he’d know.

He didn’t really expect anyone to come after Joshua. At least, he hadn’t last night when Coach had been downstairs, asleep on the sofa. He trusted the big man whose skin was covered with tattoos. But tonight there were others in the house, and Michael didn’t know them. He didn’t completely trust them.

Although he knew Coach did. So he didn’t leap from where he lay on the floor. But he did open his eyes a slit. And stiffened. A man stood in the doorway, his face and body in shadow.

It wasn’t Greg. Michael had been aware that Greg had checked on them earlier in the evening. So had Dr. Dani. He’d smelled the chocolate of her shampoo. But the man standing there was taller than Greg and a lot more muscular.

The man didn’t move for the longest time. Just stood there, looking at them.