The interior of the vehicle smelled like cherry tobacco, and the scent brought back bittersweet memories. His grandparents had been married for fifty-three years. In that time, they’d buried their only child and raised Brody. Despite their grief and the added pressure of unexpectedly being saddled with a young child, he’d never seen anything but love between them. Sure, they argued, but always with respect. They’d handled life’s traumas and dramas by supporting each other. In their eighties, they’d still held hands. Though Brody’s marriage hadn’t withstood the test, he knew what was possible. If he ever did it again, he wouldn’t settle for less.

Looking up, he stared at a Dunkin’ Donuts three doors down. Hannah Barrett and her supposed weakness popped into his head. She’d be alone today. After the incident in Vegas and that distressing e-mail, he should stop in and check on her. His desire to see her had nothing to do with the hollow space the Jane Doe case had left in his gut or the fact that he was suddenly, inexplicably thinking about his grandparents, his ex-wife, and the fact that he had no one on this earth to call family. But he knew instinctively that seeing Hannah would clear his mind of the violent reruns. So, what did that mean? Brody had spent most of the last eight years alone, but this was the first time he’d felt lonely.

Barking startled Hannah. She jerked to a sitting position. The remote hit the hardwood, and two AA batteries popped out and rolled under the sofa. AnnaBelle raced into the room, thrust her nose in Hannah’s face, and returned to the door. On the turn, her paws sent a throw rug sliding into the wall.

“What now?” Hannah blinked. The morning sun poured through the windows, nuclear-bright. “A squirrel on the porch?”

The ringing of the doorbell was punctuated by the dog going bonkers again.

This was domestic bliss? But even with the craziness, the thought of an impersonal room in a five-star London hotel, complete with a feather bed, blackout shades, and room service, held no appeal.

Hannah stood and stretched, her back aching. She must have dozed off after the deer incident. She went to the door and peered through the peephole. Brody stood on the porch. As if he knew she was looking, he raised a white box in his hands. Hannah’s gaze darted from the pink-and-orange logo to his face. Lean and weathered, he wasn’t classically handsome or polished like Royce, but if she was keeping score, Brody took all of the points for masculinity. Royce used far too many personal grooming products to be a manly man. But then, she’d been raised with military men. Bug-out packs had room for spare ammunition and MREs, not wrinkle cream or hair gel.