Loathing having had to bring her here, he secured the locks, searched the small bathroom, and went to the window to examine the pitch-dark alley below. Escape route, if necessary. He closed the blinds, and at the same time, he closed his eyes for a minute. Get a grip, Rivers.

But damn. He was reeling.

Paige running away from him … Paige running for her life … Paige clinging to him.

Some twisted bastard was after her and Zach burned with the need to protect her in ways he hadn’t been able to before. But he couldn’t think, dammit, couldn’t find his cool head.

Because she’d kissed him. Kissed him.

She’d slipped her tongue into his mouth, had held his face in her hands and—dammit, his hands tingled at his sides. He was trying, and not very effectively, to keep from reaching out for her. He was thrumming with a raving need to take her body with his, lick every inch of her skin, spill days and weeks and years of wanting inside her.

“We’re spending the night here?”

Abruptly, he turned. “Yeah. You’re safe now.”

And there she was, gazing at him across the room with glimmering blue eyes and lips that were pink and glistening. It had been nothing, he reminded himself. The kiss. Nothing.

Paige had been euphoric to be alive, had felt a need for intimacy, and Zach had been on hand. He’d been willing, and able, and more.

She was curiously examining the room, and it was too damn bad the sparse furniture provided no such distraction for him. He could not drag his eyes away from her. Yeah, she was safe now. But not from him. Not from the past so quickly catching up with them.

She’d never looked so bedraggled—hair tousled, cheeks bright red, shirt rumpled. Just … adorable.

With some difficulty, he cleared his throat. “Cody ran the license plate. The SUV was reported stolen forty-eight hours ago.” Would that the owner had better luck finding it than Zach had his Camaro all those years ago. Damn, but these things made a man feel impotent.

He sank down on the only chair in the room, rubbed his face in his hands. “Lieutenant O’Neill wants to meet with you tomorrow. He suggests you go under hypnosis. You know something, and we need to know what that is.”

“Hypnosis?”

He dropped his hands. “O’Neill’s wife, Sue Ellen,” he explained. “She’s a master hypnotist. We don’t usually require her services, but he believes that in your case, she could be of some help.”

Paige’s fingers opened on her stomach. “Mom always refused to go that route, she said we shouldn’t trust our minds to anyone.” Her smile was sad. “But I guess I must try. To remember. Sometimes I get a thought and I push it away, my stomach hurts.”

He curled his fingers into fists over his knees, wanting to reach out to her, hold her, say—God, so many things. “I’m sorry, Paige.”

She nodded. “I’m sorry, too. And thank you for … what you did.”