This was Summer Abrams’s motto. As a result, she’d scaled mountains, traversed canyons, and kayaked down rapids not meant for humans.

She’d survived it all, and more.

But standing right here in the spot where her world had once fallen apart just might kill her. At the sight of the charred building, the confusing circle of fire vehicles, firefighters and cops milling around, her breathing quickened. Number one warning sign of a pending panic attack. She couldn’t control it, being here brought her back.

She could only imagine how her mother must have felt standing in this very spot. Once upon a time, Camille and Tim Abrams had been everything to each other, sharing an all-inclusive love that had begun when they’d been still in school. Their bond hadn’t required a child, but Summer had come along anyway, when Camille had been only eighteen. She and Tim had accepted their fate, arranged a quickie marriage on a beach in Mexico, and for the next sixteen years, life had been bliss for them, pure bliss.

Until the first warehouse fire.

Summer knew her mother still missed her father, so much so that she’d never really invested herself emotionally again. There’d been men, but nothing deep, nothing emotional, a phenomenon that included the relationship she had with her own daughter.

Summer knew she couldn’t have prevented what had happened that long ago day, no one could have, but she still felt responsible. If only she and Joe had gone inside the warehouse sooner, if they’d only smelled the smoke earlier, if only…

So many if onlys.

Her chest tightened with anxiety. Second warning sign. She breathed through it because she would absolutely not have a panic attack now. She hadn’t had one in years. Of course she hadn’t come back to this very spot either, but she could do this.

To prove it, she smiled with remarkable calm at the firefighter approaching her. He was covered in a fine layer of dust so that she couldn’t tell if his hair was blond or gray, but oddly enough his face was perfectly clean. He wore black-rimmed glasses that magnified his light blue eyes and friendly smile. She let go of the lucky crystal in her pocket and held out her hand. “I’m Summer Abrams, the daughter of one of the owners of this property.”

“Kenny Simmons, fire marshal, from the Metro Arson Strike Team.” He pushed up his glasses. “I’m sorry for the loss.”

“It’s a total goner then?”

“Most likely. We’ll know in a little bit.”

Her stomach sank to join her heart at her toes. She felt sick for her mother and her aunt. Unable to tear her gaze from where the roof had collapsed, she kept seeing the original warehouse as it had stood twelve years before. Hearing her own screams, inhaling the smoke—