She giggled accordingly. I turned off her light and shut the door without any protest, so I called it a win.

With Fin tucked in, my mind took off racing as I walked downstairs, giving me every reason not to do this—telling me over and over not to violate Morgan’s privacy, reminding me that she hadn’t given me details for a reason.

I grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge.

Now, if only it had bubbles. And alcohol. And was beer. But I was on call, so water it was.

The weather had turned, which meant there was a good chance I’d get called in anyway. Hopefully, Morgan had made it to wherever she was staying, but it wasn’t like I could text her or anything. That would have required having her phone number.

Having her phone number made it something more than neighborly concern, not that I wouldn’t have given her mine if she hadn’t shut the door and raced away.

I snagged my iPad on the way to the couch, barely glancing at the sheets of rain pounding my deck, and already had the browser open before my conscience could get the best of me.

I had to know.

The second the sun had flashed on the silver wings pinned to the truck’s visor, I’d gotten a sick feeling in my stomach.

Basically, I’d been nauseated for the last five hours.

I tapped on the browser, and my keyboard appeared on the screen. Don’t do it.

I should have waited for her to tell me. Should have been that patient, good guy she thought I was, capable of sitting quietly while she healed enough to tell me what happened to her—to him.

But I’d already warned her that I was a selfish, careless asshole…and the asshole in me wanted to know. I wasn’t willing to wait.

Carter, William D. U.S. Army.

I typed the name I’d read on both the registration and the dog tags that hung from the rearview mirror and cursed as the results populated.

A guy in his midtwenties with wavy brown hair and brown eyes appeared on my screen in a series of pictures above a list of links. I bypassed the picture of him in uniform and clicked on the one where he smiled. It took me to a social media profile.

The cover photo stopped me in my tracks. It was a group photo taken at a military formal, with four lieutenants in dress blues and their dates. Instead of one of those posed, formal pictures, it was a candid, everyone laughing, smiling—or in the blond couple’s case, kissing. I immediately recognized Sam, the girl who’d helped Morgan move in, standing near the center with one of the lieutenants.

Next to her stood the guy whose name tag read “Carter.”

And there was Morgan.