“Forget about it. I have. You asked why am I offering to help?” He shrugged. “There’s been times when I could have used a random act of kindness. I want you to have options, to not feel pressured to tell me more than you are comfortable with. However, you have to understand, if you can’t trust me with the basic truths like your name, why seeing the cop freaked you out, I, in turn, will be unable to trust you.”

She nodded slowly, still searching his face. He could see the fear and indecision in hers. A minute passed, then another. Finally, she seemed to come to some sort of decision because she squared her shoulders, her chin lifting slightly. Such bravery in spite of the fact that her body was trembling again. “My name”—her voice was clear, determined—“my real name is Sarah.” She tore her gaze away from his, exhaled, pressing a fist to her chest. Then she lifted her gaze to look him straight on once more. “Sarah Rainsford.”

Her name. She’d told him her name. He hadn’t been aware that he’d been holding his breath. “Thank you.” Her face was blotchy and her blue eyes swollen and bloodshot. Her nose was red, and yet he’d never seen anyone so beautiful. There was truth shining out from her face like a beacon of light. The walls were down. There was vulnerability, and behind that he could see inklings of hope and the tender shoots of a cautious burgeoning trust.

It started to sprinkle, a light misting rain. There was something about the smell of rain on dry concrete that felt to Mick as if God were washing away all the sins of the world, making it fresh and clean again. New beginnings. “Sarah Rainsford?” He tried her name on his tongue, and it felt right.

She nodded, her eyes welling up. “Dammit.” She swiped her eyes dry. “I never cry. Seriously. It’s just . . .” She exhaled, then smiled shakily. “It’s been four years since anyone has called me by my real name. Didn’t realize how much I missed it.”

“Suits you.” The rain had transitioned from mist to large splattering droplets.

Sarah nodded again, appeared to be bracing herself, her breath coming out jagged and slightly shallow again. “I’m . . . I’m on the run.”

“I guessed as much.” She was looking pale, as if she might keel over. Has she eaten lunch? It hadn’t crossed his mind to check when he’d barged into the kitchen and demanded that she help out at his office. Mick tipped his head toward the strip mall. “I could use a coffee and a bite to eat. How about we get out of this rain? We can continue the conversation inside.”