Then she pulled out her phone and started making a list of all her father’s friends she could remember. Old work friends, golf buddies, neighbors.

“So, do you want to watch a movie?” Easton asked.

“No,” she said. “I want to try one of these games you mentioned.”

His dark brows lifted. “Do you game?”

“No, but I’m up for anything.” She kicked her shoes off and leaned back.

He eyed her legs. “All right. What game?” He grabbed a controller and the screen lit up.

She studied the options. “How about Call of Duty?”

“You want to shoot people?”

“Sure, as long as they aren’t real people. Is that okay? It doesn’t bring back old memories—?”

“It’s fine.”

“Okay.” She took another controller. “Prepare to have your butt kicked, Norcross.”

* * *

“Yes, yes, I’m going to make it!”

Easton glanced at Harlow, enjoying her cries as her fingers stabbed at the Xbox controller.

She was perched on the edge of her chair, no shoes, her skirt hiked up, and totally absorbed in the game.

“Hey, come back here, you coward!” she yelled at the screen.

She bit her tongue, chasing a bad guy on the screen.

Easton was looking at her cute red toenails. He smiled. They’d been playing for almost two hours.

A cut scene hit, and showed a man tied to a chair. Several soldiers moved around him, and an interrogation began.

Easton tensed. He heard the faint rat-a-tat-tat of gunfire. He smelled dust, sweat, and fear.

“Hey.” Harlow slid into his lap. She cupped his face, her brow creased.

He blinked and saw that the game was paused, but when he looked back, all he saw was Harlow.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“Yeah, sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry about. We can play something else.”

“No, I’m okay. I’ve been fine the last two hours.”

“Two hours?” She looked vaguely horrified. “We only started, like, ten minutes ago.”

He smiled. “The downside of gaming.”

“No kidding.” She stroked his cheek. “The interrogation scene? It brought back bad memories?”

He blew out a breath.

As he remained silent, she eyed him. “You don’t have to be super-Easton to me all the time. Hell, you’ve seen me at my very worst.”

He sucked in a breath. “Yes, that scene cut a little too close.” He grabbed her hand. “I don’t suffer from PTSD, but sometimes I have some bad memories, the odd nightmare. But I believed in the work I did, and I don’t regret it. Interrogation was my specialty, what I was good at. But in the middle of a battle, it requires that you forget that your enemies are human. You put that aside, and it’s only later, you remember they’re people. Someone’s son, daughter, brother, cousin, father.”

“Thank you.” She kissed him.

“For what?”