"I can read." He hadn't meant to snap.

"What should I tell her?"

He angled the computer away from Leslie and typed, You're asking too much.

I know.

Gee, as long as she knew.

He paced back into the living room and surveyed the remains of his life in New York. He'd had enough excitement for one lifetime just six months earlier, and no amount of therapy had helped. He needed to get out of the city, away from all the people, and recover. He needed to stay out of danger. To never play the hero again. And that's exactly what Marisa was asking—that he step into the role of hero, as if he had any idea how to protect her.

His one attempt at heroism had nearly gotten a lot of people he loved killed. Thank God the bad guy and the cop had been there to fix the mess he'd made. No way could he do that again.

No way.

Leslie touched his arm, and he ducked away.

"I can afford the plane tickets," she said. "I'll finance the whole trip."

"It's not about the money. It's about..."

After a few seconds, she asked, "Your job?"

He didn't have a job. He'd figure that out after he moved home. Until then, he could live off his savings and his father's generosity. And Rae and Brady's, probably, since they'd offered him whatever he needed. Nothing like being the charity case everybody else had to support.

Leslie tried again. "Why don't you tell me what the problem is?"

How could he tell her he was afraid? Could still feel the ropes binding him to the chair, the pain ricocheting through to his face, his head, his ribs, with every blow. The agony that had lasted for months, long after the wounds had healed. The fear that still gripped him.

"If I don't get to my sister and figure out who took the money, they'll kill me."

He turned to Leslie, who stood tall, shoulders back. "I'll go anyway, because I have no choice. I'll search for her. I guess I'll lose my house, my business. But what other choice do I have?"

Guilt trip. Nice tactic. "You haven't given me one, either."

"Marisa did that, not me." She glanced at her watch. "We're down to two minutes. Then it's tomorrow, if she even responds. Maybe she'll be gone for good. Maybe this is my only chance to find her."

He turned and stared out the back window at the small weed-infested yard. He'd had such plans for this house. For his work. For his life. Now all he wanted was to run home.

"There's a guy," Leslie said. "A good man who loves me. He wants to marry me. He's saving up for a ring, but he already proposed."

"Congratulations." His tone was flat.