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He didn’t say that he was so desperate to hide the truth from Bailey—and the people who decided whether he got to keep his son—that he’d then sought the only sure payoff he knew: doing a job for Payne Kincaid.
 

He didn’t say that when it had come time to meet with Kincaid’s client, he’d balked at falling back into the downward spiral that had landed him, however indirectly, in minimum security to begin with.
 

Kincaid broke the tense silence. “Do you have any idea how much it would anger Bailey if she were to find out you’ve been doing business with loan sharks?”

James straightened his shoulders. “Probably not as much as it would piss her off to know what you do for a living.”

A muscle in Kincaid’s jaw flexed. “Who do you think she’d be more likely to believe? You or me?”

The man had a point. In Bailey’s eyes, James had very little credibility, and perhaps never would again.
 

“So,” Kincaid said, “let’s think about what we’re going to do next.”

James didn’t know what to do next, but he did know that he planned to protect Bailey no matter what. She knew nothing about Payne Kincaid’s line of work. She thought Kincaid was the man she’d always known as “Uncle Payne,” not just because he was her father’s brother, but because he was such a close family friend that he might as well have been a blood relation. She thought Kincaid was the man who’d given James a job more than five years ago, when James had been beaten down by life and feeling hopeless. She thought he was the man who’d been there for her, first when their mother had died, and then again when their father had been killed in a car accident, sending her brother to prison for involuntary manslaughter.
 

And, sure, Payne Kincaid was all of those things. But he was also a businessman in charge of a very large, very successful smuggling operation. He was like a crooked corporate CEO who by day screwed over employees, retirees and taxpayers without a trace of remorse but by night was a kind, caring man who looked out for his family the best way he knew how.
 

“I’m open to ideas,” Kincaid said, cocking his head as he studied James.

How about taking a flying leap off a tall bridge?
“Look, I’m trying to do better.”

“And your way of doing better is borrowing money from a loan shark and standing up my clients.”
 

“I didn’t plan it that way.”

“I don’t imagine you did.”

“Just tell me how I can fix it.”

“You have one option,” Kincaid said, sitting forward to brace his elbows on the desk. “Return the fifteen thousand dollars or I’ll make life very unpleasant for you.”

James felt the bottom of his stomach drop out. “A few days ago, you were willing to give me the money for nothing, so I could get back on my feet.”

“And you refused because you said you didn’t want to owe anyone anything. You wanted to get back on your feet on your own. How a loan shark could help with that, I’m not sure.” Kincaid paused, as though taking a moment to fortify his control. “I was willing to help you before, James. Because there was a time when you were important to me. Like a son. But the tide has turned. We made a deal. I paid you for your services upfront because I trusted you. But you let me down. And you know what happens to employees who let me down, don’t you?”

James gripped the arms of the chair. He knew of a few whose bodies had become shark food off the Gulf Coast and still others whose betrayals had cost them what they considered most precious.
 

Kincaid’s smile turned grim as he stood and began buttoning his suit jacket. “I believe that’s all I have to say to you, James. Have a good day.”

Chapter 4

Bailey opened her eyes and knew she wasn’t in her own bed. Otherwise, the white ceiling overhead would have been a cheery blue scattered with fluffy clouds, and the candle beside her bed would be giving off its rain-fresh scent.

Instead, the ceiling was institutional white and the air smelled of bleach and something sweet that she couldn’t identify. Applesauce? Butterscotch?
 

“Hey.”

She rolled her head to the side. Cole Goodman sat in a chair beside the bed, wearing a pale green scrubs shirt and lines in his forehead that she had never noticed before. The way his body seemed settled into the chair suggested he’d occupied it for a while.
 

“Where’s your shirt?” she asked, surprised at how hoarse she sounded. Her head felt floaty and disconnected. At least there was no pain.

His lips curved slightly as he sat forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. “You bled on it.”

She started to sit up then noticed that her shirt had been replaced by a white hospital-issue gown. More startling was the needle in the back of her hand.
 

Rising, Cole laid a hand over hers. “Relax. You’re getting some fluids. They decided you were dehydrated.”

She focused on the concern in his eyes, intrigued by his gentle tone. Then, pushing hair out of her face, she finished sitting up, refusing to give in to the dizziness.
 

“You got twelve stitches,” he said. “But the doctor said you were lucky. The blade glanced off a rib, so the wound isn’t that deep. No muscle damage.”

She had a vague recollection of a doctor with prematurely gray hair and a soothing voice telling her something similar. The last thing she remembered, the doctor had been preparing to inject her with something to numb the area around the injury. Her hand went to that spot automatically, and she registered that her right ribcage was still numb.
 

“You’ve got a thing about needles, huh?” Cole asked with a small smile. “I’ve never seen anyone’s eyes roll back so fast.”

Great. At least he was entertained.
 

“The doctor gave you something for the pain. If you feel funny.”

Double great. Best to get rid of him now, before the inevitable loopiness set in. She craned her neck to look around. “Is there a phone?”
 

The room was typical for a hospital: white walls, white tile floor, a TV suspended from the ceiling, one window that looked out on a vast parking lot where the Florida sun glinted off of dozens of windshields. The phone, unfortunately, was out of reach on a small, square table that normally would have been by the bed but had been rolled closer to the visitor’s chair.
 

“I called A.J.,” he said. “I—”

“Perfect. Is she on her way?” The sooner her best friend got there, the better.
 

“I had to leave voice mail and haven’t heard back. Is there someone else we can call? A family member?”

Her throat closed. Times like these reminded her of how much she missed her parents. And James … well, James was James. “No. It’s okay. I’ll wait for A.J.”

He shifted his weight to the other foot. “The whole newsroom showed up in the waiting room. The 911 call went out on the scanner at work.”

“Oh, God.” She dropped her head back. “Please don’t let anyone back here.” It was bad enough that she was so pathetic in front of him, let alone everyone else she worked with.

“I already told them you were fine and to go back to work.”

The tension left her shoulders. “Thank you.”

“I’ll stick around until A.J. gets here.”

She blinked at him. “What? Why? That isn’t necessary. I’m sure you need to get back to the senator.”

“I’ve already rescheduled that. You shouldn’t be here by yourself.”

“I’ll be fine.”

He said nothing and stared at her.

That steady, scrutinizing gaze unnerved her. “What?”

“I’m sorry I left you. I should have waited for you to catch up.”

“Oh.”
 

“I didn’t think—”

“It was camera equipment,” she cut in, determined to keep the conversation light. “Not even mine.”

He held up his hands, which looked as if they’d been scrubbed raw. “Yeah, but the blood on my hands was.”

She swallowed, rattled as much by the miserable look in his eyes as by the image of her blood on his hands. “It washed off, didn’t it?”

He folded his arms over his chest. “I’m waiting until A.J. checks in.”

Chapter 5

An hour later, A.J. still hadn’t come to Bailey’s rescue, but the police had paid a visit. Much to Cole’s frustration, their demeanors suggested they didn’t expect to catch the culprit. Bailey hadn’t seen her attacker’s face and couldn’t give a passing description of even his body type. Motorcyclists in leathers and black helmets were a common sight in Kendall Falls.

A simple mugging, they told Cole when he cornered them in the waiting room on their way out. The thug cut her by accident, and the camera equipment was insured by the newspaper, end of story. Cole might have been dissatisfied with the results, but he couldn’t argue with their assumptions.

Finally, the doctor wrote two prescriptions for Bailey—one for antibiotics and the other for pain pills—and a nurse brought her a scrubs top that matched Cole’s so she wouldn’t have to wear her ruined shirt home. After that, she was released, with strict instructions to go easy on the activity for a few days and to watch for signs of infection. She’d have to return in several days to have the stitches removed.

“You really don’t have to do this,” she said as they walked out to Cole’s SUV under the hot Florida sun. “I could have waited for A.J.”

“I was already here, so deal with it.” He had to fight not to growl at her. He wished she’d call him a douche for running ahead of her while she was getting stabbed. Maybe at least be bitchy. Anything that might help assuage his guilt. If it could even be assuaged.

“Your bedside manner is astounding, Goodman. You missed your calling.”

Ignoring the jibe, he opened the passenger door and helped her into the seat. He didn’t like how what little color had seeped into her cheeks had drained away. “How’s that pain medication holding up?”
 

“Super. Thanks for asking.”

The sarcasm cheered him. The more she fired back at him, the less he felt like an asshole. Shutting her door, he trotted around to the other side. Once in the driver’s seat, already sweating in the heat trapped inside the truck, he turned the key and cranked the air conditioning.
 

He was about to back up when he noticed that she had yet to put on her seat belt. Without a word, he shifted back into park and reached across her to grab the strap to buckle it for her. When she drew in a sharp breath and pressed back against the seat, he froze.

“What?” Had he hurt her? He was sure he hadn’t even touched her.

Closing her eyes, she exhaled slowly. “Nothing.”

“I’m fastening your seat belt. What did you think I was doing?”

“Nothing,” she repeated, more firm.

“Geez, you’re jumpy.”

“I was just attacked with a knife.”

The implied “you idiot” was obvious. He blew out a slow breath. “Sorry, I wasn’t thinking. Do you want me to do it or can you?”

“This thing has air bags, doesn’t it?”

“You need the seat belt.”

“Fine, if you’re that bad a driver, be my guest.”

He suppressed his smile and snapped the safety restraint together quickly, careful to try not to touch her. Even so, his hand brushed her arm, and he felt the tremors. Her shakiness unsettled him, and he searched for something to say to fire her up.

He started the SUV. “You’re kind of a baby, aren’t you, Chase?”
 

She expelled a breath. “If you’re lucky, A.J. will show before my diaper needs changing.”

He chuckled. As long as she kept her sense of humor, she was fine. “So do you want to get your prescriptions filled before I take you home or shall I pick them up after?”

She gave him a surprised look. “I’m sure A.J. won’t mind taking care of them later.”

“We don’t know how long she’s going to be. She might have gone out of town.”

“I have other friends—”

“Plus, who knows when the pain medication will wear off? You don’t want to be left without that.”

“My pain threshold cruises at thirty thousand feet,” she said.

“Yeah, and you’ve never been stabbed before, so you have no idea what kind of pain we’re talking about.”
 

“Hello? I wasn’t drugged up when the SOB sliced into me, remember?”

“Trust me, when the medication wears off, you’re going to be begging for more.”

“You fancy yourself quite the expert. When was the last time you were stabbed?”

“I wasn’t. I was shot.”
 

“By a gun?”

He glanced sideways at her and rolled his eyes as if to say,
Duh
. “So am I turning right or left here?”

“Right.”

He made the turn onto Royal Palm Boulevard, where lunchtime traffic clogged all four lanes in both directions. Fantastic.
 

“That must have been rough,” she said.
 

“Just leave it alone.”