Colton paused in his playing. “Shit. Seriously?”

Noah hit a few more keys. “No.”

“But you’ve got a surveillance van, man.”

“All computer security companies do.”

“Bullshit.”

Noah sighed and leaned back in the chair at the dining table where he sat. “Clients hire me to test the security of their systems. Sometimes that includes communications and surveillance.”

“I think you’re lying. I think you work for the FBI or something.”

Well, that part was almost true. Or it had been at one time. Consulting with the FBI had been the only thing that kept him out of a minimum-security prison.

But those days were over. Now he got paid millions of dollars to help dipshits like Colton Wheeler protect themselves when they clicked on porn links.

His cell phone buzzed in his pocket. Noah pulled it out and saw Alexis’s face on the screen. His mood instantly lightened. He put the phone to his ear. “Hey.”

She barely made a sound. “Noah . . .”

His whole body went rigid. “What’s wrong?”

“Can you—” She made a choking sound.

He stood and nearly knocked over the chair. “Can I what? What is going on?”

“Something happened. Can you come over?”

“I’m on my way.” He hung up and shoved his phone in his pocket as he dug his keys from the other one.

Colton watched him, concern lacing his voice and his eyes. “Everything all right?”

“I gotta go.”

Noah drove across town like he was trying out for Mario Kart. He whipped into her driveway, killed the engine, and threw open his car door. Her front door was unlocked, so he walked in and yelled her name.

She answered from upstairs. “Up here.” Her voice sounded thick.

Noah took the stairs two at a time and then walked down the short hallway to her bedroom. She sat in the window seat overlooking the backyard. At the sound of his footsteps, she turned and looked at him. Her eyes were red and puffy. Her hair was piled on top of her head in a crazy, messy knot, and she wore his sloppy sweatshirt over baggy sweatpants. She looked, in a word, horrible. He would’ve laughed if his heart hadn’t suddenly shattered.

His eyes took in the rest of the scene. A box of papers and photos lay overturned on the floor, and other items were strewn across the bed. He crossed the room in long strides and dropped to his knees beside the window seat. “What’s going on? What happened?”

She handed him a crumpled, yellowed card, like the kind that came with flowers.

A name was scribbled in hurried scrawl.

Elliott V.

Confusion pulled his eyebrows together. Noah looked up. “What is this? Who is Elliott V.?”

“That,” Alexis said, “is apparently my father.”

* * *

* * *

It took ten agonizing minutes to get the full story out of her. The young woman, the one Alexis had been hoping would talk to her for a week, wasn’t a survivor at all but was instead Alexis’s sister?

Noah attempted to keep his features relaxed and neutral as Alexis filled in the blanks. Inside, however, heartbreak battled with rage. Pure, white-hot rage. The man had ignored his daughter her entire life but now he wanted a kidney from her?

Noah sat back on his haunches. “How do you know Candi is telling the truth?”

Alexis swiped a hand over her nose. “Why would she lie?”

“People lie for all kinds of reasons.”

“We have the exact same eyes, Noah. And anyway, she says the DNA proves it.”

“Did you see it? The test results?”

“No, but there’s this.” She pointed to the card. “What are the chances that someone named Elliott V. would send flowers to her funeral?”

Noah ran a hand over his hair. “What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did she tell you how to get in contact with her?”

Alexis reached into the pocket of her sweater and pulled out a piece of paper with a scribbled phone number on it.

Noah set it aside and then rested his hands on top of her thighs. “You okay?” he asked as gently as possible.

Her eyes darted sideways. Another swallow.

“Look at me.”

She obeyed, but in the same instant, her back straightened and her face became fixed in a mask of composure.

“Don’t do that,” he said, squeezing her legs.

She cleared her throat, the effort too forced. “Don’t do what?”

“Shut down. Pretend you’re not upset.”

She shook her head, a nervous back-and-forth shake. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine. You’re in shock because your life has once again been turned upside down.”

She crossed her arms across her chest, defensive and protective. “I’m fine. I just . . . I just need a minute.”

Alexis paused to swallow. He’d seen her do that same thing so many times, and he recognized it now for what it was. An attempt to ward off overt displays of emotion. His mother used to do the same thing, back when his father’s death was still raw and new. Noah feared that when the explosion finally came for Alexis, it was going to be hard, just like it was for his mother. And Noah vowed he’d be there to help her pick up the pieces, because he hadn’t been for his mom.

He rose and winced at the stiffness in his knees from crouching so long. “I’m going to make you some tea.”

“You don’t have to do that,” she said.

“I know, but I’m going to anyway.” He tucked a curl behind her ear. “Maybe I’ll splash some whiskey in the tea too.”

Her smile was as sad as it was forced. “You’re a dream come true.”

“I know, right?” He grinned and winked and was relieved when her lips softened into something that looked like an actual smile. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

Noah jogged down the stairs, leaping just in time off the bottom step to avoid an assassination attempt by Beefcake. The fucking cat hated him. He liked to make himself known in the shadiest ways possible. Usually darting underfoot just in time to make Noah stumble or hiding beneath a chair to declare war on Noah’s shoelaces. Beefcake hissed and bounded up the stairs with much more agility than Noah would have expected from an animal whose belly dragged on the ground.

Noah grabbed the kettle from the stove, filled it with fresh water, and searched the cabinet for the chamomile tea.

When the kettle began to shriek, he turned it off and poured the water into the mug. Then he made good on his promise and splashed some whiskey into it. For himself, he went with straight whiskey and a couple of ice cubes.

When he returned to her bedroom, he found her sitting cross-legged on her bed cradling Beefcake.

“He tried to kill me again,” Noah said, hoping to coax another smile from her.

Alexis set the cat aside and reached for the tea. “Thank you.”

“You want a fire?” he asked, gesturing toward the fireplace along the wall.

“Sure.”

He set his whiskey on the bedside table before crouching in front of the fire. A minute later, it crackled to life. When he turned around, she had scooted all the way back on the bed to lean against the headboard.

He toed his shoes off and sat down on the mattress. It dipped under his weight and creaked, and the sound sent an uncomfortable jolt through his senses. In all this time since they’d known each other, all the time they’d spent together, he’d never been on the bed with her. He’d been in her bedroom numerous times. Hell, he’d been the one to bring the firewood up here. But this? Never this.

Alexis sipped her tea and sucked in a breath.

“Too hot?” he asked.

“Too whiskey-ey.”

Noah chuckled. “It’ll take the edge off.”

“And put hair on my chest?”

“I fucking hope not.”

She laughed. Finally. Thank God. She took another sip, and this time it must have gone down smoother, because she rested her head back against the headboard. After two more sips, she rolled her head in his direction. “Thank you for coming over.”

He leaned back and matched her pose, bringing their faces within inches of each other. “What’re friends for?”

“I hope I didn’t interrupt anything.”

“Just Colton making up conspiracy theories.”

She laughed again, and before he knew what was happening, she leaned toward him and rested her head on his shoulder. The top of her messy bun tickled his chin. Her hair smelled spicy, like the essential oil she used on her neck to ward off headaches.

“My mom’s birthday is next week,” she said suddenly.

“Yeah?”

Her cheek lifted away from his shoulder, and she turned her face up toward his. “Her birthday is harder for me than the anniversary of her death. Is that weird?”

Noah forced himself to hold her gaze. They rarely talked about their parents, even though they’d both lost a parent at too young an age. Her mother died from cancer three years ago, and his father died in Iraq when Noah was fifteen. It was something they shared, a club they never wanted to join but that defined them in ways no one outside the club could understand. There was a loneliness to losing a parent so young. A sense of unfairness that separated you from others.

But probably that’s why they didn’t talk about it. They understood each other without having to perform their grief for each other.

He swallowed. “No, it’s not weird.”

“What about you?”

“The anniversary is harder for me,” he said. But then he shook his head and looked at his lap. “Actually, that’s not true. The night before the anniversary is the hardest for me.”

“Why?”

“Because I start counting down the hours and the minutes until the moment we found out. I can’t turn it off. I can’t sleep. By morning, I’m . . .” His voice trailed off as he searched for the right words.