My heart starts beating again, and Raleigh starts breathing again, and in that moment the world—ugly and harsh and imperfect and scary as it is—the world is perfect.

If the hardest year of my life is what it cost to get us here… it was worth it.

* * *

Epilogue

Beckett

The bar is empty when she comes in, the late winter deep freeze keeping away even our most determined drinkers. Even the enigmatic, untouchable Sullivan Hale hasn’t been in to stare at me like he wants to strip me down and…

Anyway. He hasn’t been in either, which is just as well. I’ve made enough of a fool of myself over that man. No means no, no matter how much his body language tells me he’d rather be screaming my name than turning me down for the tenth time.

Her hair peeks out from under the ugliest brown knit hat I’ve ever seen, the not-quite-copper colored locks creating a fascinating contrast. She approaches the bar, her eyes darting all over the room as she slows to a stop.

“Get you something to drink, sugar?” I ask. She shakes her head no, and my suspicion grows.

Something’s wrong.

She shoves her hands deeper into her coat pockets, her shoulders bunching around her ears though whether it’s nerves or because of the cold outside, I can’t discern. The coat is decent quality, thick and warm-enough looking, but she’s tiny. Petite and pixie-like; in another lifetime, she’d have been exactly my type.

“Are you Beckett Rudolph?”

“I am,” I say. “How can I help you?”

She bites her lip, her brown eyes going wide, and the combined effect makes her look all of about fifteen. My own eyes narrow.

“How old are you, kiddo?” I ask. “You have to be at least eighteen to be in here, and even then I can’t let you sit at the bar.”

She frowns, almost pouting.

“I’m twenty-two,” she says, looking faintly annoyed now, and I feel a little bit better about finding that pout attractive. “Grayson March said you might be able to help me.”

She pauses, gauging my reaction. I owe my life to Grayson March’s brother, and he knows it. It’s not a favor he’d call in lightly.

“What’s your name?” I ask.

“I’m Ariel Lennox,” she says, her chin going up in defiance. “I need you to find my sister.”

* * *

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