Lila

An hour later, after a sweep by both Daniels Security and the Police, she was in her own apartment. Josh stood outside her apartment door, and there were two more patrolling the floor. The security team had been doubled on the building, and the Police were there, too.

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And yet, Lila couldn't relax.

She missed Rupert. But she missed Dane more. And even though there weren't as many memories of him here, she still got struck cold falling into them. Especially when she remembered that first time he'd come over…

Dane had sighed and let himself slide down the wall until he sat on the floor, his knees up, cradling her cat, Rupert, between his thighs and chest. "I'm sorry," he muttered a minute later as Rupert rolled onto his back and curled up in the impossible way only cats could. "I'm a mess."

"Yes, you are." Lila sighed, then sank to the floor next to him. "But so am I. So maybe we make a good pair?"

Dane snorted. "Or a terrible one."

Lila swallowed and looked away. But Dane's hand landed on her arm.

"I didn't mean it like that," he said, then went back to scratching the cat. She watched as the tension slowly leached from his face until he was almost smiling. He kept murmuring at Rupert, who was loving the attention, until the cat's eyes began to droop.

Lila swallowed again, wishing it was her in the lap of Dane Daniels being stroked and cuddled. She'd cursed herself for being pathetic and kept watching him. He'd obviously been through more than one kind of hell today. Now that she was closer she could see the shadows under his eyes, the way his brow was lined. Then, as Rupert dozed off, Dane dropped his hands to the floor and his head back against the wall and sighed so heavily she felt his shoulders move next to her.

Unable to resist, she put a hand over his—his fingers were so much longer than hers she was really only patting the back of his hand. But he slumped more at her touch.

"Dane, talk to me. When you're ready. Please."

He didn't respond immediately, but one of his fingers lifted to brush hers and he gripped the ends of her fingers between his own so their fingers were laced.

"I don't know how to start," he rumbled later.

Lila looked at him. "What could possibly be worse that telling me your father is a murderer?" she asked intensely.

He turned his head and met her eyes. "Telling you that I am," he croaked…

The memory stole her breath. She'd been so sure… so sure he wasn't what he'd said he was. But he'd make sure she understood. Then, and more recently.

She hadn't truly appreciated the darkness in his life, it was true. But she also knew that, deep down, he was just a scared kid in a big-man's body. A kid who was desperate for his father to love him—but who couldn't stand his father.

Lila dropped her face into one hand and forced herself to walk through the apartment to her room, to hide the phones. But she'd forgotten that her last memory there was Tish's haunted face, staring at her, tear tracks marking her cheeks.

The memory chased Lila back out and she let herself carefully down onto the couch. She needed to call John. To get things moving. But she also needed to breathe. Because Dane was here with her, in her head, and she missed him so badly…

That same day, there on the floor, he'd kissed and nipped his way down her neck. She bent her head back to give him better access, but let her hands trail to the bottom of his sweater, and then up, up, up his stomach, ribs. The ladders of iron muscle that bracketed his sides.

He was glorious and she wanted him.

"Dane, please," she gasped.

He groaned in response and leaned back for a moment, breaking contact to kneel. She whimpered her disappointment, until she realized he had one of those beautiful arms bent back to the neck of his sweater, pulling it forward and off until he was revealed—every glorious inch of his strong chest and shoulders, those cut biceps.

He threw the shirt off to the side. Neither of them looked at it. Lila was too busy staring at the beauty and strength of him. With him kneeling between her knees, she pushed herself up to sit, then raised a shaking hand to begin at his throat and trail down.

"My turn," she breathed.

"Thank god," he whispered back, his smile wicked as he gripped the bottom of her sweatshirt—

Her phone rang, snapping her out of the memory. She wiped away tears and forced herself to swallow the rest back as she looked at her phone.

Harry Quinn calling…

Accept or Decline?

With as deep of a breath as she could take, she accepted the call and brought the phone up to her ear. "Harry?"

"How are you doing, Lila?"

"I've been better, I'll admit," she said with a shaky laugh, and a sniff. "I guess we're getting together tomorrow."

"I guess we are. You okay? I know George can be a bit headstrong…"

"It was fine. I just wasn't at my best. I'm not surprised he was a little skeptical."

There was a pause, then Harry moved on the other end, shuffling papers. "So, what's a comfortable time for you tomorrow?"

Lila bit her lip. "Do we… does this have to be at the station, Harry?" she asked carefully.

"Would you rather I came to you?"

"Maybe. I'm just… Everywhere I go right now feels so dark and… I'd love to get out to somewhere bright and… is there any chance we could go for a walk in the park, or something? I'd be happy for you to record it. I just really need to do something that doesn't feel scary."

He hesitated, but then sighed. "I can make it work. You want to meet at Jefferson?"

"That would be great if we could. Ten o'clock?" They finished setting up the details and Lila heaved a sigh of relief.

It had been one of Dane's instructions—wherever possible, get Harry away from his colleagues and the station where everything was filmed and monitored.

When they got off the phone, she let herself just relax in the silence for a while. But it wasn't going to last.

This tension was never going to end, she realized, until something changed.

She needed to see what was on those phones.