His protective instincts were at a full roar. All he could picture was her fragile body huddled on the floor of her mountain cabin, experiencing the unthinkable. Her silent weeping had torn at his gut until his heart lay bleeding on the floor with her.

He would go to any lengths to keep her safe. There wasn’t a price too high to pay to the woman who’d gone through hell to save his baby sister.

In the year he’d searched for her, he felt as though he’d gotten to know her, as well as anyone seemed to know a woman whose life had been by all accounts lonely and isolated, even though information was sketchy at best on her. But the image of this vulnerable yet unbelievably strong woman had lived with him every single day until she’d become an obsession. While she might appear fragile, and perhaps she was—now—no woman who’d suffered countless times in her aid of victims of horrific crimes could ever be considered anything but strong and resilient.

It had gutted him when he’d gone through the case files of the others she’d helped. This time with a completely new perspective than when he’d studied up on her to assess how much help she would be in finding Tori. Because now he knew what each of those cases had cost her. He had no idea how the hell, when she endured so much pain, she could continue to offer her assistance. It certainly explained why she’d reached her breaking point.

She had nearly a one hundred percent success record in bringing sick bastards to justice. There were only two instances when the monsters had escaped. One a mere six months before she disappeared and went off the grid, prompting his desperate search for her. The other? Tori’s kidnapper was still free. Out there victimizing other women. Was the case six months before what had caused her breakdown? Did she suffer guilt for not having brought the man to justice?

A car was waiting for him and he hurried inside with terse directions to get him to the hotel he’d arranged for Ramie. What Ramie didn’t know was that he didn’t simply dump her at the hotel with no protection. Antonio plus two other men were strategically placed outside her room and in the lobby so that if anyone tried to get in her room they’d meet with immediate resistance. Until he heard from Ramie exactly what they were dealing with, he was taking no chances with her life.

Twenty minutes later, the car carrying him rolled up underneath the hotel awning and Caleb got out, striding into the entrance. He was met by Antonio, who reported that it was quiet and nothing had happened in the time since Ramie had checked in.

Caleb checked his watch, seeing that it was just past two in the morning. He hated to wake her up but then he doubted she was sleeping anyway. She’d sounded too panicked, too frightened on the phone. He didn’t imagine she’d slept in days, if not weeks.

“Maintain your post and direct the other two men to do the same,” Caleb said as they headed toward the elevator. “I want her under constant watch until I take her out of here.”

“Yes, sir,” Antonio said crisply. “We won’t stand down until you give us the order.”

“I appreciate you moving so quickly on this,” Caleb said.

Antonio’s face darkened. “Whoever the son of a bitch is, I’d say he got his hands on her at least for a few minutes. Her face is a mess. I’m surprised she was able to escape such a close call.”

Caleb’s thoughts immediately went black. Ramie had briefly mentioned that she’d had a run-in with the ass**le, but he didn’t realize she didn’t escape unscathed. He shook his head, still mystified by a man roughing up a woman so small and delicate.

When he’d seen her the first and only time they’d met face-to-face, she’d looked hollow. Almost as if she’d been dealing with an extended illness. Only now he knew it was far worse and far more draining emotionally and physically than a period of sickness.

The fact that he’d added to her already overwhelming burden, things she had to live with every day, her sleep tortured by the taint of evil she’d confronted time and time again . . . ​his guilt—and genuine regret—ate at him with every passing day he’d been unable to locate her.

On his darkest days, he’d wondered if she was even still alive. Such desperation and despair as he’d seen in her eyes and then the resignation and fatalism in her features could well drive her to the ultimate act of finding rest at last.

Her death.

If she became reckless—careless—if she simply didn’t care any longer whether she lived or died it would make her bolder. Death may well represent her final escape from the hell of her day-to-day reality.

What the hell could he do to help her heal? If she could even ever be healed. He saw the toll the events of a year ago had taken—and still was taking—on his sister and she’d only suffered once. Once was enough. But Ramie? She’d undergone the same kind of horror not once or twice. But dozens of times. He had no idea how she coped with it all without shattering into a million pieces.

Maybe she already had. Maybe she’d never be able to pick up the pieces. Maybe there was simply nothing he could do but helplessly stand by while she lost another sliver of her soul, until there was simply nothing left of her but a mere shell of the woman she once was.

She was only twenty-five. Not even to the peak of her life. And yet when he saw her dull, lifeless eyes, she’d seemed far older than her age. More weary. The weight of ten lifetimes, more than most people would ever endure in a hundred lifetimes all pressing down on her, suffocating the life right out of her.