“We need to call Detective Hawes,” said Gianna. “She needs to hear all of this.”

Chris held Gianna’s hotel room door open for her. She looked shell-shocked as she passed by him.

Who wouldn’t?

She’d discovered the father she’d believed was dead had been avoiding her for decades, and now he’d been brutally murdered.

Chris wanted to wave a magic wand and fix it all. Her father would be alive and an active part of her life.

But then she wouldn’t have been in the cabin near his.

He wouldn’t have met her.

A wave of selfishness plowed through him, and he fought it back. He could be thankful fate had crossed their paths without feeling guilty about the events that’d made it happen. Gianna pulled off her sweater and tossed it on a chair. Her movements were those of someone who’d been on her feet for a twelve-hour shift, but when he looked at her, he saw the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. She carried her burdens with grace. She pushed her hair over a shoulder and turned toward him, a question faltering on her lips. “Did . . .”

He waited for her to finish. She didn’t. Instead she simply looked at him.

“What’s wrong?” he asked after a long moment. No alarm had shown in her eyes. Instead she studied him, waiting for something.

Silence filled the room. She pressed her lips together and moved closer. Reaching out, she ran a hand down his upper arm, her gaze following her hand. “You’re very dependable, did you know that?”

Denial ripped through him. “Only to my family. I don’t care about anyone else.”

“I think you’re lying to yourself when you say that. You wouldn’t let anyone down.”

“If they’re relying on me for something, then no, I wouldn’t.”

“You’ve been here for Violet and me since that morning.” She lifted her gaze from her hand on his arm. Her dark eyes heavy with an emotion that made his muscles instantly tighten.

“You needed someone. Only an ass would have left you two out there.”

“You’ve had plenty of chances to leave and go back to your own life. Every time I need you, you’re there when I turn around.”

Who needs whom?

He slid a hand around to her back and pressed her to him as he ran his other hand up the back of her scalp, tilting her head back so she had to look up to him. Her neck was exposed and his mouth was on it before he could think. Gianna. Kissing her last night had fueled a fire he hadn’t experienced in a decade. He ran his lips up her neck; her skin was warm and smooth, making him ache to taste more of her. His tongue traced the edge of her jaw and she moved her head so he could touch her better, her mouth opening slightly as she drew in shallow breaths.

“Chris.”

He’d wanted her since the first moment he’d seen her in the snow.

He finally admitted it to himself. He’d kept his attraction buried deep, unable to acknowledge that this woman was someone he would risk being with. For too many years he’d avoided the opposite sex, believing they wouldn’t have anything to do with him, and chosen to focus on his son.

Now every wall he’d built to protect himself came crashing down.

Will she run?

Her hand slid up his chest, and her fingertips lightly touched the scars that disappeared below the collar of his shirt. Moving up his neck, her fingers traced the small ridge of bone that’d formed on the side of his jaw. The bone had knitted together unevenly after the Ghostman had broken it. Self-consciousness punched him in the stomach and he set it aside. In her job she saw destruction inflicted on bodies every day. The fact that she’d stepped forward and accepted his defects kept him from shutting down and running out of the room.

Part of him hungered to have her see every bit of him. Her accepting gaze could wipe out the decades of self-loathing from studying his own body in the mirror. Constant daily reminders of hell.

Her hands drifted back down and tugged at the hem of his shirt, lifting it and pressing their palms against his abdomen. Heat raced from her hands and exploded in his brain. Every muscle in his body tensed. He cupped her face in his hands, and his mouth insisted she open for him. His tongue slid into her warm silkiness, and he pressed forward until she was backed up against the wall of her hotel room.

She turned her head to the side, taking deep breaths, and pulled his shirt over his head. Chris briefly moved back as he ripped the shirt off, and she stopped him from moving back to her with a hand to his chest. Her gaze traced his chest, moving down the side of his neck to the round scars on his pecs.

“Oh, Chris,” she whispered.

He watched her eyes, and the familiar fear of rejection prickled in the back of his brain. She touched one scar and then another and raised her gaze to meet his. “I hate him.”

His mouth twitched. “I did, too.”

She touched the long scar on the left side of his torso that arced around almost to his back. “I know this type of scar. You gave a kidney?” she asked, her voice cracking. Her dark eyes looked up at him, and he felt like he could fall into them.

“Yes. My mother . . . and Michael’s mother.”

“Like I said. You don’t let anyone down, do you?”

“She’s my mother.”

Gianna looked back to where her fingers lightly traced the surgical scar. It was the one defect he didn’t mind. She leaned forward and pressed her lips against one of the cigarette burns on his chest.

His knees shook.