But then he smiles.

The tiniest of whimpers escapes my throat with the flood of relief.

“Tell me that Cooper didn’t feed you Eggos,” he says, glaring at him.

“Cooper didn’t feed her anything,” he says from the armchair through a mouthful of waffle. “Figured she was all grown up and could feed herself.”

Something sparks in Blake’s eyes as he moves toward me, where I’m busy holding up the kitchen counter. “That she is,” he murmurs with a secret smile as he brushes past me.

His touch leaves me vibrating.

He pulls a carton of eggs out of the fridge, then rolls up his sleeves and washes his hands. “Omelet?”

“Um . . . yeah. That sounds good.”

Cooper comes back to the kitchen and hands his empty plate over the counter to me. “I guess my job here is done. I’ll grab my stuff and get home to the missus.”

He disappears down the stairs, and I look at Blake, wondering if we’re going to talk about what happened before he left. He’s cracking eggs into a bowl, and before I can think how to start that conversation, I hear Cooper on the stairs.

I take my coffee into the living room and try to figure out how I should be acting right now. But I end up just standing here in my daze.

“So . . . if everything’s under control,” Cooper says, splitting a glance between Blake and me, “I’ll be on my way.”

“Goodbye, Cooper,” Blake says without looking up from his work.

Cooper shoots him a scowl from the elevator as the door slides shut.

I move to the coffeepot, directly behind where Blake is working, and lean on the counter. “Where were you?”

“At the office, mostly,” he says without turning.

“Are we . . . okay?”

He stops working and gives me a slow nod. “Arroyo’s accountant turned.”

“What?”

His eyes brighten as he turns to face me, and a smile breaks over his face. “It’s almost over, Sam. Arroyo’s screwed seven ways to Sunday. We came up with blood trace in the hall, where you say his goon threw the towel, and now we’ve got his accountant. The coroner puts the time of death in the window when you saw him in Arroyo’s office, and your testimony will put Arroyo in the room as his guy was exiting with blood on his hands, so that’s a lock. But even if he somehow manages to walk on the murder charge, we’ll get him on racketeering.”

There’s a second where I don’t even really hear what he’s saying, because, in his excitement, he’s so stunningly beautiful. And when he scoops me into his arms, lifting me clean off my feet and spinning us in a circle, I go dizzy with the feel of him and the smell of him . . . and the fact that he just spun me in a circle. My head swims and I wobble a little as he sets me on my feet and smiles down at me. He steadies me with firm hands on my shaking shoulders as I get my bearings.

I blink and give my head a shake. “So, is it done? I can go home?”

His glow fades a little. “I’m sorry. No. Not yet.”

“Why?” I ask, confused. “If you’ve got his accountant?”

He lets go of me and his mouth presses into a tight line. “We’re still going with the murder charge first. Arroyo knows it will be your testimony that puts him and Weber together in his office at the time of death. He’s not going to back down.”

“What about that girl? Does the accountant know what happened to her?”

He gives his head a small shake. “We haven’t been able to get enough from the records to even determine if Arroyo was responsible. I had Nichols pull together some more pictures I need you to look at.”

Any relief I was feeling about Ben’s accountant is instantly gone. “Anything,” I say. “Whatever you need.” My chest aches as I take my coffee to the living room and settle onto the sofa.

He goes to his messenger bag and pulls out a file, then sits on the sofa next to me. “These are FBI profile pics on people they’re tracking for human trafficking who are known to have been in California in the last year. It’s a long shot, but we have reason to believe Arroyo might have brought in a buyer to . . .” His jaw grinds tight with barely contained loathing. “. . . look at you. If any of them look at all familiar, that will at least give us a place to start.”

He spreads five glossy black and white photos on the coffee table, and I feel my face scrunch in disgust immediately. Because the one in the middle is Creepy Asian Guy.

“That one,” I tell Blake. “Nora called him Mr. Chang. Said he was some VIP or something. He wanted me to take my top off.”

Alarm flashes in Blake’s eyes.

“I didn’t,” I say when it’s clear that’s what he’s thinking. “I walked out.”

“Did he say anything else?”

I shake my head. “No. He was gross and I left.”

“When did you see him? Do you remember which night?”

I rest my forehead in my hand and try to think, but separating one night from the next is hard. They’re all measured in degrees of Blake . . . whether he was there or not, whether he touched me. “It was . . . I think it was the first night you came back to the club after we . . .” I rub my eyes so I don’t have to lift my head and look at him. “No . . . it was the second night. The night before you arrested me. He was my private right before you.”

He plucks the photo up and pulls out his phone. “She says Sayavong was at the club . . . it would have been . . . May ninth, I’m pretty sure.” There’s a pause as he studies the picture. “Yep, and a current whereabouts. He’s Laotian, but he has residences in Central America and the U.S.” He sinks back into the sofa. “And if you can pass the info along to Morgan over at the Bureau and get him on it . . .” He trails off and listens. “Thanks, Coop.”

When he lowers the phone, his gaze is intense. “I don’t even want to think about what would have happened if we hadn’t gotten you out of there when we did.”

That hadn’t occurred to me. I feel sick at the thought. I remember the way Creepy Asian Guy looked at me, how it made my skin crawl, and what Ben said to him. Let’s get this done before you sail. If Benny’s hadn’t gotten raided the next night, what would have happened?

“Can you remember anything else, Sam? Anything at all?” Blake presses.

“Ben walked the guy from the VIP room to his office. Before the door closed, Ben said, ‘Let’s get this done before you sail.’ ”

Blake leans forward, elbows on his knees. “Sayavong flies in and out of the country. He’s on the FBI’s watch list, so we have all his flight information for the last few years. Unless . . .” He taps his index finger on his chin. “Maybe that’s how he moves his cargo . . . in containers. Arroyo might have been talking about a commercial ship.”

He’s back on the phone a second later, filling Cooper in on his theory. He stands and moves to the balcony as they work out a strategy to search shipping records, and I go to the kitchen and finish chopping the bell peppers. Blake is still on the phone when he comes back in and fires up the burner. He pours some egg into the pan and swirls it with is wrist. “He probably didn’t use one of the bigger shippers,” he’s saying to Cooper. “They have too many checks and balances . . . too much government oversight.”

I layer the veggies into the omelet, and when the egg starts to set, Blake adds the cheese, then folds it expertly. He gives me a playful shove with his hip and shoos me into the living room. “Yep. I think we should start there and work our way up,” he tells Cooper, flipping the omelet in the pan.

I sit, and that’s when I see Trent and Lexie’s wedding invitation, still on the coffee table. I’d forgotten about it, with everything else that happened.

I pick it up and flip it over in my hands, then slip it out and read it over again. There’s a pang in my heart I don’t expect as my finger trails over Lexie’s name. I really wish things were different. I wish I hadn’t said the things I did. I wish I could be there for her.

I slip her note out of the envelope and unfold it.

Dear Sam,

I know there’s nothing I can say to make up for the way things happened between us. I should have been honest with you when I realized I was in love with Trent. I was just so scared and confused. I thought being away from him in Rome would clear my head and make me see that what happened between us before I left was just a huge mistake. But it did the opposite. The longer we were apart, the more I realized what a big part of me he is. The more I realized I wasn’t whole without him.

It killed me not to be able to tell you this. Especially when you and he started spending time together. But I honestly didn’t know how he felt. I thought he regretted what we’d done and was trying to move on, and a part of me was happy it was with you, because I knew how you’d always felt about him.

Anyway, I just wanted to say I’m sorry. I want you to know I didn’t plan any of it, and neither of us ever meant to hurt you. I miss you, and I wanted so much to talk to you before the wedding. Your mom said you’re away where you can’t be reached. I hope it’s somewhere fascinating, like Tibet. Whenever it is that you get this, just know that I so wanted you by my side for the wedding.

Miss you. Love you.

Lexie

I sit, staring at the note until the cushion next to me depresses. I look up to see Blake with a plate in each hand, and his expression all concern.

“Let me guess. The ex-boyfriend and his stepsister?” he says.

“Bingo,” I say, setting everything back on the coffee table.

He hands me an omelet. “Eat.”

I blow out a heavy sigh and take the plate. “Thanks.”

We eat, and when we’ve finished, I take our plates back to the kitchen and rinse them.