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long as you tell the truth,” Clay countered, trying to sound as detached as she did. But inside, he was reeling with anticipation. And with grudging gratitude to his older brother.
    Because if Sara told the truth, Clay would finally know what the barriers were between them. Then he could break those barriers down. He was sure of it. And then, Sara would be his.
    Or at least, she would be free. Because in his gut, he knew that freedom—even more than love—was what she needed from him right now.
     
    * * * *
     
    Sara looked around at the room they called the den, wistfully enjoying the fact that it was messy and full of life. An ironing board blocking access to a desktop computer, overflowing bookcases on two walls, a view of the basketball hoop that had been installed over the garage door, and stacks and stacks of files and papers covering the floor around the desk.
    It would be easy to let her guard down in this room. But she didn’t dare. Mark Ryerson was fairly perceptive, even if his ultimate conclusions about her were dead wrong. He thought she was controlled by an abusive male figure, which was completely accurate. What he didn’t realize was that her tormentor’s means of controlling her was to hold a gun to Clay’s head. Mark would now dig for the truth, oblivious to the fact that if he managed to learn it, he and his brother would be dead within an hour. Ga’rag would see to that. Even now, she wasn’t sure how long the Ra-ahli would wait before taking matters into his own clawed hands.
    But for the moment, Ga’rag was relying on Sara’s experience with this sort of misguided interest. She had fielded it for years, first from her grandparents, then later by school counselors. Learning to lie to protect her babies had been necessary. And then—after Ga’rag killed Daniel Arroyo—she had learned to manipulate men who showed too much interest in her. She had done a good job with Clay that morning, making him so angry about her secret “husband” that he had stormed out of her life forever.
    If only he hadn’t taken her journal.
    But at least he didn’t read it . . .
    Now all she had to do was convince him to give it back and let her go. With any luck, the psychologist would be an ally. He didn’t want his younger brother dating a married woman or an abuse victim, did he? So in either case, he would be anxious to send Sara on her way.
    The psychologist was seated in a leather rocking chair, while Sara and Clay sat on a tweed sofa across from him. She kept her gaze fixed on Mark as she carefully told the brothers a version of her past that bore enough resemblance to the truth to have a nice ring to it. “I was very young when I had my first child. My husband was an old family friend who came by our house a lot when I was little. I got used to having him around, and even though he—well, let’s just say he took advantage of my youth and my inexperience—”
    “You’re saying this old guy raped you when you were just a kid?” Clay’s hands clenched into fists as he spoke. “And you’re considering going back to him? Letting your little girls spend time around him?”
    “Clay, let Sara talk,” Mark insisted calmly. “Sara?”
    She sighed. “It sounds worse than it is. I knew exactly what he was, but I made my choice to spend the rest of my life with him. I regret some of the circumstances, but I don’t regret the choice itself. My girls need him. And in a way, so do I.”
    “Do you love him?” Clay asked.
    She met his gaze directly for the first time during their session. “I promised to tell you the truth, so . . . No. I don’t love him. But that doesn’t change the fact that I want to be with him because of the girls.”
    “Because you’re afraid he’ll get custody if you leave him? No way, Sara. I’m a lawyer—”
    “It’s not a question of custody. If my girls had the choice, they’d choose him over me. And I wouldn’t blame them.”
    Clay stared, clearly confused by the