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her hand. For a long moment she stared at the computer monitor with the email on it. Then she shoved back her chair and got up, pacing restlessly over to the windows, pushing her shaking hands into the pockets of her jeans.
    Of course she knew what things he wanted to discuss. The night he’d rescued her. What had happened to her. Everything she’d kept hidden for the past seven years.
    Everything she couldn’t tell another living soul. At least not without killing the last part of her, the part that had remained untouched.
    The part that lived in the void, safe from the rest of the world.
    Yeah, she had secrets. But they were hers. And she’d kept them protected for a long time. She didn’t want to give them up. She didn’t want to have anything else taken from her.
    You have to tell them. You have to tell him.
    No. No, she fucking well didn’t.
    To hell with that warning email. She’d continue with her investigations anyway, find the identity of that guy, track him down, and get Zac to protect her while she did so. He’d do it. He did pretty much whatever she told him to.
    The thought calmed her. She remained in front of the windows, staring at her view of the city and its beautiful lights, waiting for her heartbeat to normalize and the fear to seep away. She knew she should probably go to bed, but sleep had always been difficult since she’d escaped the house, and it was going to be impossible now.
    Perhaps she’d stay up, check over her system, then work on the information her Angel team had sent her, the small, private group that was part of Void Angel Technology and dedicated to investigating white slave trafficking. They’d sent her a file with some information about what was starting to look like a major international ring, specializing in the trafficking of women in particular.
    The ever-present anger licked up inside her and she grabbed it, held onto it because anger had always been far easier to deal with than fear.
    Fuckers. She couldn’t wait to take them down. She’d break that ring apart, then crush the pieces under the heel of her Docs.
    They wouldn’t know what hit them.
    And then something changed.
    She didn’t know quite what it was. It was like the quality of the air in her apartment was different, a subtle shift in density or texture, she wasn’t sure which. And she could smell something familiar. A woody, warm scent, like cedar or sandalwood. Vaguely exotic and expensive. It was only faint, barely there, but it made her feel safe because she recognized it: the scent of Zac’s aftershave.
    Weird. Why would she be smelling Zac’s aftershave in her apartment? She didn’t have anything of his lying around and she hadn’t noticed it when she first came in.
    She blinked, staring at the massive window in front of her.
    And in the black glass she saw something reflected back.
    Zac. Standing behind her.
    For the second time that night, shock froze her solid, forcing all the air from her lungs, and for a long, countless moment she stood rooted to the spot, staring at the man reflected in the glass.
    It couldn’t be him, not here. Not in her personal, private space where no one— no one —had ever been.
    She whirled around as fear choked her. The wild, reflexive fear of a cornered animal.
    Because he was here, standing in the middle of her lounge, a massive, dark figure that seemed to tower over everything. A tidal wave, smashing away her safety, her refuge.
    A small, terrified sound escaped her and when icy cold hit her back, she knew she’d pressed herself against the windows as if she could push herself through them in an effort to get away.
    You fucking idiot. This is Zac. Why are you so afraid?
    The thought lingered in the back of her mind, but she could barely hear it over the noise of her own terror. The primitive warning that her home had been compromised and she was in danger.
    He said nothing, merely stared