As soon as Naomi pulled the blankets up to her chin, she knew sleep was out of the question. Her whole body felt stiff, and no position brought any relief.

Tom Miller.

The name still danced in front of her eyes. She never expected it to stir up so much after all these years. She wanted to scream out of sheer frustration. Why?! He's been out of my life for so long!

A coincidence?

She scoffed at the thought. Of course, it wasn't a coincidence. Hana knew exactly what she was doing, knew exactly how to trigger this pain. It was nothing but a test of loyalty. Naomi clenched her teeth. As if I even have a choice but to obey her! Sure, in some distant past, she'd loved Tom. But that didn't matter compared to what was at stake now, did it?

Hana had to be trying to provoke her, to remind her who held the power here—or maybe she really wanted Tom gone and believed Naomi was the best person for the job, precisely because of their shared history.

Rage. That's what he calls himself now.

She'd read the articles about his sister, who had been kidnapped not long ago. The last time she had seen Dana, the girl was just a toddler, and even then, Tom adored her. These past few years must have been hell for him—she read he'd even ended up in prison because of the kidnapper—and now she was about to add another family tragedy to his life?

She stared at the ceiling. Sharp pangs shot through her abdomen. But I don't have a choice. No damn choice. She never had.

Naomi took a deep breath, rolled onto her side, and reached for the nightstand. She pulled the drawer open and grabbed the bottle of sleeping pills. She had to sleep. Had to clear her head. This mess wasn't going to resolve itself. She needed to shut down her emotions, do what had to be done, and keep her loved ones safe. Just like always.

Tom didn't exist anymore, just like the girl he once held in his arms had long ceased to exist.

Rage meant nothing to her.

She could do this.

She could do this.

She repeated it to herself all night long.

By the time the first rays of sunlight reclaimed the world, she had her emotions under control again, her gaze steady.

That was, until she walked into the kitchen and saw her son sitting at the table. Nash was slouched sleepily in the chair beside him, which was unusual in itself. He practically lived here and was normally in bed until noon.

"Morning, Noom." Nash yawned shamelessly and stretched.

She grunted something in reply and looked at her son. He was studying her face in a way that gave her the creeps. She turned away to pour herself a cup of coffee. She wasn't going to have any conversations before she'd had at least a few sips. Meanwhile, she tried to prepare for what was coming. She cursed herself for losing control yesterday. She never did that, so it was no wonder her son wasn't going to let it go.

"Who is Tom Miller?"

Naomi hadn't even sat down when he hit her with the question. She nearly dropped the mug. It hit the table with a thud, causing coffee to spill over the rim and splash onto her hand. Cursing, she shook it off and wiped her hand on her pants. The sting didn't go away. Normally, she would've ignored it, but now she clung to every excuse to delay answering. She pushed her chair back and held her hand under the lukewarm tap.

As the water ran over her hand, easing the pain, the initial shock faded, replaced by anger. She snapped the faucet off and turned to face him. "You've been on my laptop!"

Nash stared at his yogurt as if it had suddenly turned suspicious.

Foss met her gaze without blinking. "If you don't give me answers, I'll find them myself."

"You don't need to. It's none of your business."

That wasn't true. It was about his father, for crying out loud. Her shoulders stiffened, and suddenly, it felt as if someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over her head. Had they figured that out too? Foss's defiant look made her fear the worst, though he could just be trying to provoke her.

"Is he threatening you?"

"What?" She frowned, shaking her head at the unexpected question.

"Is he the next on your hit list?"

"I'm not talking about this with you." She wished she had a way out, an appointment she needed to rush off to.

"Why not?"

She hovered between the kitchen and the table. "Why should I?"

"You don't want to kill him. You know him."

"I knew him." She pressed her lips together, already regretting the words she was about to say: "People change. He won't escape what's coming to him."

Sweat prickled at the back of her neck as Foss continued to look at her, searching for a crack in her composure, for a lie. Naomi felt like she was exhaling lies, and it took every ounce of willpower to keep her head from turning away and to keep looking him in the eye.

"I want to see the evidence."

"Evidence of what?"

"That he's a rapist."

She pressed her lips tightly together. This was going completely wrong. Last time, she had enough time to fabricate something like that. "I don't have it. I trust this source. She's never been wrong before."

"As far as you know," Foss muttered. "Then ask her for proof."

Frustration bubbled up inside her. "Why should I? This is how I've worked for years. Why are you suddenly so involved?"

"Because you were pissed off yesterday! Because you were fucking crying!" He pushed back from the table. "And because you're avoiding answers, because you're lying." His gaze bore into her. "Something doesn't add up."

"Maybe he's your father."

The silence that followed Nash's casual remark was so intense it could have been a poison cloud.

"Don't be ridiculous," Foss snapped.

"Why not? They were in the same class in 2000. You were born around then."

Slowly, Foss turned back to her. "Is that true?"

Inside, she cursed herself—for not taking that damn laptop upstairs—and Nash, because his stupid comments were actually true.

"I mean, your mom's tough. But that... that's some messed-up stuff, enough to make anyone throw a glass of wine," Nash added when she couldn't find the words to deny it.

But she had to. Rage had to die, and Foss couldn't know he was his father. He would never forgive her.

"Rage is not your father," she said through gritted teeth. "And I've had enough of this. This is my business, and you two need to stay out of it."

She stormed out to the hallway, grabbed her coat from the rack, and slammed the front door behind her. Her fingers trembled as she searched for her pack of cigarettes. She didn't find them; she'd quit four months ago.

What a mess. Her lower lip quivered, but she refused to cry. It felt like a familiar darkness was creeping toward her, a darkness that had already taken so much from her.

No. You're not getting Foss.

It was as if a shadow grinned at her from behind a large tree across the street. "One way or another, you'll lose him too. You belong to me. Everything you touch belongs to me. The darkness to which you've already made so many sacrifices."

Naomi tore her gaze away from the phantom and started walking in the opposite direction. No. She had to find a way to make Foss drop this. Then she could carry out that damn assignment and move on with her life. All this chaos would soon just be a faint memory, something none of them would look back on ever again.