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Present Day…

“Where do you want this stuff, Boss?” Chase Boyer adjusted the box in his arms as he spotted the woman in charge.

Natalie Hayes turned and looked his way. “Chase! You made it!”

The petite brunette smiled wide as she abandoned the donated items on the table before her and began walking toward him. Dressed in dark jeans and a forest green, long-sleeve maternity shirt, her noticeable baby bump was as adorable as the woman herself.

“Said I’d be here, didn’t I?” he quipped without any real heat. Small bits of displaced gravel crunched beneath the rubber soles of his boots as he crossed the last stretch of the shelter’s asphalt parking lot.

“You did.”

“So…what?” Chase challenged playfully. “You suddenly don’t trust that I’m a man of my word?”

“I trust your word as much as I always have.” Natalie led him over to the table where she’d been working. “It’s your track record of sleeping through your alarm when it’s set for something non-work related that had me second-guessing your appearance.”

He set the box down in the nearest available spot. His lips parted, and he was just about to come back with the perfect one-liner when they both heard?—

“Don’t even try denying it because we both know it’s true.”

Chase swung his gaze around just as Logan Hayes—Natalie’s husband and Chase’s team leader—sidled up to his wife. With a hand resting low on her back, the former Navy SEAL leaned in and planted a quick kiss on Nat’s cheek.

Solid build. Short brown hair. Blue-green eyes with nothing but love and admiration for the woman next to him. Unless, of course, they were focused on one of their team’s targets. In those instances, those loving eyes quickly turned as deadly as any Chase had ever seen.

Taking the other man’s advice, Chase didn’t bother trying to defend himself against the couple’s claims that dragging his ass out of bed was an occasional struggle. No reason to, really. Mainly because he did have a propensity to ignore his alarm when work wasn’t on the line.

But for this…

“While I may enjoy the intermittent lazy Saturday morning”— Guilty as charged —“I also know how important this place is to you.” Chase gave his glowing, pregnant friend a solemn look as he added, “Which means it’s important to me.”

“Well, thank you.” Natalie tilted her head in return. “And you’re right. Liberty House is important. This shelter has already given several of our clients a tremendous amount of support and guidance. Truth be told, the help this place offered to those women…and so many others…has been nothing short of amazing. That’s why, when Sloane told me about their first annual Fund and Food Drive, I didn’t hesitate to offer my assistance.”

“And by yours, what you really meant was ours ,” Chase teased.

“Of course, that’s what I meant.” Natalie blinked, her expression as flat and unmoving as he’d ever seen it. She held the look steady a few more seconds and then…ever-so-slowly…the little sister Chase never had curved her lips into a shit-eating, Cheshire grin. “But seriously.” That same smile instantly turned genuine. “I really do appreciate your donations and your time. And I know Sloane and the women who come here looking for help will, too. So, thank you.”

Sloane Richardson was the shelter’s sole operating manager…and a new asset to Chase’s private security team.

“No thanks needed, Nat.” He flashed her a crooked grin.

From behind his dark, polarized lenses, Chase studied the three-story brick building before him. Based on what Natalie had previously shared with him and his team, the structure had been built two decades earlier by a real estate developer with the plan to rent it out as “high-end” office space. Eighteen months ago, however, that same owner filed for bankruptcy.

Enter Sloane Richardson.

The big-hearted—and determined—woman convinced the non-profit agency she worked for to buy the property. After a few months of hard work and tireless fundraising efforts, Sloane and her people turned the empty space into the beacon of hope it is today.

A safe haven for many, Liberty House had quickly become one of Seattle’s most well-known and trusted women’s shelters. And Natalie was right. The woman in charge of it all was someone he and his teammates both respected and admired.

“How’s it going out here?” Logan asked his wife as he studied the donated items already neatly spread out atop the tables. The man’s hand lifted lovingly to Natalie’s growing belly, which prompted her to cover it with one of her own.

“Great! I just have a few more boxes to sort through, including the one Chase just brought.” She motioned to the large cardboard box filled with donations Chase had picked up from various businesses on his way to the shelter. “I still can’t believe the number of local businesses that agreed to donate. Especially with the shelter still being relatively new.”

“Why wouldn’t they?” Logan wrapped an arm around his expectant wife’s shoulders and pulled her close to his side. “You’re a hard woman to say no to. Trust me.” He kissed her temple. “I know.”

Natalie’s soft chuckle fluttered into the air as Chase’s lips twitched with the urge to do the same. Damn, he loved these two. He loved even more that, after years of avoiding the obvious, they’d finally figured out they belonged together.

Now, after nearly losing Natalie to the hands of some ruthless assholes who cared more about money than an innocent woman’s life, she and Logan were happily married and expecting their first child.

Must be nice.

Chase’s lips no longer twitched, and his eyes were doing some sort of super-fast blinking shit. But who could blame him? Hell, he was barely thirty. What business did he have being jealous of his friends’ domestic bliss?

None. That’s what. So knock that ridiculous notion away.

He blinked again, more than willing to take his own advice. Did he hope to someday meet the woman of his dreams and build a life like the one Logan and Nat were well on their way to achieving? Sure. But until such time, Chase planned to do what he did best.

Live life to its fucking fullest.

But even as the silent motto rolled through his mind, another thought struck. It was as unexpected as the momentary wave of jealousy he’d felt seconds before. Unexpected and…unsettling.

A life without someone to share it with seems pretty damn empty, if you ask me.

Well, he hadn’t asked. Not himself or anyone else. And damn it, where was all this coming from, anyway? Chase was perfectly happy with the life he was currently leading.

He’d served his country with all the honor, loyalty, and dedication Uncle Sam could ask of him. He had a kickass job working private security with his former Navy SEAL brothers. His apartment rocked, he had a sweet ass ride, and he could go wherever and do whatever the hell he wanted.

Not a chance married life was better than that. None. Zilch. Zippo.

Back in check, Chase stood awkwardly to the side, watching as Logan leaned down and whispered something in Natalie’s ear. Whatever the man said had not only made his wife giggle like a schoolgirl…it also made her blush.

You may want to check those odds again, Boyer. ’Cause those two sure seem a lot happier now than they did when they were still single.

“So.” Chase clapped his hands together loudly with a smile. “I’m here, and I’ve got two good hands, so you might as well put me to work.”

Please, for the love of God, give me something else to focus on besides a future I’m not even sure I really want.

Thankfully, Natalie came through for him. Just like always.

“I’m almost finished here, but you might check with Sloane,” the sweet woman offered. “The last time I saw her she was headed inside to talk to the shelter’s chef about something related to tonight’s dinner.”

Shit. I forgot about tonight.

A long, deep groan of dread did its damnedest to escape. There were very few things in life Chase truly hated. One of those was wearing a tux. But, since he loved Nat like a sister, he kept himself in check and his expression carefully schooled.

“Kitchen, it is.” He side-stepped Logan and began walking in that direction. He stopped mid-stride when Natalie hollered after him.

“Wait! Do you remember where it is?”

He’d been here once before, back when he and his team had been working a related case. It had been a few months, but he was fairly certain he remembered the building’s layout.

Refrigerator. Stove. Sink. How hard can it be?

“It’s a kitchen, Nat.” Chase shot her a quick smirk from over his shoulder. “Pretty sure I’ll know it when I see it.”

He was also pretty sure Logan had just called him a smartass, but the guy’s muttered comment was low, and Chase was still walking away. It was all good, though.

He was a smartass.

Reaching the building’s side entrance, Chase opened the steel security door and stepped inside. From what he knew of the place, the shelter’s exterior doors were typically kept locked at all times. An added level of security for the building’s occupants.

Today was a rare exception.

That wasn’t to say the property had been left in a fully vulnerable state. A black wrought-iron fence surrounded the entire perimeter, and entering through the gate required a personalized code.

If an employee or volunteer made it into the parking lot and up to the building’s main entrance, they still had to punch in their code again to enter the building from the door around back.

All visitors went through the building’s front entrance and were buzzed in only after prior approval from Sloane.

Protecting those inside these walls was Liberty House’s number one priority. That was abundantly clear. So far, from what Chase had seen, Sloane and her people were doing a damn fine job.

He paused a moment to get his bearings. If memory served him correctly, the hallway he’d just stepped into would lead him to the building’s main entrance. From there, all he’d have to do is take a right at the elevators, and voila!

His booted feet began to move once more, carrying him further down the hall. A low hum of conversation traveled through the air, and Chase was only feet away from reaching the end when a large man suddenly appeared.

Tall. Built. Tatted arms, short, salt-and-pepper hair, and a matching beard. The well-trimmed facial hair covered a noticeably square jaw, and the man’s holstered gun looked ready for action.

Ah, the Marine.

“Who the hell are you?” The other man stopped dead in his tracks, effectively blocking Chase’s path. Crossing his arms, a set of massive biceps threatened to rip straight through the guy’s short sleeves.

“Chase Boyer.” He offered his hand in a friendly gesture. “I’m with Eagle’s Nest Securities. You must be Hank. I heard Sloane hired a Marine to keep an eye on the place. I’m gonna take a wild guess—That’s you?”

A steely blue gaze fell onto his hand, but good ol’ Hank—or whoever he was—made no move to take it. Instead, those suspicious eyes lifted back up to Chase’s as the guy asked, “You got some ID?”

Thorough and untrusting. Both awesome qualities to have in a bodyguard.

“Sure.” Chase dipped his chin with a nod.

Unlike the legally concealed pistol he never left home without, the other man wore his loud and proud, right there on his hip. Given the shelter’s policy of no weapons, only two possibilities seemed plausible…

Either the guy was, in fact, the new day guard Nat had previously informed him about or he was here with nefarious intent.

Since the shirt he wore possessed the shelter’s logo—and the two women who’d just walked behind the man didn’t so much as flinch—Chase deduced the armed dude was most likely the former. Even so, he kept the deadly weapon in mind while purposely keeping his movements slow and careful.

Raising his left palm up—and keeping that hand right where Maybe Hank could see it—Chase made a wide, slow swing with his other as he reached in his back pocket for his wallet. Once the folded leather contraption was free, he opened its flaps and pulled out his driver’s license and business card.

“See?” He held them out for Maybe Hank to check. “I’m with Eagle’s Nest Securities. And if you still need more in the way of confirmation, you can check with Sloane. I have no doubt she’ll vouch for me.”

A deep grunt preceded Chase being handed back his things. It wasn’t until after he’d returned the ID and card to his wallet that the wall of muscle finally relaxed.

“Hank Farmer.” He held out a large, meaty hand.

“Good to meet you, Hank.” Chase shook the guy’s hand.

“Sorry about that.” The man’s deep voice rumbled. “You never can be too careful. Especially with the kinds of assholes these women have had to deal with.”

“No apology necessary. It’s good to know they have someone like you watching out for them.”

Hank released Chase’s hand, letting both of his fall loosely at his sides. “You helping with the auction, or are you here on official business?”

“Auction.” He grinned. “I’m looking for Sloane. Have you seen her?”

“Kitchen, I think. At least, that’s where she was a couple of minutes ago.”

“Great. Thanks.” Chase took a step forward, unsurprised, when Hank shifted his massive form out of the way so he could pass.

The hallway opened up to a spacious lobby designed with the women who came through its doors in mind. Light gray walls. Soft pinks, peaches, blues, and greens. Furniture that looked warm and inviting had been arranged around the large space, offering several places for the residents to relax and converse.

A few indoor trees had been placed throughout. One in each of the two corners near the building’s front windows, and two near the building’s central elevators to Chase’s left. Simple yet classy flower arrangements adorned the accent tables scattered throughout, and several pieces of tasteful artwork hung from the walls.

Even the reception desk was more welcoming than most he’d seen. The way it curved into a slight S shape offered those who approached a clear view of the friendly faces greeting them from the other side.

The modern-yet-comfy space was a bustle of activity with women moving this way and that. Their steps were quick and purposeful, some looking his way as they moved.

No, scratch that. Every woman who spotted him looked his way. Each possessed the same sort of haunted, guarded gaze that twisted Chase’s gut into knots.

He’d expect them to be cautious around a man they didn’t know. Especially when, other than those hired to protect them, men were not allowed inside the shelter. Good for them.

And lucky for you, Hank just gave the women a wave and a nod to let them know you aren’t a threat.

Having caught the other man’s supportive gesture from the corner of his eye, Chase turned his head, giving Hank a wave of his own. He needed to let the guy know he both saw and appreciated his help. Because, again, the sense of safety these women desperately needed at this juncture in their lives—in this, of all places—was of the utmost importance.

A sense of familiarity struck as Chase continued through the lobby, and before conscious thought struck, his legs were carrying him to the set of doors ten feet back and to the left of the elevators.

Bingo.

He’d been in the shelter’s kitchen one other time. It was a case involving a woman who came to his firm looking for protection. Her husband, the bastard, was an abusive prick with lots of rich asshole friends. And as it went with so many aspects in life, money talked.

The son of a bitch had all kinds of snakes slithering around in his pockets. Cops. Lawyers. Judges. In the end, Chase and his team were able to obtain enough evidence to help put the dickhead away.

In the interim, however, his wife had stayed here. At Liberty House. And that first night…

I walked into this very kitchen—with permission from the lady in charge—and made the battered woman a cup of hot tea.

He opened the door on the right and immediately became enveloped in an array of delicious-smelling aromas. Sweet. Savory. A touch of spice, if his nose wasn’t mistaken.

Hunger hadn’t been in his thoughts until that very moment, but now…

Chase slapped a hand to his abs in an effort to diminish the sudden and incessant growling brought on by the tastebud-tempting scents. Sizzling sounds pulled his attention toward the massive commercial-grade gas stove covering half of the back wall.

Steam billowed up from some pots and pans covering a few of the burners.

He was still standing there, holding his midsection while he scanned the large space for Sloane when he heard a voice from somewhere he couldn’t see.

“If you’re here to pick up the first load of food, the boxes are marked and in the fridge.”

Warm. Feminine. Confident. A touch of rasp that reminded him of another time.

Another woman.

He turned his head toward the section of the room where the intriguing voice had originated. Sounds of stainless-steel cookware being moved around helped in his search for the person who’d just spoken.

“I’m, uh…I’m actually looking for?—”

“The chocolate tart truffles, cheesecake bites, crudité platters, and Boston Cream pie puffs are ready to go. They’re in the walk-in cooler on your right.”

His gaze slid to the right. Sure enough, there was a giant metal door with an air-tight seal. Good to know…if he’d come for the food.

“I’m not here for a pick-up,” he informed the invisible woman. “I’m trying to find Sloane Richardson. I was told she might be in here. You know where I can find her?”

“Oh! Sorry.” More clanging ensued. “I thought you were the volunteer here to pick up the first round of deliveries for tonight’s gala.”

A flash of long, sandy blonde hair caught his attention as the woman popped up from behind the room’s massive center island. Her back was to him, so he couldn’t see her face, and most of her body was shielded by the many pots and pans hanging from above. “Sloane was just in here a minute ago, but she mentioned having to make a last-minute run to the store. Is there something I can help you wi?—”

The woman turned around, her words falling off as fast and hard as Chase’s jaw dropped.

Holy shit. Is it really her?

In another life, Scottlynn Cahill was Chase’s high school sweetheart. In this one, she was his greatest regret.

The last time he was in a room with her, she’d been a beautiful sixteen-year-old girl. She’d worn glasses back then and had long, thick waves that had fallen all the way down to her waist. Her body had been smokin’ hot, or so he’d thought.

Fast forward to today, and Scottie was all grown up.

Her hair was half-up beneath an adorable as fuck chef’s hat. The glasses he remembered were gone, and there was a smudge of what he assumed to be flour across one of her flawless cheeks. Her body was hidden behind a long white apron.

But even with that, the jeans, and her white t-shirt, Chase could tell she’d filled out quite nicely over the years. In fact, from where he stood, she’d grown into the most beautiful woman he’d ever lain eyes on.

“Chase?” She reached up and removed the hat from her head. A few strands pulled free from the tight, neat bun there as she stared back at him with a look of utter surprise.

“Scottie?” He couldn’t believe his eyes.

She dropped the hat onto the stainless steel island and practically ran to where he stood. They both started talking at the exact same time.

“What are you?—”

“Oh, my god!” Scottie threw herself into his welcoming arms. “I can’t believe it’s really you!”

Chase wrapped his arms around her petite form and pulled her body flush with his. His lids fell shut, and he savored the moment. It had been fourteen years since they’d said their goodbyes. Nearly a decade and a half since his heart had been silently shattered.

He’d kept the pain well hidden in the days and months that had followed. From her. From the rest of the world.

But deep, deep inside—in a place no one since Scottie had ever been allowed to reach—slivers of the heartache he’d experienced from losing her still lingered.