CHAPTER THREE

He didn't see her after she went into his bedroom with Myla and Justine.

They were in there for a while with her, taking pictures and collecting evidence.

All he knew about that whole scenario was what he watched on police procedurals. He knew it would be invasive, possibly even degrading, but ultimately necessary if they wanted to strengthen their case.

He didn't watch a lot of television anymore—at least not a lot of adult television. His boys were into superheroes and zombies, so he watched the kid appropriate shit in those genres.

But it didn't take a penchant for cop shows to know that standing naked and having pictures taken of your body after a brutal assault would be a new kind of a trauma that he didn't wish on even his worst enemy.

After nearly an hour, Myla and Justine came down the stairs to let him know that Vica was having a shower in his en suite and Justine would be back over with clothes in a moment.

"I put fresh sheets on the bed," he said, unsure what else to say as Myla met him at the bottom of the stairwell.

The woman's emerald-green eyes were sad and tired. "She knows. She wanted to convey her thanks to you, but I don't think you'll see her until morning."

Nodding, he saw the cop to the door.

He wanted to help Vica more than he already was. But he also didn't want to push.

He waited in the living room until Justine arrived again, a couple of changes of clothes in her arms. "These will hopefully work for now," she said, taking the stairs once more. "Otherwise, tomorrow Brooke and I can go to the Town Center Store and pick up something for her."

"Thank you for all your help," he said as she disappeared down the hallway.

The women murmured, careful not to wake his sleeping boys in their rooms. Then Justine met him back in the living room. She was a kind and gentle soul, Justine Brazeau, and ridiculously smart too. She also knew her way around the kitchen and helped him out in the pub from time to time when they were short-staffed.

"She's really shaken up," Justine said, her almond-shaped, brown eyes full of sadness. "I can't even begin to imagine what she's going through right now." Her gaze shifted toward the stairs and the bedrooms up there. "To be honest, I'm surprised she agreed to stay here. Not that you're not safe, but it's a house of only men. Considering what happened."

Wyatt pressed his lips together. "I am too. But I was the first to find her and have offered her safety ever since. So maybe she just knows she can trust me."

"Well, she's not wrong." Her smile was sweet, and her cheeks pinked up just a hint beneath her smattering of adorable freckles. Justine really did look like Lucy Liu. Bennett was a lucky man to have found someone that blended into their family as seamlessly as Justine did.

"I'm glad Myla came. Dan and Duane are the worst."

She shook her head. "Why don't they just retire already?"

"They're both divorced and have heavy alimony payments. I'd say they have to work. And, despite this being paradise, it's not easy to find cops willing to move here. It's slow-paced in the winter, maybe even boring. And then there's the whole dilemma of finding somewhere to live, and you know how tough that can be."

Rolling her pretty eyes, she nodded. "Oh, I do know that. Hence why I split my time between the travel trailer in the driveway and your brother's house. Not quite ready to move in together, but there's also nowhere else to live."

"Myla and her friends bought the orchard, and Everett lives with his aunt and uncle. And I'm pretty sure Duane and Dan live under Mosley Creek Bridge. So …"

She snickered at his joke. "Yeah, they make me answer a riddle every time I want to cross it."

"Couple of misogynistic trolls."

"I'm off tomorrow. So just shoot me a message when Vica is awake. I'll keep an eye out for Troll One and Troll Two though. You know they're going to be back bright and early."

"Those lazy bastards? Doubt it."

"True. But let me know when she's up and I'll come over to support and comfort her. Brooke too."

He saw her to the door. "Thanks, Justine. It's nice having a doctor in the family."

She grinned and tossed her long, straight, dark hair over her shoulder. "Been a while since I've seen a dead body. Not going to lie, it was triggering."

"I bet. It's been even longer since I've seen one."

"I'm glad Grayson is taking over that. He doesn't even need me to go help him with the body tomorrow, thankfully. The medical examiner is scheduled to be on one of the first ferries in the morning. Along with Seattle PD."

"Lovely. More cops snooping around."

"Better Seattle PD than Troll One and Trolle Two." She opened the door. "Have a good night, Wyatt. Try to get some sleep."

"You too. Take care."

Even though their little family compound was incredibly safe and secure, he still stood on his porch until he saw her enter Bennett's house. Then, just because tonight had been so fucked up, for the first time ever, he locked his front door.

"Jake," Griffon whisper-yelled. "Jake!"

"What?" Jake finally said, his voice groggy from sleep.

"Dad's sleeping on my floor. Why's he on my floor?"

"I don't know. I'm not in your room."

"Well come in my room."

Jake grumbled, but Wyatt, still pretending to be asleep—because he'd really rather actually still be asleep—kept his eyes closed and didn't move. Jake entered his younger brother's bedroom a moment later.

"Why is Dad on my floor?" Griffon asked again.

"I don't know," Jake repeated.

"Do you think he had a bad dream?"

"Maybe."

"I didn't think adults had bad dreams."

"We do," Wyatt murmured, hugging his son's spare Spiderman pillow.

"You're awake," Griffon announced.

"Hard to stay asleep when you nuggets are yelling at each other across the hallway."

"Why are you on my floor?"

"Someone else is borrowing my room."

"Who?"

Rather than answer Griffon's question right away, Wyatt peeled himself off the floor and climbed into his son's tiny twin bed beneath his Spiderman comforter. "Move over, Nugget."

"Dad, you're too big."

"No, you just have too many toys on your bed."

Griffon grumbled but moved over. Then Jake took the half-foot of space on the edge of the bed and climbed his eight-year-old frame onto the mattress as well. Now they really were squished.

But he wouldn't have it any other way.

Despite his boys being rough-and-tumble zombie-loving hooligans, they were also incredibly loving, silly, and wonderful. He wouldn't get too many more mornings like this, so he lapped them up.

Sooner than he wanted to think about, they'd be sweaty, smelly, hairy teenagers who thought more about girls and videos games than their dear old dad. So, for now, he was going to savor every last moment of their childhood as he could.

Besides, the morning was their time.

He worked all day in the kitchen, starting at around ten in the morning during the summer, and going until eleven at night or later. Which meant the morning was when he got in as much quality time with his kids as he could.

"Who is in your room, Dad?" Griffon probed again.

"Last night something happened down at the restaurant and a person needed help. She needed a safe place to stay the night. So I offered for her to stay here."

"Why didn't you sleep in the study or on the couch though?" Jake asked, ever the methodical, practical one. Wyatt was surprised his eldest son hadn't brought a book with him. Jake almost always had his nose buried in a book.

"Because I forgot that the futon mattress in the study needs to be replaced and is currently just the frame with no mattress. And I've never liked sleeping on the couch. I'm too tall."

"Why'd you choose my floor over Jake's floor?" Griffon asked.

"Because I stood between your two open doors last night and Jake was snoring. You weren't." He elbowed Jake who just rolled his blue-hazel eyes, the same shade as Wyatt's. Wyatt snorted. "What time is it anyway?"

Jake checked his kids' Fitbit. "It's seven thirty."

Wyatt groaned. It wasn't that early, he supposed. It felt early after the night he'd had though.

Last year, he had the clever idea to get his boys Fitbits to just see how many steps and miles they ran each day. The results were insane. Especially, Griffon. That kid rarely seemed to stop moving.

Now, it was an ongoing, fun competition between the two brothers to see who could get more steps in a day.

"Well, I suppose we should start the day. Hmm?" Wyatt said with a yawn. "What would you two little grubs like for breakfast?"

"Can we have a Fisherman's Breakfast, with sausages and bacon?" Griffon asked.

Both boys had never-ending appetites, which made sense given how many miles they put on in a day, but Griffon, in particular, had two hollow legs—or a tapeworm.

Wyatt yawned again, reached over and tickled his six-year-old. "Yeah, I think we can manage that."

Griffon erupted into a fit of giggles.

Wyatt, still tickling his youngest, glanced over at his oldest. "Too cool for the tickle monster?"

Jake's eyes widened in panic. But Wyatt was too quick and instantly had both boys rolling on the bed as he tickled their armpits.

"Dad, I need to pee," Griffon finally said, slightly out of breath.

Wyatt relented and sat back on his heels to give his sons some reprieve. "All right, you two use the facilities. I'm going to go start breakfast." He climbed out of bed and pulled on the shirt he'd snagged from the dryer last night.

One thing he totally forgot to do before he handed his room over to Vica, was grab himself some clean clothes .

Luckily, the dryer in the laundry room had some for him.

So, after he turned off all the lights, he took a shower in the boys' bathroom because he couldn't go to bed smelling like a commercial kitchen and caked in sweat from slaving over the cooktop all day. Then he yanked on fresh boxers and stowed the olive-green T-shirt and khaki shorts at the foot of the thin blowup mattress he used on Griffon's floor.

It was Sunday, and he was trying more often than not to take Sundays off completely. It didn't always work out that way, but he tried.

And now, with a guest in his house that needed help and support, he was determined more than ever to hand the reins of the kitchen over to his second in command, Burke, and spend the day home with his kids and Vica.

Griffon and Jake were in the bathroom brushing their teeth and whatever else. Wyatt headed downstairs to put on the coffee and start breakfast. In addition to not grabbing clothes from his bedroom before he handed it over to Vica, he also forgot to grab his contact lenses and solution. So he found his glasses in the study and put those on so he could see more than five feet in front of him.

A Fisherman's Breakfast consisted of fried eggs, toast, hashbrowns, sausages, and bacon. It was the breakfast fit for a man who planned to spend his day at sea. And even though Griffon would be digging through the snack cupboard before ten in the morning, he still liked his Fisherman's Breakfast.

It was tough to discern the noises upstairs from anything beyond his lead-footed sons. But he could have sworn he heard a toilet flush in his en suite bathroom.

Would Vica come down and join them?

He'd make enough food just in case.

She was probably starving.

Did she get any sleep last night?

His mattress was lush, and his sheets were a very soft with a high thread count. If being in the marines and sleeping on concrete and in dirt holes had taught Wyatt anything, it was the appreciation of a good night's sleep and to take care of his spine. So he dumped a lot of coin on a good mattress and sheets. A good sleep made all the difference to how the rest of your day could go.

He was just sliding the bacon into the preheated oven when two young colts with thunder hooves came galloping down the stairs. Of course, Jake had a book in his hand. He was devouring The Evans Twins Chronicles right now. A series of graphic novels about twins—a brother and sister—who developed special powers from a meteor. Only their powers were strongest when they were together, and practically nonexistent when they were apart. He had reread them all at least twice and was quite possibly on his third rotation.

Wyatt had already poured the kids their orange juice and diced up strawberries and pineapple, setting it in a bowl on the table.

He added freshly washed blueberries to the mix as well.

Griffon climbed onto his chair and reached for a handful of blueberries. "Uncle Jagger says if you eat enough blueberries, it can turn your poop blue. I'm going to try it."

"Don't listen to your uncle. He doesn't have to do your laundry and I'd rather not be cleaning blue skid marks out of your underwear, thank you very much." Wyatt gave his youngest a stern look.

Griffon seemed to take that as more of a challenge than a warning to limit his blueberry intake and just grabbed another handful, shoving it crudely into his mouth.

Wyatt rolled his eyes and sipped his coffee. "I'll be sure to drop your laundry off on your uncle's doorstep."

Jake had his nose buried in a book, but was nibbling on strawberries without pulling his eyes from the pages.

Toast popped in the toaster and Wyatt went about buttering it. He was competent and confident in the kitchen. Great at time management and multitasking. His brothers, and even some of his kitchen staff, said he'd do well in a TV cooking competition where a million things needed to be on the go at once, but Wyatt wasn't interested in that. He could multitask, but he didn't like time constraints.

Sure, he needed to get food out in the pub in a prompt and orderly fashion and could do just that, but don't tell him he has thirty minutes to make a five-course meal with one frying pan and no salt. That was not his idea of fun and nobody could convince him otherwise.

Jake liked his egg yolk runny, while Griffon preferred his cooked through. So Wyatt was busy watching his eggs in the pan when the atmosphere behind him in the kitchen shifted.

"Hi," Griffon piped up. "Who are you? And what happened to your face?"

Wyatt quickly turned off the burner and spun around. "Griff," he warned.

"What? What'd I do wrong?" his kid asked, eyes wide in confusion.

"It's okay," Vica said, her fat lip twisting as her gentle, brown eyes darted around the kitchen. "I'm Vica," she said to Griffon. "Umm, and my face …" She glanced at Wyatt.

"A man hurt Vica last night," Wyatt said, using the spatula to scoop the eggs out of the frying pan and onto a plate. "He tried to kiss her. She didn't want to. Politely said no and he got mad."

"So he hit you?" Griffon exclaimed. "Why didn't he just ask for a high five or a handshake? Or a first bump? Or a wave? That's what we're told to do in school. If you ask someone for a kiss or hug, and they say no, you go, ‘okay' and you offer something else, or just accept it. People don't owe you a hug or a kiss. I don't owe grown-ups a hug or a kiss. I don't owe anybody a hug or a kiss." He glanced at Wyatt. "I can even say no to you if I want to. If I'm not in the mood." His gaze softened. "But I'll never say no, Dad. Don't worry."

Wyatt's heart was close to exploding with pride for his little guy. If a six-year-old could get it, why couldn't grown-ass adults?

The conversation was intriguing enough that even Jake had set his book down. He glanced at Vica. "Would you like an ice pack for your lip?" He got up without waiting for her response and went to the bottom pull-out freezer part of the fridge and began rummaging around for where they kept the first aid ice packs. He grabbed one, wrapped it in a tea towel like Wyatt had shown him before, and brought it to Vica. "Here."

Vica's eyes welled up with tears as she accepted the ice pack and held it to her mouth. " Grazie. "

"I've made a big breakfast for growing young men, but if you think it'll be too tough to eat, I'm happy to blend you a smoothie or you can have some yogurt and berries."

"Can I have yogurt?" Griffon asked.

"I just made you a Fisherman's Breakfast," Wyatt said, plunking the plate of eggs into the middle of the table beside the toast. The timer for the sausages and bacon in the oven started to chime.

"Yeah, but I want yogurt too." Griffon leaped off his chair and went to the fridge, pulling out a tub of mango-vanilla yogurt—a house favorite.

Wyatt knew Vica was watching him. He could feel her gaze on his back as he blotted the bacon in a paper towel to remove the grease and transferred the sausages to a plate.

"Or if you think a hot coffee will hurt, I'd be happy to blend you an iced coffee," he offered, bringing the bacon and sausages over to the table too.

"The yogurt would perfect," she said beneath the towel and ice pack. " Grazie ."

"What happened to the guy that hit you?" Jake asked, loading up his plate with eggs, bacon, toast, and sausages.

"I hope he's in jail," Griffon said, having brought spoons and bowls over to the table from the cupboard. "Did you hit him back?" He quickly glanced at Wyatt. "You said we're allowed to hit back in self-defense. I'm not being violent, Dad."

Wyatt resisted the urge to snort.

"I, um," Vica glanced down at the table.

"She hit him back," Wyatt said. "She defended herself and got away."

"Good," Griffon said, biting into a piece of bacon. "Bullies need to be taught a lesson. I was really proud of Aya when she hit Carnation on the playground. Carnation deserved it."

"Your cousin was acting in self-defense," Wyatt said. "But, yes, we're all aware of the wrath of Carnation." He glanced at his older son. "Jake, can you please pass the blueberries and get them out of reach of your brother. He's going to get a bellyache if he keeps eating them like that."

Jake passed the bowl to Wyatt, and Wyatt earned himself a glare from Griffon.

Wyatt was all about being honest and transparent with his sons. However, he wasn't sure if he should tell them that Vica ended up killing the man who attacked her. He was sure his boys would be on Vica's side, but they were still just kids. Eight and six, for crying out loud; and a man died on their property. He didn't want to traumatize them.

He'd have to talk to his brothers, and they'd all have to come up with the appropriate way to tell the children what happened.

At that thought, he shot off a quick text to their group of five.

Haven't told the boys that Vica killed the guy. Not sure how to approach it. Can we figure out a way to tell the children together?

Dom was the first to message back. Agreed. I'm at a loss too. How is Vica this morning?

Wyatt replied with: She's here at the breakfast table with a fat lip, black eye, and hollow look in her eyes. But at least she's safe and alive.

He glanced at the woman who sat across from him. "Iced coffee?"

Her smile was small, and she winced as soon as her lips curled up even an inch. " Si. Please."

He sprang up from the table and went about mixing her up a delicious iced coffee in the blender. He didn't care if his breakfast got cold. After what this woman had been through, he'd eat dirt just so she could have a little bit of peace and joy in her life.

"Where are you from?" Griffon asked her as he held a piece of toast on a fork and gnawed on it like an animal.

"I'm from Italy. Do you know where that is?"

"That's the country shaped like a boot," Jake said. "We studied Italy in school this year a little bit."

"It is shaped like a boot," Vica said, reaching for the tub of yogurt and scooping a bit into a bowl.

"It's also where pizza, spaghetti, and gelato come from," Jake added.

Griffon's eyes went wide. "Do you get to eat pizza every day there?"

Vica chuckled, but her smile made her wince again from the pain of pulling on her mouth. "We eat a lot of pizza there, yes. But there are other wonderful dishes besides pizza too."

"Like what?" She had Griffon's undivided attention now. If the topic was food, he was all over it.

She smiled as she took a spoonful of yogurt into her mouth. " Ravioli, tortellini, Cannolis, cacio e pepe, zuppa di pesce marechiara, chicken parmigiana, casatelle. The list is endless. Italian food is … very, very good."

"Pause for a sec. I'm gonna make some noise," Wyatt said, hitting the blender button which filled the kitchen and dining area with the crunch and grind of ice against a blade. He loved his Vitamix because it pulverized ice in a matter of seconds. A moment later, the smooth and creamy iced coffee swirled against the sides of the carafe, and he hit the "off" button.

"I didn't understand a lot of those words, but I'm sure they mean something and I'm sure they're good," Griffon said. "I do know what ravioli and tortellini are. And I like those. I still love pizza more though. I could eat pizza for every meal, every day for the rest of my life, and I'd never get sick of it."

"Yes, you would," Jake said with an eye roll as he sliced into his fried egg. The yolk ran across his plate and into his toast and bacon.

Griffon glared at his older brother. "I would not."

Wyatt brought Vica over her iced coffee and she thanked him.

"How old are you, Vica?" Griffon asked. "I'm six. I just finished kindergarten."

Vica sipped her ice coffee through the straw. "I'm thirty-five. And I finished kindergarten a long time ago."

That made Griffon smile. "What's your job?"

Wyatt loved his outgoing, chatty son. He asked all the questions that burned inside Wyatt, but Wyatt couldn't figure out a way to ask without coming off as prying or creepy. But when a kid asked them, it just came across as curious and friendly.

"I'm an engineer," Vica said. "A mechanical engineer. I work primarily on alternate energy sources, like wind and solar energy."

"So like solar panels and windmills?" Jake asked.

She nodded. "Exactly. But for the last year, I've been working on solar. I used to work for a company that studied and developed prototypes for wave energy though."

"Like ocean waves?" Griffon asked. "Because we have loads of them here. They never stop." He glanced at Wyatt. "Right, Dad? All the ocean waves are here."

"Yes, buddy. All the ocean waves are here."

Griffon grinned, then switched gears completely. "How long are you staying here?" he asked her. "How long is my dad going to sleep on my floor?"

Vica's eyes went wide and she pivoted her focus to Wyatt. "You slept on his floor?"

"On an air mattress. It's fine."

She shook her head. "No. No. I can't have you do that again."

"Vica," he leveled her with a reassuring gaze, "It's okay. What matters is you feeling safe. There are five houses here and an RV. We have lots of space, and beds, and mattresses. I will be fine. I am fine."

She didn't seem convinced, but he gave her a look that said she also couldn't convince him to take back his bedroom either.

Silence fell around their table for a moment as everyone ate their breakfast .

Even with her bruised and battered face, Vica Vitale was strikingly beautiful. With soft-brown eyes, light-brown hair with natural blonde and caramel streaks, a narrow, sweet face, and high cheekbones. Olive-colored skin and full lips. He recognized the clothes she wore as some of Justine's clothes. Particularly the navy Stanford Medicine hoodie.

The boys—after nearly eating their own body weights in food—brought their dishes to the dishwasher then headed upstairs to get dressed, leaving Vica and Wyatt alone in the kitchen.

"Thank you," she whispered, joining him in the kitchen as he filled up the sink with hot, soapy water. "For … everything."

He was about to open his mouth—though he wasn't sure what to say—when there was a knock at the front door.

It couldn't be the cops, since there was no alert on his phone to let anybody through the gate. It had to be someone from the family.

Drying his hands on a dish towel, he smiled at Vica before leaving her in the kitchen and heading to the door. The two feminine silhouettes behind the glass were easily recognizable.

He swung open the door.

"How is she?" Justine asked, not waiting to be invited inside, but simply stepping over the threshold. Brooke followed her, bringing her floral and fruity scent with her.

"Awake and enjoying an iced coffee," he said, following the women as they made their way through his home to the kitchen. Every house had the same layout, so it wasn't like they needed a map to find the kitchen.

"Hi," Justine said softly, her smile grim. "How'd you sleep?"

"I slept," Vica said. "Thanks to the pills you gave me."

Justine nodded. "It was just melatonin, but it helps."

"I appreciate it. Thank you."

"I'm Brooke," Brooke said, extending her hand. "And I'm here for anything you might need. We both are." She glanced behind her at Wyatt and her green eyes lit up. "We all are."

"I … I appreciate that," Vica said. "Um … do we know, well … anything about what happened? The police … the news?"

"We all checked our news feeds this morning and so far, nothing has popped up," Brooke said. "But we're keeping an eye on things."

"I appreciate it," Vica said. "I hope the two police officers, the older ones, do not come back. I didn't like them. They were rude and very …" she glanced at all of us, "What is the word for hating women?"

Justine and Brooke both snorted.

"Misogynistic," Justine said. "And yeah, they are."

Wyatt cleared his throat. "Unfortunately, there are only four cops on the island, and they are two of them. But Myla, who you also met last night, is great. And I'm hoping she pushes to take over the case."

The women nodded.

"We'd like to help however we can," Brooke added. "So please make a list …," she grabbed the pad of paper that was magnetically stuck to the fridge, along with a pen, and handed it to Vica, "of things we can pick up for you at the store. Deodorant, underwear, bras, face wash, toothbrush; whatever you need. We're here for you." She made a face. "I was in a somewhat similar situation not too long ago and this place was a safe haven. My refuge from the cold, cruel world beyond the gate." Her smile turned softer. "Clint … the McEvoy family, they saved me."

Justine nodded. "I didn't wash ashore like some mermaid," she bumped Brooke's shoulder, "but this is definitely a magical place with magical people. We're here for you and we won't let anything bad happen."

Vica swallowed and reached for the pad of paper as a tear slid down her cheek. She choked out a sob. "I'm sorry," she blubbered, "I haven't met such nice people in a long time. I've been in America for a year and didn't really make any friends. I worked so much and in such a male-dominanted environment that … this is all just very overwhelming." She met the women's eyes. "In a good way. "

Wyatt, Brooke, and Justine's phones all chimed to say that there was someone at the security gate asking to be let up.

Wyatt checked his phone first, along with the camera.

"Fuck," he grunted. "It's Troll One and Troll Two."

"You're kidding," Justine said. "Where's Myla?"

Wyatt shrugged. "Hello?"

"Officers Fischer and Jenkins," Fischer said into the intercom as Wyatt watched the man's fat face take up the entire screen. "We'd like to ask Ms. Vitale some more questions. The medical examiner is with Dr. Malone right now at the hospital along with Seattle PD."

"Where is Officer Bruce?" Wyatt asked.

"She is not on this case. We are," Fischer said with indignation. "Please open the gate so that we may question the suspect."

"You mean the victim," Justine said. "She is a victim of sexual assault. And not only does she not have to answer anything without her lawyer present," she whispered to Brooke to call Gabrielle, "but she also has the right to request a female officer."

"Is she requesting a female officer?" Fischer asked.

Vica nodded.

"She is," Wyatt said. "So until a female Seattle PD officer, or Officer Bruce arrives, we will not be opening the gate. Ms. Vitale does not feel comfortable around you or Officer Jenkins. And I, for one, can't blame her." He held back no distaste for the cops in his tone. These sexist morons needed to go back to the Stone Age. Or better yet, retire and move to the Florida Everglades where the chances of them getting stalked and eaten by a gator were highly probable.

Fischer made a noise in his throat. "This doesn't look well for Ms. Vitale. Her resisting speaking to police."

"She's not resisting anything. She is simply stating that she will speak to police with whom she feels comfortable. And you two have done nothing to make her feel comfortable," Brooke said .

Wyatt watched the two angry old cops grumble to each other in the front of the cruiser.

"Very well. We will send Officer Bruce shortly," Fischer said, his tone clipped and icy.

"Much appreciated. You two have the day you deserve now," Wyatt said.

One of them made a strangled sound in his throat before the cruiser finally backed down the hill and away from the gate.

Vica visibly exhaled beside him. "Thank you."

"Nobody can get through that gate without someone in this family buzzing them through. Even the kids know not to say the man door code out loud. You are safe here," Brooke said. "So write down what you need, and Justine and I will run and grab it for you." Her smile turned sassy. "And throw in some comfort food too. A girl needs to be comfortable and taken care of. So chocolate, wine, ice cream, potato chips. Write it down. And if you don't, we'll just have to guess, because it's not like we're not going to buy it for you anyway."

Another tear slid down Vica's cheek as she grabbed the pen. "I guess if I was going to get assaulted and kill a guy, this was the place to do it."

Wyatt snorted a very loud and obnoxious laugh.

Justine and Brooke both grinned.

Despite the chaos that Wyatt could see barrelling toward them as the fallout from last night, Vica was right. If there was anywhere for something like that to happen and for a woman to be kept safe, it was here. And Wyatt would do whatever he could to help Vica and keep her safe. No matter the damage his own heart endured in the process.