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You made the choice to live here. And besides, you don’t need to hide. It’s different now.
    Every fiber of her body ignored her pep talk, wanting to disappear. To shrink under the cover of her hood so no one would recognize her. But she wouldn’t do that anymore. She’d remade herself. Created the future she’d always wanted. And today she had been given the chance she’d been craving for a long, long time. A chance to climb the ladder that, until now, had hung beguilingly out of her grasp.
    She wouldn’t let herself be dragged back down.
    Was that why she moved back here? Some crazy impulse had hit her in January. Whether it was the need to clean out the cobwebs of her life, or celebrate her new job, it had fueled the purchase of this house on her old neighborhood street. An impulse she didn’t care to examine but was sure a therapist would have a field day with. At the time, it was an act of defiance, of independence. Of proving to Ethan that she wasn’t ashamed of who she was.
    It was only after she recklessly bid on the house that it occurred to her there might be people living on her street, twenty years later, who would recognize her.
    Alaska paused to sniff the hydrant. Kate breathed in the damp spring air, studying the houses lining the street. The dark hid the occasional sagging porch, old windows and peeling paint—a hallmark of the homes that had been converted into student flats.
    When she’d lived on this street as a child, it’d been a family neighborhood. With kids her age, bicycles and skipping ropes strewn on the sidewalk. Now it housed either entrenched elderly or nomadic university students. It was both a relief and a source of sorrow to realize there were no reminders of her childhood here.
    Her stomach growled. The caffeine from her coffee had dissipated, leaving her hungry and tired. “Come on, boy, let’s get going. I’m starving.”
     
    The envelope on the car seat appeared empty, but Ethan Drake couldn’t stop himself from glancing at it every few seconds.
    He turned left, then slowed down, surprised to see the neighborhood Kate now lived in.
    He frowned. Why had she moved back here after what she’d done? The fact he didn’t know the answer ate awayat him. Another sign that he really didn’t know her, had never known her.
    Her house was easy to find, close to the corner. Her car was in the driveway. Good. She was home. He couldn’t deny the spark of satisfaction that she wasn’t out on a Friday night.
    He parked his Jeep on the street, grabbed the envelope and stuffed it into his pocket. Walk slowly, take your time.
    Easier said than done. Now that he was here, need surged in him. The need to see Kate. The need to hear Kate tell him she was wrong. To see his suffering reflected in her eyes. To know that she was just as confused as he was about why things ended the way they did.
    He deserved an explanation.
    What if she doesn’t give you one?
    He ignored that niggling doubt and jogged up the porch steps. It was dark. The light had burned out. The cop in him noted this fact with concern. Kate needed to get it fixed.
    It was a perfect opening line: I was driving by and noticed your light was out…
    He shook his head.
    You’re an asshole.
    She wasn’t likely to fall for that. His pulse began to race. What would she do when she saw him on her doorstep? Would she invite him in?
    Or would she slam the door in his face?
    He’d said some pretty harsh things to her. But damn it, he’d been hurt as hell. The bubble that had enveloped him on Christmas Eve had been rudely burst one week later. “Auld Lang Syne” had had a whole new meaning by the end of New Year’s Eve. Old acquaintances had refused to be forgotten, crashing the party with secrets in their pockets.
    He ran his hand over his hair. Taking a deep breath, he pushed the doorbell.
    Silence.
    He pushed the doorbell again.
    Silence.
    The bloody thing didn’t work. Just like the porch light. Kate needed a little help on