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he could do.
    “I don't know, Danny. I really don't. I just want to clean this place up, alright? Just clean. Not talk. Not think.” She turned to face him. “Please?”
    “I'll get out of your hair for now.” He closed the distance between them. She didn't pull back when he reached out to stroke her face. “I'm going to head down to the bar. Paco's going to stay here. I can tell him to hang outside if you want.”
    “No, it's cold out there.”
    “Give me your phone.” Danny programmed his number when she handed it to him and dialed his burner. “Now you've got my number. You call if you need anything or if you've got to go anywhere. I mean it, Amelia. Until we know what happened with Fiona and Taylor I don't want you unprotected.”
    “I've got my gun. I'll be alright.” She rolled her eyes, huffed out a sigh. “Fine, if I need you I'll call.”
    Danny wasn't quite sure if he could believe her but realized that he needed to give her space. She really didn't like being crowded; sometimes she just had to be alone. It had always been that way and would likely always be her way. “Thank you.” He grabbed a piece of her hair, tugged lightly. “Don't mix ammonia and bleach.”
    “That was one time.” She narrowed her eyes but smiled slightly.
    “One memorable time,” Danny didn't bother to hold back the laugh that followed. He'd come home to their first apartment to find her almost passed out on the back porch after she'd tried to remove some of the grime the previous tenants had left behind. “What do you say we take that ride we talked about later? Weather is still good enough if you dress warm.”
    “Yeah, alright. That sounds nice.”
    He wasn't sure if she meant it or not, but she kept her word. Even if she was reluctant they'd ride tonight. “I'll call you when I'm headed back. Might be late.”
    “I'll be here. And you'll call if you hear anything about them, right?”
    “Absolutely.” Danny leaned in and pressed his lips to her forehead. He nearly told her he loved her but knew that might be too much too soon; in fact he was sure it would only freak her out more. He didn't need her any more freaked out.
     
     
     

Chapter Three
     
    There was only so much that Amelia could clean. Even though Fiona had been gone for a few days, she'd left the place in good shape. After bleaching the entire kitchen, she began to strip the linens off of all of the beds. In Fiona's room, she didn't stop at stripping the bed. She started to snoop, to look for anything that might give some sort of suggestion as to what had happened.
    There were things she knew, things she was starting to realize now that her mind was a little clearer. The first thing was that there was no way in hell Fiona would open the door to someone that she didn't recognize. She wouldn't go out late at night to investigate a noise, she'd check through windows and doors, making sure that the police were called. Except now, the police presence in Detroit was spotty at best. Even the Mayor had made comments that armed home owners shouldn't hesitate to defend their homes, because a quick response from the police wasn't possible.
    The night before, as she tossed and turned in Fiona's bed, she'd come to the conclusion that Fiona and Taylor had been taken. Fiona hadn't left willingly. She just knew it, and with no sign of forced entry she had to accept that it was someone Fiona knew. Probably someone she knew. Maybe even someone that she was trusting now.
    In the bottom of Fiona's closet she found a shoebox that didn't contain shoes. She recognized the leather-bound journals her sister had always seemed to be writing in. Amelia sat down and began to flip through them. Each seemed to cover a year or two; some pages were filled with sketches or poems instead of daily entry. In each one, Royal was mentioned over and over again.
    “Son of a bitch.” Amelia felt a little sick as she realized that the relationship between Royal and Fiona had continued. From