I want someone else to hold back the shadows that circle close, just for a few minutes, so I can finally, finally, finally drop my guard.

Parker doesn't say a word. He just holds me together when everything is spiraling into pieces, just like he promised he would. He lends me the strength I need to allow myself to be weak.

His shirt is wet when I finally fall silent, my ragged sobs settling into something resembling proper breath.

"Guess you picked now," he murmurs against my hair.

"I'm sorry," I hiccup. "I'm not usually this girl who gets all weepy and needs a guy to hold her and-" I hiccup again. "-to tell her it's all going to be okay."

"I know, Zoe." His arms tighten a bit.

"It's just this time of year, you know? The lights and the ornaments and the decorations and all the people out on the streets smiling and singing and acting like they actually enjoy each other's company. It's exhausting! I'm just... exhausted. I try to avoid it, to keep to myself, but this year..." I breathe deeply. "I'm sorry."

"Shhh." He pets my hair in long strokes. "Stop apologizing. You never have to apologize to me."

I pull back to look up into his face. There's no pity in his gaze nothing but compassion and sympathy and maybe a bit of worry.

"Thank you," I whisper.

"I didn't do anything, darling."

"You were here." I shrug. "That's everything."

He pauses and I can tell there's something on his mind, something he wants to say but can't quite put into words.

"Say it," I whisper.

"You might feel better... If you talked about it."

I swallow. "I..."

"I don't mean right now," he says gently. "I don't even mean with me. But you should talk to someone, Zoe. You can't keep all this emotion locked up forever. It'll kill you. There are people out there, qualified people with fancy degrees, whose sole purpose is to help with shit like this. Believe me, I'd know after everything that happened with my mom's death, my father's total inability to be a parent, I've got the therapy bills to prove it."

My brows lift. "You?"

"I know." His smile is wry. "Parker West, the cavalier adventurer, in therapy. Who'd have guessed?" He shrugs. "There's nothing wrong with admitting you need help, reaching out and taking it from someone who's offering. There's no shame in admitting you can't do it all yourself."

Where did he come from?

How did I find him?

Seven billion people on this earth... and somehow I find the exact one I need.

"I think..." I trail off. It takes a minute, but I somehow muster my courage. "I think... You're the person I want to talk to about it. Not some stranger on a couch in a stuffy office who'll shrink me for $400 over the course of an hour. I'd rather talk to someone who..."

Cares about me.

Understands me.

Accepts me.

I don't finish the rest of the sentence; neither does he. But his eyes fill with something warm and his voice is barely audible when he rumbles, "All right, Zoe," with so much emotion it nearly makes me cry again.

I take him by the hand and lead him to my desk. Opening the bottom drawer, I pull out the frame I keep hidden in the depths, where I don't have to look at it because it hurts too much. I barely glance at the image behind the glass as I pass it to Parker.

I don't need to - it's been burned into my memory for years. I can see it with my eyes closed, every perfect detail.

A little blonde girl in her ballerina costume, clutching a bouquet of red roses. Her proud parents, one on each side, their smiles so wide you'd think their daughter had just nailed her audition for Juilliard, rather than completed a rather halting rendition of The Nutcracker.

"These are..." Parker trails off. His finger hovers just over the glass surface.

"My parents." I nod. "And me. I was five."

He looks up at me as I pass him the other document from the drawer. It's a weathered sheet of newspaper, the front headline faded after nearly twenty years but still legible.

HOLIDAY DOUBLE-HOMICIDE: COUPLE SLAIN ON CHRISTMAS EVE.

I watch his eyes move over the words, see the way his face sets into grim lines of grief as he reaches the smaller caption below the picture of bloody snow and rose petals outside the opera house. I memorized it long ago.

Rebecca and Luther Bloom, killed outside a recital hall on Christmas Eve by a suspect still-at-large. Their daughter Zoe Bloom, age 5, who witnessed the gruesome attack, remains in stable condition at Boston Children's Hospital, where she is expected to make a full recovery.

"Oh, Zoe." Parker looks up at me, ghosts swirling in his eyes, and I feel my heart clench like a fist inside my chest. There's nothing he can say. I know that - it's why I've never bothered discussing this with anyone. Even Luca knows only the smallest of details.

But, I'm stunned to discover, I don't need him to say anything. It's enough to have him reach over and twine his fingers with mine, his warm grip saying everything he can't find words for.

I feel my eyes fill with tears again, but I manage to keep them at bay this time. He only asks one question.

"Did they catch the scumbag who did this?"

I shake my head. "No. But... I've been trying to figure out what happened since I was old enough to turn on a computer."

His eyes flash. "That's why you do this. The hacking, the coding skills..."

I nod.

"So..." His hand fists in frustration. "The police have no leads? Nothing?"

"It's a cold case," I say, feeling hollowed out from my crying jag. "Back then, when it happened, there was an entire department trying to solve it. But as years went by with no suspects, no clues, no new evidence..."

"They stopped looking." His face contorts into a scowl. "That's bullshit. I don't care how long it takes, the BPD should be all over this."

"It's complicated."

"What do you mean?"

"The FBI was involved somehow. I don't know what prompted them to look into my parents' deaths, but last year I hacked into their database as a last-ditch effort to find a possible lead and..."

"You found something?"

"Maybe." I shrug. "There's a file that comes up, when you type my father's name into the government system. It's almost entirely redacted, so it's been pretty useless to me."

Parker's eyebrows lift. "That's weird."

"That's what I thought." I swallow. "Why would my father's name and details of his murder be in an FBI file, unless there's more to his death than some random act of violence? Some crazed, Christmas-hating murderer on a senseless rampage?" My voice breaks. "I've spent so long wondering, so many years questioning why they were taken from me. And not having answers..."

Parker's silent for a minute. When he speaks, his voice is a vow.

"I'll help you. We'll find out. I promise you, Zoe. This is the last Christmas you'll spend wondering what happened to your parents."

"How can you promise something like that?" I whisper brokenly.

"My best friend is the best private investigator in the city." His eyes are somber. "Plus, my sister's abduction last spring and my father's testimony served Boston's biggest mob boss to the FBI on a silver platter. They owe the family a favor, trust me."

Something dangerous swirls to life inside me. It feels an awful lot like hope.

His eyes hold mine. "You aren't alone anymore, Zoe."

There's a lump in my throat too big to talk around, so I don't even try. I just reach for him and, when I do, he's there to hold me close.

Later that afternoon, I'm sitting in the passenger seat of the Porsche with my arms crossed over my chest, staring straight ahead and wondering why I ever agreed to this.

"Are you sure I have to go?"

"You don't have to do anything you don't want to, darling," Parker says. "But I'd say there's a seventy-five percent chance if you stall any longer out here with me, Phoebe's gonna burst through those doors and drag you inside with her bare bands."

Damn. Figured as much.

"Fine," I mutter, grabbing the door handle. "I'll go. But I won't like it."

"Hey." His voice is soft; when I glance back at him, I see his eyes are, too. "Forgetting something, aren't you?"

My brows lift. "What?"

He leans across the center console and kisses me - a no-nonsense, domineering possession of my lips. His hand slides into my hair at the nape, his tongue sweeps into my mouth, and by the time he's done, I'm panting.

"Oh," I reply breathlessly. "That."

"Yeah, that." He grins at me. "Now go, before I decide you should blow off this whole lunch with the girls thing, and take you back to my boat to make you my sex slave."

I tilt my head. "Actually, that doesn't sound half bad..."

His eyes darken. "Don't tempt me."

I laugh, push open the door, and hop out. Bending down, I blow him a kiss before I slam the door.

"See you later, sailor."

The grin on his face is hot enough to leave scorch marks. "Count on it, darling."

The Porsche tires squeal as he rockets away from the curb, barrels down the road, and turns out of sight... leaving me alone on a sidewalk, chewing my lip and staring up at the cheery pink awning of my favorite bakery. Never has a cupcake shop looked so ominous.

Though, admittedly, that has more to do with the fact that there's a group of women inside waiting to pick my brain for details of my sex life, and less to do with their top-notch pastries.

Phoebe called shortly after my meltdown, insisting I come to lunch with her and "the girls" - a group I must assume includes Gemma, Shelby, Chrissy, and Lila. Resistance seemed futile, especially when Parker suggested he'd use the time to meet with Nate and discuss my parents' case.

I heave a deep, martyred sigh and force myself to walk inside, thinking it's probably a bad sign I'd be happier talking with the guys about a grisly crime than deconstructing my somewhat baffling relationship status with these girls.

"Zoe!" Phoebe yells as soon as I walk through the door, hopping to her feet - which are, of course, clad in fabulous stilettos. "We're over here!"

She waves like a lunatic, as if there's a remote chance I haven't seen their group occupying the large table in the corner. Unlikely, considering the rest of the cafe is pretty much empty.

I wave awkwardly and walk toward them.

"Hi, Zoe!" Gemma says, grinning at me as she scoots over to make room in the booth. "Come sit."

"What do you want?" Phoebe asks as I settle in. "Latte? Coffee? Cronut?"

"I'm fine." I try to smile. "Really, not that hungry."

Phoebe thinks about that for two seconds. "I'm getting you a chocolate cupcake. They're out of this world."

"But-" Before I can get the protest past my lips she's already gone, striding to the counter across the room with the determination of a soldier heading off to war.

"My advice? Don't fight it," Lila says, smirking at me. "When it comes to the West family, it's easier just to cave. Trust me."

"I'm starting to learn that," I murmur. Glancing at the women clustered around the table, I try not to panic. "Anyway... thanks for inviting me to your girl date, or whatever this is."

"Happy to have you," Gemma says.

"Totally," Chrissy agrees. "We could use another sane person around here."

"You had sex!" Shelby announces, narrowing her pretty brown eyes at me.

My mouth drops open.

"Shelby!" Chrissy scolds.

"What? She's practically glowing. It's obvious she had an encounter with el peen de Parker."