But there's no way to tell him that with his hand over my mouth. There's no way to form words or even coherent thoughts as panic overrides my system, blending reality with memory. Flashes of another night are seeping into my consciousness - fragments of another time, almost twenty years to the day, when blood ran red into the snow.

I can't block them out. Can't separate then from now.

The man shifts closer, knife tightening against my skin.

I'm five again, clutching my bouquet as though the petals can protect me from the stranger in the dark.

Blood drips faster. My lungs are scream for breath.

Or is that a woman screaming?

The man at my back shifts closer. "Don't fight me."

"Run, Zoe!" My mother's hands, pushing me to safety. "Run, honey, run!"

His mouth scrapes my earlobe. His breath is hot against my frigid skin. "Listen. You listening, bitch?"

"Run, baby!"

His knife shifts.

Or is it a gun? A black, blunt weapon, firing in the dark. One, two, three, four, five, six shots. First Dad, then Mom as I duck between two parked cars.

"I don't want to hurt you." The growling voice is back. "But I will."

People rush outside, drawn by the sounds of gunfire. The man stops chasing me before they spot him. Vanishes into the dark.

"If you know what's good for you, you'll stop digging."

A stranger in a uniform pulls me from between the cars. Picks me up, puts a hand over my eyes.

"You're messing with the wrong people. Powerful people."

He tries to block my view, so I don't see them there, butchered in the snow. But between cracks in fingers, over shoulders, under flashing ambulance lights... I see the blood and I know. They're gone.

"You want to make it through this Christmas, don't go back to the fucking factory. Don't send any more of your boyfriends there. You hear me, bitch?" The knife presses in again. "Nod so I know you hear me."

Mommy. Daddy. Gone.

"I said nod if you hear me, bitch!"

I try to nod, but the world is going black around the edges. I can't breathe. Can't move. Can't see.

They're gone.

"Good." The knife pressure lessens slightly. "You tell your damn boyfriend to stay away. Stay out of it. Make sure he knows, he tries anything, you'll pay the fucking price."

Gone.

Then, before I can turn to get a look at him, the weight at my back vanishes and he disappears. I fall to the ground, gasping for air, my eyes pressed tight closed as I curl into a ball in the snow.

Weeping.

Bleeding.

Remembering.

A voice in my head is telling me to get up, to call for help, to go inside so I don't die here from frostbite and exposure... but it's faint. And it's getting farther away by the second, replaced by much darker thoughts that whisper maybe I should've died with them, all those years ago.

They're gone.

Maybe you should be, too.

I curl in on myself a little tighter.

Feel the shadows close in a little darker.

And for the first time since I was five years old... I stop fighting.

"No, no, no, no, no. Zoe! Goddammit, Zoe, open your eyes!" Arms are sliding around me. Lifting me from the snow. Cradling me tight against a chest. "Honey, look at me! Are you still with me? Fuck!"

The voice sounds desperate. Almost shattered. There's something about hearing that voice breaking on words, filled with worry and panic, that makes me sad.

His voice was made for laughter and light. He shouldn't ever sound sad.

I can't focus on much of anything as I shiver and shake in a set of strong hands, hands that feel like fire against my cold skin. There are more words, but I'm slipping in and out of consciousness, barely able to hear over the rush of blood inside my aching skull.

"Nate? It's Parker..."

We're moving. He's holding me one-handed like some kind of superhero and muttering frantically into his phone. I only catch some of what he's saying.

"...snow... blood... shivering... skin is fucking blue... like ice... Luca... okay... see you soon."

I hear the distant clanging of my ancient elevator. Feel the warmth of a man's mouth at my ear, the pressure of his big hands on my back as he whispers words into my neck. I know, even in my disoriented state, that he's not talking into the phone anymore. He's talking to me.

"I've got you, honey. I've got you." There's a pleading note in his voice. "Don't you fucking leave me. Didn't even know what I was looking for, until I met you, Zoe. I didn't even think it was possible to feel like this about someone. So you stay with me, okay? Stay."

I open my mouth to tell him I'm still here, that I won't leave him, that he makes me feel more alive than anyone I've ever met, that his presence is enough to remind me why living in this brutal, ugly world is worth it, despite the pain and the heartbreak...

I find I can only manage one word.

"Parker."

My murmur is so quiet it barely makes it past my numb lips. But he must hear me, because his arms crush me a little tighter against his chest and I hear his voice crack with emotion again when he says, "That's right, Zoe. I'm here. And I'm not ever letting you go."

The last thing I feel before I slip unconscious once more is his mouth ghosting over mine in a kiss that feels like a promise.

When I finally wake up, I'm in my bed. Every lamp in the loft is lit, basking the space in light as if to banish the shadows outside. Blinking to adjust to the sudden brightness, I hear several voices nearby, speaking in low whispers. The hostility in their tones is apparent despite the controlled volume.

Beneath the mound of blankets swaddled around my body, my hair is wet. They must've put me in a warm shower, at some point, but I don't have any memory of that. Nor do I recall putting on the pair of yoga pants and sweater covering my limbs, which means they probably dressed me.

I don't have the energy to feel embarrassed that any number of people potentially saw me naked.

There's a bandage of some kind stuck to my neck, taped over the spot where my assaulter's knife dug into my skin. It's sticky and uncomfortable, placed at the point where my jaw curves beneath my ear, and I plan on removing it as soon as I can find my way out of the stack of blankets pressing me into the bed.

The voices are angry, biting words at each other in clipped, quiet tones.

"...maybe we should take her to the hospital..."

"...think I know what she wants better than you do, rich boy..."

"...need to focus on whoever attacked her..."

I can barely move, what with the seventy-five blankets on top of me, but I somehow struggle into a sitting position. The conversation across the loft goes silent instantly as the three men notice my movement and stride to the side of the bed.

Parker, Luca, and Nate.

They're wearing identical expressions of anger and concern as they approach.

Parker reaches me first, settling in on the bed at my side and wrapping an arm around my back with such care, you'd think I were made of glass. Luca comes around my other side and stands by the edge of the bed, looking down at me with a mix of disapproval and worry. Nate stops at the footboard with his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes locked on my face, hyper-alert and highly intelligent.

"Hi," I croak, attempting to smile at the trio of badasses surrounding me.

They all frown deeply.

I sigh and feel Parker's arm tighten around me. "Are you okay?" he asks intently.

"I'm fine." I think. "How long was I out?"

Parker's expression is still worried. "A few hours."

"Babe." Luca shakes his head. "Scared us."

"What happened?" Nate asks.

I look up at the dark-haired investigator, straight into his black eyes, and feel my throat clench. Nathaniel Knox is intense. It's miraculous to me that a man like him could love a woman like Phoebe, who can't go ten seconds without cracking a joke.

Sometimes I guess two people really do complete each other - the jagged, broken pieces of their souls aligning perfectly, to create an undamaged whole.

The thought makes a fluttery, uncomfortable feeling stir inside my stomach.

"Zoe."

Parker's voice pulls me back to reality, and I realize I've been spacing out.

"Sorry." My voice feels raspy and sore, so I swallow and try again. "I was walking home. It started raining, then snowing. I kept feeling like someone was following me, but every time I looked back I was alone on the street. And then... he grabbed me right when I reached the doors."

They don't interrupt. They just watch me in silence, waiting for me to finish.

"I never saw his face. He was big. Strong. Southie accent. That's all I know." I swallow again. "He had a knife. He - he put it to my throat so I couldn't struggle."

The air gets a little tense, when I say that. Parker's arm tightens again.

"And..." I dart a glance at Luca. "He said..." Breathe.

"What?" Nate prompts softly. "What did he say, Zoe?"

"He said to stay away - to tell my boyfriend to stay away. And to make sure he knows if he tries anything, I'll pay the price."

Before I can explain, Luca's rounded the bed, grabbed Parker by the lapels of his button-down, and hauled him to his feet.

"What the fuck did you do?" he hisses.

"Go on, just give me an excuse to hit you," Parker returns, his voice vibrating with anger. "Please."

"Luca!" I yell, jumping to my feet ouch, every bone in my body aches like I've been hit by a truck and pushing my way between them. "Stop!"

Thankfully Nate is there to intervene, because there's literally no chance of them listening to me. Emotions are running too high for either of them to see reason, at the moment.

"Come on," Nate says, shoving the men apart with a rough jab to both their chests. "This really how you two want to play this? Upsetting Zoe even more, after what she's been through?"

His words snap the two brutes out of it - they back off, but still eye each other with wary glares and angry expressions, each ready to go for the jugular at the slightest provocation.

"Knew you were terrible for her," Luca mutters darkly. "Should've stopped it. Should've locked her up until she forgot about your stupid ass."

"Zoe makes her own decisions," Parker volleys back. "Always will, when she's with me. That's exactly why she'll never be with someone like you."

"Enough," Nate growls. "Both of you. Or I'll make you leave."