“Visit Alexander? No way. No. Way. He was an arrogant prick to me back in the day.” Sage Cassidy shook her head, adamant, and refocused on her laptop screen. And yes, okay, she might still harbor some slight, unresolved feelings following his rejection.

“Prick? That’s a bit harsh. I know he can be stand-offish.” Chase stared at her with his over-observant lawyerly eyes. “Did he do something you didn’t tell me about?”

Where did she start? She raised her eyebrows in a challenge her brother couldn’t win. Chase had blind loyalty to his best mate. He couldn’t refute her, unless he knew something she didn’t.

Which was entirely possible, considering she hadn’t communicated with, let alone seen Alexander Barrett in fifteen years. “You mean, other than him treating me like crap since I turned twelve—teasing or ignoring me, then essentially ordering me to fuck off when I tried to hang out with you guys?”

Chase sat forward and propped his forearms on his knees. “Okay, fine. I get that he can be gruff, but he has a good heart.”

Ironically, Alexander’s gruffness turned her on, the idea of trying to win his affections…except he’d looked at her like she represented some defective female alien from another planet.

Sadly not surprising given she’d been a gawky rather than pretty teenager. So, massive fail. Her crush’s supposed good heart left long-lasting effects.

Not that he’d have any inkling about the impact he’d had on her love life, men, relationships. As a psychologist, working in the trauma field in Melbourne for years, she should really talk about her unresolved feelings in her supervision sessions but…avoidance continued to be her favorite coping—more accurately, non-coping—strategy. “I can’t see him. Sorry.”

“Sis, please…for me. He’s had a really rough time. He can’t return to the military, and he’s feeling lost, useless, helpless, when he’s used to fighting for his country. Being the tough guy. Invincible.” Chase focused his imploring eyes on her, his fingers fiddling with his platinum and sapphire cufflinks, the ones their now-deceased parents had given him as a graduation present.

How could she say no to that? She knew all about military-induced post-traumatic stress disorder. She’d specialized in it, worked with ex-service staff every day using eye movement desensitization and reprocessing—EMDR—therapy, combined with counseling. It constituted her bread and consistently warm, melting butter…when her intervention worked. And it didn’t always.

“Did you explain you’d be asking me to make contact?”

“Yeah.” He tugged at the sleeves of his expensive, immaculately pressed navy suit. Between that and the crisp white shirt, he looked fresh, like he’d just gotten dressed. He hadn’t, though. He’d been in court all morning. ‘Workaholic’ had become his middle name—dependable brother, workaholic, best friend.

“And he was fine with it?” She couldn’t believe Alexander had agreed.

“Totally. He refuses to speak to a stranger. He even refused to talk to me!” Chase slammed his hand to his chest. “That’s when I realized things were serious. I tried to get him to open up for hours and…nothing. He said he didn’t want to burden me, that what he’d seen had changed him permanently and the one steady thing was our friendship—something he didn’t want to jeopardize. I get that. Well, maybe not ‘get it’ exactly, but I can empathize.”

Chase adjusted his paisley tie. She’d never seen her brother so rattled. Normally he radiated confidence bordering on cockiness.

Sage nodded. She sensed he still had more to offload, more to say to attempt to get her onboard. And he excelled at arguing, debating.

“I convinced him to speak to someone, and he agreed, under one condition. It had to be a person he felt comfortable with, but no one too close. I thought of you straight away. Plus, given your specialty…”

Disappointment stabbed at her heart. Bloody, unresolved emotional crap. It wasn’t like Alexander had ever shown a hint of interest in her romantically, even though she’d wished he’d finally see her—the real her, her as a grown, self-assured, desirable woman, not Chase’s awkward, bothersome sister.

Instead, he’d demonstrated the exact opposite—except that one night when they nearly kissed, right before he left for the military…after his farewell bonfire. They were alone, and she ran her hand over his newly close-shaved hair, assuring him he looked cool, tough, mean, and no one would want to mess with him.

He’d grabbed her wrist, the flames of lust in his eyes practically melting her panties. Things suddenly shot to super-heated, scorching.

Until they didn’t.

Like usual, he turned as frosty as a snowman in a blizzard and backed away.

For a split second, she could have sworn he’d been about to cross—no, obliterate—a boundary. It had to have been in her imagination. People often remembered past events in skewed, unrealistic, exaggerated ways, going by her dealings with clients and her own experience.

After the almost-kiss, she hadn’t seen or spoken with him. Years had passed, and she had no idea how he looked, who he even was anymore. She should feel neutral, relaxed, confident seeing him.

She didn’t.

If only rational thought overrode emotions.

Lingering feelings swirled around her heart. There had always been something about the infuriating man that sparked like kindling in her blood.

Sage swung her hair over her shoulder. Her resigned tell, according to her supervisor. “Fine. Give me his contact info, and I’ll arrange to drop by. But just so you know, I can listen and refer him on, but I can’t treat him. It goes against the Australian Psychological Society’s Code of Ethics.”

Her brother’s grin stretched over his face. She almost expected him to fist-pump the air, like he did when he told her about a winning case. Chase grabbed his mobile out of his trouser pocket and started text messaging.

Sage’s phone buzzed, Alexander’s address and phone number flashing big and bold on the screen. “Received.”

Her brother jumped up and wrapped her in a grateful hug. “You don’t know how much this means to me.”

“I think I do, and you owe me at least twelve months of wine and a selection of gourmet cheeses.”

He pulled back, his facial expression shocked, incredulous. “What? Twelve months! You have to be kidding. That’s milking it, big time. He’s my best friend, but you know him, too. And you’re a great person, a selfless person, who loves helping others, so—”

She raised her hand. “Stop right there.” He forgot she was also well versed in his conflict-resolution, some might say guilt-inducing, coercion strategies. “Point taken. I’ll settle for a case of wine with a mix of sparkling rosé, shiraz and fortified. “And a quarterly supply of Romano, gorgonzola and smoked goat’s cheese.” She would not compromise any further. Even if he did the ‘cute-come-on-sis-puppy-eye-pleading’ thing, something he’d mastered that usually won her over.

Chase’s charming smile lifted the corners of his lips. It hadn’t worked on her for ages—however, she could see how his Chris Hemsworth vibe and expertise at reading people could suck in the ladies. Men, too.

As a high-end solicitor, he used a more hardball rather than therapeutic approach. He had to play those involved, negotiate, have a solid poker face, know when to fight his battles and when to cut his losses.

He would have determined reasonably quickly that he’d pushed her as hard as he could. Push her too far and she’d retreat. “Got it.” He saluted her. “I’ll leave you to”—he waved his hands above her desk—“this.”

Chase left her office, and she stared at Alexander’s details on her mobile phone. She debated whether to call or text. Given her phone phobia and ‘Alexander anxiety’, she decided to text.

Normally she’d have her personal assistant follow up, but this was off the books…purely personal. Assisting an old friend… Well, a not-that-old, sexy, off-limits, totally unreciprocated friend of her brother’s.

She sent Alexander an SMS, put her phone on the desk and, not even a minute later, it buzzed.

What now? Another unnerving message? Another veiled threat to her life? Something she’d almost thought she’d become desensitized to.

Until it happened again.

And again.

And again.

Working in the psychological trauma field, she expected angry, unhappy patients, but this one in particular liked to taunt. They hadn’t hinted at any specific danger yet, so she’d let it go.

Sage had her suspicions about possible suspects, though hadn’t taken action. Her clients were troubled, which was why they saw her in the first place. She didn’t want to exacerbate their issues by possible false accusations. She didn’t want them hassled prematurely by the police.

Otherwise they’d lose what little trust she’d been able to gain. And that would ruin the rest of their therapy, prevent them from ever moving forward positively, putting their faith in another professional, taking the risk on another psychologist, taking a risk on themselves and their decision-making.

She swiped her mobile screen. Like she didn’t already have enough on her more-than-full plate.

Alexander. Relief flooded her veins while her heart thudded like a gong in her chest.

Sage, hi. Long time no communicado. Thanks for making contact. I wasn’t sure you would. When are you free? I’m at your disposal.

Her breath hitched. Why did that sound so sexy? Almost flirty. He obviously hadn’t meant it how she’d read it. She had to keep her response clear, simple, to the point. No ambiguity.

Tonight at around 6 p.m. or tomorrow mid-morning.

Tonight. Please. My address is…

Tonight? She’d thought it’d be too short notice. She’d expected to have more time to get herself together…her feelings, her readiness. Maybe Chase was right. Maybe Alexander’s situation needed more attention than either of them had anticipated.

Fine. See you soon.

Images of him popped into her mind. As a nineteen-year-old he’d been tall and lean and strapping…a true fitness fanatic. And those eyes… She could never forget their deep blue intensity, like a lagoon in paradise. His gaze alone had her fighting an inevitable blush.

Thankfully, her olive skin had helped hide her reaction. If he’d realized she’d had such an all-encompassing crush on him, she’d have been mortified.

But now, with his years of experience in the world, would he notice? If not through her skin tone, through her body language? See through the subtleties of her highly developed mask, her measured responses?

And how about him? Would the clichéd windows to his soul show his pain? Would he have that lost stare in his eyes? The one she’d seen so many times—a mixture of grief, loss, despair…helplessness.

Reintegrating ex-service men and women into civilian life posed a significant challenge. Their bodies and brains had become addicted to the adrenaline rush, the anxiety of combat, and struggled to cope with the mundane every day, how they fit into society.

From what her brother had said, Alexander seemed affected by the usual PTSD symptoms—unrelenting nightmares, persistent flashbacks, disassociation from reality. She prided herself on providing sessions that explained the phenomenon in a caring, sensitive way and engaging clients in effective, evidence-based treatment.

Sage couldn’t get involved with Alexander, though—not personally, not professionally. She’d have to give him impartial advice and refer him to a service that could objectively explore his situation in more depth.

From her interventions with clients, she’d learned they often required a healthy reset, some time to readjust. It reinforced that soldiers needed a therapist who wasn’t conflicted and space to readapt, a skill they knew well.

Having chatted with a range of veterans, she understood that in a war zone they quickly and efficiently reacted in order to save others’ lives in addition to their own. Could she help Alexander, too? At least put him on the right path without getting too entangled?

Positive change could take its toll. It wasn’t enough for some veterans to be out of immediate danger. Many times her clients experienced recurring night terrors that brought them right back to the scariest, most guilt-and-remorse-ridden situations of their lives.

And it felt real, almost tangible. They described the explosive sounds, the smoky smell, the metallic taste. A high percentage of her patients relived it daily. Forget all the other complications. It fucked with a person’s psyche, their state of mind, their self-worth. Everyone needed time to reacclimatize.

In her case, with Alexander, she didn’t have as much preparation time as she’d prefer. And she had no idea how long she’d need. Most likely she’d never be entirely ready. Given their text-exchange agreement, she only had a few short hours to psych herself up.

Would he continue to see her as Chase’s annoying little sister? An irritating, yet possibly helpful hassle he had to deal with on top of his emotional, mental and probable physical scarring? Or would he take her suggestions onboard, her advice, acknowledging her professional expertise?

Did it even matter? She’d do her best and hope he got something out of their informal chat. Then, if he found it useful, she’d suggest a referral to an external, unbiased professional. Knowing him, even a little, could cause a competing interest. Her damn irrational emotions had already been triggered.

The best advice came from an unprejudiced place, hence why he needed someone independent, someone unbiased to provide intervention in the longer term. If she got him to understand that, she’d consider the interaction successful. Professionally, anyway.

Sage leaned into her office chair, closed her eyes and blew out a long, centering breath. She could do this. Like her brother said, she loved helping. So why should Alexander be any different?

Because he always would be, had always been special. Branded himself on her soul…irreplaceable, irremovable, permanent.

A familiar ding announced she had a new email. She snapped her eyes open and—

Not again. Goosebumps prickled along her skin.

Her heart galloped and her mind went AWOL.

The message frequency continued to escalate—sometimes email, sometimes text, sometimes social media. Not a good sign.

No. She shouldn’t jump to fear-based conclusions.

Not yet. Before she went to the police, she needed more concrete evidence to prove she was in jeopardy or else they’d laugh her out of the station.

Getting a reputation as a jumpy, neurotic, hypersensitive psychologist wouldn’t help her business.

The newest unsettling message sat at the top of her inbox and practically glared at her. The same email address as all the others. Some generic thing that undoubtedly couldn’t be traced.

The title drew her eyes to it like a magnet.

Time is running out…

Curiosity got the better of her over-vigilant mind, and she clicked into the body of the email.

You’ll soon get what you deserve.

Dread burned her stomach as though she’d sculled a double shot of cyanide. Like the other posts, it wasn’t an overt threat. It could be interpreted any number of ways. And she refused to play into this person’s game. Whoever had instigated this attack obviously hoped it’d put her on edge, unnerve her, make her fearful. Fuck her up.

And yes, okay, it did. It had…somewhat. She tried not to be the last to leave the office, made sure daylight still hung in the sky, warily checked the car park and held her keys in her hand like a makeshift knuckle duster.

Sage knew all about the power of paranoia, had seen it countless times in her therapy sessions—how it insidiously took over her clients’ lives. She wouldn’t allow that to happen to her. Her profession should make her immune. Right? She understood how it worked.

Rather than block the sender, she moved the email into a separate ‘Threats’ folder in case she needed evidence later. She’d also kept all the text messages and private-messenger social-media posts as a backup.

Over the years she’d heard too many stories of disgruntled patients attacking their therapists. Hopefully it wouldn’t get to that. However, it paid to be cautious.