Mara crossed the room and took the bill from Vincent's hand.

"You went through my things?"

"No."

"Then how did you get this?"

"It fell out of your book."

She looked at the paperback on his nightstand.

Damn.

She had used the folded bill as a bookmark during her shift at Lakeview Medical Center and forgotten about it.

Vincent watched her.

"Who's Ethan?"

"My brother."

"Why does he owe a cancer institute a hundred and eighty-six thousand dollars?"

Mara folded the bill.

"Because cancer is expensive."

"How old?"

"Twenty-one."

Something shifted in Vincent's expression.

"Diagnosis?"

"That falls under 'none of your business.'"

"You know everything about my bowel movements."

"I'm your nurse."

"And I'm your employer."

"Which doesn't make you my family."

His jaw tightened.

"Why are you here?"

"You already know."

"I want to hear you say it."

Mara laughed without humor.

"Why?"

"Because everyone who walks into this house wants something."

"Fine."

She shoved the bill into her pocket.

"I want your money."

Vincent's gaze sharpened.

"Ten thousand dollars a week."

"Yes."

"That's what I'm worth to you?"

"No."

The answer came instantly.

"My brother is."

Silence.

Mara saw the impact before Vincent hid it.

She continued.

"I don't care who you are. I don't care what people in Chicago whisper about you. I don't care why there are armed men downstairs."

"You should."

"I have a brother whose oncologist used the phrase 'last viable option' three days ago."

Her voice nearly cracked.

She hated that.

She swallowed it.

"So no, Mr. DeLuca. You're not the scariest thing in my life."

Vincent said nothing.

Mara checked his IV.

"Antibiotics in twenty minutes."

She turned away.

"How long?"

She stopped.

"What?"

"How long does your brother have?"

Mara stared at the wall.

"I don't know."

That was the first honest answer that hurt.

She walked out before Vincent could ask anything else.

The next morning, he agreed to physical therapy.

Mara suspected coincidence.

Rebecca didn't.

"You got through to him," she said quietly while they prepared the transfer belt.

"I annoyed him into compliance."

"Whatever works."

Vincent glared from the bed.

"I'm sitting right here."

"Good," Mara said. "Then listen carefully."

His first goal was simple.

Move from the bed to the wheelchair.

Vincent looked at the chair as if it had personally insulted his mother.

"No."

Mara put her hands on her hips.

"You agreed."

"I changed my mind."

"Your muscles are weakening every day."

"I said no."

Rebecca started to speak.

Mara lifted one hand.

"I've got him."

Vincent's eyes narrowed.

"That's an optimistic statement."

Mara moved the wheelchair closer.

"You can either transfer with my help, or I can ask Tony to bring three very large men upstairs."

Vincent looked murderous.

Mara smiled.

"Thought so."

He swung his left leg toward the edge of the mattress.

His injured right leg followed more slowly.

Sweat appeared almost instantly along his hairline.

Mara's teasing disappeared.

"Easy."

"I don't need—"

"I know."

His hands gripped the mattress.

She fastened the gait belt.

Vincent looked down at it.

"Take this off."

"No."

"Mara."

"If you fall, you're taking me with you."

"Then move."

"Not happening."

Rebecca positioned the wheelchair.

"On three."

Vincent ignored her and pushed up on two.

His left leg took weight.

His right didn't.

His body buckled.

Mara caught him around the torso.

For one second, Vincent DeLuca was completely dependent on her.

He hated it.

She felt it in the way his entire body went rigid.

"Let go."

"You'll fall."

"Let go."

"No."

His breathing turned ragged.

"Vincent."

It was the first time she'd used his first name.

His eyes found hers.

Not Mr. DeLuca.

Not patient.

Vincent.

"Look at me."

He did.

"You're not failing."

His jaw clenched.

"This isn't weakness. Your body got torn apart. You're teaching it how to work again."

"I know how to stand."

"Then show me."

Something almost angry passed through his face.

Good.

Anger had energy.

"Again," Mara said.

He pushed.

This time Mara felt his left leg stabilize.

For half a second, some weight transferred through the right.

Then he collapsed back onto the bed.

Vincent swore.

Mara crouched in front of him.

"Again tomorrow."

"No."

"Absolutely."

"Get out."

"After I check your leg."

She reached for his foot.

The moment her thumb pressed beneath his toes—

His big toe moved.

Mara froze.

Rebecca had turned toward the equipment cart and didn't see it.

Vincent did.

Their eyes met.

Mara pressed again.

A tiny movement.

Voluntary or reflexive?

She wasn't sure.

"Did you—"

Vincent's hand closed around her wrist.

"Don't."

Mara stared at him.

"You felt that."

"Stop."

"You felt my hand."

"Mara."

She lowered her voice.

"How long?"

He looked toward Rebecca.

"How long have you had sensation?"

His grip tightened.

"Not here."

Mara's heartbeat accelerated.

He wasn't shocked.

He already knew.

Later that afternoon, Rebecca left for Chicago.

Tony was downstairs.

Mara shut Vincent's bedroom door.

"Talk."

Vincent was reading documents on a tablet.

"No."

"You can feel your right foot."

"Some days."

"How long?"

"A week."

"And you told nobody?"

"Correct."

"Why?"

Vincent put down the tablet.

"Because three weeks ago I couldn't move anything below the knee."

Mara waited.

"Then I started getting sensation back."

"That's good."

"Two days later, someone increased my sedatives."

The room went silent.

Mara understood.

"You think whoever is drugging you doesn't want you recovering."

"I think information leaves this room too easily."

"Then why tell me?"

"I didn't."

"You got caught."

A faint smile appeared.

"Exactly."

Mara moved closer.

"We need Rebecca."

"No."

"She's your physician."

"And if she's involved?"

Mara stopped.

She didn't believe it.

But she couldn't dismiss it either.

"Tony?"

"Trust him with my life."

"Apparently literally."

Vincent's expression darkened.

"If whoever arranged the attack that put me here believes I'm permanently disabled, I have an advantage."

Mara stared at him.

There it was.

The man beneath the patient.

Calculating.

Cold.

Dangerous.

"What attack?"

He smiled without warmth.

"You just broke one of Tony's rules."

"You brought it up."

"And now I'm ending it."

Mara exhaled.

"Fine."

She turned toward the door.

"One thing."

She looked back.

Vincent's eyes were fixed on her.

"Nobody knows about my foot."

"Understood."

"Nobody."

Mara nodded.

That night, while changing his dressing, she tested sensation again.

Better.

Definitely better.

Vincent watched her face.

"You look pleased."

"I like being right."

"About what?"

"You're not finished."

His expression changed.

For the first time since she'd arrived, Mara saw something dangerous in Vincent DeLuca's eyes that had nothing to do with violence.

Hope.