CHAPTER 3

DAY 1

Monday

I groaned when the Ghost Buster's theme song blared through the speaker on my phone. I turned off the alarm before rolling over to go back to sleep, then I remembered where I was. My eyes flew open, and I flung off the blanket. Last night, I set my alarm for 5:00 a.m. to give me plenty of time to wake up and get ready. I slid my sleepy ass out of bed and moved the chair from under the doorknob.

Cracking the door, I listened for signs of Finn. When I didn't hear anything, I opened it a little more. Across the hall, the bathroom door was wide open, and the light was off, so I quickly took care of business. My hair wasn't too bad since I'd taken the time to dry and style my newly shortened locks last night. All I had to do was run the brush through it, and I was good to go. Normally, I'd add makeup with lots of mascara, but I figured I'd sweat it off in minutes, so I left my face bare.

Dressed in a black long-sleeved Under Armour shirt and body-hugging running pants, I added a purple fleece vest for an extra layer of warmth. I examined myself in the dresser mirror. The girl staring back at me looked ready to tackle anything. You got this, I convinced myself as I exhaled and grabbed my black hoodie.

On my way to the kitchen, I smelled bacon and found Finn stirring a pot on the stove. He wore track pants and a short-sleeved T-shirt that fit like a second skin. Acting like I belonged, I picked up the spatula and turned the bacon strips.

"I hope you like oatmeal," he said gruffly. Obviously, being in training also meant eating healthy.

"Love it," I said in an upbeat tone. I didn't want to give him a reason to think I was a prima donna or someone who didn't take training seriously. In truth, I hated the slimy stuff, and because it was healthy, it reminded me of Ranger. What was he doing right now? Wherever he was, I hoped he was safe. Annoyed with myself, I shook my head, vowing not to think of Ranger, Morelli, or even Durant. This time away was about focusing on me and my future, nothing else.

"Would you drop some bread in the toaster?"

I did as he asked, then pulled two mugs out of the cabinet. "How do you take your coffee?"

"Black."

He still hadn't looked at me, and it was making me feel self-conscious. Realizing the uncertain feeling came from a place of weakness, I shook it off and poured the coffee, adding a little cream and sugar to mine. I noticed our most welcoming resident was missing. "Where's Maggie?"

"Outside."

Even though the coffee was too hot, I was desperate for a sip. I moaned in bliss. My taste buds had never been treated so royally. "This is probably the best cup of coffee I've ever had," I told him as I took the plate of bacon to the table. "At least I have this to look forward to every day I'm here."

"Studies show that drinking coffee before a workout can increase athletic performance." He poured oatmeal into bowls, sprinkled a generous portion of raisins on top, and motioned to the fruit bowl on the island. "Grab the toast and a couple of bananas. You're going to need fuel today."

I did as he asked and joined him at the dining table. I stuck a piece of the bacon in my mouth while covertly watching his forearm muscles flex as he opened a new jar of grape jelly and spread it on his toast. He looked over at the missing chair and frowned.

"I hope you don't mind, but I brought a chair to my room last night to sit on." It sounded lame even to my own ears. There was no desk in my room, so why not sit on the bed if I needed to sit down?

His frown deepened, and I felt like he could see right through my flimsy reasoning. Finally, his brows relaxed in understanding. He set his spoon down and met my eyes head-on. "After what you've been through, it might take some time to believe me, but you're safe in this house. Nothing and no one will hurt you, including me."

My stomach plummeted with guilt. He thought I was afraid of him and didn't feel safe in his home, which was kinda true. The old Stephanie would have put aside her concerns to avoid hurting or offending him, but I wasn't as trusting as I used to be. Durant had taught me some valuable lessons, and I learned them well. Since only time could convince me he meant me no harm, I shifted the conversation. "So, what's up first today?"

"I'm going to administer the APFT."

"The what?"

"It's the Army Physical Fitness Test."

"The Army?" I squeaked.

"The test is given in three parts. I look at how long it takes you to run two miles and how many push-ups and sit-ups you can do in two minutes. I don't expect you to meet the standards straight out of the gate. We'll work up to it over the next twelve weeks."

"What are the standards?"

"For a thirty-one-year-old woman to pass basic training, she would be required to complete a minimum of 17 push-ups in two minutes, 45 sit-ups in two minutes, and run two miles in under 20 minutes and 30 seconds."

"I don't want to turn into the Terminator or an Army Ranger." I sat back in my chair, letting the spoon drop into my bowl. He wasn't kidding around. There was no way I could hit those targets. Ranger could… but me? No way.

The corners of his mouth tipped in barely concealed amusement. "I don't think you have to worry about that. I don't expect you to pass or even do very well. It's to give me a baseline read on your strengths and weakness. We'll chart your improvement each Monday."

Talking about the Army standards got me curious about Tank, Ranger, and Lester—all former Army Rangers. "What are the standards to become a Ranger?"

"Soldiers going for special ops hit 80 push-ups, 80 sit-ups, and run two miles in under 13 minutes." My mouth hung open in awe at what Ranger and the Merry Men had accomplished. While I contemplated all the ways I was destined to fail, Finn loaded our dishes into the dishwasher. I was still in a fog when he came up behind me. "Did you bring the medical release from your doctor?"

"Yes." I got up and pulled the slip of paper from my vest pocket.

He took a moment to read the form and handed me a bottle of coconut water. He took his bottle to the sunroom, and like a dutiful puppy, I followed. Sitting at a glass-topped iron table, he powered up his laptop. I figured he was reading the day's headlines, so I sat on the couch and watched the sunrise.

I checked my watch. It was almost 8:00 a.m. I was ready to get this show on the road. "What are we waiting on?"

"Our food needs time to digest," he explained without looking up from his computer. "You don't have to stay in here. Go out on the deck or anywhere else."

Jerk.

Since he was obviously trying to get rid of me, I pulled on my hoodie and went out onto the deck. The air was still thick with early morning dew and so cold I could see my breath in front of me. I leaned against the railing, looking out at the fog coming off the lake. The beauty took my breath away. After a few minutes, I got too cold to remain outside.

Back in the kitchen, I poured myself another cup of coffee. I wandered around the house to occupy my time, examining things in more detail than last night. I stopped when I got to the wall of bookcases and began reading the titles. It didn't surprise me to find several shelves devoted to bestselling thrillers. Still, I did a double-take when I saw the cookbook section. They had one common theme—healthy eating—and some were even geared toward making healthy homemade dog treats. This man was turning into quite a conundrum.

The rest of the shelves were filled with leather-bound books on history, psychology, and law, with a few autobiographies and biographies thrown in. Clearly, he was an intelligent and well-read man. There was, however, one last section that piqued my interest. These books were about body language and something called micro-expressions. I picked up the one titled How to Spot a Liar and flipped through the pages. Maybe if I'd read this a few months ago, Joe wouldn't have been able to fool me for so long.

A gruff voice sounded behind me. "Let's get started."

I jumped a foot off the ground. "Don't do that," I hissed, sending him death rays. "You nearly gave me a heart attack." Without offering an apology, he took off toward the front door. I returned the book to the shelf, leaving it slightly sticking out so I could read it later.

He opened the door adjacent to the front door. I assumed it was a closet, and we were getting supplies before going outside. But I freaked when he flipped on the light, illuminating stairs leading down into the unknown. Desperate to escape, I flung the front door open and ran outside. I stumbled down the porch steps and landed on my butt. I decided to stay down while I caught my breath. Unfortunately, my gulps only made the panic worse.

Finn sat beside me, with his hands on his knees, while I did the breathing exercises Ranger taught me. "What just happened?" he calmly asked once I was breathing almost normally.

"I… I can't go down there," I stammered.

He tilted his head and calmly asked, "Why not? It's just a basement full of exercise equipment."

I wanted to be the strong woman everyone expected me to be, but here I was, on the first day of training, and already making a mess of things. I felt my eyes tear up. Shit! I blew out a breath and asked, "Is there another way to get down there?" I was practically begging for that to be true.

"It's a walkout basement. We can go down the back deck stairs or walk around the house."

I wouldn't say he was sympathetic, but he seemed willing to accommodate whatever crazy reasoning I had. I needed to get with the program. Finn wasn't my cheerleader or my friend. Those were his words. I straightened my shoulders and stood on shaky legs, prepared to walk around the house.

"I need to know what just happened." From the look on his face, he wouldn't let this drop.

I crossed my arms in front of myself and dared him to say something flippant or critical. "I can't go down the stairs. I'm not even sure I can go into the basement from the outside." It was humiliating to admit that Durant still affected me after he was dead and gone.

"What is it about the basement that bothers you?"

"The stairs remind me of the cellar, and I'm afraid the basement will be worse."

"This is the basement." He held his phone out, showing pictures of a state-of-the-art gym with abundant natural light, black rubber-tiled floors, log walls, and even a compact kitchen with an island.

"It's very nice," I had to admit. And it looked nothing like Durant's cold, dark cellar. Maggie stuck her wet nose on my hand, and I smiled, instantly feeling better. I did have a friend and a cheerleader. She just wasn't human.

Finn started walking around the house and looked back at me with a raised eyebrow as if to say, you coming? Hesitantly, Maggie and I trailed after him until we ended up on a concrete patio underneath the back deck. Finn slid a pair of glass folding doors open. Except for the stone chimney separating the doors, the entire back of the house was open to the outside. Without entering the basement, I could see the staircase I'd been afraid to walk down. It was in the back right corner, with a kitchen/bar area making up the rest of that side of the room. Next to the bathroom, on the back wall, was a set of monkey bars with a weight bench at one end and a heavy bag at the other. In front of that was a black leather couch and thick sparring mats. Along the left wall were several exercise machines.

Finn stood in front of the mirrored wall between a scale and a treadmill, patiently waiting for me to get comfortable with my new surroundings. I crossed the threshold into the room and felt alright. He motioned me over and pointed to the scale. "Step on. I need to log your weight. It's the only concern your doctor listed." I stepped on the scale, and he frowned at the reading—one hundred nineteen pounds. "You're borderline underweight for your height."

"I've gained fourteen pounds since…." My words trailed off.

"At minimum, you should weigh 121 pounds. I'll adjust your caloric intake to ensure you don't lose any weight during training. In fact, the doctor mentioned in her note that you should gain at least another ten to fifteen pounds."

"I've always stayed around 130 pounds, so that sounds about right."

"Let's begin with a warm-up, and then I'll administer the fitness test." After ten minutes of exercises focused on every muscle group, he dropped to the cushioned rubber-tiled floor. While I was still catching my breath, he demonstrated the proper push-up technique. He made it look deceptively easy. He popped upright and motioned for me to take up his former position on the floor. "Place your hands in a comfortable position. I find it easier if my feet are together, but you can move them up to 12 inches apart. Lower your body until your upper arms are parallel to the ground, then push yourself off the floor. On my command, do as many as you can until I call time." He took a deep breath and yelled, "GO!"

I started out a little wobbly, but at least I could heft my bulk off the floor. After two push-ups, my arms felt like jelly, and I had to fight hard to keep from faceplanting on the mat. I pushed through the pain and somehow kept going.

"Time!" he yelled.

I dropped onto my stomach, huffing and puffing. When I could speak, I rolled over and asked, "How many did I do?"

"Twelve."

That was five less than the minimum required for Army boot camp. I blew out a breath, discouraged. This would be harder than I thought.

"Don't get bogged down with numbers. As I said, we're only establishing a baseline today. You can only go up from here."

He hadn't called me a loser. I guess that was something positive.

"Place your knees at a 45-degree angle and interlock your hands behind your head. Each time you come up, your neck must be above your spine in a vertical position, and your shoulder blades must touch the ground on the way back down." He grabbed hold of my ankles. "Go!"

I felt the burn in my stomach and back, but I kept going. I was already slowing down when Finn warned me I had one minute left. I wasn't sure I could eke out one more. Finally, he called time. "How many?" I asked as I puffed air in and out of my lungs.

"Thirty-eight."

I was shocked. That sounded impressive. "How many did you say I had to do again?"

"Forty-five."

My mouth hung open. Somehow, I had to fit at least ten more sit-ups in those two minutes, and I didn't see how. Finn let me rest for a few minutes, and then we moved outside for the running portion of the program. This was one test I thought I might do well on, considering the amount of running I'd been doing lately.

"We need to improvise since we don't have a track, but this should work out better for you in the long run. I can't imagine you'd always have the luxury of running on flat surfaces after criminals." I tried not to deflate. It would be hard enough to meet the standards without adding disadvantages. "I've marked off a running trail on this side of the lake. You'll run as fast as you can for two minutes until I call time. I'll be running beside you." I knelt down and re-tied my shoelaces, ensuring nothing could trip me. I stood back up, rolled my shoulders, and shook my legs to loosen up. I got into position, took a deep breath, and when I exhaled, he yelled, "Go!"

We took off running hard and fast. Far too soon, he called time. I had so much momentum built up that it took me several feet before I came to a stop. I leaned over, hands on my knees, huffing and puffing while he breathed normally. Bastard.

"How'd I do?" I asked when I finally caught my breath.

This time, he smiled. "You came in under target at 20:34. That's good, but you can do better."

I grinned, feeling proud of myself for getting something right. But it seemed unbelievable that Ranger, Tank, and Lester had managed 80 sit-ups, 80 push-ups, and a two-mile run in under 13 minutes. That kind of strength was superhero-level, which explained a lot.

We ran back the way we came, and I did my best to keep up, but I was so tired I quickly fell behind. He had two bottles of water waiting for me when I got back. I guzzled the water between heaving breaths and listened to him explain my new fitness routine. "Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays will focus on your core, upper body, cardio, and the obstacle course. Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays will be lower body, hand-to-hand combat, and weapons training." He pointed to the machines lining the left wall. "You'll spend time on the Airdyne bike, Jacobs Ladder, and treadmill this morning."

There was no need to demonstrate the bike and treadmill, but he showed me how to use the Jacob's Ladder, which was like climbing stairs to nowhere.

After we alternated our way through the machines, he went over to the small kitchen and pulled out a blender. I sat on the stool and watched him pour almond milk into the blender, two peeled oranges, a whole frozen banana, ½ cup of almonds, a couple of scoops of vanilla protein powder, and ice cubes. "What are you making?"

He handed me a glass and waited for me to taste it. "It's my original recipe. Orangesicle Protein Smoothies."

I took a hesitant sip and moaned with pleasure. "This is amazing." It reminded me of when I was a kid, trying to lick my orangesicle ice cream before it melted.

He cleaned up the mess and went onto the patio to drink his smoothie while he relaxed in one of the chairs. He had the right idea, so I did the same. While savoring my delicious smoothie, I glanced around his property. It would be nice to check out the private boat dock, but my muscles had liquified, and I wasn't sure I'd make it back. I'd have to save that for another day. Hopefully, I'd get some time off to explore while I was here.

I downed the last of the smoothie and realized we'd been silent so long that it was awkward. "That was so good. I can't believe it was healthy." He didn't acknowledge my compliment about his original smoothie recipe, and now I felt even more awkward. He clearly didn't want me here. Jeanne's favor must have been a big one for him to train me under duress.

He got to his feet, and without being told, I stood as well, groaning like an old lady. We went inside, and he pointed to the floor. While I assumed the position, he said, "We'll start with three sets of each: sit-ups, flutter kicks, leg levers, Russian twists, burpees, air squats, and bar toe taps."

For the next two hours, I watched him demonstrate the proper techniques and did my best to emulate him. He moved with fluid grace and power while I muddled through the exercises like an escaped elephant in Walmart.

After the last toe tap, I was ready for another break, but he stood over me, smiling a little evilly. "Let's move over to the bars and free weights." The bars were set in a wave, some were high, and some were low. On each end were free weights and a heavy bag. He jumped up and grabbed the first bar, swinging his legs as he went from one to the next as if he weighed nothing. "Keep your arms straight and use the momentum to carry you."

Easier said than done. I couldn't even jump high enough to reach the bar. He had to get a step stool as if I were a toddler. Stepping on the stool, I grabbed the bar and tried my best to do what he asked. I let go of the bar with my left hand and grabbed the next one, but as soon as I tried to move my right hand forward, I slipped off, crumbling to the floor like a discarded tissue. I had zero upper body strength, and it showed.

"Don't get discouraged. This is why we're going to focus on free weights. You will get better once you strengthen your arm muscles."

He took me through a demonstration of a chest press and started counting my reps. In the beginning, I did okay, but by the time we moved to bicep curls, my arms were on fire. I let them fall to my side, as useless as if made of string. "Are we done yet?" I was practically begging him to say yes. When he didn't respond, I looked up, worried he would keep pushing me. "I don't want to get so pumped up that I look like G I Jane," I whined a little desperately.

He raised an eyebrow, questioning my sanity. "I don't think you have anything to worry about. Now, do another set."

His superior attitude made me angry. When he started counting, I had no choice but to find the strength to go on. I wasn't a quitter. I'd show him or die trying. My arms shook so badly that I thought I would drop the weights.

He clapped his hands. "Lunch time."

I dropped the weights in a rush of relief, and they landed with a thud not too far from where he'd been standing. I beamed at him with the full grill. "Oops. Those suckers are heavy."

"Come upstairs when you're able." He shook his head as he went outside and up the deck stairs instead of using the inside staircase.

I dropped to the mat and curled into a ball. My body hurt everywhere. The thought of lifting my legs up the stairs made me want to cry. Maybe he'd take pity on me and bring my lunch down to me. Yeah, that would never happen. My stomach growled, and I moved to get up, but as soon as my muscles contracted, a burning pain zipped through my whole diaphragm. I rolled onto my stomach and inched myself up. The pain was almost more than I could bear. I didn't know what he planned this afternoon, but I didn't think I could do any more today. Using all my effort, I struggled to my feet and followed the same path he took.

I smelled it before I saw it. He was eating a peanut butter sandwich at the dining table. My stomach rolled, and I ran past him to the bathroom. I slammed the door behind me before falling to my knees in front of the toilet.

"Are you okay?" He pounded on the door. When I didn't answer, he yelled again.

My breakfast had long been digested, and the dry heaves were hell on my overworked body. But now that I couldn't smell the peanut butter anymore, I felt better. I sagged onto the floor, feeling as stupid as I had this morning when I freaked out over going down the basement stairs. I was a mess, both mentally and physically.

He knocked again. "Stephanie, can you hear me? Let me in."

"I'll be out in a minute," I said as loudly as I could manage, embarrassed by the desperation in my voice. I wasn't sure it was loud enough, so I cleared my throat and tried again. "Please finish your lunch." I hoped he'd be done when I came out and wouldn't have to watch him eat his peanut butter sandwich.

"I'm not leaving until you open this door."

I sighed and shakily got to my feet. After quickly washing my face and brushing my teeth, I opened the door and walked past him into the living area. My stomach was still churning, and I was weak, so I sat on the couch.

"I need you to explain to me what just happened." Finn sat down in the leather chair across from me.

I looked down at my lap, hating to admit weakness in front of him. "It was a panic attack, like this morning. They come out of nowhere. The first one happened in the hospital after… after I escaped from the cellar. The second happened when I led the FBI to the cellar and realized we were standing right on top of it. I freaked out." I clutched my chest, remembering the pain that had sent me to my knees. "I couldn't breathe. It hurt so bad I thought I was dying. I can't even go shopping without freaking out over a window display of mannequins." A burst of maniacal laughter escaped, and my hand flew to my mouth, clamping it closed, afraid I would completely lose it in front of him. I didn't think he could relate to what I'd been through, so I don't know what possessed me to confess this next part. "Sometimes I feel like I never escaped from Durant. He haunts me." There was recognition in his eyes that made me believe he understood.

"That explains why seeing the stairs this morning triggered a panic attack, but what just happened in the kitchen?"

I twisted my hands in my lap. "It was the peanut butter." My voice was weak and pitiful. I couldn't believe I was telling someone I was afraid of peanut butter.

When he didn't scoff or yell about the stupidity of what I'd admitted, I looked up at him to see why. He was staring at me with curiosity. "Why would peanut butter trigger you? Will you explain it to me?" I weighed my words, wondering if it was possible for him to understand. Sensing my indecision, he said, "You're under my care while you're living with me. I won't let anything bad happen to you. But I need you to help me understand the full picture. Whatever you say to me will be kept in the strictest confidence. Consider me your therapist for the next twelve weeks." His expression was open and filled with empathy, not anger, judgment, or worse… pity. I decided to trust him.

"I went to a therapist. She was awful."

He smiled smugly. "I'm good at everything I do. Now, tell me what the problem is."

I laughed but didn't doubt his capabilities. Besides, I had to tell someone. I couldn't keep it in any longer, so I told him about how I stopped at the grocery store for ice cream and ended up meeting Durant. I told him how Durant brought Chunky Monkey ice cream to the cellar as a reward and how he viewed it as our secret connection. I also told him about surviving on one measly peanut butter sandwich every two or three days and knowing I would die with that taste in my mouth. "I can't look at the stuff or smell it without feeling the need to vomit."

"The ice cream and peanut butter are triggers, just like seeing the stairs and the mannequins," he stated and then held his hands out, index fingers and thumbs together, rubbing them in a circular motion. "Do this and think about someplace or someone calming. Focus on the breathing technique you did this morning to center yourself and self-soothe."

While I did as he asked, he went to the table, picked up his partially eaten sandwich, put the lid on the jar of peanut butter, and took them outside. He came back empty-handed, and I nearly choked on my gratitude.

He pulled out a roll of aluminum foil. "Come on. You can help me make lunch."

I helped him prepare foil packets of chicken breast and veggies to put on the grill. I thought it would be awkward between us because of my freak-out, but we worked together in comfortable silence. After lunch, Finn disappeared, and I sat on the deck hydrating with coconut water. If this morning was any indication, this afternoon would be brutal.