TRIGGER WARNINGS for discussion of childhood abuse and trauma in this chapter.

XXXXX

Much to Grace's pleasure, Sapphira had begrudgingly agreed to sit down with her so they could go through her past. Although it had come with the condition that Boyd remained with her for the whole thing. Clearly, Sapphira had grown to both trust him and view Boyd as a protective figure, something she'd tragically lacked for most of her life. That Sapphira had been willing to do it at all said volumes though.

Just after one o'clock was when Boyd had rapped his knuckles on her office door and ushered Sapphira inside. He'd wordlessly seated himself on the couch with his back to the bullpen while Grace and Sapphira took the spotted chairs in the office's centre. More minutes than Boyd had been prepared to expect went by quietly while Grace simply looked at Sapphira – assessing. Assessing was exactly what Grace used those few minutes for. The first time they'd met, Sapphira had been dirty, malnourished, easily spooked, and determined to stay as far away from Grace as she could. However, the young woman before her now almost looked like a totally different person. Sapphira didn't appear skittish and had actually shaken Grace's hand, she and her clothes were clean, and eating had obviously become more regular. Happy was the first word that had popped into Grace's mind. Sapphira looked happy; it almost made her feel bad that she'd be opening up the scabs.

"Thank you for agreeing to come in, Sapphira. I know you wanted Boyd to stay, and that's perfectly fine. Before we begin, would you like anything to drink or ask any questions?" She shook her head. "Okay, that's okay. I wanted to talk to you a little more in-depth about the days leading up to you running away and the day itself. We'll go through it slowly, and you're allowed to stop whenever you'd like. All right?" Sapphira let out a small 'uh-huh' after a comforting glance to the suit-clad man. "That's great. Ready?"

"Yeah."

"All right. Close your eyes for me, Sapphira – or would you prefer Saph?"

"Saph's fine if you want."

"Okay. Go ahead and close your eyes for me, Saph." Beautiful green eyes fluttered shut while Boyd watched on like a determined guard dog. "Now, the fire happened on a Friday, but I want you to go back to the start of the week. What happened on Monday morning when you woke up? Were you in bed? Was it warm or cold?"

"I wasn't in bed." She told them slowly with her eyes shut. "And it was cold."

"If you weren't in bed, where were you?"

"In the closet under the stairs. Mary dropped a plate while we were doing the dishes the night before. Adam hit her, and I tried to make him stop so, we both got locked in."

Grace shuffled in her seat and flipped open her small notepad. "What did it look like inside the closet? Was there any light?"

"A little would come under the door, but that was it. Mary was scared of the dark. She'd been holding onto me all night."

"Had she cried?"

"Yeah. She'd wet herself as well. Mother wasn't going to be pleased about that."

Boyd's hands clenched into fists as Grace continued to coax memories out of her. How someone could treat children so shamelessly was beyond him. Five, Mary had only been five years old. He wanted to yell, wanted to punch a hole in something just to expel some of the rage that bubbled up inside him. They'd been in there for days with no food or water, just Elizabeth checking on them every few hours because she'd literally been unable to do anything else for her sisters.

"When did you finally get out of the closet, Saph? Who let you out?"

Grace might have jotted down little notes as she went, but Boyd didn't want to remember a single second of the dark story.

"Mother let us out. She had this… cane. You know, like you'd see in old films about boarding schools? The closet stank, and Mary's dress was stained, so she hauled her away to beat some dignity into her."

"That's a very specific phrase. 'Beat some dignity into her,' are those words your mother's?"

"They're sure as hell not Saph's, are they?" Boyd snapped as his leg began to bounce displaying his agitation.

Grace's face said it all: For him to shut the hell up and let her do her job uninterrupted.

"Do you know how long you'd been in there at all?" The older woman ensured each and every word came with a comforting tone to remind Sapphira she was in a safe space without judgement.

"Thursday." Sapphira worried her lip but kept her eyes closed. "It was Thursday because, after I'd been allowed to shower and Elle gave me her toast, I was sent to get the garbage can, and that happened on Thursdays."

"All right, so it's Thursday. Were all of you at home?"

Sapphira shook her head. "No. Adam wasn't there. He'd probably gone to work. He was a mechanic like Dad. Mary had to clean the closet with Abigail – I don't know what Abigail had done to upset Mother. I think Rachel was doing the laundry, and I was told to help Elle take down the curtains so they could be washed. We were the tallest; we always ended up doing it."

"What about your mother? Where was she during all of this?"

"Doing what she did all the time." Sapphira muttered. "Read her Bible, inspect our work, then went to pray for better daughters."

"Better daughters?" Boyd shook his head. "No, Saph, she should have been praying to be a better mother."

"Did anyone come to the house?"

"I don't remember anyone coming over."

"If you did chores all day, what happened at night? Who made dinner? Was it you or maybe Elizabeth?"

"We made dinner together; it was our job – the one time we were left alone and things were peaceful." Suddenly Boyd flashed back to each time he'd told her she didn't need to bother cooking for him, each time he'd told her it wasn't needed – he'd not understood cooking was Sapphira's happy place. There and then Boyd made a decision, a silent vow almost; if she wanted to cook, then he'd damn well let her without a single complaint. That first night he'd made steaks for them had brought him pleasure, so he wouldn't ever try taking it from her again. Others might have thought it was such a small thing, pointless, but cooking had been Sapphira's only respite and brought her comfort. "Four plates of food, like always. We made spaghetti. The bolognese smelt good; would have been nice to have some."

Confusion had Grace's brow furrow while growing anger made Boyd dig his fingernails into the palms of his hand.

"Hold on, four plates instead of seven? And what do you mean the bolognese smelt good? Did you just have dry pasta?"

"Mother said we were greedy, that we always took more than we needed or deserved. 'Greed is listed as one of the elements that makes a an "unclean" was what she'd bark at us."

Grace leaned forward a touch. "That's from the Bible, right? Matthew?"

"Mark." Sapphira corrected before continuing. "Dinner was always four plates: one each for her and Adam and two for us girls to share. We didn't get sauces or things like that."

"So, if you got fed at all," said Boyd through gritted teeth. "You had to split two plates of whatever it was between five of you?"

Sapphira didn't respond, and that might have been for the best considering Boyd had almost drawn blood. Withholding food from children was a clear example of coercive behavior, Boyd had listened to Grace enough to understand that. Isolating a victim from friends and family, controlling aspects of daily life like when someone could leave the house, refusing medical attention, and threatening were other coercive behaviors the Cold Case Unit encountered all the time; it hadn't desensitized them to it though.

"Saph, what happened after dinner?" Grace asked gently to get them back on track. "Did you go straight to bed? Are you sure nobody came to the house?"

Sapphira shook her head which had her hair cascade around her face protectively. "I don't want to talk about it."

Boyd shared a look with Grace; this was the first time Sapphira had pushed back, had wanted to stay silent, and that alarmed them. She'd been rather forthcoming with her abuse even if she'd brushed over a lot of darker details, so wanting to hide from what had happened after dinner left them with a pit in their stomachs.

"You've been so very brave, Sapphira. You should be proud of that. Please push a little more for me. I know it's hard, but you're such a strong girl and-"

"I don't want to."

Tears bubbled up in her eyes as they finally flew open. In an instant she'd thrown herself out of her seat and into Boyd's arms on the couch. He engulfed her without hesitation, wrapped her up all cosy and safe as best he could as she cried quietly into his neck. Fingers finally made their way into her raven hair like they'd wanted to for weeks as Boyd whispered sweet comforts to her. Grace watched the display before her while trying to separate the consequences of Sapphira growing too attached to Boyd and that she desperately needed someone to trust.

After a few minutes, Boyd's chocolaty eyes found Grace's. "You said she could stop whenever she wanted. Let her stop now, Grace."

She sighed and set her notepad aside. "I appreciate that this is something nobody wants to think about, Boyd. However, we need to know what happened, and I think Saph needs to get it off her chest."

"Grace-"

"I'll do it." Sapphira peeked up from Boyd's neck; it would have been so easy to lean down and kiss away her tears. "I can do it."

Grace was right – usually was – and Boyd had no right to end the interview if Sapphira had found the courage to carry on. So, reluctantly, he'd pushed a few stray locks behind her ear then nodded.

"You go at your own pace, Saph, as slow as you like."

It took a while, but she did eventually find her voice. The whole time she clung to Boyd for safety and encouragement that he happily supplied.

"Adam – Adam had been acting weird for months. I kept – kept finding him just looking at me. I'd woken up a few times to find him watching me sleep." Boyd's grip on her instinctively tightened as she tried not to shake. "I think he – I think he might have taken pictures of me. After dinner Abigail and Elizabeth had to wash the dishes, and I'd been sent to run a bath for Mary because Mother said she still stank. I don't know what happened; one minute I was filling the bath, and the next I was on the floor and Adam was holding me down. I wanted him off me, but he was too strong and muttering something about Asian girls being ugly, so I was the only pretty one. I tried kicking and shouting, but…" She trailed off lamely for a moment. Meanwhile, Boyd's eye twitched with ire. If Adam Callaghan wasn't dead, he'd certainly wish he was when Boyd got hold of him. "He tore my top and started opening his belt."

Grace leaned forward in her chair, a comforting smile on her face. "Then what happened, Sapphira?"

"…Then Mother was there and screaming," she wept. "Adam jumped away from me, and she forced my head under the water. She was so angry. I don't even – even know what she was saying. I just kept hearing whore and – and slut. It burnt. Felt like fire in my lungs. My ribs hurt from the bath edge slamming into them. I tried to get away; I did, but everything was wet and I couldn't." Boyd pulled her close, held Sapphira tightly in his strong arms, and pressed a kiss to her temple as sobs escaped her. "He threw me out back. I – I was wet, and it was cold. I just lay on the patio until morning."

"That's enough, Grace. You stop now."

Grace saw the seriousness in Boyd's eyes, so she chose not to object. They might not have learnt how Donovan Padmore had ended up dead in the Callaghan home, but they now knew tensions had been higher at Number 13 that night than usual.

Enraged – there wasn't another word for it – Boyd was enraged by the abuse Sapphira and her sisters had been forced to endure. Then, just when he'd thought it wouldn't get worse, her own brother had tried to rape her, and Amanda had blamed Sapphira for it. She'd gone so far as to act like Sapphira encouraged it. Needing silence, he hadn't waited for Grace to say anything, just returned to his office uncaring what Spence or Stella thought of him carrying a crying woman through the office. Keys were snatched up, then Boyd carried her all the way down to his car to take her home.

As they drove farther away from CCHQ, Sapphira actually started to feel a little better, even though Boyd might have felt murderous. Like finally talking about it had somehow eased the weight inside her soul. Her abusive mother had prevented her rape; a cruel irony, and one that had always left Sapphira feeling guilty for some reason. Grace knew what she was talking about, and 'getting it off her chest,' as she'd put it, helped. Even though things weren't good – they wouldn't be for years, if at all – they were better.

~X~

Just when the team had started to think they really had looked under every available rock when it came to the Padmore-Callaghan case, Spence had received a tip that almost sounded like a conspiracy theory. Newspapers hadn't been told police suspected the Callaghans to still be alive in order to prevent them fleeing the city – or wherever they were. So, when a young woman by the name of Jade Mooney had called in talking about the family who used to live across the street from her being the Callaghans, they'd paid attention. However, some of her other thoughts on the topic had been a little out there. Although Boyd being Boyd, Spence had been sent to follow up the second the boss had heard about it. That was how Spence had found himself in Bixton at 10:40 in the morning. He'd knocked on Miss Mooney's door only for a woman younger than expected to answer.

"Miss Jade Mooney?"

"Yeah, that's me. You that copper I talked to?"

Spence nodded with a flash of his warrant card. "DI Spencer Jordan. May I come in?"

Jade pulled the door open to admit him into her cramped home, and the pair soon found themselves in the kitchen with a weak cup of tea. She'd explained that, roughly seven years ago, when Jade had been only thirteen, a strange family had hurriedly moved into the house across the street. Nobody had really taken much notice of them at first, but Jade had been pleased to have new kids in the neighborhood to play with. Although, the children had hardly ever gone outside, and they'd never shown up at her school either. They'd gone by the name Daniels instead of Callaghan, but the son's name was Adam and, when they had been outside, the three daughters had talked about a Sapphira.

"So why do you think that these people are the Callaghans from the fire?" He asked incredulously. "I mean, you were a kid back then, right?"

"Well, yeah," huffed Jade. "But how many shifty-as-fuck single-parent families do you know with a son called Adam, an Asian daughter, and mention some Sapphira chick?"

"All right." Spence relented. "You've got a point."

"'Course I do, mate. Damn, the police need me to do more of their thinkin' for 'em?"

The very last thing Spence needed was a teenager getting all arrogant with him, so he simply moved on with his line of questioning as politely as he could.

"How long did the Daniels' live here?"

Jade shrugged. "Not long, maybe six months or so. They packed up pretty quick after Adam grabbed me sister."

"Adam Daniels attacked your sister?" Asked Spence with surprise.

"Yeah. I was coming home with me sister, and the bastard just came out of nowhere and snatched 'er off 'er feet. Tom, that's me brother, he saw and punched the fucker in the mouth. By the time Dad had called you guys, they'd scarpered. That's why I remember 'em so well. You don't forget a guy who tries to feel your sister up on the street next to you."

Spence couldn't really argue with that. However, if the Daniels had only lived in the area for a handful of months, few were likely to remember them, and confirming these were the Callaghans would be next to impossible. That said, Jade's parents must have filed a police report regarding the incident, and that might have shed more light on the situation.

"Are you absolutely sure the daughters were talking about someone called Sapphira? It wasn't Sapphire or possibly Stephanie?"

"Look, I know what I 'eard, mate. The name always stuck in me 'ead coz of how unusual it were." Jade folded her arms over her chest, teacup dangling from one hand. "I think they're a gang of pervs or somethin'. You know, like creepers what go snatchin' kids off the street when they come 'ome from school."

Just like that they'd returned to conspiracy theory territory. If the Daniels and Callaghans were one in the same, they'd not formed some pedophile ring; they were just two abusers escaping a double homicide with more victims in tow. Frankly, Jade had been lucky there hadn't been another house fire if it was them.

Of course, Spence would look into the police report from seven years ago, but this all felt like another dead end in a series of dead ends to him. It might have been the first actual evidence they were still alive, but he couldn't follow it. So, Spence thanked Jade for her information and gave her his card so she could call if she remembered anything else, then he'd trudged back to the office to dig up that police report. Sure enough, Jade's father had filed one on June 15th of 2001. Although Mister Mooney had fortunately known the matriarch of the Daniels family was called Miriam. Between himself and Stella, they'd searched public records going back fifty years or so, and, while there were a reasonable amount of women called Miriam Daniels living in the UK between then and now, not a single one of them had ever lived opposite Jade Mooney and her family. Suddenly it had felt as though they might have actually stumbled onto something; a glimmer of light amid a sinister ocean. Then Grace had added a bizarre new level of credence when she'd pointed out that Amanda Callaghan had insisted on giving all her children biblical names; Miriam and Daniel were both biblical names.

~X~

Boyd finally made it home extremely late with no intention other than collapsing on the couch for an hour or so with a beer before he stumbled up to bed. Leaves blew around chaotically alongside the occasional wrapper outside like a mini trash tornado, so slamming the front door behind him had come with a deep sigh of relief. He'd quickly shrugged off his wool overcoat to the awaiting hatrack, ditched his keys, then made his way into the yellow living room to dump the pizza he'd grabbed on the way home on the coffee table. He'd half expected to find Sapphira engrossed in another chaotic anime; instead, the news played, and Sapphira wore a weary expression.

"Everything okay, Saph?"

She nodded, though he nor the double pepperoni he'd brought were spared a glance. "Yeah, fine." She really didn't look fine, and Boyd told her just that. "It's just that sometimes I wonder if my sisters are going to be found or if I'm just wasting police time by asking you to keep searching."

Boyd dropped onto the couch beside her and, without a second thought, wrapped an arm around her comfortingly; his thumb stroked bare skin just below her pyjama t-shirt sleeve as she instinctively rested her head against his strong shoulder.

"I can't promise you that I'll find them alive, but I'm convinced they didn't die in the fire. We got a lead the other day that Spence is working on; it'll get us closer. Saph, you're not wasting anybody's time, especially not mine. I might not find your sisters alive, and I'm so sorry for that, but I will find out what happened to them. I give you my word."

A small chuckle escaped the sweet young woman he'd begun to care for. "Peter Boyd's word, huh? That must carry some hefty weight."

"I like to think so." The hand not rubbing her arm stretched out to grab the remote so he could flick through channels to something less depressing. In hardly fifteen seconds he'd stumbled across a Mel Brooks film that had only just started. "Let's eat and watch something we don't need to think about."

She understood exactly what he'd meant by 'don't need to think about,' something light and comedic that didn't pose too many philosophical or moral questions; the hour was late, and brains were weary after all. Sapphira didn't argue, just settled back on the couch with his arm still around her and a pizza box open on Boyd's lap. They didn't bother finding plates or napkins, just sat there a while practically cuddled together as hectic wind hurtled outside.

By almost the film's end, when the pizza box had gone cold and been dumped back on the coffee table, Boyd glanced down at the young woman to find her fast asleep, nestled against his strong chest. Gods, she looked beautiful, practically carved of marble by cherubs. So peaceful and delicate. Fingers carefully stroked through her hair while brown eyes caressed her face. He'd seen many a beautiful woman in his time, but Boyd quietly confessed she may well have been the most stunning of them all. Porcelain skin, hair soft as silk, adorable dimples when she smiled – young. Boyd's eyes slipped shut as he mentally admonished himself and combed his free hand down his stubbled face. This girl was thirty-two years his junior and only at his house in the first place because she'd had nowhere else to go. Although, if Boyd had said he didn't want Sapphira, he would have been lying through his teeth. He wanted every single inch of her and had for quite some time, but the number thirty-two just kept circling around inside his mind like a dark taunt. The very last thing she needed was him lusting after her. Sapphira's age didn't even really matter in the end; she saw him as a kind policeman who'd offered up his home to her and a friend at most. Seemed pretty obvious Sapphira could do much better than a middle-aged bully who could only communicate via shouting. No, he didn't deserve her and he was far, far, too old for her.

Not wanting to disturb such a delicate, Boyd turned off the television as credits rolled and scooped her up into a princess hold. Instinctively, she'd snuggled into the safety of his warm chest. He flicked off lights, headed upstairs, then into the guest room Boyd had mentally been terming 'Saph's room' for over a month. While his room overlooked the street – he'd only picked that one since it had an en suit – Sapphira's bedroom had a lovely view of the backyard. Sure, it might have been a touch overgrown around the edges, but it was expansive and had a little bench she often sat on to read in the afternoons.

Just as gently as he'd picked her up, he settled her down on the bed then allowed himself a single forehead kiss. One. Only one. However, when he made to lean away, brown eyes found green ones, and Boyd didn't know what to say. Should he have apologized for being overly familiar? Perhaps just backing out of the room would have been a better choice. Neither option came to fruition though, not when those green eyes somehow kept him locked in place. For a time the pair just stared at one another in the dark bedroom; it could have been five seconds or five hours. Sapphira was so close, smelt so good and looked so wonderfully supple. Boyd's primal nature shoved aside sensible reasoning to finally, finally, kiss those pink lips of hers.

"I'm sorry, Saph." He almost lamented. "I-"

"You can call me Sapphie."

"Sapphie."

Then her lips found his again for a desperate kiss and, Boyd shifted quickly from being hunched over her bed to being perched on it. Awkwardly, the gray-haired man managed to kick his shoes off while Sapphira worked the buttons of his purple shirt open. Their tongues met in a heated kiss, one full of passion and need, which only broke apart when the demand for air became too strong. It was that moment, as their foreheads rested together, that Boyd managed to question if Sapphira was sure about this. Some logical voice in the very back of his brain had managed to spit out reasons to stop: too young, too good for him, that he was somehow taking advantage of an isolated woman.

"I want you. I want this." Her voice came out husky that tickled his cheek.

That was all the animalistic part of Boyd's mind needed, a proverbial green light, to again meet her lips for a bruising kiss. Nimble fingers pushed his shirt down his shoulders where Boyd shrugged it off as though it had personally offended him. She tugged his belt loose before Sapphira's top was pulled over her head, finally exposing that generous chest to his hungry eyes; an ocean of porcelain skin complete with rosy nipples. His large hands trailed up Sapphira's sides to cup her breasts, then squeeze them. Boyd tweaked those rosy buds and grinned at the moan she let out.

"Fuck, you're beautiful."

Sapphira flicked her tongue across the hollow of his neck. "You're rather handsome yourself."

Outside might have been cold and windy, but the bedroom had quickly grown hot and would soon be immersed in sex-scented air. His length strained against his boxers as Sapphira wiggled out of her black leggings to expose every inch of herself to him. A hand automatically reached for the drawer of the nightstand only to remember this wasn't his bedroom, so lacked condoms. Their lips met again between promises of his return, and Boyd did come right back; the trip to his own bedroom had possibly been the fastest he'd moved in all his life. Then he was on her, their bodies flush against one another while arms wrapped around his neck to deepen their kisses.

Clumsily, Boyd managed to shrug off his suit pants and boxers – his erection sprang free with eagerness – without breaking their kisses but was forced to when it came to his socks.

Sapphira's hands in his hair almost had Boyd purr as he knelt on the bed, her legs forced wide to accommodate him. So wet, so enticing, so his. An impatient tongue lavished Sapphira's neck, clavicle, and breasts while clever fingers teased her core. Pants escaped her, each puff of breath like music to Boyd's ears – a symphony just for him. Any hesitance she'd felt had melted away until all that remained was a craving heat for the man atop her building up inside. Boyd left a trail of increasingly needy kisses down her supple body until he'd settled between her legs; he nipped at her inner thigh as she dug her nails into the sheets.

"So fucking beautiful." If Boyd knew he'd spoken or not would remain a mystery.

His tongue finally found the place she'd wanted him most; Sapphira let out a groan that had him smirk against her folds. She wasn't alone; Boyd had hungered for this for months. That tongue of his, usually loaded with an insult, devoured her, wantonly tasted the sweet flavor of his girl, because that animalistic part of him had decided she was his now. Again, Sapphira's fingers found his hair – that thick, magnificent gray hair – where her nails scraped against his scalp. Boyd kissed, sucked, and licked that sensitive bundle of nerves almost in a frenzy as he grew drunk on her intoxicating sounds.

"Boyd!"

She was close, ever so close, and Boyd felt a masculine pride bubble inside him. He rubbed his hard length against the mattress just to take the edge off as fingers crooked inside her. Then, with a strangled cry and fluttered eyes, Sapphira came with her fingers clenched in his gray hair.

Boyd smirked when their lips met again, knew she'd taste herself on his tongue. The kisses were far from innocent; deep and wanton, with a battle for dominance that Boyd swiftly won. He leaned back on his haunches while Sapphira got her breath back, pumped himself a few times as chocolaty eyes caressed her flushed skin, before the condom went on. An angel she was, an angel with emeralds for eyes and raven feathers for hair. She grinned up at him, and Boyd could resist her no longer. Finally, finally, he filled that glistening core of hers as their lips met again. So inviting, so wet, so tight.

"Jesus Christ!" He grunted out.

More; he wanted more of her, wanted all of her. His hands snaked around her just enough so he could flip them. Her thighs pressed against him as she sank down onto him fully. His hands shot up to her hips as though that were their rightful place to set a slow and steady rhythm, which soon grew in fervor. Sapphira's breasts bounced enticingly as she rode him. Boyd's bucking hips soon had her using his chest spattered with gray hair for support.

"Boyd -" A delightful groan cut her off. "Need more."

More. Deeper. Faster. Boyd understood exactly what her body craved because his own demanded it as well. He pushed himself up slowly, which forced Sapphira to shift so their bodies stayed connected, then patted a hand against her calf.

Boyd practically growled out, "Legs behind my back and cross them."

The raven-haired beauty didn't need telling twice; by now the pair of them only cared about their approaching orgasms. Sapphira obeyed; she lifted herself enough to cross them behind him so Boyd could bury himself to the hilt inside her hot body. Things passed in a blur after that – sharp thrusts, breathy moans, nails in his shoulders – the brain simply gave way to primal urges. This was their dark language, where only pleasure mattered. The outside world with its wind and occasional car headlights illuminating the windows as it went by might as well have never existed. The greasy pizza box on Boyd's coffee table and that he couldn't quite remember if he'd turned the television off weren't important. Sapphira came first with a strangled muttering, which was probably meant to be his name. Her walls clamped down around him, which finally pushed Boyd over the edge into that euphoric ocean below. Sex-scented sweat evaporated from their hot skin as she collapsed against his hairy chest, and Boyd's hips continued to thrust just to eke out the last trickles of pleasure, then he fell back on the bed, which forced Sapphira to move her legs and, unfortunately, him to slide free of her.

Nothing needed to be said, so nothing was. Boyd disposed of the condom, then settled underneath the covers with her; him with an arm around her and Sapphira with a leg hooked over his own and a hand on his chest. When logic clicked back on, Boyd would probably find a dozen reasons to scream at himself, but in that moment, logic was far away and sleep called. He slipped into slumber quickly, leaving Sapphira to tumble into her own dreamland slowly while she listened to his little snores.