The woman pursed her lips, irritation written in the sharp wrinkles across her forehead. “You refuse to help me then?”

Fox took his time answering and she was silent waiting. He took another drag off his cigarette then put it out while exhaling the smoke. He stood up and let his gray eyes fall on the woman. “I will not be bought Mrs. McCallister.” He moved to within a yard of her. “And I am not a baby sitter.”

Her nostrils flared in anger. “Fine.” She shoved the pen and checkbook away and put her hands on her hips. Fox almost smirked at how hard she was trying to hide her fury. He was surprised her red hair didn’t burst into flame with the strength of the emotion.

Mrs. McCallister turned on one heel and walked to the door. She stopped with her hand on the doorknob. “I’m surprised you don’t hide those scars. How old were you when the things you saw drove you to slit your wrists?”

She went to pull the door open, but Fox’s hand was pressed to the wood, holding it closed.

“How do you know about me?”