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“Funny,” I said. “I shot him with my water gun and he hasn’t been back since, either.”

“I know,” he said. “I watched.”

I laughed, which got the attention of my man who seemed not to like that I was laughing with someone that wasn’t him. He opened the door and glared at Raphael.

“Come in here,” he ordered. “The mother went back to a back bedroom.”

I sighed and followed him in, coming to a halt just inside the entrance.

“What is this place?” I whispered in awe.

The man with the scar who’d helped the woman in earlier snorted.

“You sound like a kid in a candy store,” he muttered. “We help abused women find new identities. Different job. New place. No danger.”

I nodded, but still not quite comprehending exactly what they did until the man continued to explain further.

“The women that we help are escaping abusive situations. An abusive husband or boyfriend, their parents. Hell, we’ve even had a few leaving cults. We bring them here, get them new identities, and then help them get to their new lives.”

The man’s eyes moved to Raphael who was leaning nonchalantly against the door just inside the room.

“But you know that already, don’t you Uniball?” The man said, directing that question to Raphael.

Raphael didn’t react to the name. Not physically anyway.

Oh, but you could tell he was pissed.

“Why are you called Uniball?” Janie, the girl we’d almost hit on the way in earlier, asked from the doorway.

Raphael looked down at the girl, then grinned.

“Apparently, people think it’s funny to tease about someone being injured,” Raphael replied to the girl.

“Janie,” scar face snapped. “What are you doing in here? You know better than to come in here.”

“I told her to come in here,” Sam muttered. “Take this to your mom. I bought it for her birthday.”

Janie took the present that Sam somehow produced from his pocket.

It wasn’t big, per se, but it wasn’t small either.

And it was wrapped in duct tape.

How just like a man to do that.

Janie smiled the sweetest smile I’d ever seen and turned and left just as fast as she’d come.

Except she came back less than five seconds later, stopping in the doorway to stare up at Raphael.

“You have pretty eyes, and I’m sorry that you only have one ball,” she said, then quickly turned and left without another word, not aware of the reaction her innocent comment got.

I wasn’t sure what to say, but Raphael’s laughter had me breathing a sigh of relief.

“At least I didn’t call you half-sack,” Scar face muttered.

“Does anyone call you scar face, Max?” Raphael asked with deceptive calm. “’Cause, if not, I can definitely take care of that for you. Maybe give you a few matching ones.”

I looked over at Raphael to see him with a knife the size of his forearm.