Secret Stalker

A SWAT officer must protect the woman who broke his heart

Years ago, detective and part-time SWAT officer Max Remington proposed to the woman he loved. Her response? To flee town—and Max’s life—under a cloud of suspicion. Folks said Bexley Kane killed the man “allegedly” stalking her and got away with murder. Now Bex is back in Destiny, Tennessee, but their tense reunion is cut short when bullets start flying, and this time, they’re aimed at her. As Max fights to keep Bex safe, he’s also fighting to protect his heart. Can they unravel the secrets of the past in time to save each other? Or will Bex’s final secret destroy them both?

“Bex,” a harsh whisper sounded. “Move. Now.”

Bex’s eyes flew open. Impossibly, Max stood towering over her, ski-mask guy limply hanging over his shoulder, his arms dangling toward the ground. Max jerked his head, motioning for her to run straight ahead to the aisle directly in front of them.

Stunned that she was alive and could run, she ducked and darted from the alcove, then stopped just past the endcap and looked behind her.

He yanked out his pistol and shoved it toward her. “Remember how to use one of these?” he whispered.

She swallowed, then nodded. “I haven’t fired one in years.”

Something dark passed in his eyes, and she knew he was remembering one of the many times he’d taken her to target practice so long ago.

And seeing him now, so calm and focused, she knew that if anyone could save her, it was Max.

But who would save her from him?

Secret Stalker

Lena Diaz

www.millsandboon.co.uk

LENA DIAZ was born in Kentucky and has also lived in California, Louisiana and Florida, where she now resides with her husband and two children. Before becoming a romantic suspense author, she was a computer programmer. A former Romance Writers of America Golden Heart® Award finalist, she has also won the prestigious Daphne du Maurier Award for Excellence in mystery and suspense. To get the latest news about Lena, please visit her website, www.lenadiaz.com.

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Thank you to my editor, Allison Lyons,

and my agent, Nalini Akolekar.

This one’s for George. Because he reads every book I write,

and pretends to love romance novels, all to make me happy.

Best. Husband. Ever. I love you, babe.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Extract

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

The whispers started thirty seconds after Bexley Kane walked down aisle three in the Piggly Wiggly on Magnolia Street. Not that there was a Piggly Wiggly on any other street in the tiny town of Destiny, Tennessee. With a population the size of a large high school in other parts of the state, this town could only support one grocery store. And one movie theater. And one Waffle House. But, oddly enough, there were four Starbucks. Too bad not one of them was anywhere close to Magnolia Street. Bex sure could use a venti caramel macchiato right now.

Head high, shoulders back, she began filling her cart as quickly as possible while pretending not to notice the other shoppers talking behind their hands as she passed. But, come on, did they really believe that she didn’t know they were gossiping about her? She could well imagine what they were saying.

Is that who I think it is? What’s it been, ten years? Why is she back in town?

You didn’t hear? Her mama done passed away. I heard she died of a broken heart, on account of her daughter didn’t visit even once after she got run out of town.

You think Chief Thornton will arrest her this time?

Is there a statute of limitations on murder?

“Miss Kane, nice to see you today.” Mr. Dawson gave Bex a genuine, welcoming smile from behind the deli counter. “I was hoping I’d see your lovely face at least one more time before you left Destiny. You here for lunch? We’ve got a brand-new batch of pickled pigs’ feet.” He proudly thumped a large jar on top of the display case that looked like a science experiment gone horribly wrong.

Bex very nearly lost her breakfast. She averted her gaze from the nauseating sight and smiled at one of the few people in Destiny who hadn’t treated her like a pariah in the week that she’d been back.

“Hello, Mr. Dawson. I called in an order for some lunch meats and grilled chicken. Could you see whether it’s ready, please?”

“Gladys must have taken that order. I’ll check the cooler. Won’t take but a minute.” He opened the massive walk-in refrigerator behind him and headed inside.

Bex checked her grocery list. The only thing left to get was mustard, one of several things she’d forgotten the first time she’d been in the store. After today’s shopping trip, she should have enough to tide her over for several more days, until she finished taking care of all of the details of her mother’s estate. Then she could hop into her car and leave Destiny in the dust. Again. And this time, she’d never come back.

If she remembered correctly, Mr. Dawson kept the condiments across the aisle from the meat case. Since little else had changed in this town, she doubted that had, either. She turned around—and locked gazes with the one person she’d hoped to avoid.

Max Remington.

His golden-brown eyes stared at her in shock for all of three seconds. Then they filled with anger. His jaw clamped tight and, without a word, he circled around her and headed to the sandwich counter at the other end of the deli.

Gladys miraculously appeared as if from thin air, eager to take Max’s order. Bex couldn’t help noticing that he was all smiles and yes, ma’ams, no, ma’ams when speaking to the older woman. But he couldn’t even spare a hello for his former lover.

His curt dismissal shouldn’t hurt. After all, she was the one who’d left him. But he’d been her first love. And she’d built him up in her mind over the years as her handsome hero, dreaming of what life could have been, should have been, if she’d said yes that night.

And if Bobby Caldwell hadn’t died.

She grabbed a jar of mustard and allowed herself the guilty pleasure of admiring Max from beneath her lashes—all six feet two of him. At eighteen, he’d been the cutest, sweetest, most popular boy at Destiny High. At twenty-eight, he was a devastatingly handsome man with bulging biceps and muscular thighs filling out the gangly frame of his youth. His dark hair was short on the sides, thick and wavy on top. He’d been clean shaven when she’d been with him. Now his angular face was framed by neatly trimmed stubble, as if he was considering growing a beard but hadn’t yet committed.

He dressed pretty much the same as he had back then: nothing fancy, just a no-nonsense button-up blue linen shirt neatly tucked into a pair of crisp jeans. In deference to the chilly autumn air outside, he wore a lightweight navy blue jacket. And as he turned to point to something in the display case for Gladys, the white lettering on his back reassured Bex that she’d made the right decision all those years ago—the letters spelled Destiny Police Department.

Good for you, Max. You chased your dream after all.

“Will you be needing anything else, Miss Kane?”

She forced her gaze away from Max, her face flushing with heat when Mr. Dawson glanced down the counter, then back at her, obviously noting her interest in her former high school sweetheart.

He handed her a brown paper sack that was stapled closed. “Your order’s inside. Just show the cashier that code on the bag at checkout and she’ll ring up the manager’s special. That’ll save you a couple of dollars.”

“Thank you.” She lowered her voice. “I really appreciate how nice you’ve been to me. You’re one of the few people who’s made this trip bearable.”

“You don’t need to thank me for doing what’s right. It’s a downright shame how nasty folks can be. They ought not to be throwing stones without taking a long, hard look at themselves first.”

She smiled again, painfully aware that Max and Gladys had stopped talking the moment she’d thanked Mr. Dawson. Was Max looking at her? Had he decided to acknowledge her existence after all?

The sound of his boots echoed on the tile floor as he strode toward her. She clutched the bag and jar of mustard against her chest, frozen in place while she desperately tried to think of something, anything, to say.

He stalked past without even looking at her.

Bex’s breath rushed out of her, deflating her like a popped balloon.

Someone cleared their throat. Mr. Dawson. He was watching her with a sympathetic expression on his face. Beside him, Gladys looked decidedly less friendly, a frown wrinkling her brow, her hands on her generous hips. There was no doubt about whose side she was on. Not that there were any sides to take. A fight required two people, and Max hadn’t cared enough about the outcome to even stick around for the first volley.

Bex nodded her thanks to Mr. Dawson before putting her items in the cart and heading toward the back of the store, as if there was something else she needed. What she really needed was a moment to compose herself.

Not wanting to risk another encounter with Max, she strolled along the rear aisle toward the other side of the store, putting off checking out until she was certain he’d be gone.

Maybe she should just get in her RAV4 and hit the road right now. She could hire someone else to pack up her mom’s house. Settling the last legal details of the estate through the mail instead of working with her lawyer in person would delay things. But at least she wouldn’t have to endure one more person’s disapproving stare. And her heart wouldn’t have to face Max again.

She tried to convince herself that it wasn’t cowardice that had her wanting to run—it was self-preservation. Because it had taken years to tape and glue the pieces of her broken heart back together. But shattering it again had only taken one angry look from Max Remington.

* * *

MAX SHUFFLED IMPATIENTLY in line behind Mable Humphries. It was the express lane, ten items or less. But she had thirty items. And the only other register that was open had three customers waiting with overflowing carts.

He blew out a frustrated breath, then forced a smile when the elderly woman looked at him.

“How are you today, Mrs. Humphries?” he asked.

“You sure are sweet to ask, Detective Remington. My joints have been aching something fierce today, and not just from the chill outside. I think we’re in for a storm soon. Don’t you?”

He gave her a noncommittal answer and she prattled on about her aches and pains. He wished he could just ignore her outright or tell her to hurry up. But the manners his mother and father had drilled into him couldn’t be ignored.

Except, apparently, where Bexley Kane was concerned.

A twinge of guilt shot through him over the way he’d treated her. Or, rather, ignored her.

Destiny was too small for him not to have heard the rumors. He knew she was back in town because of her mother’s recent passing. But he hadn’t been prepared for actually coming face-to-face with her after all these years. He’d just...reacted. All the lines he’d rehearsed in case he ever saw her again had disappeared in a fog of rage and hurt. So he’d done the only thing he could safely do. He’d kept his mouth shut.

As Mrs. Humphries droned on, Max nodded in the appropriate places but otherwise tuned her out.

Bex. It was hard to believe that she was really here. Was she staying? Permanently? Based on her comments to Mr. Dawson about him making her “trip” bearable, Max didn’t think so. Maybe he should have paid more attention to the gossip swirling around town about her instead of taking pains to avoid it every time her name came up. Then maybe he’d know what Bex’s plans were so he could take the necessary precautions to ensure that he didn’t run into her again.

He’d already done his duty by Bex’s mom, the sweet woman whom he and half the town had expected would become his mother-in-law one day. He’d gone to the memorial service her church had put together, a service without a casket or even an urn since her body had been shipped out of town to be interred somewhere else. As far as he knew, Bex hadn’t bothered to go to the church. For his part, he’d arrived early and left fast, just in case she did show.

His mourning was done in private, when he’d planted some white lilies in Mrs. Kane’s garden as a tribute to her. They’d always been her favorite, and he’d planted a new lily in her yard every Mother’s Day for the past ten years.

“It sure was nice running into you, Detective.” Mable’s gnarled hand gripped his with surprising strength. “Hope to see you at the town picnic next weekend. I’m making some of my famous sweet potato pie.”

“I wouldn’t miss it, ma’am.” He gently extricated his hand and returned her wave as she pushed her cart to the exit.

The young brunette at the cash register scanned Max’s sandwich and handed it back to him.

“You want to make that a meal deal with chips and a drink? I can have someone run to the deli and—”

“Just the sandwich, thanks.” He quickly paid and let out a breath of relief that he was finally about to get out of purgatory. He wasn’t even hungry anymore. All he wanted to do was return to the police station, immerse himself in work and try to forget all about Bexley Kane.

“Everybody do what we say and no one gets hurt!”

Max jerked his head toward the entrance. Five masked gunmen with assault rifles had just run in through the front door and were pointing their guns toward the handful of customers at the other register.

The cashier beside him started screaming. One of the gunmen swung his rifle her way. Max dived over the counter, pulling the girl to the floor seconds before the countertop above them exploded in a hail of gunfire.

Chapter Two

Bex flattened herself against a cereal box endcap, pressing both of her hands against her mouth to keep from crying out.

Rat-a-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat!

Bam! Bam!

She dropped to the floor, her breaths coming out in short pants. What in the world was happening? Who would fire guns inside a Piggly Wiggly? The answer, of course, was obvious. Someone was holding up the place. But she still couldn’t believe it was happening. Not here. Not in the tiny town of Destiny.

Thank God Max had plenty of time to have left before the gunman or gunmen had shown up.

And wasn’t that a crazy thought, being glad the police officer was out of harm’s way when he was the one person who might have been able to help her and any others trapped inside?

A scream sounded from the front of the store. Someone else shouted. Footsteps pounded down an aisle not too far from where Bex lay on the floor. If someone was holding up the store, wouldn’t they have forced the manager to open the safe in the front office? They wouldn’t be running down aisles and still shooting minutes later, would they?

Bam! Bam!

That sounded like a pistol.

Rat-a-tat-tat-tat.

Automatic gunfire.

She pressed a hand to her throat. Was that a gunfight? Whoever had the pistol was at a serious disadvantage.

Another shout sounded. More footsteps.

Bam!

“Where is she?” a man yelled. “She wasn’t with the ones who locked themselves in the cooler.”

“How the hell should I know? Reggie said she was ready to check out. She should have been up front when we got here.”

“Find her. And find that stupid cop. He’s screwing everything up and I’m gonna blow his brains out.”

Oh, no. Please, God, don’t be talking about Max.

But in her gut, she knew they were. He was the only policeman she’d seen in the store just a few minutes before the gunmen came in. No one else could have gotten here this fast. He either hadn’t left when she’d thought he had, or he’d run back into the store when he saw the gunmen go inside.

Footsteps sounded again, much closer this time. If they turned down the back aisle that ran the width of the store, they’d see her. She had to move, hide. Or better yet, find Max and get them both out of the store.

Right, like she was GI Jane or something. The only danger she faced on a typical day was whether she might get a splinter in her finger from one of the pieces of furniture that she sold at her antique store.

Move, Bex. Hurry!

She sent up a quick, silent prayer then pulled herself forward in an army crawl.

* * *

MAX CROUCHED DOWN, his pistol out in front of him while he whispered into his cell phone and made his way down aisle five toward the front of the store again.

“Searching for remaining three gunmen. What’s your ETA?” he asked his SWAT team lead, Dillon Gray.

He reached the end of the aisle and looked left, then right, before crouching by the endcap. He paused, listening for sounds that might indicate where the gunmen were hiding.

“Roger that,” he whispered in answer to the instructions over the phone. “I’ve got five customers and four employees locked in the cooler from the inside with good cover. There are coats in there, so they’re okay for now. Searching for additional customers. You guys need to get in here ASAP, full SWAT gear. These yahoos may be stupid and disorganized. But that makes them unpredictable and dangerous.”

A noise sounded from the east end of the store. He looked down the next aisle. Clear. He jogged to another endcap, heading east.

“Negative,” he whispered in response to Dillon’s next question. “No clue what they want. As soon as the cashier screamed, they started shooting. Erratic though, as if they don’t know how to handle those M16s they’re waving around. Thankfully no one’s been hit yet except the one gunman I took out.”

With his fellow SWAT team members apprised of the situation, he put his cell phone away so he could focus on finding the one customer he knew was unaccounted for.

Bex.

* * *

AS PLANS WENT, hiding behind a waist-high clothing rack of “I Dig the Pig” Piggly Wiggly T-shirts probably wasn’t the best one Bex could have made. But when she’d seen the end of a rifle emerging from one of the side aisles, she’d dived behind the closest cover she could find. Unfortunately, the T-shirts were apparently good sellers. There were barely enough left to conceal her.

She held her breath as the gunman crept past her hiding space. He was dressed in black jeans and a black T-shirt and was wearing sunglasses. She supposed that was his idea of a disguise, but he clearly was young—probably barely out of high school. The other gunman she’d seen a few minutes ago had a black ski mask over his face and the build of someone older, maybe late twenties. Both of them were carrying wicked-looking rifles.

The guy in sunglasses turned down the aisle she’d left just a minute earlier. She let out a shaky breath, then crept to the side of the display, ready to zip down another aisle to get to the front of the store. That’s where she’d last heard the sound of a pistol. And she was betting that pistol belonged to Max.

She leaned forward, looked left, right, then—oomph! A hand clamped over her mouth and she was yanked backward behind the shirts.

Chapter Three

Bex struggled against her captor, twisting and writhing in his grasp.

He pressed his cheek against hers and held her so tight she could barely move.

“Be still, Bex. It’s me, Max.”

She froze, then went limp with relief.

He slowly lifted his hand from her mouth, as if he didn’t quite trust her not to cry out. She half turned to look at him, nodding to let him know she wasn’t going to sob hysterically and give away their position. Or at least she didn’t think she was. Cowering from gunmen was an entirely new experience for her. She could very well start screaming like a madwoman any second.

Apparently Max had more faith in her than she did. He loosened his arm around her waist and let her go. She was about to ask him what she should do when he edged to the right of the display. His whole body was tense, alert, as he ducked lower and slid his pistol into the holster at his waist. What was he doing?

A gunman, the one in the ski mask, stepped out from behind a stack of bagels and English muffins, his gaze zeroing in on Bex through a gap in the clothing rack. She ducked behind another shirt, expecting to feel a bullet slam into her any second. The gunman rushed forward, his sneakers visible beneath the clothes.

Bex jerked her head toward Max. But he wasn’t even looking at her. He was poised like a runner, one leg down, one up, balancing on his fingertips like he was about to take off in a sprint. Ski mask guy stopped directly in front of the rack, looking down at Bex. He started to raise his gun.

She squeezed her eyes shut. The air rushed beside her. The squeak of a shoe sounded on the floor. She heard a grunt, then...nothing. She was still alive. No bullets had ripped into her body and thrown her to the floor in a pool of her own blood.

“Bex,” a harsh whisper sounded. “Move. Now.”

Her eyes flew open. Impossibly, Max stood towering over her, ski mask guy hanging limply over his shoulder, his arms dangling toward the ground. Max jerked his head, motioning for her to run to the aisle directly across from them.

Stunned that she was still alive and could run, she darted forward, stopping a few feet down the aisle and looking back.

Max was lowering the unconscious—dead?—gunman to the floor under the rack. Bex swallowed, hard. Moments later, Max stopped beside her with a confiscated rifle in his hand.

He frowned. “Are you all right?”

She looked past him at the body visible beneath the obscenely cheery pink and green shirts. A shiver ran up her spine over their close call but she forced a nod.