Drawn out of hiding…

and marked for death

When someone attacks her at her shop, Jenna Clark knows her secret identity has been compromised. The killer she’s been hiding from has found her…or has he? Police officer Wyatt Stephens vows to protect her, but he doesn’t trust that she’s telling him the whole truth. Is the killer after Jenna, or has he mistaken her for her dead twin?

JODIE BAILEY writes novels about freedom and the heroes who fight for it. Her novel Crossfire won a 2015 RT Reviewers’ Choice Best Book Award. She is convinced a camping trip to the beach with her family, a good cup of coffee and a great book can cure all ills. Jodie lives in North Carolina with her husband, her daughter and two dogs.

Also By Jodie Bailey

Freefall

Crossfire

Smokescreen

Compromised Identity

Breach of Trust

Dead Run

Calculated Vendetta

Fatal Response

Mistaken Twin

Texas Ranger Holidays

Christmas Double Cross

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Mistaken Twin

Jodie Bailey

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09050-6

MISTAKEN TWIN

© 2018 Jodie Bailey

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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“Someone thinks I’m my twin...except...she’s dead.”

She handed Wyatt a battered sheet of newspaper. “I got this in the mail two years ago.”

“One Dead in Hit-and-Run.” The woman in the photo was a mirror of Jenna.

Why did someone think she was alive? And why did they want her dead now?

If he was in charge, he’d have already moved Jenna to a safe house and let the Feds sort it out. Instead, they expected her to meet a killer in a prearranged location.

Jenna sighed. “Yesterday I was probably the safest I’ve ever been. I had friends, a job I love, a place that feels like home. Now I’ve never been in more danger.”

His phone buzzed, and he knew the time had come. “You don’t have to go. Say the word and we can hide you.”

“I want this finished now.” Without hesitation she stepped out the door and out of his line of sight. The sound of the closing door reverberated.

Along with a gunshot.

Dear Reader,

Thank you so much for joining me for Wyatt and Jenna’s story! It has been an interesting one to write. Jenna even kept a few secrets from me until she was ready to tell. So did her sister, Amy, whom you will get to meet in the next book!

Sadly, too many of us feel like Jenna—unwanted, unlovable, broken. That’s one of the reasons I love Matthew 10:29-31, which was the driving verse for this book: “Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing? and one of them shall not fall on the ground without your Father. But the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Fear ye not therefore, ye are of more value than many sparrows.” I also love Psalm 139, where it talks about God knowing all of the days of our lives before we were born, loving us so much that He wrote them down. I don’t know about you, but that makes me feel safe, protected by the Father who created me. Trivia bit—if you read Erin and Jason’s story in Fatal Response, you can see how Psalm 139 plays into that one, too.

This is what I want you to know, what I’m desperate for you to know if you don’t already—God loves you. He loves you so big that He has even counted the number of hairs on your head—also Matthew 10. You might feel alone. You might feel like Jenna does—wholly unlovable. But that is never true. It has never been true. Whether you know Him or not, God loves you and He has already set up a way for you to know Him. I’d love it if you took a minute to ponder those verses in Matthew or if you went to Psalm 139 and saw His love for you firsthand.

Truly, my prayer is that this book and others like it will not only entertain you, but will also lead you to the truth of how fully you are loved.

Stop by and visit me at www.jodiebailey.com and let me know how you’re doing. I’d love to hear your God story!

Jodie Bailey

Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing? and one of them shall not fall on the ground without your Father. But the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Fear ye not therefore, ye are of more value than many sparrows.

—Matthew 10:29–31

To Christina...

More than my accountability partner, you’re my truth speaker, my encourager, my sounding board, my shoulder...my sister.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Introduction

Dear Reader

Bible Verse

Dedication

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

Extract

About the Publisher

ONE

Jenna Clark untied her bright blue paint-spattered apron, dragged it over her head and tossed it onto the heavy wood counter. The shop was finally quiet after a full day of parents and children and other would-be artists selecting their canvases and colors in order to paint their own take-home art after their visits to the tiny town of Mountain Springs.

Normally, the hustle and bustle of the day energized her, made her feel like she was infusing a love of art in her customers, but not today.

Today, she was simply worn-out, keyed up, a little bit on edge. It could be from all of the additional tourists in town for the bluegrass festival. More eyes meant the need for more vigilance. In her life, strangers truly meant danger.

“Jenna?” Liza Carpenter, the sole employee at The Color Café, leaned against a bright purple wooden chair in front of a teal blue table across the room. “I asked if you were okay. You’ve been spacey all day. Flu season’s kicking in to high gear. You’re not about to fall out on me, are you?”

“Girl, I hope not.” Maybe the flu was it, though. Her brain could be wonky because she was running a fever, not because she was on high alert, praying no one from El Paso would wander into town and recognize her.

Because someone recognizing her would mean she had to turn her back on everything. Again.

She’d worked too hard to make sure being found never happened. After three years under the radar, this tiny North Carolina town was beginning to feel like home. If she had to flee Mountain Springs, it would rip her heart into pieces.

Jenna ran a hand along the polished wood bar, soaking in the peace born from a sense of belonging. When she’d moved to town, this building had been an abandoned eyesore, an old bar named Ridgerunners that had served as the local watering hole for close to a hundred years before shutting its doors nearly a decade earlier. Jenna had attacked cobwebs and cheap wood paneling with all of the fear and pain she’d brought to town with her. By the time she’d finished painting the walls with bright colors and had furnished the space with funky painted tables and chairs to express the artistic inspiration she couldn’t keep from flourishing inside her, she’d come to terms with the life she’d left behind. Having a new friend tell her about Christ in the process made the remodel even more symbolic of a whole new way of living.

She hadn’t been able to part with the bar, though. A live-edged slice from one of the huge oak trees that grew in the mountains above the town, it had spoken to her and drawn her in. She used it to separate the main area, where Liza helped customers paint, from the employee area, where they served coffee. The antique wood connected her to the history of the area, even if she was the newest of newcomers to the tiny little up-and-coming craft community.

“Might want to start planning.” Liza shoved the chair under the table then crushed her apron into a ball and walked over to hand it across the counter to Jenna. “Even if you’re not sick, one of us could fall out anytime. Wouldn’t hurt to have temporary help waiting in the wings.”

“True.” Jenna took the apron and shoved aside her negative thoughts. Enough time had passed that surely she was safe now. “I’ll call Rena and Caleb, see if they want to be on call for some possible extra hours.” She aimed her index finger at Liza. “But don’t you go wishing ill on us. I’d rather you didn’t talk about the flu at all.”

Liza saluted. “Want me to clean the bathroom?”

There wasn’t much left to do. They’d straightened the shop as they went during the evening, working around the few tourists who’d come in to paint. The bluegrass festival was drawing crowds to the old courthouse, which the town had converted into the Fine Arts Center, so their typical Friday crowd had been thin. “Go ahead. I can handle it. I’m wound so tight it will do me good to get moving, get some cleaning done. Might make me tired enough to get some real sleep tonight.” A full night’s rest didn’t happen often. Since she’d fled El Paso, sleep had been more like an estranged relative than a trusted friend. It sure didn’t like to come around to visit her house.

Liza glanced at the door and eased closer to it. “If you’re sure...”

Her thinly disguised eagerness dragged a much-needed laugh from Jenna. “I’m sure. Go to the concert. It doesn’t start for another half an hour, and I’ll guarantee Tim is staring at the door waiting for you to walk through it.” Liza had been dating Tim Stewart since their senior year of high school, five years earlier. Sooner rather than later, the firefighter would ask the artist to marry him. Likely sooner.

“Don’t have to tell me twice... Well, three times.” Liza blushed and grabbed her thick coat off the rack by the door. “I’ll see you in the morning? If the weather forecast is right and it’s going to rain, we’re probably going to be slammed from the minute we open.”

Jenna waved her out the door, then followed to twist the dead bolt behind her. They followed the weather with the same intensity as the hikers up the slopes and the ski-resort owners farther to the west. Rain, snow and cold drove customers to them, searching for a warm place and an outlet for the creative energy they’d built visiting all of the craft stores and artisans’ shops in and around town.

Mountain Springs might not have the draw of places like Asheville or Boone, but it was doing very well on its own. On the sidewalk, tourists and townsfolk alike were bundled against the cold as they hurried toward the Fine Arts Center.

A Mountain Springs Police SUV glided past. Probably Wyatt Stephens. He typically started the night shift about now.

Things outside were going on exactly as they always did. Even with the increased foot traffic, nothing looked out of place.

The best thing she could do to settle herself was to get moving, then go home to hot coffee, a warm fireplace and whatever cheesy movie looked good on Netflix.

Better yet, she could call Christa Naylor and see if the older woman would let her come up to her little mountain retreat for the rest of the evening. Christa’s tiny pottery studio might be just the thing to soothe Jenna’s spirit. It had worked many times before, as had some long talks over Christa’s valley-famous tea.

That’s exactly what she’d do as soon as she finished prepping for the next day. With the weather turning, she’d stock the paint trays and refill the bottles tonight so she wouldn’t be rushed in the morning. It was likely a crowd would be waiting outside the door for her to open like the last time the rain and cold had blown in together. They’d had a rough day then. The shop had been behind from the time the door opened all the way until they locked the doors for the night. The chaos of a day of unpredictable, bad weather wasn’t something she wanted to repeat.

At the counter, Jenna tugged out large paint jugs and began to refill the smaller ones they kept on display. It didn’t take long for the work to chase away the creepy crawlies. There was something about the swirls of color, the order of the paints across the spectrum from dark to light in shelves along the side wall... Color filled her heart, reminding her of the rainbow God had sent to Noah.

As she reached for the next jug, her phone vibrated in her hip pocket. Erin Taylor. The closest thing she had to a best friend. Cradling the phone between her ear and shoulder, Jenna reached for a jug of blue. “Hey, girl.”

“Are you coming to the concert tonight? I’m just walking in the door. It’s filling up fast and I’ll need to save you a seat.”

Jenna unscrewed the cap on Mediterranean Seashore and grabbed a smaller bottle to refill. “Probably not. I’ve been off my game all afternoon, so I’m going home to get some rest.”

“You are zero fun.”

“Is Jason with you?” The answer was almost definitely a yes. An instructor at the army’s nearby Camp McGee, Erin’s fiancé was rarely far away from her side when he wasn’t on duty.

“Yes.”

“I’m definitely not crashing date night.”

Erin’s sigh was loud. “Give me a break. We’d love for you to hang out. Besides, one of the bands you said you like will be here.”

“I don’t know.” Jenna drummed her fingers on the counter. Crowds had never been her thing, even less so since she’d fled Logan’s wrath. Aside from the crowd, Erin didn’t need her there. She had Jason. “The weather tonight makes it a good night to find something on—”

A creak from the back of the building made Jenna jerk her hand and slosh blue paint into a streak across the metal counter beneath the bar. She stared at the entrance to the hallway running from the customer area to the rear of the building, where her small office, a bathroom and the alley door were.

She’d locked the back door, right?

“You okay?” Erin’s voice rose with concern. It had been only a few months since someone had stalked and tried to murder Erin. Her radar still pinged on high.

“I thought I heard something. Let me make sure I locked the door. It will only take me a second.” Before Erin could protest, Jenna laid the phone on the counter next to the paint.

She wiped her hands on her jeans, grabbed a pair of scissors from the jar by the sink and crept toward the hall, makeshift weapon at the ready. If anyone happened to peek into the front window, they’d probably call the police...or the mental ward at the hospital.

Surely she was safe. God was watching over her. Still, His presence didn’t mean she didn’t have to take care of herself.

Inching into the hallway, she looked straight through to the rear of the building. The alley door appeared to be firmly shut. The monitor above the door, which connected to a camera outside, revealed no one on the back stairs.

Lowering the scissors to her side, Jenna chuckled, even though paranoia wasn’t exactly funny. She glanced at the bathroom door. She’d check there, but only to prove to her brain that all was well and it could stop playing tricks on her.

The door was closed.

Her brow furrowed. Funny. She didn’t remember closing it, tried to keep it open so customers would know when it was free to use. Maybe the last customer had shut it, but...

Her hand drew away from the knob.

With a crash that seemed to rock the building, the door flew open, knocking Jenna’s arm away and driving her backward against the wall. The scissors flew from her hand and clattered to the floor. Air squeezed from her chest. She staggered, the world spinning, her pulse a solid, pounding thump in her ears.

A powerful arm caught her beneath the chin and dragged her upright, pinning her against the wall, her neck bent backward, pressure against her throat gagging her. Rational thought fled in the driving need for survival. Jenna struggled, twisted and scratched, to no avail.

A body, heavy and solid, leaned against hers, pinning her arms into uselessness. A mouth pressed to her ear. “Thought you could hide forever, huh?”

Jenna whimpered, pain and fear flashing hot and melting her joints. Tears stung her eyes. This was not Logan, but he’d found her. Somehow, he’d found her.

The man jerked her chin higher with his forearm. Something solid and horrifyingly familiar gouged into her ribs.

The barrel of a pistol.

His voice hissed hot against her ear. “I know someone who’s going to be very, very happy to see you, Ms. Brady.”

Her real name. Jenna’s eyes drifted shut, and she whimpered despite the forearm crushing her throat. There was no doubt he knew who she was, and no doubt Logan had put a price on her head for leaving him.

Officer Wyatt Stephens turned onto Valley Street and cranked the heat. The air in his patrol SUV was taking forever to warm, the damp chill of a January evening proving to be one of the toughest enemies in Mountain Springs.

His gut sank. Not as tough as the real enemy seeking to encroach on the town he’d grown up in and loved. The box truck they’d located on the old Gaskins property on Overton Road a few months earlier had reeked of body odor and long-term living. It was clear several people had been forced to call the cramped space home for quite a while, but the truck had been empty by the time a couple of deer hunters had stumbled upon it.

Someone had tried to move people through town like cargo.

The FBI and the Department of Homeland Security had completed their investigation last month, concluding the traffickers had broken down while passing through, but Wyatt wasn’t so certain. Lord, please don’t let them be looking to use Mountain Springs as a depot.

It was his biggest fear. He would lie awake at night considering the horrors of someone using the tiny town as a stop on the trafficking pipeline that ran from the country’s northern border to its southern border. For months, he’d eyed every stranger in town with suspicion. He had even taken a closer look at some of the families of the old-timers who’d once run moonshine along these ridges. The very idea someone would treat a human being like a commodity made him nauseous.

The idea someone so vile and heartless might be a person he actually knew—

The ringing of his cell phone jerked him out of a dark reverie. Erin. His cousin was always good for a smile.

She’d been living at his house since she’d left her father’s house in the fall, and was preparing to marry her fiancé, who also happened to be his closest friend.

She probably had another wedding assignment for him. As the best man, his to-do list grew every day. He punched the answer button on his Bluetooth. “I’m on duty, E. I can’t be running your wedding errands right now.”

“Where are you?”

The frantic tone of her voice had his foot easing to the brake pedal, and he cast his eyes to the rearview to see how quickly he could make a U-turn and get to the house. No, to downtown. She was supposed to be at the Fine Arts Center with Jason. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

“It’s Jenna.”

Wyatt’s mouth tightened into a grim line and he hung the U-turn, headed toward downtown and the strip of historic buildings along the main street. Jenna Clark wasn’t high on his list of likable personalities, but she was Erin’s best friend. “Talk to me.”

“I think someone’s broken in to the store and she’s there. She set the phone on the counter to walk to the back and check on a noise, then I heard a crash, her scream and a man’s voice. I—I can’t tell what they’re saying.”

“Stay away from the store. Tell Jason not to go in, either. I mean it. I know him. He’ll try.” Wyatt’s foot dug into the accelerator, and the engine roared as it tackled the hill toward downtown. He might not trust Jenna Clark, but if she was in danger... “Hang up the phone. Call 911 and get them rolling. I’ll radio in from my end.” He killed the call and took a right onto Barnett Street, reaching for his radio. One other officer was on duty in town for the night, but their calls would bring in the county as backup.

His headlights swept across the alley as he turned in. Jenna’s small crossover sat close to the back door, but a dark late-model sports car with Texas plates was parked slightly behind hers at an angle calculated to prevent her from backing out.

Adrenaline crashed into his system, thrumming through his veins. This was no break-in. Blocking her vehicle was targeted. And those Texas plates? The same state as the box truck on Overton Road. The odds the two were connected were slim, but if traffickers were in the area and one had stumbled upon Jenna or Liza alone at the shop in the dark of the evening...

His throat tightened and he rolled in behind the unfamiliar vehicle, cutting off its escape route. After notifying Dispatch, Wyatt eased out of his SUV, eyes on the door of the shop, hand resting on the pistol at his side. An attacker would never try to take Jenna or Liza out the front door, not with so many people flowing past on their way to tonight’s concert. They’d head straight out the back, directly toward him.

He inhaled deeply, steadying his nerves. He’d hated approaching situations with no intel ever since his very first domestic call when he was a rookie cop. There’d been five first responders in the small yard, a mix of town and county officers, pinned down by shotgun blasts. While he’d been in numerous firefights during his enlistment in the army, being an untested cop taking fire on home soil had sent him into a tailspin that still echoed in his emotions.

But they couldn’t today. Not if he was going to deal successfully with whatever was behind Jenna’s door. You’re in control, Stephens. You know he’s here. He has no idea you’re waiting. You have the upper hand.

Maybe Jenna had a friend visiting, someone who’d surprised her. Though she’d never mentioned exactly where she’d lived before moving to Mountain Springs, her drawl tilted toward the Deep South.

Maybe to Texas.

Even with the vague hope this was all a misunderstanding, he couldn’t let down his guard. Assumptions could get a man—or a woman—killed.

So could acting too quickly. As much as he wanted to bust in alone to make certain Jenna was safe, smart training told him to wait for backup. He approached the door from the left, where it would open out should anyone leave.

A crash echoed through the alley as the door burst open and a man shoved through a couple of feet from Wyatt’s position.

Wyatt jumped back and took aim but the man was dragging Jenna by the throat and blocked any chance at a clean shot.

Kicking and fighting, Jenna clawed at her assailant’s thick muscled arm. Her wide-eyed gaze scanned the alley before she spotted Wyatt, froze, then renewed her struggle.

The fear in her eyes ripped through him. He had to rescue her.

Busy with Jenna, the other man hadn’t seen Wyatt or his patrol vehicle. Thankfully, the man also didn’t appear to have a weapon out, though one peeked from beneath his jacket at his hip.

Surprise would be the best offense and would keep him from drawing his weapon. As Wyatt prepared to make his presence known, he nodded once at Jenna then holstered his pistol. It was a risky move, but he had a better shot of keeping Jenna safe if he could wrestle the stranger to the ground than if he drew a weapon and instigated a shoot-out with her in the middle.

Sirens sounded in the distance, from the direction of the police station.

The man hesitated and was still facing away from Wyatt. His hold on Jenna relaxed.

Now.

Wyatt dove from his position, crashing into the assailant’s lower back and driving both him and Jenna into the side of the car.

Her cry of pain mingled with a deeper angry curse. The stranger’s grip on Jenna loosened as he whirled toward Wyatt, fists in front of him, prepared to fight.

Wyatt was more than ready. He swung an uppercut to the man’s thick jaw, staggering him backward. “Jenna! Get inside and lock the door!” If she was still within reach, her attacker likely wouldn’t think twice about lunging for her, either for leverage against Wyatt or to attempt an escape.

She didn’t hesitate, disappearing behind Wyatt as he kept a wary eye on his opponent.

With Jenna out of the way, Wyatt reached for his pistol, but the man turned and ran for the entrance to the alley, ducking around the corner as Wyatt took off in pursuit.

The suspect hit the main street before Wyatt and blended into the crowd flowing toward the Fine Arts Center. In the shadowy light from the ancient streetlights, he melted into the small sea of humanity.

Wyatt skidded to a halt. He could give chase, but doing so would risk a shoot-out on a busy street and would leave Jenna unprotected. She had to be priority number one.

Releasing his grip on the pistol in his holster, Wyatt turned and jogged to the alley, speaking into his shoulder radio as he headed to the shop to check on Jenna. “Suspect on foot, headed west on Main Street.” He ran through a quick description of the man, which ended as he reached the heavy metal back door of Jenna’s shop.

He pounded on the door. “Jenna! It’s Wyatt!” A soft shuffling came from inside, and he stepped away so she could better see him through the camera situated above the door.

After a moment, the door swung outward, and Jenna stood silhouetted in the light from the front of the store before she slowly sank to the floor.

TWO

Headlights swept through the windshield of Wyatt’s police SUV as a car turned onto Barnett Street and cruised past the light where Jenna and Wyatt were stopped.

She turned her head away from the light, toward Wyatt, away from whoever was driving the car. She’d been spotted tonight. Recognized. If the intruder in her shop had called in reinforcements, it was only a matter of time before she was surrounded and dragged to El Paso and the man she feared, the life she despised.

Logan Cutter had appeared to be everything a girl like Jenna could want. Well, everything a girl like Genevieve Brady—her birth name—could want. After never knowing who her father was and growing up with a mother who tried to live a fantasy before she eventually committed suicide, there had never been a father figure, other than one man, Anthony Reynolds, her mother’s boyfriend when Jenna was seven. He’d treated Jenna and her twin sister, Amy, as his own...until her mother had abruptly booted him from their lives in less than a year.

Desperate to be loved, she’d given Logan everything she had and had accepted his jealousy and anger as the price of being with him. Then she’d discovered evidence of his unfaithfulness, of the levels of his depravity...

One night, in confusion and grief, she had packed a bag and fled. He found her before daybreak. Beat her. Apologized. Held her as she cried.

She stayed.

The second time was worse.

And the third... Jenna glanced at Wyatt and squeezed herself tighter against the seat. She’d nearly died after the third time and still bore scars that sometimes ached in the cold.

That night, Genevieve Brady had disappeared from Del Sol Medical Center with Anthony’s help. Three days later, Jenna Clark became the newest resident of Mountain Springs, North Carolina. Thanks to her mother’s ex—who had built an underground business out of making both the innocent and the guilty disappear—every link to her past was severed and she had the paperwork to lend credence to her new identity. All she had left of her old self was her love of art and a “go bag” hidden in the attic crawlspace at her apartment, insurance in case Jenna Clark ever needed to disappear as well.

The scars on her back ached at the memory, and Jenna clamped her teeth on a whimper she would never let Wyatt Stephens hear. It was bad enough he’d already seen her at her weakest. Her cheeks were still hot with embarrassment in the midst of her fear. He’d likely saved her life tonight, and the minute he’d returned for her, she’d collapsed in a heap like some weak woman in a 1940s melodrama. She was stronger than a fainting starlet.

For the moment, though, embarrassment was probably a whole lot less detrimental to her mental health than fear would be. Thinking about Wyatt having to haul her into his arms and carry her into her office was easier than coming to grips with the truth. Her logical next move was to be gone by sunrise.

The best thing to do was to keep her focus on the man beside her, not on the one who hounded her nightmares.

“You didn’t have to drive me home.” His presence made escape harder. Her apartment was across the street and two blocks away from the shop, above Higher Grounds Coffee Bar, another former town watering hole.

The light turned green, highlighting his face with shadows that deepened the blue of Wyatt’s eyes and sharpened the cut of his jawline. His dark brown hair was tousled from his earlier scuffle. For the briefest of moments, he looked at her almost as though he might feel a bit of compassion, but then he turned away and made the left onto Main Street. “First of all, after what happened tonight, nobody’s letting you walk home by yourself, especially not in the dark.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder, where Erin and her fiancé, Jason Barnes, followed in Jason’s pickup. “Second, I’m not interested in the lecture I’d get from Erin if I even dared to suggest you walk home unescorted.” He held up three fingers before resting his hand on the steering wheel. “Third, I have to ask some questions in order to do paperwork. And a bonus fourth thing, you promised me coffee. I don’t turn my back on free coffee. Ever.”

“Not even from me?” The man had never liked her. While Erin was her closest friend, and also happened to be Wyatt’s cousin, Wyatt had always kept Jenna at a distance, eyeing her with the kind of suspicion that made her feel like he could read all of her darkest secrets...and there were definitely plenty of those. Jenna avoided him, didn’t talk to him if she could help it. Something inside her rankled at the sight of him.

When she was forced to speak to him, her words always came out antagonistic, even when she tried to be nice. Even the shortest conversation with the town’s most popular police officer made everything worse. Wyatt Stephens unsettled her insides. There was no other way to say it.

His grip on the steering wheel tightened, and his jaw quirked to the side as though he’d tensed it until it ached. Finally, he relaxed and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “You’ve been through the wringer tonight, okay? We’ve got every available officer out looking, even the ones off duty. You have a lot of friends in Mountain Springs who want to see this guy caught. Until then, let’s concentrate on getting you home, where it’s safe.”

Safe. The word no longer had meaning. Jenna sighed and stared out the window into the side mirror at Jason’s headlights behind them as Wyatt cruised slowly along the street. He had no idea what he was talking about. Nowhere in town was safe. She hadn’t flown far enough from Texas. Somehow, after three years, Logan’s men had found her in the town she now called home.

She’d grown to love this place in a way she’d never imagined possible. The local bookstore, staffed by volunteers from the library, glided past. The co-op where local artists consigned their paintings, pottery and other art. Higher Grounds Coffee Bar...

She leaned closer to the window so she could see the second story of the building. Her apartment. The place where she’d once felt safe. She’d been taught to defend herself after all...and she’d failed. “I should have been able to handle the guy tonight.”

“What?”

This was what bothered her, the slight shame that had dogged her for the past hour. “My mom had a boyfriend, Anthony. He—he took care of me and my sister, taught us how to take care of ourselves.” She smiled slightly at the memory. “Taught us how to break away if a guy ever tried to grab us. Said the worst thing we could do was kick or knee, because it would throw us off balance. ‘Poke him in the eye,’ he said. ‘Fight like a girl.’ He said girls are tougher than most guys think they are, so fighting like a girl was a good thing.” Jenna sniffed, Anthony’s voice clear in her head, even though everything he’d taught her had flown right out of her head in the panic of reality.

“‘Fight like a girl,’” Wyatt murmured, making the turn into the alley by her apartment. “I’ll have to remember your story, maybe teach it to Erin.”

“I’m sure Erin can take care of herself.” The way Jenna was going to have to as soon as she could flee.

When the SUV came to a stop, Jenna shoved out the door, keys in hand, mind focused on getting away from her protectors and into the attic so she could grab her packed bag and get out of town. Her heart pounded, her feet desperate to carry her up the metal stairs on the outside of the building. First, she’d make her entourage leave, then she would barricade herself in and find the gun she’d shoved into the darkest, farthest corner of her closet shelf...

The stairs vibrated as Wyatt pounded up with Erin and Jason close behind. He extracted the keys from Jenna’s hand as she aimed for the door, gently slipping between her and the entry. “I’m going in first.”

Jenna wanted to argue, but her throat closed as Wyatt turned the key in the lock and pushed open the door, drawing his pistol as he pocketed her keys.

Someone could be in her home, waiting for her. It wasn’t a foreign idea, but watching Wyatt slip into her front door armed...

Jason edged in front of Jenna and stood inside the doorway as Erin’s arm slipped around her waist and guided her toward the threshold. “Come on. Let’s stand inside.”

Inside. So no one on the outside would see her.

Tremors shook Jenna by the time Wyatt walked along the short hallway leading to her bedroom. He holstered his pistol, his broad shoulders seeming to dwarf the space. He’d never been in her apartment before, and his presence served to make an already surreal night even more bizarre. “All clear.”

Three sets of eyes turned to Jenna, who stood between her living room and the bar that separated the area from the kitchen, her feet rooted to the polished hardwood. This must be what zoo animals felt like. On display. Exposed. Vulnerable.

Those were feelings she’d vowed never to succumb to again. Lifting her chin, she turned her focus to Jason and Erin and slipped behind the mask she’d worn for years. They’d be the easiest ones to convince. “You guys didn’t have to follow me home. I know you were looking forward to the concerts tonight. Go. I’m fine. Really. Plus, I’ll be a whole lot better if I don’t have an audience staring at me while I put together the pieces of somebody breaking in to my shop.”

“Not just breaking in to your shop. He—” Erin stopped abruptly as Jason laid a hand on her back, his fingers grazing her shoulder-length brown hair. She clamped her mouth shut, opened it again, then leaned against Jason’s chest and let him slide his arm around her waist. “I’m sorry. It’s just, after what happened to us...” She sighed. “I’m sure tonight terrified you, but I’m also sure nobody’s stalking you like they were me. I shouldn’t have hinted at such a thing.”

Good. Let them all think the attack was a one-off and she was merely in the wrong place at the wrong time. It would make everything easier...until she fled and they had no idea why. “Really. Go. I’m fine. Wyatt’s got to ask me some questions, so he’ll be here for a bit.” The ability she’d honed as a child, to put on a brave front and act as though the world wasn’t exploding, was working to its full effect tonight.

Erin hesitated then glanced at Wyatt, seeming to search for confirmation. Finally, she hugged Jenna, who held on tight for a breath longer than usual. If things went according to plan, she’d be gone by morning and would never again see the closest friend she’d known since her sister’s death.

Erin pulled away and turned to Wyatt. “Look out for her.”

He tipped his head and walked outside with Jason and Erin, giving Jenna a moment to breathe. She could do this. Half an hour. Make some coffee. Answer some questions. Usher Wyatt out the door.

Then disappear.

One. Two. Three.

Jenna scooped coffee into the filter basket of her coffeepot. Sleep probably wasn’t coming any time soon, so caffeine was her friend. The sooner she had a warm mug in her hand, the better she’d feel. Besides, the activity kept her from having to turn toward Wyatt, who stood on the other side of the granite counter.

“Jenna, it’s okay to sit still. Nobody’s here but us. You’re safe.”

Four. That’s what he thought. “You don’t have to stay.” Seriously. If he left, she could curl in the corner of her couch and fall apart in peace, grieving what she was about to lose. The fear quaking her insides could run rampant through her body until it subsided.

Then, when the numbness set in, she could save herself.

Reality knifed her chest, causing her breath to hitch. She held the silver spoon tighter, the handle pressing into her palm. Shelley, who owned the building and the coffee shop, had given it to her when she moved in. Tonight, she would leave even this small memory behind.

“You said you were making me coffee. I’m going to make sure you keep your promise.” There was a rustle as he shifted position. “You might have convinced Erin she didn’t have to stay after you gave her the whole it-was-no-big-deal speech, but you’re forgetting something. I’m the one who scooped you off the floor like a wet beach towel. You are not okay.”

Wow. He had to go and remind her. That kind of arrogance was exactly what she expected of Wyatt. To be so smug as to point out her weakness and his strength. The strength she’d felt in his chest through the thick layers of his heavy uniform jacket. For a moment, she’d wanted to stay there. For a moment, she’d felt safe.

Jenna nearly rolled her eyes. Safe with Wyatt Stephens? Whether it was her issue or his, they couldn’t manage to get along.

The spoon dug into the coffee again, releasing the comforting, earthy aroma of roasted beans, but she hesitated as she held it over the filter basket. What number was she on?

“That’s five.” Wyatt’s voice was at her shoulder, and he reached around, gently taking the silver spoon from her fingers. His warmth loosened the tension in her shoulders, made her stop feeling like someone was peeking through the blinds of her second-story apartment. “Sit. You’re wobbling on your feet. I’ll finish here.”

Normally, when it came to Wyatt she’d argue, but the gelatin in place of her kneecaps was having none of it. Without lifting her head, Jenna sidestepped him and walked around the column at the end of the bar into the small living room at the front of the apartment. She curled into the corner of her gray couch and stared at the picture above the small stone fireplace, the one Erin had painted for her Christmas present. It was an almost photographic recreation of the view from Anson’s Ridge. When the days were rough or the memories too real, Jenna escaped up there to be alone. She’d head that way right now if rain wasn’t moving in.

And if she wasn’t more afraid than usual of what might lurk in the dark.

She’d probably never see Anson’s Ridge again. Her eyes burned, tears pushing to the front. Leaving El Paso had been hard, but with nothing to keep her there, her departure hadn’t ripped her heart into pieces.

This time, leaving might kill her.

Dragging her hands through her hair, she stared at the painting and wished herself into it.

A heavy pottery mug appeared in her vision, steam curling above it.

Jenna jumped, her hand over her heart. She’d have to relearn how to be vigilant.

“Sorry.” With an apologetic smile that looked well practiced, Wyatt backed away, still holding the mug out to her. “Didn’t mean to scare you. I found creamer in the fridge and assumed you’d want it in your coffee.”

His blue eyes were a startling contrast to his dark hair. She’d never noticed before, likely because she’d never been this close before. Then again, maybe without all of the tension that usually flowed between them, she could see him more clearly.

His eyes were actually kind of nice.

He held the cup a little closer, his cheeks reddening as though he could read her thoughts. “You want it or not?”

“Sorry.” Jenna wrapped both hands around the mug, careful not to brush his fingers. They’d been close enough to each other for one night already, and now she was noticing his eyes? No bueno. “Thanks.” The warmth from the ceramic seeped into her fingers, inched its way up her arms and settled into her soul. Finally, she could relax, even if it was all a temporary illusion of peace.

Before her sister, Amy, died, she had gone to a therapist and had doled out advice she received there. Best way to get rid of the ugly is to focus on the right now, Amy’s therapist had said. The whole Matthew 6 thing about tomorrow having its own troubles means you should focus now. Funny how her sister’s secondhand wisdom popped to mind tonight.

Jenna could focus on right now, on the familiar comforting warmth of a mug in her hands. On the creamy walls she’d painted with Erin when she’d first rented the apartment.

On the police officer whose presence seemed way too big for the tiny space of her living room.

Hands practically engulfing his own sapphire-blue mug, Wyatt sat in an armchair in the corner near the window and stared into his coffee. He didn’t move until his radio crackled. He listened, then spoke into the mic at his shoulder, ending with “Ten six.”

“What are those numbers?” The numbers were easier to talk about than any questions he’d have for her. “‘Ten six?’”

“Means I’m busy unless it’s urgent. I’m in the middle of something and can’t be interrupted unless the world’s about to explode.”

He was trying to be funny, but nothing about it was amusing. She was the most important thing on a police officer’s agenda.

Wyatt took a sip of coffee, then inspected the mug. “This is nice. Well made. The color’s rich. You buy them from someone around here?” He lifted the crafted piece to look for a mark on the bottom.

He wouldn’t find one. Jenna had made them herself, but she couldn’t say so. No one around town knew she threw pottery, that she’d done so since she’d learned in one of the after-school programs in El Paso. She took pleasure in the wet clay as she infused beauty into something unbelievably plain, like Jesus had done with her.

She’d love to share her work, but it was one of the things she’d had to keep in the dark, packed away to protect her safety.

Of course, none of her caution mattered now.

The room took on the kind of awkward silence that made the air heavier, as though a black hole spun over the sleek glass coffee table. All she wanted was to be alone, yet Wyatt sat and sipped his coffee, acting like this was some sort of extended social call.

Of course, she’d been the one to tell him he could have coffee, but only because he’d probably saved her life, then made sure her apartment was safe. It would have been kind of rude to kick him out after he’d been on the front lines for her.

Oh, man. He’d been in every room of her apartment. There had better not be any dirty laundry in the middle of the bedroom floor. Her cheeks heated. “You don’t have to stay.”

He met her gaze and held it. “I don’t have a choice.”

“Erin said you had to? Was that your conversation outside when she left?” Jenna’s best friend was the only female firefighter on the Mountain Springs Volunteer Fire Department. She had been the protective type even before she’d almost fallen victim to a serial killer. “You know Erin’s not your boss. You don’t have to do what she says.”

Wyatt’s laugh was quick and seemed to come from deep in his chest. In other circumstances, his mirth might have lifted her spirits. “You know you’re living in a fantasy world, right? Erin’s all about taking charge. It’s a good possibility if I don’t obey her commands, I’ll never hear the end of it. It’s easier to nod and agree, especially while she’s living in my house.” His smile slipped and the serious expression that usually resided on his face took over. “This time it’s my real boss who’s calling the shots.”

Jenna leaned forward and set her coffee mug on the table. “What?”

“As long as the guy who tried to take you is out there, I’m supposed to keep an eye on you, at least for the short term. Plus, I still have to take your statement.”

“So I’m your assignment?”

“If you want to use those words, sure.”

“And you have to stay in my home for the foreseeable future?” His constant presence was going to put a definite crimp in her plans.

But maybe...

Maybe there was hope. It fluttered in her chest, daring her to reach out and grasp it.

If Wyatt was watching out for her, she wouldn’t have to leave. Maybe they’d catch whoever the man was before he could try again.

“I won’t crash in your apartment. I’ll be in my vehicle.” Wyatt shifted and sat on the edge of his seat, holding his coffee mug between his knees. “Do you know who the man was?”

“I’ve never seen him before.” Technically, it was true. She’d never seen that particular man in her life. She’d have remembered the dark eyes, the scar along his cheek. But she’d known plenty of men like him.

Jenna was hiding from one.

Logan had been handsome. Charming... Until he had her under his thumb and threw the first punch. She could still feel the shock of it—physically and mentally. Her lower jaw tightened. Her lip trembled. She dug her teeth in and reached for her mug, but her hand shook, and she sloshed coffee onto the glass.

Wyatt pulled in a deep breath, watching her with a practiced gaze before he spoke. “What are you not telling me?”

“Nothing.” She should probably confess, but what good would it do? If there was even the slimmest chance she could preserve her new identity and stay in town, the last thing she needed to do was bust everything into the open.

Wyatt stood, then stalked to the kitchen and set his mug on the bar with a thump, making Jenna jump. “This?” He turned toward her, familiar suspicion in his eyes, making the blue turn granite gray. “This is my problem. This is what frustrates me about you.”

Her head jerked back so hard her neck strained. “What?” She stood and squared off with him, the fear from her earlier encounter finding new fire in her anger. “What exactly are you accusing me of? A man broke in to my shop tonight. Am I suddenly the bad guy?”

Wyatt dragged his hand down his face and along the back of his neck, where he dug his fingers in. “No, but you’re definitely not telling me the truth.”

“I don’t know who the guy was, okay?”

“Fine. Then answer this... Was it a robbery gone wrong? A kidnapping attempt?” Straightening, Wyatt crossed his arms. “You may not know who he was, but do you have any clue why he was there? Give me something to work with, Jenna.”

Wait a second. Jenna backed away, her eyebrows inching closer to her hairline. Something didn’t make sense. For all Wyatt knew, he’d foiled a simple break-in, one where Jenna was merely caught in the middle. He didn’t know the real story, had no idea she’d been targeted. Yet the bodyguard duty, the intensity and direction of his questions...

It seemed as though he did.

Her jaw slackened and she swallowed hard. Maybe Wyatt Stephens had a problem with her all of these years because he knew the one thing she’d tried the hardest to hide.

Exactly who she really was.

THREE

I can’t give you anything. Wyatt dropped his head against the seat of his truck and stared across the street at Jenna’s apartment. Maybe he was being overly suspicious, but it sure did feel like her insistence was a lie. Fine. He’d go around her. He’d find out the truth on his own.

Any news yet? Wyatt tapped out the message to fellow officer Brian Early, then rested his cell phone on his leg, settling in his seat to watch Jenna’s front door. He’d had Early bring his personal truck then take his SUV to the station. He wanted to remain as inconspicuous as possible as he sat parked in the dark end of the alley across the street from Jenna’s apartment. Thankfully, the historic building’s second story offered only one way in, the very stairs he’d practically had to chase her up earlier to keep her from running headlong into the unknown of her own apartment.

In some ways, she appeared to be heedless of the danger. In others, she appeared to be hyperaware of exactly what was going on, of what his department suspected. A brazen attack on Jenna could be random, or it could mean traffickers had already gained a toehold in the town, and they weren’t planning to be too careful about hiding themselves. If that was the case, this could be the start of a violent struggle for control of his hometown.

It was a leap, sure, to go from an attack on one woman to a human trafficking ring that had been dormant since the early fall. But his gut... His gut wouldn’t let him downplay the coincidence of those Texas license plates. A thin thread, but a thread nonetheless.

His phone buzzed on his thigh and he glanced at the screen. Nothing yet. Guy’s a ghost. Could be he cut and ran.

Anything on the car? They’d called in the county and had the car behind Jenna’s shop processed, but it would take time to get more than an owner’s name. Without a clear link to the traffickers, nobody higher up the chain than the county was going to get involved. In fact, the state and federal agents had cleared out weeks ago, their final report stating the gang had either had trouble with the van while passing through, or had been spooked enough by law enforcement’s presence to move on.

The almost-physical gnawing at the back of Wyatt’s brain said no.

His phone buzzed. Registered in Texas. Same county as the box truck. Working on getting more.

Thanks. Pushing deeper into his seat, Wyatt worked his shoulders back and forth, trying to ease some of the tension building there. Jenna had been cagey tonight. She tended to keep a low profile, and she was definitely hiding something. She’d asserted a dozen times that she didn’t know the man who’d been waiting for her in the shop, and Wyatt had finally stopped asking.

But something about her answers to his questions rang false. No, he didn’t think she was a criminal, but she certainly was not telling him the truth. Frustrating would be an understatement.

Chief Thompson was going to have to put someone else on this protection detail. Even with thin evidence, the man was cautious, wanting to be certain the smugglers weren’t behind this. Mountain Springs wasn’t a town with a high crime rate, even with all of the tourist activity. Violent crime was practically nonexistent. A kidnapping was unheard of.

The suspect was definitely an outsider, and no one randomly came to town to cause trouble. Until they knew for certain Jenna was safe, they’d keep an eye on her. But Wyatt couldn’t be the guy on point this time. The two of them had the worst kind of personality conflict. Worse than oil and water, they were ammonia and bleach. Put them in the same room and everyone else fled to get away from the toxic reaction.

And that was on a normal day, when she had no reason to lie.

Wyatt had had his fill of lying women. After what Kari had done to him, it was hard enough to trust anyone else. Nearly a decade later, the wound his former fiancée had inflicted still smarted, mostly in his pride. She’d strung him along for months, her eyes on what she viewed as “the prize.” Wyatt had been a young soldier from a small town, ignorant of the fact there were women in the world who preyed on guys like him, on the steady paycheck and benefits the army offered.

Hearing Kari tell a friend on the eve of their wedding how she’d “hit the jackpot” in death benefits and insurance if he died while deployed...

Her callousness had gutted him. The calculated way her expression shifted from disdain to adoration when he made himself known and it was clear what he’d heard... She’d tried to play it off as the nervousness of a young bride, as a joke.

His life was no joke.

His heart hadn’t shattered when he’d turned and walked out of the room, away from his dreams for the future. It had hardened into a mountain of stone.

Jenna Clark’s behavior since she’d arrived in town shook that mountain like an earthquake every time he looked at her. Something about her had a way of tweaking his attitude.

Leaning forward, he studied the front of the building that housed Higher Grounds Coffee Bar downstairs and Jenna’s apartment upstairs. Lights still shone from the coffee shop, which had stayed open past its usual eleven o’clock closing time due to the shows at the Fine Arts Center. Couples and groups of all ages flowed in and out of the large glass front door, seeking warmth against the cold, likely too full of energy from the bluegrass concert to head to the bed-and-breakfasts in town or the hotels about half an hour away. Nobody seemed out of place or overly interested in Jenna’s apartment upstairs.

He leaned forward an inch more. Light poured from the upstairs windows. If he’d expected Jenna to make her way to bed and at least try to rest by now, he’d have missed the mark. She probably wouldn’t catch five minutes of sleep tonight.

Leaving her alone had felt wrong, as though he had abandoned her, but he couldn’t stay after she’d turned on him and practically threw him out. Wyatt’s question had hit a nerve, but as much as he’d replayed their conversation before she showed him the door, he couldn’t figure out what was wrong.

Unless, though she’d denied it repeatedly, she truly knew the man who’d had his arm wrapped around her throat.

In the big picture, did it matter? The image of Jenna being treated so roughly made him bristle with anger and dredged up memories he fought daily to keep buried. Nobody did that to a woman.

Nobody.

A crowd of seven or eight college students exited the coffee shop and made a right up the hill toward the Fine Arts Center and the parking lot beyond it. A man at the rear of the pack broke away and edged to the left. He wore a hat pulled low so that his face was hidden in shadow. He leaned against the faded brick at the end of the building closest to Jenna’s, seeming disinterested in the crowd. The way his head moved, though, he was watching. Waiting.

Wyatt sat taller and wrapped his fingers around the door handle. The guy could have a buddy inside paying their bill. He could be two seconds from lighting a cigarette.

Or he could be trouble.

After double-checking to make sure the interior lights in the truck were off, Wyatt slipped out and eased the door shut.

The stranger didn’t seem to notice. He simply stood, leaning against the wall, watching as a chatting, laughing group passed between his position and Wyatt’s.

When the people cleared the space, the man lifted his head and looked directly across the street at Wyatt. With a sly half smile, the man lifted his hand and flicked a two-fingered mocking salute against his forehead before he turned toward the stairs to Jenna’s apartment.

A jolt of familiarity shot through Wyatt. He was the same man who’d tried to kidnap Jenna at her shop. Wyatt shifted to run, but a weight slammed into the small of his back, driving him to the ground and forcing the breath from his lungs. His cheek smacked the pavement and he slid several inches on his chest, rough gravel grinding into his shoulder. Using the momentum from the fall, he rolled onto his back and threw his arm out in time to deflect a blow from a muscular man wearing a dark shirt and a baseball cap.

His face wasn’t covered, which could only mean one thing...

He didn’t intend to let Wyatt live long enough to identify him.

With a lethal smile, he dove toward Wyatt, his face shadowed in the dim light from across the street.

Wyatt rolled to the side, years of military and police training kicking in with a vicious muscle memory. As his attacker stumbled, Wyatt threw out his leg and kicked beneath the left knee.

The man went to the ground with a howl, his cheek smacking the pavement with a sickening thud.

Handcuffs out before he even thought to grab them, Wyatt planted a knee in the man’s back and held him to the ground, cuffing his attacker before he could catch his breath. Tugging a second pair of cuffs from his belt, Wyatt jerked the guy upward and anchored him to the tow hook on the truck bumper.

The stranger’s head lolled to the side, blood dripping from his top lip, where his teeth had driven in. He sneered at Wyatt with a horrid amusement. “Don’t be in any hurry. The girl’s already dead.”

Footsteps pounded on the metal stairs outside the apartment.

Jenna set the coffeepot on the granite kitchen counter next to the .38 revolver she’d taken out of her closet after Wyatt left. The likelihood she would be able to pull the trigger while aiming at another human being was almost zero, but it still made her feel better to have protection at hand.

She stared over the bar at the door as the footsteps stopped outside. Wyatt had probably decided he had more intrusive questions to ask. Well, the door was dead bolted and the chain was on. Let him think she’d gone to sleep, was in the shower, whatever... He was not coming in here again tonight. She had to have time to think, to pray. The packed bag in the attic called to her, but what if running wasn’t the way out this time?

The door rattled as he grabbed the knob, then there was silence.

Jenna reached for the coffee carafe again.

The door exploded inward, wood splintering around the lock.

The coffeepot slipped from Jenna’s hands, hit the side of the sink and shattered in the basin as she released a strangled cry and stumbled backward until her back collided with the cold stainless steel refrigerator.

A man hulked in her doorway.

Not a man. The man. The one from her shop. The same leer curled his lip as he stepped onto her door and stood between her table and her couch, blocking her exit.

Panic robbed her muscles of strength. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t move. There was nothing to do but stare as the man stalked slowly toward her, his dark eyes never leaving hers. A deepening bruise ran along his jaw where Wyatt had delivered a near-crippling blow earlier.

Wyatt. He was watching. He had to have seen what was happening. He’d be on the stairs any second, bursting through the door to save her. She swallowed hard, pulled herself taller and found her voice. “You’d better leave. The police are watching.”

“Is that a fact?” The man stopped, his chuckle a low rumble. “You mean your boyfriend? The hero who rescued you earlier?” He sniffed and waved a hand in the direction of the door, his eyes practically glittering with amusement. “Sorry, hon. By now, he’s dead.”

The words hit her in the chest, rocking her backward until she was pressed fully against the refrigerator. The cold of the metal seeped through her shirt into her spine, bringing a shiver. No. He had to be lying. Wyatt couldn’t be dead because of her.

He couldn’t be dead at all.

Methodically, as though he enjoyed torturing her with his presence, the man stepped closer until he stood in the doorway of the kitchen between the column and the wall, a few feet from her position. “Here’s what you need to know to make this easier on both of us.” His hand went to his side and rested at his hip, where a gun was likely concealed beneath his navy blue windbreaker. “My boss pays me whether I bring you in alive or dead, though there’s twice as much in the bank if you’re breathing. He’d like the pleasure of taking care of you himself. It’s really up to you to decide what happens next. You can come to Texas with me all nice and quiet, or you can find yourself in the morgue next to your boyfriend. Either way, my wallet thanks you.”

The truth hardened her resolve and it flowed from her core to strengthen her weakened joints. If she walked meekly out her front door with this man and let him take her to El Paso, she was dead. Logan would never let her survive, not if he was willing to go to these lengths to drag her to her past.

No. She could die right here, but at least she’d go down fighting. She turned and backed down the long galley kitchen one foot, two. If she could reach a knife, something...

Her gaze drifted to the counter. The pistol.

His eyes followed hers and he walked into the kitchen, feet heavy on the tile floor. “I wouldn’t if I were you. You’ll never make it.”

No, she wouldn’t. Jenna jerked her hand toward the gun and, when the man lunged for it, she shifted to the right and shoved his back with everything she had in her, edging around him as he stumbled off balance and crashed into the wall behind her.

She ran for the door as more footsteps rang on the stairs from outside. Jenna stopped, her heart thumping painfully, freedom a breath away.

She was trapped.

A man appeared in the doorway.

Wyatt, his pistol drawn. In one smooth motion, he grabbed her by the wrist and tugged her behind him, leveling his weapon on the assailant in her kitchen. The man grabbed his head and stood staring wide-eyed at the police officer he’d assumed was dead.

“Put your hands behind your head. Don’t you dare even twitch in any other direction.” Wyatt’s voice was deep and commanding, daring the stranger to disobey him.

More sounds on the stairs. Officers Brian Early and Mike Owens crowded around Wyatt, weapons drawn, easing into the room.

Holstering his pistol as the other officers moved to apprehend their suspect, Wyatt reached for Jenna and drew her to his chest, resting his cheek on the top of her head.

“It’s over. We got him.”

Jenna shook her head. He could believe it was over if he wanted, but it wasn’t. There was clearly a price on her head, and unless Logan lifted the bounty...she was dead.

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