A killer lies in wait...

And now she’s in danger

To halt a killing spree, bodyguard Triss Everett tightens security at the senior community where she volunteers—and makes herself a target. Her coworker, widower Hunter Knox, won’t let the woman he cares about more than he should become the next victim. But working together to find the murderer in their midst is the most challenging job he’s ever taken on—and the most dangerous.

SARA K. PARKER has been a writer ever since she was gifted a 4x6 pin-striped journal for her tenth birthday. Her writing hobby has since grown into her dream career—writing for Love Inspired, freelancing for magazines and teaching English at a community college. She and her husband live in northwest Houston with their four children, two—soon to be three!—mischievous dogs and an extremely vocal senior cat.

Also By Sara K. Parker

Undercurrent

Dying to Remember

Shattered Trust

Security Measures

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Security Measures

Sara K. Parker

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09693-5

SECURITY MEASURES

© 2019 Sara K. Parker

Published in Great Britain 2019

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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“What I’m thinking sounds crazy.”

Triss stared into Hunter’s eyes with conviction, as if willing him to believe what she was about to say.

He already did. He might still be rankled by how suddenly she’d dropped out of his life—out of his kids’ lives—but that didn’t change what he knew about her. She was intuitive, sharp and levelheaded. She was not prone to drama, exaggeration or misinterpretation. And if Triss Everett had something bizarre to say, she’d say it only if she knew it to be true.

“I can handle crazy.”

Her eyes were dark, troubled in a way he’d never seen before. “I don’t think what happened was an accident, Hunter,” she said finally. “I think someone caused the fire. I think someone hoped I would die. And I think that same person may have killed before. At Harmony.”

That, he hadn’t expected. Hunter reached for what to ask next, and Triss narrowed her eyes.

“You said you could handle crazy.”

Dear Reader,

In real life, I don’t have much in common with Triss or Hunter, yet their hearts spoke to mine. In the shadows of their lives, I saw the shadows of my own—the weight of heartbreak, fear, regret and loss, and the yearning to fully live and fully love, despite it all. What Triss and Hunter found to be true in their pursuit of new beginnings, I’ve also found to be true: we long for a peace that the world can never give us. May you seek and find peace through the power of the Holy Spirit, the gift of His living and breathing Word and the blessing of companionship with loved ones who lift spirits, lighten burdens and offer chocolate.

Love,

Sara

P.S. I love to hear from readers—find me on Facebook @sarakparker.author and on my website: www.sarakparker.com.

He revealeth the deep and secret things: he knoweth what is in the darkness, and the light dwelleth with him.

—Daniel 2:22

To Erica, Julie and Megan.

God knew I wouldn’t do well in Texas without my three sisters, so He gave me you. Thank you for doing life with me—whether we’re laughing until we cry or crying until we can laugh again. Friendship with each of you has shaped me, grown me, blessed me.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Introduction

Dear Reader

Bible Verse

Dedication

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

Extract

About the Publisher

ONE

Gravestones lined both sides of the cobblestone path and dotted the acreage beyond. The cemetery was a patchwork of narrow footpaths, ancient trees and wrought-iron garden benches. Wind chimes hung from tree branches, their sorrowful melodies echoing through the graveyard. A couple of months ago, Triss Everett might have found the place charming, even beautiful. Today, after attending a funeral for the fourth time in three weeks, she couldn’t escape soon enough. Her black boots crunched through piles of autumn leaves, the wind whipping her long black hair as more foliage swirled from the wooded canopy. Unfamiliar heat stung her eyes, tears threatening as the cemetery blurred around her.

She sucked in a sharp breath of chilly air and focused on the parking lot ahead. She’d learned after the first funeral to park in the overflow lot. No one parked there, and she could avoid the dreaded lingering that happened after the burial—the hugs and tears and words that could do nothing to ease anyone’s suffering.

Maybe she should have expected this when she’d signed a twelve-month graduate-student housing contract with the Harmony Senior Living Community in August. But she hadn’t. And she certainly hadn’t expected to forge friendships with the residents. Warm, deep, meaningful friendships. She’d spent years pouring her energy into work and school, too busy and driven to invest in friendship. But the pace was slower at Harmony, where she and four other graduate students had embarked on a pilot program in which they received room and board in exchange for volunteer hours and companionship with the residents. There, friendships had formed as she spent her contracted volunteer hours partaking in chair fitness, bingo and weekly outings with the residents. Soon, she’d found herself taking on extra hours to sit with her new friends at hair appointments, mealtimes and dialysis sessions. She couldn’t help but care about them as she grew to know their personalities and histories, their hobbies and families.

A tear escaped and she swiped it away, hurting. Angry. If she had known she’d get so attached, she never would have signed the agreement.

Her little black Mustang sat alone at the edge of the lot, and she hurried to it, determined to get a handle on her emotions. It had been nearly six years since she’d let herself cry. All other pain had paled in comparison to that cold November day, until now. Forcing away the tears, she unlocked her car and climbed into the driver’s seat. She turned the key in the ignition and glanced in the rearview, her hand on the gearshift. But her gaze caught on her reflection, the pallor of her face, the glaze of tears in her eyes, and an ache rose in her chest. She squeezed her eyes shut, tears leaking as her shoulders began to heave, and a keening sound rolled from her throat—raw grief that could not be contained. The memory forced its way into her heart until she finally gave in to the weight of loss, her forehead coming to the steering wheel as she grieved for her four unlikely friends and their loved ones, and also for the life she’d turned her back on years ago.

She stayed like that for long minutes until she’d poured out what felt like a lifetime of guarded emotion. Then she cleared her throat and pulled a couple of napkins from the console, blowing her nose and drying her cheeks. No mascara to worry about since she seldom wore makeup. Glancing at the clock, she put the car in Reverse. She needed to get moving. She’d volunteered to help set up the reception at Harmony, and guests would be arriving soon.

Forcing herself into business mode, she drove away from the cemetery and pulled onto the highway. But even as her tears dried, the ache in her chest tightened, grief giving way to anxiety. Four deaths in three weeks, but she had nothing she could report to police.

No one else even suspected a problem. On the contrary, her fellow grad-student friends and Harmony staff she’d come to know had all gently assured her that it was normal to want to place blame when grieving. They’d pointed out other truths as well: that her security background made her more paranoid than she needed to be, that all four of the residents had had underlying health conditions and that “old people die.” That last gem had been contributed by Riley Jasper, the youngest of the grad students and the most immature. Some kind of genius, she’d started college at fifteen, and now, at nineteen, her social tact was still sorely lacking. Not that Triss was one to judge. She was well aware that her own personality was considered by most to be cold at best, abrasive at worst.

But that was beside the point. Riley Jasper’s comment, genius notwithstanding, was ignorant. The four dead residents had not been that old, and all had passed swiftly, without warning.

Even the Harmony staff agreed that four deaths in such a short period was unusual in the forty-eight-bed community—though not unheard of. But Triss had to admit that her suspicions were a little far-fetched. Could someone in the home really be set on murder? Or was it simply a difficult season of loss?

Whatever the cause, and regardless of the skepticism of her new friends, Triss figured that tightening security at Harmony wouldn’t hurt anyone. She’d worked as a security agent for Shield Protection Services for a little over two years, and the four deaths at Harmony had not only piqued her suspicions but had also alerted her to the lax security around the community. Two days ago, she’d proposed some simple ideas to boost security. No one had taken her seriously, but Triss was never one to go down without a fight, and—

A loud pop sounded behind her and she jolted, glancing in the rearview. Had a rock hit her rear window? She didn’t see a crack, thankfully. The car had already been in the shop a few times this year, and Triss didn’t have extra cash for more repairs. Not seeing anything, she started to return to her thoughts when she picked up an acrid, burning scent.

Again, she checked the rearview. This time, her heart lurched. Smoke! A thick, black cloud plumed from the rear of her vehicle.

She didn’t think, just reacted, checking her mirrors as she swerved toward the shoulder. Smoke billowed above her gas tank in black waves. She didn’t have much time. A driver laid on his horn as Triss nearly plowed into the side of his truck and swerved again, overcompensating with the wheel. Her tires spun, the car flying across the highway and out of her control as she pumped the brakes and tried to get it under control. Tires screeched and horns blared as her Mustang skidded sideways into a speed-limit sign, the impact sending her car into a spin, and then she was sliding over the shoulder and into a shallow embankment.

In a daze, Triss reached for her seat belt, her hands shaking as she jerked it off and grabbed the door handle. The door wouldn’t budge! She jabbed at her window control, but it didn’t respond. Smoke started to fill the car, burning her throat and lungs as she looked in terror at a bright orange flame too close to the gas tank. Desperate, she yanked at the handle again, a painful cough taking hold and stealing her strength even as she frantically scanned her car for something she could use to break a window. She wished she’d brought her gun, but she never carried it off duty.

Dread grew as thick as the smoke inside the car. Her breathing was labored and punctuated by coughs, and her hazy mind drifted back to the cemetery she’d just come from, the red and gold leaves flitting to the ground. Searching through her console, she fought rising panic as the car grew hotter, the smoke thickening. Desperate, she yanked at the door again, knowing it was futile. Cars pulled over ahead, shadowy figures running toward her, but the smoke was thick, stealing her air, and she was sure they were too late.

* * *

Hunter Knox threw his truck into Park and ran to the back, rummaging through his supplies for his window breaker, and then sprinted to Triss’s Mustang. A crowd had gathered, a couple of people using various tools to try to break open windows, while others warned the crowd to stand back. A small flame was licking up the back of the car, an explosion imminent. Black smoke filled the interior.

“Move aside!” Hunter yelled, forcing his way through the crowd to the front of the car. Deciding his best option was the front windshield, he climbed up on the hood and kneeled as he locked eyes with Triss. The fear there pierced his heart as smoke swirled behind her. He’d known Triss for two years and had never seen her scared. “Cover your face!” he yelled, and placed the tool in the center of the passenger side of the windshield. The glass cracked immediately, and he pushed the rest of it in, others joining in to clear the shards as Triss attempted to pull herself up and out of the car.

She was weak, gasping for air. Hunter reached down, clearing the glass. “Try to stand!” He wanted to scream for her to hurry, to focus. He was afraid he’d lose her to an explosion at the last moment, but she was dazed, attempting to find her footing on the seat to push her way out.

Leaning close, Hunter held out his arms to her. “Hold on to me!”

She reached toward him, her hands locking on his upper arms as he latched onto her and yanked her over the dash and through the broken window. Others, eager to help, brought her to the ground as Hunter jumped off the hood. Easily lifting her into his arms, he again warned the crowd to retreat and jogged away from the burning vehicle.

Triss’s hand clutched the front of his shirt, her head tucked under his chin as he moved toward his truck. He’d only taken a few dozen steps when an explosion erupted behind them. Triss jerked in his arms, and he tightened his hold, glancing back to see her car in flames, bystanders gawking and filming.

A shudder ran through him as he considered what would have happened if he had simply finished up his shift and gone home today. Shaken, he walked to the passenger side of his truck and shifted Triss so he could open the door.

“You can put me down,” she said, the words whispered at the base of his neck, her voice raspy. “I can stand.”

He was surprised she hadn’t wriggled out of his arms already. She was the most fiercely independent person he’d ever met. But he suspected that if he set her on her feet right now, she’d collapse.

“I’ve got you.”

She didn’t argue, her fingers still grasping his shirt, her silky black hair grazing his chin. He pulled the door open, easily seating her inside and adjusting the seat so she could lean back. She’d started shivering, whether from shock or the chill in the air, he couldn’t be sure. But the truck was still running, and he leaned over to turn the heat on full-blast. He yanked off his jacket and tucked it gently under her chin and around her arms and sides.

She stared up at him, eyes so dark he could barely make out her pupils, long lashes shielding her thoughts. They’d been coworkers for a long time, and he was used to her quiet, but this was different.

“Are you hurt anywhere?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

“Good. Just hang tight for a couple of minutes.” He pressed her door shut and reached for his phone to call for help, but he could already hear sirens. Plenty of others had likely already called in the accident.

Assuming it had been an accident.

He eyed her flaming car as he moved to the driver’s side of his truck. He didn’t know a lot about cars, but he was pretty sure it was rare for a vehicle to start smoking near the gas tank and then explode. As far as he knew, fires usually started under the hood.

He frowned, sliding into his seat and closing his door. Or maybe he’d been working at Shield too long. Nearly five years in, he had to admit he was prone to suspicion. It wasn’t like she’d been driving a brand-new vehicle. The Mustang had to be at least ten years old. There must have been a problem with it because the alternative was that someone had caused the fire, and that didn’t seem likely. Who would want to harm Triss? What motive could someone have?

Not that he and Triss spent much time talking about her personal life. In fact, he’d barely seen her since she’d moved into Harmony nearly four months ago. She’d cut her hours at Shield and switched to the night shift three days a week, so they only worked together on the rare occasion one of them took on a double. She’d explained that the free room and board would help her finish her graduate degree faster, which he respected. She had her sights on a career as a forensic investigator with the FBI, and he had no doubt she’d be one of the best in the field. But he suspected she’d had other motives for cutting her hours at Shield—motives that included avoiding Hunter and his two kids. He couldn’t blame her for that, even if he wished things could be different. She had big goals, and an instant family would only slow her down.

Next to him, she had tugged his jacket closer and closed her eyes.

Something had shifted between them over the past year or so, their friendship growing rapidly. In fact, not long ago, Hunter had gotten the impression that they might have something deeper than friendship, but Triss had backed away every time he’d started to get too close. Still, despite the growing distance between them, Hunter had been compelled to go to the cemetery a while ago. He’d been late because he’d been waiting for his relief at work, but was just in time to see her running from the graveside, her normally deep tan skin pale. He’d stopped his pursuit when she climbed into her car, slammed the door shut and leaned her forehead on her steering wheel, her shoulders quaking with grief. He had never seen Triss emotional, and he had a feeling she didn’t want him to. Instead, he’d gotten in his truck and decided to follow her at a distance to make sure she got safely to Harmony, considering her emotional state.

Turned out, she hadn’t been safe at all.

He glanced over at her again, noting that her shaking was starting to subside. She was still silent, her eyes closed, her shiny black hair spilling over her shoulders and onto the reclined seat.

For a moment, he thought she’d fallen asleep, but then she opened her eyes and turned her head toward him.

“Why are you here?”

The blunt question caught him off guard, but it was Triss’s way.

“I heard—”

“I mean—”

They both spoke at the same time, and Hunter stopped, waiting.

“I mean, you usually work day shift,” Triss explained. “Shouldn’t you still be there?”

“I heard Luke talking with Roman yesterday about the funeral. I thought you could use a friend.”

Triss’s brother Luke had been friends with their boss, Roman, for years, but beyond the daily prayer meeting they held each morning, the two rarely had personal conversations on the job—which was why Hunter had taken note of yesterday’s conversation, even though he knew he shouldn’t be eavesdropping.

In fact, he’d almost talked himself out of going to the cemetery today. He didn’t know the man who had died, and he hadn’t even seen Triss in weeks. But he’d wanted to be there for her. As far as he could tell, she didn’t have many good friends—if any—and he knew what it was like to navigate death alone. He wouldn’t wish it on anyone. Especially Triss, who he had long suspected had already endured her fair share of sorrow.

She looked away, and he wondered what she was thinking. Triss was a difficult person to read, even more difficult to get to know. Normally, he would steer clear of someone with her personality. But the day she’d offered to watch his kids when their nanny was sick had changed everything. He’d come home to peals of laughter, walking into a mess in the kitchen that resembled the aftermath of an indoor blizzard. Powdered sugar and flour covered nearly every surface, the kids and Triss included. His kids were rolling with giggles, and Triss was leaning against the counter, helpless against the laughter.

Until that moment, he wasn’t sure Triss even knew how to laugh, how to really smile. And since then, he’d made it a mission to hear that laugh and see that smile as often as he could. Which hadn’t been often since August.

He turned fully to her, but she didn’t look at him, her profile tilted toward the window.

“Must have been a quick funeral at the church,” Hunter said. “I barely made it to the cemetery before you were flying out of the parking lot.” She was teased mercilessly at Shield for her lead foot. Usually, she laughed it off. Now, she adjusted her position in the seat, turning toward her mangled car.

“Yes. The service was short and sweet.” She stared out the rear window, then finally looked at Hunter. “So, you followed me out?”

He read the question in her gaze, but didn’t think she’d appreciate that he’d seen her crying and had worried about her. “Thought I’d catch you at Harmony, see how you were doing.” That was the truth, minus a few details.

“It’s a good thing you followed me.” Tears brimmed under her eyes, her voice thick. “Five more seconds and...”

She would have been dead. No way around it. They both knew it.

A fire truck swerved onto the shoulder, firefighters rushing toward her car with retardant, the sirens cutting off. Triss watched silently, emotionless. He couldn’t figure her out. Every time she let him see a piece of her heart, she quickly hid behind a mask of indifference. It was that habit that had finally convinced him to let her keep the distance she was forever trying to expand between them. His kids had been confused and hurt when she’d disappeared from their lives months ago, and Hunter wouldn’t put them through that disappointment again.

He was glad he’d come today, glad he’d been there at the right time. But it was time to get going. He figured he should call Luke in to take over.

A police officer approached the truck, and Hunter opened the door, stepping out. He immediately recognized the officer as a friend of Roman’s they’d worked with in the past.

“Officer Goodson,” Hunter said, offering a hand to the seasoned cop, noting his impeccable uniform and alert expression.

“Hunter.” They shook hands, and Hunter motioned to Triss inside the cab.

“The Mustang is hers.”

“Was,” she muttered, leaning her head toward them to greet the officer.

“Doesn’t look like you should have made it out of that alive,” the officer commented. “Are you injured?”

“Not that I can tell.”

“We’ve got paramedics on the scene. I’d encourage you to take a ride and get checked out at the hospital, anyway, after we speak.”

“I’ll see my doctor tomorrow if I need to,” she said. “But I appreciate it.”

“You should let them check you out at the hospital,” Hunter suggested. “It was a pretty bad wreck.”

She shook her head. “I’m fine.”

“You could have internal—”

“Hunter.”

She’d made her decision, and there was nothing he could say to change her mind. Her jaw was set, her lips pressed together. He knew the look when he saw it.

The officer ducked his head slightly so he could see her. “Tell me what happened.”

Hunter listened with interest as she described hearing a distinct pop before she smelled smoke. He hadn’t seen anything but the smoke, and he wondered what could have caused the pop. The interview was brief, and the officer handed her his card. Once again, he advised her to get checked out and to rest up, and then he returned to the scene.

“That was a sweet ride,” Hunter said. “Looks like there’s no saving it.”

“No. But I’ll have it towed to my mechanic, anyway. Hopefully, he can figure out what happened. I can’t afford not to get anything from insurance.”

The moments before the wreck played through Hunter’s mind, the sudden smoke billowing at the rear of the car. “Wonder what could have caused that fire.”

She was quiet for a moment too long, and then she shifted in her seat, pulling off his jacket and handing it to him before raising her seat straight. She was clearly ignoring his comment. “Would you mind driving me to Harmony after I get the car situation settled?”

“Hold on a minute,” he said, searching her eyes for what he was missing.

She held his gaze, her expression unreadable. “What?”

“You’re not telling me something.”

She glanced away for a fraction of a second, and he knew he was right.

“What is it?” he persisted when she didn’t respond.

She shook her head. “Probably nothing.”

“Well, if that isn’t the most overused and usually inaccurate phrase we hear in our line of work, I don’t know what is.”

It was a phrase used too often by victims of stalking and domestic violence, unsure whether they were in danger or out of their minds.

Triss sighed. “I know. But what I’m thinking sounds crazy.” She stared into his eyes with conviction, as if willing him to believe what she was about to say.

He already did. He might still be rankled by how suddenly she’d dropped out of his life—out of his kids’ lives—but that didn’t change what he knew about her. She was intuitive, sharp and levelheaded. She was not prone to drama, exaggeration or misinterpretation. And if Triss Everett had something bizarre to say, she’d only say it if she knew it to be true.

“I can handle crazy.”

Her eyes were dark, troubled in a way he’d never seen before. “I don’t think what happened was an accident, Hunter,” she said finally. “I think someone caused the fire. I think someone hoped I would die. And I think that same person may have killed before. At Harmony.”

That, he hadn’t expected. Hunter reached for what to ask next, and Triss narrowed her eyes.

“You said you could handle crazy.” In a flash, she reached for the door. “I’m going to talk to the tow-truck driver.”

“Hey.” He slid his hand to her free arm, tugging her wrist gently to get her to stay. She looked at him, her eyes flashing annoyance. But, also, uncertainty. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said, because it seemed like that was what she needed to hear, even if he thought it couldn’t be more obvious. “But I’m going to need more details.”

She yanked her wrist from his hand, but let go of the door handle, her attention flicking to the clock on the dashboard. “There’s a lot to tell you. But I need to get to Harmony. There’s the reception, and I need to—”

“The reception can go on without you, Triss. You’ve been in a major accident. I still think you should get checked out at the hospital.”

She was already shaking her head and reaching for the door again. “I’m fine. Just let me talk to the tow-truck driver, and I’ll give you more details on the drive back.”

“Sure,” he said more casually than he felt, pushing away a dark flash of memory from the night his wife had died. He should have called the ambulance sooner, or picked her up bodily and forced her to go to the hospital. His misjudgment had cost her her life. Now, he wished Triss would listen to him—but he was just a coworker and had no right to push her. Still, he wasn’t without recourse. He couldn’t force her to go to the hospital, but she couldn’t force him to go home, either. And he wouldn’t be heading home tonight until he was sure she was safe.

TWO

“Start at the beginning,” Hunter said, pulling onto the interstate.

Twenty-five minutes of highway stretched between the cemetery and Harmony Senior Living. It wasn’t enough time to explain all that had happened, but Triss never used more words than she had to, so she would make it work.

“The first person who died was Walter,” Triss started. “Walter Tompkins. He was eighty-six. Diabetic coma while he slept. He never woke up. All the residents were talking about how it was the perfect way to go. Everyone wants to die in their sleep.”

Hunter said nothing, so she continued. “Genevieve Hail was next. Her boyfriend always called her Jenna-Doll. She was sixty-seven. Heart attack during dialysis.”

“Boyfriend?”

“Don. He’s a resident, too. They’d been together about a year. He was planning to propose.”

“How long after Walter?”

“Six days.”

“Go on.”

“Connie Mays, four days later. Walking pneumonia got serious fast. She died while reading in her armchair. She was the healthiest seventy-two-year-old I’d ever met. And then, she was dead.”

“And this time, Frank Townsend,” Hunter said. “What was his story?”

“Ten days had passed. I’d started to think that the three deaths had been a tragic fluke. A bad season at Harmony. But Frank—he overdosed on prescription painkillers. He was one of the newer residents, always cheerful. Everyone loved him.”

“People learn to hide their pain,” Hunter pointed out.

“I won’t argue with that. Another possibility is an accidental overdose. He was a bit of a drinker and he’d had a beer or two that day. His daughter also mentioned she thought he’d started to show signs of dementia. He was scheduled for an evaluation later this week.”

Hunter nodded. “My mom suffered with dementia. Caught her consuming a whole stick of butter one day. She’d ingest anything that wasn’t locked up.”

“Exactly,” Triss agreed. “Which is why I know this sounds crazy. There’s a logical explanation for all of these deaths. But something doesn’t sit right with me. That’s a lot of death in a short amount of time.”

“At a residential community for the elderly,” Hunter added. He glanced over at her. “But?”

“But my gut tells me something else is going on,” Triss responded.

She filled him in on the lax security at Harmony and her ideas for tightening it up—if for nothing else, then for her own peace of mind. She told him about the meeting she’d held two days ago to get the other grad students and some staff on board—and how no one seemed to take her concerns seriously. And she told him that she’d started to wonder if she simply was being paranoid and not dealing well with grief.

Hunter was mostly quiet as she told the story, but that was his way. She’d been with him on enough interviews to know how he operated. When drawing up security plans, he believed in long silences and letting clients tell their stories until they ran out of words. That’s when he would start asking questions. She let silence fall over the car and waited.

Finally, Hunter glanced over at her. “This is a lot to handle alone,” he said. “I would have backed you up at that meeting.”

“We haven’t exactly seen much of each other lately.”

A beat passed, and she immediately regretted her words. It was no one’s fault but her own that they hadn’t seen much of each other. She had a phone. She had his number. She’d purposely stayed away.

“No,” Hunter said. “We haven’t.”

She suspected he wanted to say more on that topic, but he didn’t. Their exit was coming up, and he slowed, pulling off the highway. “So, four people have died in three weeks. On Monday, you held a security meeting and no one supported your ideas, and today your car catches on fire leaving the funeral.”

“I told you it sounded crazy.” She refused to look at him, afraid to see the doubt in his eyes. She could handle that look from almost anyone. But not from Hunter.

“It does sound crazy,” he finally said, and her heart sank.

When did she get so soft? When had words gained the power to hurt her again? Why did she care if Hunter believed her? It wasn’t as if—

“But I believe you,” Hunter added.

Relief flooded over Triss. The truck turned onto the winding road that led to the senior living community, fall leaves swirling along the path. She wanted to thank him. And hug him. Strangely, she also wanted to cry. She didn’t do any of those things. Instead, as he pulled up to the security gate, she said, “Good. Now is when you help me figure out what to do next.”

She gave him the code to open the wrought-iron gate, and as he drove through it and onto the property, he glanced her way. “The next order of business would be to file a report with the police. You may not have had much to go on with the residents’ deaths, but what happened today definitely gives your concerns more credibility.”

“Right.”

“And upgrading security measures like you mentioned would be a reasonable next step.”

The narrow road opened onto the well-manicured property, tufts of golden leaves scattered along the drive and the walkways.

“I’ll get in touch with Roman tonight and see what we can pull together. They have a security team here?”

He pulled into a parking spot.

“Sort of. Two officers patrol on twelve-hour shifts. You can usually find one of them in the admin offices over there.” She pointed to a small whitewashed brick cottage across the parking lot.

“Good. I’ll try to get with one of them before I leave.” He turned off the truck and focused his attention on her. Triss forced herself to meet his gaze, to pretend that the warm concern in his soft brown eyes didn’t affect her one bit.

“You sure you’re okay? We can turn around now and get you checked out.”

“I’m fine,” she insisted, and she meant it. She hadn’t hit her head, and she wasn’t the least bit tired. She was overwhelmed. She’d almost died, and then Hunter had shown up—the man who had spent the past couple of years slowly chipping away at every wall Triss had built around her heart. The very man she’d been successfully avoiding since August.

She started to open the door, but Hunter reached past her and opened the glove box.

“Hold on.” He pulled out a packet of wet wipes and handed them to her. “Unless you want to answer a bunch of questions, you’ll want to get rid of the evidence.” A hint of a smile played on his lips, and Triss flipped down the visor mirror.

Traces of smoke residue were smudged along the side of her nose and the edge of her jaw. She took a wipe and swiped it over her skin, erasing any signs of the accident. Then she grabbed a new one for her hands, a warm thankfulness rising at Hunter’s thoughtfulness.

She handed the pack to him. “Better?”

His gaze traveled over her face, his eyes too soft. He nodded and popped the packet back in the compartment, which was also stuffed with a pack of crackers, two Pull-Ups and a box of Disney-character Band-Aids.

He glanced up at her as he closed the console, humor in his expression as he caught her observing.

“It’s my emergency stash,” he said.

Somehow, the stash made her heart ache, but Triss forced a small smile. “Always prepared.”

Of course, he would be as a single dad of two young kids.

She opened the door and stepped out, pushing away the emotions threatening to rise again. What was wrong with her?

Death. Funerals. Families weeping over graves.

And Hunter, crouching on the hood of her car, locking eyes with her and renewing her strength as her breath started to fail, just as her body started to give up.

If she was the type of woman who dreamed of happily-ever-afters, he was the type of man she would dream about. Courageous, quick and smart at work. Tender and lighthearted with his kids. Kind to everyone he met.

Of course, Triss wasn’t prone to dreaming. Even if she was, Hunter was off-limits, and she would never tell him why. The reminder wrenched at her heart as Hunter came around the front of the truck and walked alongside her. Sure, she’d moved here to cut her expenses and get out of her brother’s house. But the move had also allowed her to cut her hours at Shield and switch to the weekend night shift, which meant she rarely saw Hunter. And that had been on purpose.

“My mom lived here when her dementia got bad.”

Triss glanced over at Hunter as they headed up the walkway toward Creekside Manor, the independent-living home where Triss resided. Harmony was set on fifty wooded acres with walking trails, gardens, a man-made lake and a fitness center, and offered fresh, organic meals and live music twice a week. There were three separate homes for residents. Creekside was for those who could still live independently, and the residents resided in either single-or double-bed apartments. Silverwood Villa housed assisted-living and memory-care residents. Emerald Estate was the last stop, so to speak, with skilled nursing care available 24/7.

“This is the place to be when you can’t live on your own anymore,” Triss commented.

Hunter agreed. “Mom seemed to enjoy it. She started in Silverwood until she moved into Emerald.”

His voice had lowered, his gaze roaming over the property as they walked. “How many of the deaths were at Creekside?” he asked.

“All of them.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“Exactly.” The deaths might not have been as worrisome or noticeable if they’d happened between the three homes, or mostly in Silverwood and Emerald, but all the residents had died at Creekside—where no one required nursing care. In fact, there had only been one other death since Triss had moved in, and it was over at Emerald in September.

A car parked nearby, a young family climbing out, likely coming to visit parents and grandparents, and Triss figured she and Hunter probably shouldn’t discuss murder suspicions out in the open.

“How long did your mom live here?” she asked, moving into more neutral territory.

“Four years. She passed away when Josie was two.”

“Young for dementia, right?”

He nodded. “Sixty-three at onset. She was never the same after my dad died. He was twelve years older, a smoker. Died of lung cancer.”

Triss knew loss. She also knew that Hunter had been an only child, and she could read the latent grief in his eyes. She was scrambling to think of something to say other than “I’m sorry,” but the doors flew open in front of them and Kaye Lawson emerged, her bright red lipstick matching her wide smile and fiery hair. Kaye had moved into Harmony after a stroke, determined not to burden any of her six children, and despite her nearly full recovery, she’d stayed.

“There you are!” Kaye was a thin woman, but tall, and she wrapped Triss in a motherly hug. Triss had finally stopped avoiding Kaye’s hugs several weeks ago. She couldn’t remember what it felt like to be hugged by her own mother, an addict who had been in and out of jail for decades, bringing home questionable men and leaving for days at a time. Kaye claimed that Triss needed more hugs, and Triss was starting to think she may be right.

“Sorry I’m late,” Triss offered, not mentioning the accident. She didn’t want to draw the attention away from the celebration of Frank’s life and onto her.

“We were starting to worry about you.” The woman’s observant gaze seemed to inspect Triss with a question, but she didn’t ask it. Instead, she glanced curiously toward Hunter. “Now, who is this handsome young man?”

Hunter flashed his disarmingly charming and dimpled smile at Kaye. “Hunter Knox.” He held out a hand, but Kaye laughed.

“I only accept hugs.”

Hunter laughed, too, hugging her in greeting and sending a good-natured wink at Triss. She felt a smile tugging, her pulse suddenly racing. She looked away. This was exactly why she was trying to get some distance from him. All her defenses were useless when he was nearby.

“Hunter and I work together at Shield,” Triss said as they all walked inside. “Hunter, this is my friend Kaye.”

“Are you helping set up?” Kaye asked him.

“He doesn’t have much time,” Triss answered for him, helping him off the hook. “You have to get home for the kids, right?”

“I have time.”

“I like you already.” Kaye smiled broadly, her face a map of lines that showed she lived a life bent toward joy and maybe adventure.

“So, you have kids,” Kaye said, leading the way through the common area. “How old are they?”

“My daughter, Josie, is about to turn six. And my son, Levi, is two.”

“Oh, and I’m sure they keep you on your toes. If your wife’s at home holding down the fort, you’d better not stay here too long,” she said with a grin.

Kaye’s gaze flicked to Triss, and Triss groaned inwardly. Knowing Kaye, she’d already searched for Hunter’s wedding band, found it missing and decided she’d found Triss a husband.

“Their very young and energetic nanny is home with them, and she’s paid very well,” he said warmly. “My wife passed away after our son was born.”

Kaye’s smile fell. “Oh, dear. How sad.” She touched his arm. “I’m sure you’re a wonderful dad.”

“Thank you.” He smiled ruefully. “Some days I do better than others.”

“That’s parenthood for you. You should bring them by some time. We love kids around here. So much energy.”

“I’ve been meaning to for a while now, actually,” he said. “We’d visit sometimes when my mother was here a few years ago.”

“Well, Brandon’s over there setting up the microphone.” She pointed to the front of the room near the fireplace, where a white-haired gentleman was crouched in front of a microphone stand, his back to the room. “He’s our activities director. You should talk to him.”

“Sounds good. I’ll catch up with you two in...?”

“The kitchen or dining hall,” Triss suggested, and then followed Kaye.

“Let’s get the waters filled on the tables,” Kaye said. “Then we’ll light the centerpiece candles.”

“Got it.”

The dining hall was quiet, and a handful of residents were starting to trickle in. Triss glanced around as she filled water glasses, her focus returning now that Hunter was out of the picture. What had happened with her car had heightened her suspicions. She shifted her gaze to each new guest that entered—residents, caregivers, custodial staff, her fellow grad students. No one seemed to be paying her much attention. If anyone knew she’d been in a life-threatening accident, they weren’t letting on.

Her pitcher ran out again and she headed to the kitchen, standing at the fridge to fill it with filtered water.

“How’s it going out there?”

Triss glanced over at Barb, Creekside’s live-in chef, noting that she’d exchanged her trademark blue apron with smiling cartoon bananas for a plain black one more appropriate for the occasion.

“Good. People are starting to arrive. Need any help in here?”

Barb shook her head. “I’ve got it under control. The family wanted chicken alfredo, though—sorry, there’s not much of a substitute for that.”

“I’ll stick with the salad,” Triss said. “You know I’ve told you not to worry about me.” She had a pretty serious dairy allergy that had necessitated an EpiPen more than once in her life, and Barb couldn’t stand the idea of anyone missing out on a meal.

“I made a couple of chicken-and-rice meals for you. They’re in the fridge if you get hungry later.”

For a split second, Triss wanted to set down the pitcher and hug Barb. But that would be awkward for both of them, so she just said, “Thank you,” knowing that Barb couldn’t possibly understand how touching her thoughtfulness was. More days than she could count, there had been no food in the Everett household when she was younger. Luke was forever scavenging leftovers from restaurants and grocery stores for the three siblings to split, and a well-meaning neighbor sometimes dropped groceries by. It was a wonder Triss had survived those years. She learned many years later that Luke had scoured ingredients labels on the grocery leftovers and had made friends with two local restaurant owners, who saved dairy-free extras regularly for them. They’d had one scare, when she was six, but Luke had managed to get her to a hospital. They’d left with two separate foster families, Triss with an EpiPen. It was the first time they’d been split up—Cal and Luke to one home, and Triss to another. They’d been more careful after that.

With the pitcher topped off, Triss turned from the kitchen, pushing the swinging door open with her arm as Hunter walked in.

She stopped short, water sloshing from the pitcher onto his white button-down.

“Whoa.” He grasped the pitcher, steadying it as Triss took a quick step backward.

“Sorry,” she said, water dripping along her arms, a bubble of laughter threatening at the amused expression on Hunter’s face.

He took the pitcher from her. “Here.” Reaching past her, he grabbed a hand towel and wiped the sides of the pitcher before handing it to her. The tips of his fingers grazed her hand, sending a sudden jolt of awareness straight up her arms.

So. It hadn’t been shock earlier, when he’d lifted her into his arms and every muscle in her body had gone weak, her pulse racing as her hand had clutched a small square of his shirt. It had simply been the effect Hunter had on her. What was it about him?

“You talked to Brandon?” she asked, realizing she’d stood still for a couple of seconds too long.

He nodded. “He said I can bring the kids any day between lunch and dinner—just shoot him an email.”

“Great. Heading home?”

“Figured I’d help out.” He took off his wet tie and shoved it in a pocket, then started unbuttoning his shirt cuffs and rolling up his sleeves.

“I think we’ve got things under control,” Triss said, making a move toward the door. “You need to—”

“I’m planning to stick around for a while. I can sit and observe, but I’d much rather have something to do,” Hunter said, moving in front of her and blocking her path as he rolled up the second sleeve.

“Give the man a job, Triss, and out you both go! Too many cooks in my kitchen.”

Triss shot a glare over at Barb even as the woman winked at Hunter and continued prepping several large salads.

“We’re setting tables,” Triss said finally. She pointed to an empty pitcher by the sink. “Go ahead and fill that one up with ice water and meet me in the dining hall.” She scooted past him and turned out of the kitchen.

* * *

Hunter hurried to the pitcher, filling it and heading out the way he’d seen Triss turn. He wanted to tell her to slow down, to sit, to take it easy. But he knew any suggestions wouldn’t just be ignored, they’d be fought. The best he could do would be to stay close, keep an eye on her. Was he overreacting? Maybe. But he’d learned two years ago exactly what could happen when physical symptoms were ignored. His wife had died because of it.

When he turned into the dining hall, he noticed Triss setting down her pitcher and taking a seat next to one of the residents. She leaned forward, empathy in her expression as she listened.

Hunter filled the glasses around the room, his attention flicking to Triss as he did so. She spoke softly to the man, whose dark hair was still winning its battle against gray. Her hand came to the man’s upper arm, soothingly rubbing it as the man wiped away tears. Her tenderness was always a surprise when she let it show, and Hunter wondered often why she worked so hard to hide it.

He’d been intrigued by Triss ever since he’d met her at the gun range during a training session a couple of years ago. She’d never shot a gun in her life, but within hours she was outshooting police veterans. He’d been impressed, but not drawn to her in the least. The loss of his wife was still raw, and Triss emanated no warmth. She didn’t smile even once, and barely spoke the entire day, moving off to the side to eat a quick bagged lunch she’d brought, clearly signaling she wasn’t interested in conversation.

She was gorgeous, with a slim athletic figure, and wide dark eyes set against caramel skin. But her body language created a barrier that told people she was intensely private and happier that way. Still, something about her intrigued Hunter, especially when he learned that Luke was her older brother. Luke had to be one of the most congenial guys Hunter had ever met, and the contrast between the two was striking—even though their sibling bond was obvious to anyone who saw them together.

Over time, their friendship grew, and Hunter had become determined to discover what had hurt her so much in the past that she had created a rigid wall around her. She had seemed just as determined to keep her distance, which had become painfully obvious when she’d moved to Harmony and stopped contacting Hunter in August. Even his kids had started getting attached to her, and her disappearance had been confusing for them.

But something had shifted between them today. His mind called up the memory of her in his arms, her hand clutching his shirt. He’d never known Triss to accept help, but she had done more than accept his help. She had hung on to him, her face pressed to his chest.

And he hadn’t missed her reaction when he’d run into her in the kitchen doorway a few minutes ago. Triss, flustered? Was it possible he still had a chance to deepen the friendship he’d been fighting for? Did he even want to? The last thing he wanted to do was disappoint his kids if she started coming around and then disappeared again. And Triss had big goals, he reminded himself.

When she’d signed the contract at Harmony and essentially made an exit from his life, he’d told himself that he wouldn’t get in the way of her dreams, like he had with his late wife. Viv never did finish college and go on to practice law like she’d planned to do. If he was honest with himself, he was the one who had pushed for the marriage. She would have been content to finish out her education first and have kids later. But she’d caved to his cajoling, lost in the glamour of the romance and the lure of a future together...before her entire life was stolen from her a few short years later. He wouldn’t do that to someone else, especially not to Triss.

It wasn’t something he should be thinking about, anyway. Not after what Triss had told him today. He’d stick around for a while and observe what was going on, then have a chat with Security before heading home to the kids. Thankfully, he had flexible childcare.

Hiring a live-in nanny had been the best decision he’d made since his wife’s death. A college student and the oldest of five kids, Samantha Farrow knew her way around the kitchen, the laundry room, temper tantrums and messy diapers. What was more—she genuinely seemed to adore his kids. Granted, Josie and Levi were pretty easy to get along with. But he’d had sitters before who had been all too eager to plop the kids in front of a television or cart them off to bed early. Samantha enjoyed interacting with them, playing games with them, reading to them, teaching them—which meant that Hunter could focus his energy on keeping an eye on Triss tonight, knowing his kids were in good hands.

The next half hour slipped by quickly, as the tables were set, the buffet was spread out and the guests arrived. Triss gave Hunter new tasks when he asked, but for the most part, she didn’t seem to notice that he was there. All her energy and emotion seemed focused on making the reception run smoothly, as she spoke with residents and also Frank’s family members. Despite her typically guarded nature, she knew how to draw someone into a conversation, her sincerity evident in her body language and the softness that had fallen over her expression. She might be living here on a contract, but she wasn’t merely fulfilling her duty or putting on a show to prove that she was worthy of the position. She genuinely cared, and for some reason, Hunter’s heart swelled as he watched her in action.

This was the part of her personality he’d caught glimpses of over the past couple of years, but something changed when she walked through the doors of Creekside, and her shields came down. Interesting.

By the time dinner was served, Hunter felt confident that Triss wasn’t seriously injured or in any immediate danger. Plus, Triss knew how to handle herself. He glanced at his watch. Just enough time to touch base with Security and pick up groceries before heading home to tuck in his kids. He turned to leave the dining hall, but Kaye saw him and practically jumped out of her seat.

“You’ve helped all this time. Why don’t you eat with us?” she suggested, grabbing his arm and attempting to pull him toward the buffet tables.

“I’ve got to get home, but thank you.”

“Oh, right. Your kids are waiting for you. Well, I hope I’ll get to meet them. Did you talk to Brandon?”

“I did. I’ll bring the kids by soon.”

“Levi and Josie, right? I can’t wait.”

“Have a good night, Kaye,” he said and started to turn away before he had a last-minute thought. “Actually...” He pulled out his wallet, slipped out a business card and handed it to her. “I’m a little worried about Triss. I don’t think she wants anyone to know right now, but I’d feel better if someone here was watching out for her. She was in an accident on the way back from the cemetery today.”

Kaye accepted the card, her eyes widening. “That’s why she seemed different when she walked in. Why she was late...”

“She didn’t want to go to the hospital, so I was keeping an eye on her. Would you—”

Kaye was already nodding. “I have six daughters. This is my specialty.” She smiled then, tapping the card. “What a very caring coworker you are.”

Hunter couldn’t help but grin. The woman was astute, and he knew he could trust her to watch out for Triss.

“Go home to your kiddos, now. And I won’t tell Triss that I know about the accident.” She gave him a goodbye hug and Hunter let himself out of the home, heading across the parking lot to the cottage-like building Triss had pointed out.

The cottage was constructed of whitewashed brick, and its oak door was unlocked. Hunter tapped on it before opening the door, and was greeted by a jungle of flowers and a smiling silver-haired woman snipping thorns off of a pile of roses. The place smelled like a flower boutique, with arrangements in a myriad of vases on every surface.

“Hello there,” the woman said, her voice chipper. “How can I help you?”

“Sorry,” Hunter said, confused. The place looked more like a gift shop than an administrative office building. “I think I’m in the wrong place. I was looking for Security.”

“Oh, no. You’re in the right place. I’m the office manager.” The woman set aside her flowers and wiped her hands on a hand towel before offering a handshake to Hunter. “Laura Senate. My daughter’s wedding is this weekend, and I’m helping make the floral arrangements.”

“You do beautiful work.”

“Thank you. The security office is around the corner. First door on the left.” She pointed, but a frown line surfaced along her forehead. “I hope everything’s okay?”

“I have a few questions I wanted to run by the team.”

The woman nodded, still not quite smiling. “Vince’s there right now, and Adam’s somewhere...” She shrugged. “It’s pretty quiet out here, you know.”

“It’s a peaceful place,” Hunter agreed. “Thanks for the help.” He followed her instructions and walked around the corner, finding the first door on the left open. He tapped on the wall outside the door and peeked in.

The man at the desk wore black slacks and a gray uniform shirt A brown desk plaque gave the name Vince Beck. He looked up from his computer monitor in surprise, his hand coming up to adjust his too-long comb-over.

“Yes?” the man asked, his gruff voice matching his bulky frame.

Hunter stepped into the room and held out a hand, “I’m Hunter Knox. A friend of mine is one of the graduate students here at Harmony—Triss Everett.”

Vince smiled and relaxed, shaking Hunter’s hand. “How can I help you?”

Without much information yet, Hunter wanted to be careful with his words. His purpose tonight was to get a feel for the security at Harmony, and also the receptiveness of the team to making some adjustments.

“You may know that Triss works for Shield Protection Services. We’re coworkers, actually.”

Vince’s expression was suddenly amused. “Oh, yes, we all know about Triss and her focus on security. She’s always got new ideas she wants us to put in place, but Harmony hasn’t ever had a security problem. I say, if it ain’t broke, why fix it?”

Hunter didn’t see the humor Vince obviously saw, and took note that he would likely meet resistance when trying to implement any changes. Vince seemed a little too comfortable with his job. He was a big guy, probably in his late thirties. He carried a little extra weight around his midsection, but otherwise he appeared fit. He didn’t wear a wedding ring, and there were no family photos anywhere in his office.

Hunter forced a smile. “It’s a beautiful place. My mom was here for a while.” He started. “Maybe you knew her—Wendy Knox?”

Vince shook his head. “Doesn’t ring a bell, but I’ve only been here three years.”

Hunter nodded. “She passed before that, but sure enjoyed her time here. In fact, I know others who are considering it for their parents. Would you mind giving me a quick rundown of your security protocols?”

“Oh, sure,” Vince said, motioning for Hunter to take a seat as he turned a wide-screen computer monitor toward him. The monitor showed four grainy scenes at a time. “This here’s our monitor,” Vince began, and Hunter suppressed a sigh. This was going to be worse than he’d expected.

* * *

A half hour later, Hunter was thinking about the practically nonexistent security at Harmony and wondering how quickly Shield could convince Harmony management to make improvements. A private security company, Shield designed, installed and manned custom security systems for residences and businesses. Due to the nature of the work, agents often served as both bodyguards and investigators, reporting suspicious activity and passing tips on to police. Usually, potential clients approached Shield for help. Bringing a proposal to Harmony would likely be a hard sell. Maybe bringing his kids to the facility the next day would be a good first step. That way, he could get a feel for the place without making anyone uneasy.

He pulled into the first grocery store he saw, heading quickly inside and grabbing a basket. He’d only managed to grab bananas and frozen chicken nuggets when his cell phone rang, the number unfamiliar.

“Hello?” he answered, snagging a pack of mini doughnuts for his kids in the morning.

“Is this Hunter Knox?” a woman’s voice asked.

He recognized the voice, and his heart pitched. “Yes. What’s wrong, Kaye?” He was setting his basket on a closed register before she could even answer, heading straight for the exit.

“It’s Triss. She just left the dining hall. I followed her and she told me she was very tired. Unlike her. It’s not even seven o’clock. And she looked...funny.”

“Funny, how?”

“I can’t really say. Her eyes looked kind of glazed. Maybe I’m overreacting...”

“I’m heading back now.”

“Hurry, okay?”

“You got it.” Hunter was already running to his truck. He slammed the door shut and peeled out of the parking lot.

This is what he’d been afraid of—a head injury or an internal injury that hadn’t made itself known immediately. He should have forced her to get checked out after the accident. Well, she wouldn’t argue with him this time. He would go over there and knock on her door until she opened it, and then he was going to drive her straight to the hospital—even if he had to drag her.

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