WITNESS IN HIDING

After exposing an illegal adoption ring, newly named “Kara Grant” is promised safety in Witness Protection. But someone has found her—and wants her dead. If only she could trust the handsome firefighter who catches her fleeing from a suspicious fire. Jake Steele seems to think she’s guilty of burning her own home. But how can she tell him who she really is and what she’s been through without bringing danger to the widowed single father’s door? Yet with the criminals quickly closing in, taking such a risk might be her only chance at survival. Because the price she’ll pay for her silence could be her life.

“Kara, listen to me.”

Jake’s footfalls pounded behind her. She ran faster. “Kara,” he called. “If you didn’t set the fire, you have no reason to run,” Jake called. “The police will protect you from whoever you’re afraid of.”

She tripped over the curb as she chanced a glance over her shoulder.

Jake burst from between the houses just as she recovered her balance. His gaze slammed into hers. The dim light couldn’t mask the concern she saw flickering in his eyes. “I can help you, Kara.”

The sound of a siren broke his spell. He’d called the police. She gulped in a lungful of air. “If you really want to help me, Jake, forget you ever saw me.” She turned on her heel and ran.

“Kara!”

Blinding headlights blipped on, and she froze. Her heart jammed in her throat as the lights sped toward her. I’m going to die.

Hurled into the hedges on the other side of the road, her body exploded in agony. Then everything went black.

SANDRA ORCHARD

hails from the beautiful countryside of Niagara, Ontario, where inspiration abounds for her romantic suspense novels. Not that she runs into any bad guys, but because her imagination is free to run as wild as her Iditarod-wannabe husky. Sandra lives with her real-life hero husband, who happily provides both romantic and suspense inspiration, as long as it doesn’t involve poisons and his dinner. But her truest inspiration comes from the Lord, in the beauty of a sunrise over the field and the whisper of a breeze, in the antics of a killdeer determined to safeguard its nest and the faithfulness of the seasons. She enjoys writing stories that both keep the reader guessing and reveal God’s love and faithfulness through the lives of her characters.

Sandra loves to hear from readers and can be reached through her website, or at www.facebook.com/SandraOrchard or c/o Love Inspired Books, 233 Broadway, Suite 1001, New York, NY 10279.

Identity Withheld

Sandra Orchard

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea, even there your hand will guide me, your right hand will hold me fast.

If I say, “Surely the darkness will hide me and the light become night around me,” even the darkness will not be dark to you; the night will shine like the day, for darkness is as light to you.

—Psalms 139:9–12

To the dedicated volunteer firefighters faithfully serving our small communities.

The Lord’s provision when I’m wrestling out a story always delights and encourages me.

I learn so much and am indebted to the many experts who tirelessly answer my questions. In particular, I’d like to thank retired volunteer firefighter Don Gretsinger, thirty-three-year veteran and retired district chief, Ivan Good, firefighter Harold Riemersma, and retired fire investigator Dave MacMullen for answering my many questions.

Thank you to midwife Brianna Timmers for helping me create a plausible backstory for Tommy’s mother. And a huge thank-you to paramedic Charlotte Cripps for teaching me so much about emergency procedures, both for this story and Sherri Steele’s story coming next year, and…for connecting me with Dave.

Thank you also to the WODE members who helped me brainstorm the proposal and work through various scenes. To Vicki McCollum for her ever-helpful feedback. To my editors Tina James and Giselle Regus for the many ways they helped make the story stronger. To Patti Jo Moore for her daily encouragement and prayer cover. To Nancy Miller for the many, many little things she does to give me more time to write. To author Laura Frantz and Amber Perry for answering all my questions about Seattle and area. To reader Susan Manchester for telling me about her dog Rusty, the inspiration behind Tommy’s dog. To Kara Grant for loaning my heroine her name. To the blog readers, newsletter subscribers and Facebook fans who brainstormed backstory and titles with me, and who made choosing actors to model my characters after so much fun!

And…a huge thanks to the world’s best brainstorming partner, Stacey Weeks, who put up with countless phone calls and emails to help me work my way through the smoky haze of the first draft.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

Acknowledgments

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

EPILOGUE

Dear Reader

Questions for Discussion

Extract

Copyright

ONE

Jake Steele squinted through the smoky haze surrounding the house, his skin prickling with the sensation of being watched. There. In the hedges. It had to be their arsonist. This fire had all the signs of being deliberately set. Jake motioned to his partner, Davis, and they started for the hedge.

The face disappeared, swallowed by the drizzly darkness.

Counting on the suspect wanting to avoid the street, Jake beelined to the backyard. Sure enough, a lone figure skulked along the property’s edge. This pyromaniac was going down.

Jake and Davis closed the distance fast, the commotion of the other firefighters masking the thump of their heavy boots. “Where do you think you’re going?” Jake grabbed the guy’s arm.

The scream that met his grip was no guy’s.

Jake turned his flashlight on their culprit, and her panicked brown eyes blindsided him. His grip loosened.

She twisted and squirmed, pounding her free fist against his chest and kicking uselessly at his legs. “Let go of me.”

“Fat chance,” he said, tightening his grip again. Never mind the tears streaking her sooty cheeks. Men hadn’t cornered the market on arson jobs. And with five suspicious fires this side of Seattle in the past nine weeks, he wasn’t about to let her out of his sight until he found out exactly what she knew about this one.

She went limp, her fight gone. “You’re hurting me.”

His gaze shifted to the arm he still held, the only part of her he’d touched as he’d let her wear herself out pummeling his chest. His heart pitched. “You’re burned.” He jerked his thumb off her blistering flesh, sickened that he’d hurt her further.

His partner directed a flashlight at her arm. The underside was flaming red from wrist to crook.

Cupping her elbow with just enough pressure to prevent her from escaping, Jake gentled his tone. “Are you burned anywhere else?”

“I’m fine.” She tried to tug free of his hold.

“You’re not fine.” Megadoses of adrenaline had to be shooting through this spitfire for her to not so much as wince at the pain that had to be blazing up her arm. “This is a serious burn. It needs to be dressed.”

She visibly shrank at his insistent tone. “My friend’s coming for me. He’ll take care of everything.”

Right. If she thought he was about to let her walk away, she’d clearly burned a few brain cells along with that arm. Being careful not to cause her any more pain, he steered her toward the street. “You can wait for your friend in the ambulance.”

As they came around the now-smoldering building, she dug in her heels and darted terrified glances every which way. “No, please.”

Jake caught his partner’s attention and jerked his head toward the sheriff’s car.

Davis nodded and jogged off.

Jake angled his flashlight just high enough so he could study her heart-shaped face without blinding her. How had he ever mistaken her for a guy? She didn’t look much younger than him—late twenties, maybe. Her damp hair, flattened by the rain, skimmed her shoulders, but she was all girl—and very afraid. He’d expected to see fear over getting caught, maybe regret. Not— “I want to help you,” he said, his voice cracking at her terror.

Her watery brown eyes searched his as if she desperately wanted to believe him. “I can’t go out there,” she whispered.

The rattled pitch of her voice tugged at his heart. He tilted his head, softening his expression. “I’m Captain Jake Steele with the Stalwart Fire Department. What’s your name?”

“Ni—” She coughed, the crackly sound rattling through her limbs. “Kara. Kara Grant.”

He didn’t believe her, but nodded anyway. The cough had all the signs of an attempt to buy enough time to come up with an alias. “Did you set the fire, Kara?”

Her eyes flared. “What? No!” She made another useless attempt to jerk free of his grip as the sheriff and Davis rushed toward them. “Sheriff, this firefighter won’t let go of me!”

“She needs medical attention,” Jake growled.

“He thinks I set the fire! When I’m the victim here.”

“Wait. You live here?” Jake’s surprise pitched the question a couple of octaves higher than he’d intended.

“What do you think?” She cradled her wounded arm.

“Lady, you were running away. What do you think I thought?” His department had been called in to assist this neighboring town’s volunteer department. He hadn’t caught the name of the missing victim. Her name.

The sheriff radioed the news to the chief. The firefighters who’d been searching for her inside soon emerged from the house.

Kara gulped. “They were all looking for me? I’m sorry, I didn’t realize.”

“Didn’t realize?” Jake ground his teeth to reel in his tone. “My men were putting their lives at risk while you watched from the bushes. I have a five-year-old boy at home who doesn’t need to lose another parent.”

“I—” Her expression crumpled. “Please, no one was hurt, were they?”

Jake let out a pent-up breath. “No.”

The sheriff cleared his throat. “I still need you to answer a few questions, and I think you’ll be more comfortable doing that in the back of the ambulance than a squad car.”

Her breathing quickened. “Okay, yes. You’re right. Of course.”

Since she’d stopped complaining about his hold on her elbow, Jake guided her toward the ambulance. As they stepped into view of her neighbors huddled in their yards, their Thanksgiving dinners forgotten, Kara clung to his coat. Jake scanned the crowd, looking for anyone suspicious. A bulbous-nosed man stood alone and seemed particularly intent on the firefighters’ actions.

“It’s the tenant,” a woman exclaimed.

A young man cut across the yard and raced toward them. At Kara’s sharp inhalation, Jake instinctively angled his body to block her from view.

The guy raised something in his hands. A camera.

“It’s okay. It’s just a reporter,” Jake said, shifting back.

But at the camera’s flash, Kara buried her face against his coat. “Please, just get me to the ambulance. Please.”

His conscience pricked at her sudden trust, or maybe the way she trembled against his chest. He curled a sheltering arm around her. “Sheriff, I think those questions better wait until after the paramedics check her over.”

Jake pulled back just enough to see Kara’s face. His initial assumptions weren’t adding up. He scrutinized her breathing, her eyes, her skin, for signs of assault, shock, something that would explain why she’d run from help.

Besides the obvious—fear of getting caught.

* * *

A section of roof crashed to the ground, spewing black smoke and debris into the air and over her car. Kara forced herself to draw deep breaths, to release them slowly. The paramedics were bound to insist on taking her to the hospital, and she couldn’t let that happen. Especially now that Jake’s suspicions had confirmed her worst fears. The fire was no accident.

The taste of smoke turned acrid in her mouth. Deep down she’d known the fire was meant for her. That was why she’d called the marshal overseeing her protection the instant she’d gotten out of the house. She shook her head. And then she’d almost let her real name slip to the overprotective firefighter. Thank goodness Mrs. Harboyle had been away at her daughter’s for Thanksgiving.

Kara’s vision blurred. Her landlady’s home was destroyed, along with sixty years of memories, and it was all her fault.

“Hang on,” Jake’s husky voice whispered through her hair, an instant before his hands spanned her waist and hoisted her onto the back of the ambulance.

Her breath caught. Oh. After the way she’d fought him back there, she hadn’t expected him to be so nice.

He ditched his hat on the end of the rig, and his sandy brown hair, damp with perspiration, curled over his forehead. “You okay?” he asked, his sweet, lopsided smile not helping her breathe any easier.

Pressing her palm to her chest, she sank onto the gurney. Listen to her. She shouldn’t be noticing a guy’s smile. Never mind how her heart had twisted when he’d mentioned his motherless son. No one wanted a relationship with a woman with a price on her head.

Kara startled at the touch of a petite brunette beside her and scrambled to catch up to the questions she was spewing.

“I think she’s in shock,” Jake said, his deep voice quieting her frayed nerves.

He seemed genuinely concerned. Could he be someone she could trust? Maybe. Except the marshal had warned her not to trust anyone. Not even the police, because a smart bad guy would pretend to be on her side, pretend to want to help her, pretend to be taking her to safety just long enough to get her somewhere secluded and then slit her throat.

She gulped, sliding her hand up to her neck. Stick to the rules, the marshal had said, and she’d be okay. They’d never lost a witness who stuck to the rules.

So how would Deputy Marshal Ray Boyd explain the fire?

She pushed away the female paramedic’s stethoscope. “I have to go.” For all she knew, the paramedic worked for the adoption ring, too. She glanced from one blocked door to the other, her heart racing. Anyone here could work for it. Be waiting for the chance to finish her off.

“It’s going to be okay,” the paramedic soothed in the kind of voice Kara used to use with her kindergarten students. “I can quickly dress this wound and then the sheriff can ask his questions. Okay?”

The sheriff, right. Kara wiped sweaty palms down her slacks. She needed to stay calm. If they thought she was in shock, the sheriff might insist she go to the hospital. And it would be way too easy for her attacker to get to her there.

“Kara?” the paramedic’s voice filtered through her frenetic thoughts.

“I’m sorry, pardon?”

“I asked on a scale of one to ten, how bad is the pain in your arm?”

“Oh.”

Jake stood at the rear door, watching her, his warm blue eyes radiating concern.

She ducked her head. The pain was bad, really bad, but if she admitted that, they’d dope her up and send her to the hospital and she’d miss her meeting. The marshal might not find her.

“Kara?” The paramedic split open what looked like a ketchup packet. “How bad?”

Kara shrugged. “Not bad. Honest. A four maybe.”

The paramedic clasped Kara’s wrist and started squeezing the packet over the wound.

Blinding pain streaked down her arm. “Ah!” She jerked from the paramedic’s grasp. Bandages tumbled to the floor.

The paramedic swiped at the gel that had spilled from the packet onto her leg. “I’d better give you something for the pain,” she said through gritted teeth.

Kara thrust out her arm. “No, really. That’s not necessary.” Nausea churned her gut. She swallowed hard. “I’m sorry. You just surprised me.”

The woman raised her eyebrow and slanted a glance at Jake with a slight shake of her head.

Kara tried not to wince as the paramedic dabbed the remaining gel around the blistered portions.

“Most of the burn is first degree,” the paramedic explained as she wrapped a bandage around the arm.

Kara swallowed again and again. Why had the marshal suggested a place so far away to meet? With her car covered in debris, not to mention blocked in the driveway by fire engines, she’d have to walk, and...

“These blistered portions are second degree,” the paramedic went on. “I’m afraid they’re going to hurt a lot more than a four before they get better.”

Yeah, they already did. A black haze slid over Kara’s vision.

“Are you okay?” Jake sounded really concerned.

She teetered, reached out blindly to stop herself from toppling off the gurney.

Jake lunged toward her. “She’s going to faint!”

The next thing she knew, her cheek was pressed against his solid chest, his arm wrapped protectively around her. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

For a few blissful seconds, she lingered in his protective embrace—the kind of embrace Clark should’ve wrapped her in three months ago.

She sucked in a quick breath and straightened, dismissing the memory. She’d made her choice and so had he. Jake’s arm dropped away, and she shivered at the chilly damp air that rushed into its place.

“I’m guessing you’ll want those painkillers now?” The paramedic doused the bandage in saline.

The cooling flow took the edge off the pain. “Uh, maybe just a couple of acetaminophen.”

Empathy brimmed in Jake’s eyes. “You’ll have to forgive my cousin. She needs to work on her bedside manner.”

Kara chuckled, bringing that heart-fluttering smile back to Jake’s lips. She sighed. She would’ve liked the chance to get to know him. But by tomorrow, Kara Grant would no longer exist.

Another paramedic appeared at the back doors, where the now-missing sheriff had been. “Ready to roll?”

“Roll?” She pushed on the gurney to slide off. “No, I’m fine. I don’t need to go to the hospital.”

Jake’s hands dropped to her shoulders, pinning her in place. “You almost passed out. You’re going to the hospital.”

Kara was about to argue, offer to sign anything they needed to let her leave, then she caught sight of the reporter angling for another photograph and said, “Okay, let’s go.” If by some miracle the adoption ring wasn’t behind tonight’s fire, her picture in the paper would seal her fate. A haircut, dye job and colored contacts may have transformed her from a long-haired, blue-eyed blonde, but there was no disguising her heart-shaped face.

* * *

One good thing Kara learned en route to the hospital was that the coffee shop where she was supposed to meet her handler was only two blocks away. All she had to do was convince the doctor she was fine and get out before anyone tried to stick her with anything.

Except the triage nurse didn’t hold out much hope that she’d see a doctor anytime soon. “The fog caused a huge traffic pileup,” she said. “Every E.R. bed is full, and I’m afraid it may be some time before we can even transfer care from the EMT. We need to give priority to the most critical patients.”

“Yes, I understand,” Kara said, fishing for an out. “Perhaps I should just wait to see my own doctor tomorrow.”

“I don’t think that’s wise,” the paramedic—Sherri, she’d said her name was—piped up. “You have no home to go to. And besides, the sheriff is coming here to interview you.”

“Okay, then.” The nurse recorded all Kara’s pertinent details, and then directed Sherri to wheel her into the hall to wait until her care could be transferred.

Not good. She could be stuck for hours waiting for a bed, never mind waiting to see the E.R. doc. “You really don’t have to stay with me,” Kara said to Sherri after her partner wandered off to do paperwork and restock their rig. “You must have other calls to get to.”

“No, not until the hospital takes over your care. That’s the policy.”

Kara sat up. “If you just need the gurney back, I can sit in the waiting room.” She felt silly lying on the thing anyway.

“That’s not how it works.”

“Oh.”

Sherri hitched her hip onto the edge of the gurney. “So how long have you known my cousin?”

“Your cousin?”

“Jake.”

“Oh, the firefighter.” Kara vaguely remembered him referring to Sherri as his cousin, although they shared little family resemblance. “Just since tonight.”

Sherri’s head jerked back as if she didn’t believe her. “Really? He didn’t act like it.”

Jake’s “It’s okay. I got you” replayed in Kara’s mind as she realized for the first time that he’d caught her, when Sherri had been closer, right at her side, even.

Sherri studied her intently, her expression unconvinced.

“Why don’t you grab yourself a coffee?” Kara suggested.

“I’m fine.” Sherri asked her about her family and job and Kara did her best to avoid giving direct answers.

Once more, Kara suggested Sherri get herself a coffee or bite to eat or a breath of fresh air, anything to get her away for a few minutes so Kara could slip out of the hospital. She needed to go before the bad guys figured out she was here. But the woman wouldn’t budge.

Kara readjusted her position on the uncomfortable gurney for the umpteenth time in two hours. “What happened to the sheriff? I thought he wanted to ask me questions.”

“I’m sure he’ll be here soon. Why don’t you try to get some rest?”

No, she couldn’t do that. It seemed as if every person who walked by looked at her oddly. Any one of them could be a goon of the adoption ring waiting for the chance to finish her off. She needed to get out of here. Somehow she needed to get word to the marshal, but with Sherri hovering so close, Kara hadn’t dared even to try to text him. “Um, Sherri? I need to use the washroom.” Why hadn’t she thought of that sooner?

Sherri smiled, her eyes crinkling as if she genuinely cared, so different from her all-business attitude back in the ambulance. “No problem. I can walk you there.” She led her to a single-stall facility.

“Uh, maybe you could find out how much longer the wait will be while I go.”

Sherri propped a shoulder against the hall wall. “I’m sure it won’t be much longer.”

Great, sneaking away is out. Kara shut the door and opted for plan B. She turned on the faucet and the fan and prayed the noise would muffle her voice as she dialed Ray’s number. Voice mail picked up on the fifth ring. What did she do now? It wasn’t like him not to answer.

A knock sounded on the door. “You okay?” Sherri called.

“Yes. Almost done.” Kara lifted her voice over the noise of the fan, and then cupped her hand around her mouth at the receiver. “Ray, it’s Kara. They made me come to the hospital and the sheriff wants to question me and... Please come get me if you can. Or I’ll meet you as soon as I’m released.”

Sherri knocked again. “They have a bed for you. You ready?”

Kara stuffed the phone back into her pocket, snapped off the faucet and fan, and jerked open the door. “Ready.”

Rather than return her to the gurney, Sherri led her to a curtained-off bed at the end of a long room lined with beds. “Here you go. Lie down here and the doctor will be in to see you soon.” Sherri nodded at the sheriff waiting by the bed, then left. Facing the sheriff alone, Kara suddenly felt a whole lot worse than she had a minute ago.

A very efficient nurse wasted no time checking her vitals as the sheriff pulled up a chair and flipped open his notebook. Between his crisply ironed shirt, unflattering crew cut and the hard lines creasing his face, he reminded her of a drill-sergeant principal she’d once worked under—the kind of guy who didn’t let anything slip by him.

“Your pulse is very rapid,” the nurse scolded.

Yours would be, too, if someone was trying to kill you! Kara took a deep breath and willed it to slow.

“Tell me what happened,” the sheriff said.

“I was upstairs watching a movie in my room when my landlady’s cat started scratching my door and mewing frantically.” Kara dug her fingers into the sheets. Had she cost Mrs. Harboyle her dear companion, too? “Did the firefighters save the cat? It ran when I tried to pick it up.”

With a suppressed huff, the sheriff stopped writing. “A large, long-haired white cat?”

“Yes!”

“Yes, he was rescued. Please continue.”

“I turned off the TV and—” She squeezed her eyes shut as the panic crashed over her all over again. “That’s when—” Her breath came in short gasps. “I heard the crackling, smelled the smoke.”

The nurse touched Kara’s shoulder. “You’re okay now. Take deep breaths.”

Inhaling, Kara pressed her lips together.

“Did you hear anything downstairs before that?” the sheriff asked.

“It’s an old house. It creaks and groans a lot. I try not to pay too much attention.” She bit her lip. It wasn’t a lie, exactly. She did try not to pay attention, but with a death threat hanging over her head, every creak and groan made her jump. That was why she’d turned on the movie, extraloud, to drown out the noises of the storm outside, and the one inside her head and heart. She was spending Thanksgiving alone, and couldn’t help wondering if she’d ever be able to spend another holiday with her family, as paltry as their celebrations had always been.

“How about outside? A bark? A car engine? Any kind of movement?”

She twisted her hands in the sheets and buried them in her lap. “No, nothing.”

“Were you home alone all day?”

“No, I work for a janitorial service.” The furthest thing from a kindergarten teacher the marshal’s office could find. And she missed being with kids so much. “I got home just after five.”

“Was the door locked?”

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t smell any smoke at that time?”

“No, I reheated leftovers and went to my room.”

“You didn’t check the other doors?”

“I did.” She gulped. She was always checking and double-checking the locks, because Mrs. Harboyle had a bad habit of letting out the cat and not relocking the door.

“And you didn’t hear anyone break in? See any evidence of a break-in?”

“No.” Kara’s throat constricted at the possibility that Mrs. Harboyle had left the back door unlocked before her daughter picked her up. That the arsonist might’ve still been in the house when she got home.

The sheriff flipped over a page in his notebook. “How did you get out?”

She fixed her gaze on the sheriff’s badge. “I covered myself with a wet towel and tried to get downstairs, but—” The words clogged in her throat. The flames had moved so fast.

“That’s how you burned your arm?”

She hugged it to her belly and nodded. “I ran back to my room and jumped out the window onto the roof of the woodshed and from there to the ground.”

“Did you see anyone then?”

“A car stopped on the street and I hid in the bushes.” Her heart ratcheted in her chest at the memory—the fear that she’d escaped the fire only to face the man who’d set it.

“Our 9-1-1 caller. Yes, I talked to him. He said he pounded on the door. Why didn’t you show yourself? Tell him no one else was inside?”

“I—” She gulped. “I guess I was in shock.”

The sheriff drilled her with the same questions, phrased a dozen different ways, for what seemed like forever. Finally the nurse shooed him out to make way for the doctor. To Kara’s relief, he said he had all the information he needed for the moment.

By tomorrow, she’d be out of town and it would be the marshal’s problem to explain her disappearance.

The nurse returned with a tall, dark-haired doctor who immediately started into his own litany of questions as the nurse removed the arm dressing so he could examine the burn.

The more questions he asked, the edgier Kara grew, but she couldn’t figure out why. There was nothing weird about his questions. Except...

He never actually looked her in the eye. Not once. Was he afraid she’d be able to read something there?

She muffled a gasp. What if the adoption ring was connected to organized crime and they had a hold over him, like that doctor on the TV show, and they’d ordered him to kill her?

She swallowed. Okay, get a grip. He could just be preoccupied. He wore a wedding band. Maybe he’d just got off the phone with his wife about a problem at home. He had to at least be a doctor, right? Otherwise the nurse wouldn’t have brought him in.

The doctor glanced at her now-bare wound. “That doesn’t look too bad.”

And it didn’t. Aside from a few blistery spots, she’d had sunburns that were worse.

“You can go,” the doctor said, turning to leave.

“I can?”

Someone stepped around the curtain on her other side, and she practically springboarded into the air.

The person glanced at her in confusion. “Sorry, wrong bed.”

Meanwhile the nurse hurried after the departing doctor. “Are you sure? Her BP is low. And look at her eyes. I’m concerned she’s still in shock.”

Kara blinked. What was wrong with her eyes? Aside from her overreaction to Mr. Wrong Bed.

The doctor stopped, and for the first time met her eyes, for all of a fleeting nanosecond. “She’s fine.”

Kara swung her legs off the bed, not about to wait around long enough for the nurse to change his mind. Maybe it was her imagination, but the woman seemed a little too anxious to keep her here.

As Kara pushed aside the curtain to leave, the nurse trotted up carrying a hypodermic. “Hold on a second.”

“What—what’s that for? The doctor said I can go.”

“Yes, but he just ordered this to help with the pain.”

“I don’t need it.” Kara edged sideways, putting the bed between her and the needle-happy nurse. How had she not clued in to that maniacal glint in her eyes sooner? It was the exact same glint she’d seen in that goon’s eyes back in Boston when he’d spotted her snapping his picture and pulled his gun.

An orderly popped a wheelie with a wheelchair at the end of her bed. “You the one who’s getting sprung?”

“That’s me!” Kara jumped into the wheelchair.

The orderly didn’t get three feet before the nurse rounded the bed with the needle. “She’s not going yet.”

“Yes, actually, I am,” Kara insisted, reaching for the wheels herself. “The doctor released me.”

The orderly hesitated.

“Let’s go,” Kara prodded, cranking the chair out of the nurse’s reach.

“Fine, take her,” the nurse relented, and the orderly snapped into action.

“Your ride waiting outside the E.R.?” he asked, wheeling her past the long row of beds and into the hall.

“Uh, no ride.”

He pulled the chair into an abrupt U-turn.

“What are you doing?”

“Taking you to the front doors. There’s a cab company across the street.”

As they passed the E.R.’s reception desk, she glimpsed the nurse talking on the phone and eyeballing her. What if she’d alerted a cohort to cut her off out front?

Spotting an exit sign at the end of the next side hall, Kara said, “Stop, I’ll get out here.”

“Oh, you drove yourself?” the orderly asked.

She shot a glance over her shoulder to see if the nurse was looking. She wasn’t. “Is that the back parking lot?”

“You got it.” The orderly accepted the detour easily.

Maybe too easily, Kara thought as they approached the exit—the uncomfortably dark exit.

“You want me to wheel you right to your car?” he asked.

“No!” Kara hauled down her voice. “Here’s fine. Thank you.”

Two seconds later, the orderly was already halfway back up the hall as she hovered inside the doorway scanning the poorly lit back lot. She dug into her pocket for her cell phone, except...did she really want to hang around here waiting for Ray if maniac nurse had called goons to nab her on sight?

Two blocks. She could run that in under five minutes. Clutching her phone, she yanked up her hoodie and plunged into the misty darkness.

The slap of footsteps on the wet pavement sounded behind her.

Heart pounding, she quickened her pace.

The sound got louder, closer.

Breaking into a sprint, she glanced over her shoulder. The shadowy figure behind her abruptly stopped. “Whew,” Kara breathed, and then slammed into a solid wall of muscle.

Powerful hands clamped around her upper arms. “I gotcha.”

TWO

“Kara?” Jake tightened his hold on the terrified woman and glanced at the man who’d been following her. Or had seemed to be. He’d since veered down a row of parked cars and appeared to be unlocking one.

“Oh, Jake. It’s you.” Raindrops streaked Kara’s face, looking too much like tears, but the relief that oozed from her words gave him a kick of pleasure.

He’d hoped to run into her here. Not this way. But he wasn’t complaining. “Who was that guy?” He hitched his chin in the direction of the man who’d since climbed into a nondescript sedan.

“I—” Kara caught her breath. “I don’t know. I thought he was following me and I...I guess I got spooked.” She suddenly tensed, backed up a step. “What are you doing here?”

The lights in the hospital’s back parking lot did little to push back the darkness, but this close, he could see wariness replace the relief that had been in her eyes moments ago. Still, he thought better of releasing his hold just yet. “One of my men was brought in for smoke inhalation. I came by to check on him.”

And on you.

But she didn’t need to know that. What were the doctors thinking releasing her so soon? She didn’t look ready to face the night with no home to return to. He was convinced that she knew more about the fire than she was saying. And one way or the other, he needed to coax her into telling him everything she knew.

“Oh.” She shot a nervous glance over her shoulder but didn’t make another attempt to escape his hold. “I’m sorry. I hope your friend will be okay.”

That much, at least, he believed. But this latest fire had all the earmarks of being another of their elusive firebug’s. That made five in the past nine weeks. Four of those had been on his watch, and this was the only one they’d come close to getting a lead on the culprit...in the person of Kara Grant.

Jake gritted his teeth. His gut told him she wasn’t the firebug, as he’d initially suspected, but no way was her wild-eyed panic merely a post-traumatic reaction to a random attack. She thought she’d been deliberately targeted.

If he hadn’t been sure of it before, he was now. As far as he was concerned, she was the key to nailing this guy. He steered her to an overhang, out of the rain. “I volunteered to help with the fire investigation.”

“Wow, that’s really nice of you.”

“So I’ll probably see you again.”

Kara fussed with the zipper on her hoodie, clearly reluctant to meet his gaze.

“This guy needs to be stopped, Kara. He’s gotten away with torching places across the county for too long.”

Her attention snapped to his face. “You think tonight’s fire was the work of a serial arsonist?” An odd note of hope rang in her voice, as if she knew it was personal, but hoped it wasn’t.

“Yes, didn’t the sheriff tell you? That’s why if you think of anything else you heard or saw tonight, we need to know.” He cocked his head. Something about her expression seemed eerily familiar. He blinked, recalling the day his mother-in-law had shown up on their doorstep, the first time she’d left her abusive husband.

Was that why Kara had resisted being photographed?

Jake’s concern for her ballooned. He pulled a card from his wallet and jotted his number on the back. “That’s my cell number. Call me if you think of anything that might help. Or if you need anything, okay?”

Nodding, she tucked the card into her hip pocket. “Sure.” Her gaze strayed to a car pulling out of the parking lot—the car of the guy who’d seemed to be following her. As it disappeared around the corner, her shoulders relaxed. “I really need to go now. My friend’s still waiting for me.”

Jake caught her hand. “Hey, let me give you a lift.”

The wild-eyed look returned as she jerked free of his hold. “That’s okay. I can walk.”

He raised his palms to assure her he meant no harm. “What kind of gentleman would I be if I let you walk in this weather?”

Doubt flickered in her eyes.

Had an abusive husband put it there? His gaze flicked to her bare ring finger. Except that a missing ring didn’t mean anything. He traced his own ringless finger, remembering the Thanksgiving night five years ago that he’d lost his wife. He drew in a deep breath.

After he’d lifted Kara into the ambulance earlier, he hadn’t been able to walk away as he normally would have. Not when her gaze kept straying his way, as if he was the one person who made her feel safe. His wife used to tease him about his hero complex.

Except in the end, of all people, it’d been her he hadn’t been able to save.

“I prefer to walk, thanks,” Kara said, already backing away.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

Her tiny smile nuzzled into his chest as palpably as his five-year-old son at bedtime. “Yes. Thank you for your concern.” With that she ducked around the side of the building and jogged toward the street.

For half a second, he debated letting her go, but if he was right about Kara’s situation being the same as his mother-in-law’s, he couldn’t just walk away. Not when his mother-in-law’s fatal mistake had been agreeing to meet the abusive husband she’d fled from. Bracing himself against the staggering regret that piggybacked that thought, Jake hopped into his truck and followed Kara. He tried to stay far enough back to not spook her, but twice she threw a glance over her shoulder and quickened her pace. When she veered into the coffee shop’s parking lot, he pulled onto the side street flanking it.

The rain had stopped, but that didn’t make the dimly lit shop, with its tired awning and ancient-looking specials scrawled on the front window, look any more inviting.

A lone guy, shaggy hair, leather jacket, sat at a booth next to the window, his back to it as he chatted with the waitress. Was he the friend she was supposed to meet? What kind of jerk wouldn’t walk the two blocks to meet her at the hospital?

Her steps faltered as she neared the door.

Jake gripped his truck’s door handle, ready to move in if she needed help.

The waitress and customer looked Kara’s way as she pushed through the shop’s door. Without moving any closer, Kara chatted with them a moment, then took a seat at the counter.

Okay, not what he expected. Had she been feeding him a line about meeting a friend here? He scanned the deserted parking lot. Or had her friend given up waiting for her?

Jake released his grip on the door handle and returned his hands to the steering wheel. Maybe he’d let his imagination get the better of him about the danger she was in. For all he knew, she’d been petrified that he was still trying to pin the arson on her.

He could see only her back through the window, but there was no mistaking the way her shoulders slumped. If her friend didn’t show soon, he could happen in and offer her a lift. With her house burned, she was going to need to find a place to crash for the night. Hadyn didn’t have a hotel, and the only one in Stalwart was likely already booked solid for the holiday. And chances were she hadn’t escaped the house with her wallet to pay for a cab to get her any farther.

His cell phone rang. “Hi, Mom. Is everything okay with Tommy?”

“Yes, but he insists you said he could wait up for you. How much longer do you think you’ll be?”

Jake blew out a breath. As much as he wanted to make sure Kara was really meeting a friend, his son was his first priority, especially tonight of all nights. “Not much longer. I have to check in on one of my men at the hospital and then I’ll head straight home.” He started his truck and gave Kara one last glance.

The smile she’d given him when she’d thanked him for caring flickered through his thoughts. Given time, he was pretty sure he could coax her to be more forthcoming. Except they didn’t have any time to spare.

Up until tonight, their arsonist had struck every other Friday, and he’d torched vacant buildings, abandoned sheds. The only lives threatened had been firefighters’. But tonight, the stakes had escalated.

Kara could have died in that fire.

With lights on in the upper part of the house and her car in the driveway, there was no way the guy who torched the place couldn’t have known that someone was in there. But did he know that someone was Kara?

* * *

Where was the marshal? Kara had almost lost her supper when two steps into the coffee shop she’d yelped, “I made it,” and the man who’d turned in the booth to gape at her had been a stranger. Part of her had wanted to bolt right back outside, but instead she’d shaken her hood off her head and griped about how wet it was outside, then sank onto one of the stools lining the long counter.

The waitress pushed a coffee-stained menu her way. “What can I get you, sugar?” she drawled, sounding as if she belonged in Texas, not Washington State.

Kara dug into her pocket and came up with a wrinkled buck and a couple of quarters. “Uh, just a coffee, please. Black.” She pushed the money across the counter as the waitress filled a white mug from a pot that had probably been sitting around all day. “I guess you haven’t had too many people in tonight?” Kara fished.

“Not a soul until Bruiser—” the waitress hitched her elbow in the other patron’s direction “—stopped by to keep me company.” Returning the coffeepot to the burner, she glanced at the clock. “You only just made it. Be closing in twenty minutes.”

Kara swallowed a mouthful of the bitter brew. Not a soul? She twisted on her stool and scanned the dimly lit lot through the main windows. Would Ray have waited for her outside? “No one all night?” she clarified.

“Nope, not since before supper.”

Before the fire, too. What did she do now? He should’ve been here hours ago. Did he get her message and go straight to the hospital? But then why not phone to let her know?

The waitress deposited the money in the till, then looked curiously at a business card and pushed it back across the counter. “This must be yours.” She resumed her conversation with Bruiser.

Kara glanced at the card, realized it was the one Jake had given her and breathed in his lingering scent—as calming and steadfast as a pine forest. He’d looked ruggedly handsome in his jeans and flannel-lined jacket. She traced her thumb over the number he’d scrawled on the card. Had he volunteered to assist the fire investigation so he’d have an excuse to see her again?

If only...things were different.

If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.

How many times had she recited that nursery rhyme to her students to encourage them to act instead of sitting around dreaming?

If only she were free to act...

She stuffed the card back into her pocket and twisted the mug of coffee between her chilled hands, the brew as black as her future seemed. As much as she wanted to believe that she’d merely been the victim of a random arsonist attack, she didn’t think she’d imagined the guy in the parking lot coming after her, or that nurse’s less-than-subtle attempt to stab her with a needle.

And what made her think Jake could be trusted?

Seemed way too convenient how he kept showing up when she was in trouble, acting like someone she could depend on. Hadn’t she once thought Clark was a guy she could depend on?

Look how wrong that perception had turned out. They’d dated for six months, but he’d walked away the minute the Boston paper had hit the stands with a front-page story on an unidentified kindergarten teacher who’d exposed an illegal adoption ring. Unidentified, that was, if the reader didn’t look too closely at the grainy picture of her that accompanied the article. Worse than that, he’d all but said “I told you so” after a bomb had nearly killed her later that same day. He’d never cared about her. Only himself. Just like her father.

No, Jake would turn out to be like every other man in her life—never there when she needed him most.

Not even the marshal showed up when needed. And he was paid to protect her!

She closed her eyes and let out a bone-weary sigh. Lord, can I count on You?

She sipped her coffee and slipped her phone from her pocket. No missed messages.

The coffee curdled in her stomach. She was wet and cold, had no money, no ID, and in twenty minutes—correction, seventeen minutes—she’d have nowhere to go. The last place she wanted to show her face again was at the hospital. The whole way to the coffee shop, she’d had the creepy feeling someone was following her. She glanced at the window and shrank at the realization of how easily someone could be watching her even now. The thought of going back out there without the marshal made her stomach lurch.

She thumbed a text message to Ray. I’m at the coffee shop. Where are you?

She set the phone on the counter and forced down another gulp of coffee as the clock’s second hand ticked its way around the clock face. After four minutes went by, she punched in his number. It immediately went to voice mail. Maybe he’d been trying to call her. She waited another three minutes. Checked her messages.

Nothing.

The screen on a small TV mounted in the corner above the counter flicked to an image of a bloated body being pulled from the Charles River in Boston. She choked on her coffee as the camera zoomed in on the man’s face. She couldn’t believe it! It was the man she’d seen collecting money for the child he’d handed over. If the adoption ring would kill its own employee...

Her heart hammered in her chest as she punched Ray’s number into her phone again. Again, it went straight to voice mail, and a scarier thought gripped her. What if they’d gotten to him, too? Gotten his phone? Heard her messages?

They would’ve guessed she was at the hospital anyway, but now they’d know she was at a coffee shop, and there weren’t that many of those in a town the size of Hadyn. Not to mention, they’d have her number, be able to track her phone.

She turned it over in her hand. She had to get rid of it.

Snatching up her spoon, she pried open the back of the phone, pulled the battery. But what if that wasn’t enough? She had no idea how GPS tracking worked. She slipped into the bathroom, tossed the phone into the trash can, stuffed crumpled swaths of paper towel in over top.

Only...now, Ray had no way to reach her.

It couldn’t be helped. She finger-combed her hair, scrubbed smudges of soot from her face. When she was far away from here, she’d find a pay phone and try calling him again.

Except what if they were already outside waiting for her?

A high-pitched scream pierced the air.

“Down on the floor,” a deep male voice barked, followed by the crash of dishes.

Terror squeezed her chest. Oh, dear God, please don’t let them find me.

THREE

After checking on his injured firefighter in the E.R., Jake hurried back out to his truck to get home to his son. The poor little guy wouldn’t be happy to learn his dad had volunteered tomorrow’s day off to consult on the arson investigation. The least Jake owed him was some cuddle time tonight. Kara’s frightened face flashed through his thoughts as he stopped at the hospital parking lot’s exit. He still had an uneasy feeling about the supposed friend she’d gone to meet. It would take only a couple of minutes to stop by the coffee shop to see if he, or she, had shown.

An ambulance whipped out of the next lane and veered across his path, sirens blaring.

Jake glanced after it and his heart rammed into his throat at the sight of swirling emergency lights two blocks down. He peeled his truck out after the ambulance. Cruisers blocked the streets around the coffee shop. Jake slammed the steering wheel. He never should have left Kara there. She’d been too edgy.

Jake screeched to a stop, half on the sidewalk, just outside the roadblock and cut around the cars on foot. Two deputies hauled a handcuffed punk from the asphalt. Another recovered a sawed-off shotgun—oh, God, please not again. The deputy waved the paramedics into the shop and Jake raced after them.

Someone slammed him into the side of a cruiser. “You can’t go in there.”

He strained to see around the deputy who’d body checked him. “My friend’s in there.” He spotted the sheriff giving orders to one of the deputies outside. “Sheriff, is Kara okay?”

The sheriff headed Jake’s way. “This has been one wild night. There must be a full moon behind all those clouds. What are you doing here?”

“Kara was in the shop. Is she okay?”

“The woman from the fire?”

“Yeah.” Jake jutted his chin toward the suspect—a mercenary type sporting military fatigues, a shaved head and the muscles to back up his threats. “Is that our arsonist?” And if his guess was right, an ex-husband or ex-boyfriend, too.

“You say she was here?”

Jake’s heart jackhammered his ribs. “She’s not now? Was there another guy? Did he take her?”

“Slow down.” The sheriff waved off the deputy who’d manhandled him and led Jake toward the front door of the shop. “The waitress said there’d been another customer, but that she disappeared before the gunman came in.”

“What do you mean disappeared?”

“She thought she went to the bathroom. Except she isn’t there now. But the window was unlatched.”

“So she escaped?” Except that meant she was out there alone. Unprotected. “You need men searching for her. A K-9 unit.”

“We don’t have one, but trust me, we’ve got men combing the streets. Seems your first instinct about her at the fire might’ve been right. Sounds as if she could’ve been the gunman’s accomplice. The waitress said she’d been texting just before the gunman stormed in.”

Jake snatched his cell phone from his hip. “You got her number?”

“Yeah.” The sheriff flipped open his notebook and recited the number as Jake punched it in.

“Her friend was supposed to meet her here.” The phone rang and rang. Voice mail never picked up. He clicked it off. “She’s not answering.”

The sheriff opened the shop door and motioned to the paramedics tending to a guy on the floor. “That the friend she came to see?”

Jake recognized the victim’s leather coat, longish hair from the coffee shop window. At the sight of the man’s bloodied face, Jake almost heaved. That could’ve been Kara.

“He wrestled the gunman to the ground while the waitress called 9-1-1.” The sheriff let out a soft clicking sound. “But the gunman got in a couple of nasty gun butts to the head.”

Jake hadn’t gotten the impression this guy was who Kara came to see, but... “Sounds as though he might’ve been.” Kara had said he’d keep her safe. Apparently she’d been right. Jake hoped.

The sheriff flipped to a fresh page in his notebook. “So what am I supposed to make of the woman being at two of my crime scenes in one night? If she was the target and not the instigator, why didn’t she ask for protection?”

Jake’s gut tightened. He could think of one reason. Maybe whoever Kara was running from was good at convincing the authorities he was an upstanding guy. Just like his father-in-law. Cop by day, abuser by night.

A waitress hovered over the paramedics, mascara streaking her cheeks.

“You know the victim?” Jake asked her.

She nibbled nervously on her fingernails. “He’s my boyfriend.”

The sheriff’s gaze snapped to Jake. “You sure you’ve got your facts straight?”

Jake refocused on the waitress. “The customer you mentioned to the sheriff, was she wearing a dark hoodie, about five-four, shoulder-length brown hair?”

“Yeah.” The waitress pulled her fingers away from her mouth, curled her hands into her apron. “She was the only customer I had all night.”

“Besides your boyfriend?” Jake clarified.

“Well, yeah.”

“Did she talk to him?”

“No. She sat at the counter.”

Jake’s gaze tracked to the unfinished mug of black coffee, the muddy puddle beneath the stool.

“I got the sense she was waiting for someone.”

The sheriff cocked his head toward Jake, lifting a brow.

No, she did not flee a fire to wait for a gunman in a coffee shop. That made no sense at all. Jake maneuvered around the sheriff to talk to the victim on the ground. “Did you know the female customer who came in?”

The guy’s eyes fluttered open then closed like leaden curtains.

“Afraid it’ll be a few hours before you get any answers out of him,” the paramedic said. “We’re ready to transport,” he added, directing that to the sheriff.

“Go ahead. The scene is secure.”

The waitress started for the door, then flailed her arms helplessly. “I need to go with him, but am I supposed to lock up?”

“The owner is on his way,” the sheriff reassured, “but I need you to answer a few more questions before you go. I’ll have one of my deputies drive you to the hospital. Okay?”

She gazed forlornly after the disappearing gurney and sank onto a stool. “I already told you everything.”

“You’d be surprised what you might’ve picked up without realizing it.” The sheriff clapped Jake on the shoulder. “Thanks for the tip on the woman. I’ll be in touch about the fire investigation.” And just like that Jake was dismissed.

Outside the shop, Jake scanned the dark streets, beyond the swirl of emergency lights. Lord, please let them find Kara safe.

He zipped his jacket against the fine rain that had started up again, like the niggling feeling he’d let another woman down this Thanksgiving. Five years ago, his gut had told him to take his wife to the E.R. in case the bleeding wasn’t normal postbirth hemorrhaging. Instead he’d let her sway him into believing she’d be fine.

As he’d done tonight.

He climbed into his truck and slammed the door on the memory. Lord, what is wrong with me? She was obviously in trouble, no matter what she said. Why’d I walk away? Then. Now.

At the sound of Beethoven’s Fifth—the ringtone reserved for his parents—chiming from his hip, he snatched up his phone. “Is Tommy okay?”

“Yes, but we’ll soon be heading to bed ourselves. Wanted to say if you were going to be much later, you might as well just leave him here for the night.”

And face an empty house alone? Not tonight. “I’m on my way now.” There was nothing more he could do here.

With one last glance toward the suspect warming a seat in the back of a cruiser, Jake hiked back to his truck. If his guess was right, and this was the guy Kara had been afraid of, at least she’d be safe now.

The thought didn’t ease the hundred-pound weight parked on his chest. He pulled a U-turn onto the empty street and headed home. He was a firefighter. His job was to put out fires, rescue victims. Chasing after Kara at the scene had been above and beyond. So why did he feel as if he hadn’t done nearly enough?

Glancing at the snapshot pinned to his dashboard, of April cuddling their newborn son, Jake tamped down the urge to go out looking for Kara and leaned on the gas.

A thump sounded in the bed of the pickup. Must’ve missed a firewood log when he’d emptied the couple of cords he’d picked up yesterday. Seemed as if he was missing things left, right and center these days.

If not for wanting to try to catch Kara at the hospital, and hopefully a lead on their arsonist, he never would’ve let the chief of Hadyn’s volunteer crew convince him to leave the rest of the cleanup to them. What if they destroyed key evidence?

The cops didn’t call firefighters evidence destroyers for no reason.

Ten minutes later, he stopped at the intersection leading to his street and clicked on his turn signal. As he touched the gas, a shadowy movement in the rearview mirror caught his attention. He punched the brakes and more than just a thump sounded from the back of his truck bed. That had sounded like a yelp.

He rammed his stick shift into Park, grabbed a crowbar from under the seat and jumped from his truck. He clanked down the tailgate and yanked on the tarp bunched over a hump in the far corner. “Kara?”

She shrank into the corner of the rain-slicked truck bed, drenched and sickly white under the glare of the streetlight.

“What are you doing back here? Get into the cab before you catch your death!” His throat closed on that last order.

Instead of scrambling to obey, she shrank deeper into the corner, tugging what little she could of the tarp back over her body.

Jake’s fury and confusion, and emotions he didn’t have time to identify, seeped out in a frustrated sigh. “Kara, I won’t hurt you.” Her gaze darted to the crowbar poised over his head, and he dropped it onto the truck bed. “Please, come out of the rain. They caught the gunman. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

She edged toward the tailgate, ignoring the hand he offered. Well, not exactly ignoring. Her gaze was fixed on it as if she feared he might grab her.

Biting back the questions and assurances pressing at his throat, he pulled his hand to his side.

The tightness around her mouth eased as she quickly slid off the tailgate and headed toward the passenger door.

Giving her the space she seemed to need, he took a moment to latch the tailgate. “There’s a blanket in the cab. Wrap it around yourself. I’ll call the sheriff. Let him know you’re safe.”

Silence.

“Kara?” He came around the truck to give her a hand, but she was gone. “Kara!”

Hedges on the other side of the ditch rustled.

He grabbed a flashlight and took off after her. She’d been okay until he mentioned the sheriff. And he’d told her they’d caught the gunman. Cop or no cop, he’d be warming a jail cell. So why run now?

Unless she wasn’t innocent.

* * *

If she’d been smart, she’d have kept on running the instant she jumped out of that washroom window and not stopped until she reached Seattle, someplace where she could blend in with thousands of other faceless people and no one would ever find her. Only...

Her handler wouldn’t have been able to find her either.

Jake’s flashlight beam arced over the yard to her left.

She ducked behind a wrecked car at the back of the neighboring yard. Her hand squished something on the ground that she didn’t want to contemplate. Mud seeped over the tops of her shoes, soaked through her already sopping jeans. A brisk wind teased up the back of her shirt, sending more chills through her shivering limbs. What was she going to do? She couldn’t exactly call the marshal’s office to find out if the bad guys had gotten to Ray. Witness security files were top secret. How many times had he drilled that into her?

“Kara,” Jake called. “C’mon, I want to help you.”

His pleading tone tugged at a cold, lonely place in her heart desperate to believe him. Never mind how he always seemed to show up when the trouble started. If he’d wanted to hurt her, he never would’ve let her walk away from the hospital. Right?

She swallowed the bile rising to her throat. Unless he was the one she’d sensed following her to the coffee shop, the one who’d sent in the gunman.

Jake’s voice drifted farther away, and she peeked over the back of the rusted jalopy. Please, Lord, let him give up looking. No matter how concerned Jake sounded, she couldn’t trust him.

If things fall apart, don’t trust anyone. They’ll pretend to be on your side, pretend to want to help you, pretend to be taking you to safety just long enough to get you somewhere secluded.

Her stomach pitched at the memory of the marshal’s warning. Not that this place was secluded. Or that Jake had known she was in the truck when he’d driven here for that matter. If she’d known it was his truck, she never would’ve jumped in it.

She couldn’t afford to take any chances. She tugged her sleeves down over her icy hands and pushed to her feet. A few more hours. That was all she needed. Tomorrow she’d go to the fail-safe meet site. That was where Ray would look for her next, and if something had happened to him, that was where his office would send another marshal to take care of her—someone who’d know the code phrase they’d agreed on.

Behind her a yard light blinked on. The back door creaked open.

Holding her breath, she edged toward the next yard. If the owner had let out a dog, she was—

“Kara!” Jake’s voice came louder again.

He was coming back! She darted in the opposite direction.

A barking dog raced toward her, yelped when he hit the end of his chain and got jerked off his feet. An instant later, his barking veered to the other end of the yard. Jake.

She tightened her fists and pumped her arms to drive herself faster. The dearth of streetlights hid her from view, but made running treacherous. She jumped over toys and tree limbs and— “Ah!” Her foot pinged a large can, sent it clattering over the rough ground. She stumbled, her ankle twisting.

“Kara, wait.” Jake’s flashlight speared her back.

Ignoring the pain screaming through her ankle, she took off again at a sprint. She veered between two houses, praying she didn’t run into anything else. Oh, why did it have to be Jake’s truck she’d jumped into?

The dog she’d heard barking outside the coffee shop after the police showed up probably hadn’t even been a police dog, but all she’d been able to think to do was run through the puddles to mask her scent and get away. His truck’s sudden appearance had seemed like a godsend. Why couldn’t Jake have just been some rubbernecker who’d move on after a few minutes of gawking?

“Kara, listen to me.” Jake’s footfalls pounded behind her, but the stamina she’d gained from her daily five-mile runs kept her ahead of him. “Kara,” he huffed, clearly tiring.

Wet and cold and hungry, she forced her mind off the fatigue tugging at her own limbs. Lord, please let him run out of steam before I do.

“If you didn’t set the fire, you have no reason to run,” Jake called between heavy breaths. “The police will protect you from whoever you’re afraid of. Was that guy an ex-boyfriend? Your husband?”

Husband? Was that what he thought? She tripped over the curb as she chanced a glance over her shoulder.

Jake burst from between the houses just as she recovered her balance. His gaze slammed into hers. The dim light couldn’t mask the concern she saw flickering in his eyes. He slowed to a sedate approach, patted the air with the hand not holding a flashlight as if she were a skittish colt. “I can help you, Kara. My wife’s dad was an abuser, I—”

The sound of a siren broke his spell. He’d called the police. She gulped in a lungful of air. “If you really want to help me, Jake, forget you ever saw me.” She turned on her heel and ran.

“Kara!”

Blinding headlights blipped on and she froze. Her heart jammed in her throat as the lights sped toward her. Oh, God, I’m going to die.

Hurled into the hedges on the other side of the road, her body exploded in agony. Then everything went black.

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