UNDER THE NAVY SEAL’S PROTECTION

When single mother and photographer Rebecca Grey’s home is invaded, she calls former navy SEAL Conrad “Jack” Jackson. Though she’d never betray her late husband’s memory by falling for his fellow soldier, she’s desperate for Jack’s help. Rebecca is in possession of photos that can expose a plot to sell priceless artwork stolen from a Middle Eastern palace. Now a dangerous enemy wants her to either surrender the pictures...or her life. Jack promised his best friend he’d lay down his life for Rebecca and her daughters. And as the danger lurks ever closer, that’s just what he may have to do to save her.

Navy SEAL Defenders: Bound by honor and dedicated to protection.

There was no way out.

Their assailant kept firing, and glass rained down on them.

“Jack, we’re trapped.”

“Barricade yourself in the closet and call 9-1-1.”

“What about you?”

A shot pinged against the door frame, and she screamed. “Go,” Jack urged her. “I’ll hold them off.”

Rebecca followed his command.

The gunshots outside the door stopped and an ominous silence descended. “Jack, are you there? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine.” But his reply was filled with pain.

She turned the knob to go to his aid, but the door wouldn’t budge.

“I locked it,” he said. “Stay where you are. I got this covered.”

“You were never a good liar,” she replied. “You’re hurt. I can tell.”

“You’re not such a great liar yourself. You can tell yourself a million times that we’re not meant to be together, but it’ll never make it true.” His voice turned into a guttural growl, as though he were gritting his teeth against pain.

The sounds of gunshots once again filled her ears. Then she noticed a dark trickle weaving its way under the crack of the door. She touched it. Blood!

She heard the click of his gun. He was wounded and out of ammunition…and their assailant kept coming.

ELISABETH REES was raised in the Welsh town of Hay-on-Wye where her father was the parish vicar. She attended Cardiff University and gained a degree in politics. After meeting her husband, they moved to the wild, rolling hills of Carmarthenshire, and Elisabeth took up writing. She is now a full-time wife, mother and author. Find out more about Elisabeth at elisabethrees.com.

Lethal Exposure

Elisabeth Rees

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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He guides the humble in what is right

and teaches the humble His way.

—Psalms 25:9

For my mother

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Epigraph

Dedication

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

EPILOGUE

Dear Reader

Extract

Copyright

ONE

“911. What is your emergency?”

The operator’s voice was calm and soft on the other end of the line. Alone in her home, Rebecca Grey was terrified.

“There’s someone in my house,” she said. “I’ve locked myself in the bathroom.”

Rebecca tried to control her rapid breathing. She was in danger of having a panic attack.

“Stay where you are and I’ll dispatch a police vehicle to your location immediately. Seventy-five Charleston Road?”

“No, it’s Charles Road, not Charleston Road.”

“I’ll amend the address. Can you please confirm your name, ma’am?”

“Rebecca Grey.”

“Deputies from the County Sherriff’s Office are on their way, Ms. Grey. To assist them in finding your house, can you tell me—”

The line suddenly went dead. Rebecca looked in horror at the cordless handset cradled in her right hand. The digital display was blank: the power was out. She pressed the flat edge of the telephone to her forehead and sank to the cool floor tiles of the bathroom. The black-and-white tiling was the only thing that stood out in the enveloping darkness of 3:00 a.m. It was the beautiful art deco–style bathroom that had persuaded her to buy the house ten years ago. She would never have believed back then that she would, one day, be looking at the fan-shaped light fixtures, wondering if she could use them as a weapon. At least her children were spending the night with their grandmother and out of harm’s way.

She pushed herself to her feet, pulling her flannel robe around her pajamas and securing it tightly with the cord. She didn’t keep a gun in the house. That had been a constant source of disagreement with her late husband. As a navy SEAL, he believed he saw the worst side of human nature, and he wanted his wife and children to be able to defend themselves. She saw it differently. Her view of atrocities had always been softened by the lens of a camera. She had taken pictures of plenty of traumatic events during her time as a war photographer, but the camera always seemed to be her shield. It protected her in a way she couldn’t explain. She had been in some of the most dangerous places in the world but never felt threatened because she had always simply been an observer. Now she was a potential target.

She put the phone in the sink and grabbed hold of one of the heavy, frosted-glass light fixtures attached to the wall. She positioned her thumbs on the carved etching of a 1920s figure and pulled down as hard as she could.

In the next moment, she was sprawling across the floor along with the light fixture. The glass clunked and bounced on the ceramic tiles, and she snatched it up as quickly as possible, feeling her heart race with the explosion of noise she’d created in the quiet night.

She jumped to her feet, clutching the glass in both hands, staring at the door, breathing hard with exertion and expectation. The flimsy lock was only intended to let others know that the bathroom was occupied. It was never meant to hold back an intruder. She braced herself for the door to be kicked open, holding the glass up high, trying to focus her eyes in the gloominess.

Instead, she was greeted with an eerie silence. She strained her ears to hear the sounds that had woken her: drawers opening, papers rustling, footsteps on her wooden hallway floor. Nothing. Maybe the burglar had been frightened off by the noise she had made upstairs. Maybe he had assumed the house was empty.

Flashes of red and blue flooded the tiled walls, and she breathed out, letting her body go limp. The police were here. She rushed to the window, only to see them sail right past her front yard.

“No!” she shouted, watching them drive to the end of the road and turn left, which would take them in the direction of Charleston Road. She banged on the pane. “It’s Charles Road you want.”

A loud crash downstairs made her jump. She knew she had to think quickly and try to reach someone else. Only one person came to mind—Conrad Jackson, her late husband’s navy SEAL colleague and best friend. He didn’t live far. He could be there in less than ten minutes, maybe even more quickly than the police officers, who wouldn’t realize their mistake until finding that the numbers on Charleston Road stopped at fifty.

With no time to lose, she slid back the bolt with shaking hands and yanked open the door. All the lights in her bedroom were off, and her digital alarm was blank. It looked as though the power in the entire house was out. She heard a creak on the stairs and couldn’t help a small yelp escaping her mouth. She grabbed her cell phone from her nightstand and darted back into the bathroom, slamming the door shut and bolting it again.

She tapped through her contacts list with fumbling fingers, found the name Jack and hit Call. “Pick up, pick up,” she muttered to herself, pacing in her bare feet. “Please pick up.”

The phone was answered on its fifth ring. “Rebecca, it’s the middle of the night. What’s wrong?”

“Jack,” she said, rushing to get her words out. “There’s someone in my house. He’s coming up the stairs.”

“What?” His voice was so loud, she had to pull the cell phone away from her ear. “Where are you?”

“I’m locked in my bathroom.”

“Where are Charlotte and Emily?” he asked anxiously.

“They’re with their grandma. I’m alone.”

“Did you call the cops?”

She heard the drawers of her nightstand being opened. “Yes, but they went to Charleston Road. He’s in my bedroom, Jack.” She felt a little dizzy. “I can hear him right outside the door.”

“Listen to me, Rebecca, and do exactly what I say.”

Her throat was dry. She swallowed. “Okay.”

“You grab anything you can find in the bathroom to barricade the door. Towels, sheets, even toilet paper can be jammed under the crack at the bottom of the door to create a door stop.”

Rebecca’s eyes darted around the bathroom, mentally checking off all the items she could use. There was a large shelving unit that would take all her strength to move.

“I’ll need to put the phone down to move things,” she said breathlessly.

“Put it on the floor,” he said calmly. He had clearly gone into navy SEAL mode, despite having retired from the job right after her husband died. “Keep the line open. I want to hear you even if I can’t see you. I’m walking to my car now, and I’ll be there in ten minutes. I’ll call the police and get them to turn around.”

“I’m putting the phone on the floor now,” she whispered as an icy chill flooded her veins. “Please hurry, Jack.”

“Nothing will stop me getting to you, Bec,” he replied. “And nothing ever will.”

She placed the telephone on the floor, leaning it against the wall in an upright position to help the sound travel into its speaker. With Jack listening, it made her heart thud a little less in her chest. Knowing that he was on his way to the house gave her the strength to heave the shelf unit from its corner and drag it across the floor. The towels and toiletries fell to the floor and she dropped to her knees to push the cotton towels against the door, squeezing the fabric into the small gap beneath the door and the floor.

She then maneuvered the shelf into the center of the room and tried to slide it backward. The weight and size made it too difficult, so she had to walk the unit instead, snagging her hand on a sharp edge of the steel frame as she gripped it tightly. She yanked her fingers away and saw blood trickle down her palm. Instinctively she brought her hand to her mouth, trying to stem the flow and provide relief from the stinging pain. A noise outside the bathroom door reminded her of the urgency of her situation, and she ignored the discomfort, using the entire weight of her slight body to push the shelf into position. Sweat trickled down her forehead, and she wiped it away with her hand, smearing warm blood onto her skin.

“Please hurry, Jack,” she whispered under her breath. “I need you.”

She found herself taking a sharp intake of breath. This was the first time she had acknowledged that she needed Jack—a little too much, perhaps. She knew it wasn’t just her dangerous situation that had prompted this feeling. Since her husband, Ian, died, she found herself relying on Jack more and more. Now he was dashing to her rescue like a knight on a horse. As if by stealth, he had become the most important man in her life, and it made her feel very wrong inside. She regretted calling him. She should have called the police again instead.

A drawer slammed in her bedroom, and she heard heavy footsteps walking on her wooden floor. It sounded like somebody was looking for something, checking all her drawers and cabinets. But whatever it was, he clearly wasn’t finding it. She renewed her efforts to push the shelf nice and tight against the door, noticing the door handle slowly turn. The door held firm. The handle rattled as it was shaken violently from the other side, and she used her body to push against the barricade, hoping that the police would arrive soon. After all, it was their job to protect her, not Jack’s.

* * *

Conrad Jackson raced through the dark, empty streets in his Porsche 911. He rarely drove the car, preferring the sturdy robustness of his pickup truck. He only kept the Porsche because Rebecca liked it—she said the yellow color brightened even the darkest of days. And if anyone knew about dark days, it was Rebecca.

“Bec,” he called into the cell phone hooked up to the car’s speaker system on the dash. “I don’t know if you can hear me, but I’m almost there. I’ve called the police, and they’re on their way back to you.”

The sounds coming from the speakers were impossible to distinguish, but he thought he could hear dragging noises, probably from the big metal shelf that stood in the corner of the bathroom. She sounded like she was barricading herself into the bathroom well. She was safe for now, and he shifted into fifth, increasing his speed to make sure she stayed that way. Rebecca and her children had been the focus of his life for the last eighteen months, ever since making a solemn promise to his SEAL colleague and best friend to look after his family. That fated mission had been the last for both of them—Ian Grey had lost his life, and Jack made the decision never to return to active duty. Cradling his dying friend in his arms on a dusty hillside in Afghanistan had changed Jack’s life forever.

He turned onto Charles Street. “I’m here. Just hang on a little longer.” He had no idea if Rebecca could hear his voice over the speaker of the cell phone on the bathroom floor, but it didn’t matter. Talking to her made him feel more reassured. If anything happened to her, he’d never forgive himself. This was one promise he intended to keep no matter what, and the welfare of Rebecca and her children would always be his top priority.

He screeched to a halt outside her home. The front lawn was well-manicured, and the wooden exterior of the large house was pristine white. There was no sign of anything being wrong on this leafy Florida street. He grabbed his cell phone from the dash and slipped it into the top pocket of his linen shirt, making sure he kept the line open. Then he pulled a handgun from his glove compartment and exited the car, making his way quickly and silently to the front door. The door was closed but opened easily with a gentle push. The lock was lying neatly on the carpet where someone had gone to considerable trouble to disassemble it in order to gain entry. This guy was a professional.

The house was shrouded in darkness, and the only noise to be heard was the slow tick of the mantel clock in a living room strewn with papers and files from Rebecca’s cabinets. He noticed some of her award-winning prints amongst the clutter—photos of Somalian soldiers holding guns aloft, images of Chechen children caught up in a war they didn’t understand, pictures of ordinary Afghan people trying to rebuild their lives among the chaos of conflict. Rebecca captured more than the scene itself. She captured the pain in people’s eyes and the humanity behind the headlines. Her dedication to photographing suffering in the world humbled him, and to see her life’s work discarded on the floor made his anger bubble to the surface. Jack found himself hoping that the intruder had hightailed it out of there, lest he let his anger get the better of him.

Creaks on the floor above let him know that someone was walking through one of the bedrooms with hurried footsteps. He ascended the stairs with soundless movement, keeping one ear trained on any noise coming from the cell phone in his pocket. The dragging noises in the bathroom had ceased. He hoped it was a good sign.

Then the house was filled with sounds of dull, repetitive thudding, reverberating through the air on a menacing wave. It was coming from Rebecca’s bedroom, where she was hiding in the adjacent bathroom. He took the last few steps in one bound and burst into her bedroom to see a masked man bringing his foot heavily against the barricaded bathroom door. In one hand, the man held a semiautomatic pistol, raised level with his shoulder. Jack’s sudden presence in the room caused him to jump back from the door and point his gun, ready to shoot.

Jack dived to the side before the bullet had a chance to seek him out, and he saw Rebecca’s closet door splinter with a powerful impact. He rolled and sprang to his feet, running out into the hallway to see the black-clad man dart into Rebecca’s youngest daughter’s bedroom. The intruder yanked open the window with such force that the frame slammed into the casing, shattering the glass on impact. The guy let out an expletive and tried to force the remaining shards through the frame with his gloved hands, ready to make a quick getaway.

Jack took his opportunity and ran to the doorway, firing a warning shot into the wall right next to the man. The suspect immediately raised his hands in the air, shuffling on his sneakered feet, crunching on the glass beneath.

Jack looked at the shards scattered on Charlotte’s dollhouse, and his anger intensified. “You should be grateful the little girl who sleeps in this room isn’t here,” he said through gritted teeth. “What do you want with this family?”

The man didn’t answer. And neither did he turn around. He remained standing with his back to Jack, hands aloft, still holding his gun.

“Put the gun on the floor,” Jack ordered. “Slowly.”

The man began to steadily lower his arms and bend his knees to squat down on the floor.

“Jack.” Rebecca’s voice was faltering behind him. In his peripheral vision, he could see her walking hesitantly into the hallway.

He didn’t remove his eyes from the intruder, who was taking his time to lower his weapon to the floor. “You okay, Rebecca?”

He felt her hand come to rest on his shoulder and glanced down at it. Streaks of blood stained his shirt, and he momentarily let his guard slip.

“You’re hurt,” he exclaimed, taking her hand and holding it in his. He flipped his eyes back up to the suspect and was faced with an empty space. It had taken the guy barely a second to vault through the broken glass. Jack ran to the window and saw the man scrambling down a tree alongside the house. His wiry figure was illuminated by the flashing red-and-blue lights of the police car that had turned onto the street. He turned to race from the room in hot pursuit, but Rebecca gripped his forearm.

“Let him go, Jack,” she said. “The police will pick him up.” She looked at him intently. “I don’t want you getting hurt.”

He saw the fear on her face and gave a small nod of his head. He couldn’t leave her when she needed him. He put his gun down and lifted her bloodied hand in his. There was a long cut that snaked down her forefinger to her thumb.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” she said. “I cut myself trying to move the shelf in the bathroom.” She laughed weakly. “When I bought it, I never thought I’d be moving it to use as a barricade.”

He took her noninjured hand and led her into the main bathroom. He flipped the light switch before remembering that the power was out, and he used his cell phone to activate a flashlight. He sat her on the edge of the bathtub, pulled a clean towel from the rack and wetted it a little to wrap around her wound. He then positioned himself on bended knee to hold the towel tight against the cut. Her usually honey-warm skin looked pale with a streak of blood across her forehead. He often thought that her skin had a luminous quality, and it seemed to sparkle when the sun shone down on her. Her eyes were the palest blue he’d ever known, in stark contrast to her dark, almost black hair. To say she was striking was a vast understatement. But at that moment her radiance was fading, and she looked exhausted.

He brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. “You okay?”

She nodded. “I’ve been in a lot worse situations that this.”

He tried to raise a smile. “Haven’t we all?” He immediately regretted saying these words, worried that she might think he was referring to the day that neither of them had ever spoken of—the day when her world stopped. She didn’t need reminding of that, not now.

“It’s fine, Jack,” she said. “I’m glad you’re here. Ian would be really grateful.” She looked him in the eye. “I’m really grateful.”

He held her hand, smoothing her fingers with his own, wondering how she always seemed to know what he was thinking.

A uniformed deputy appeared in the doorway. “Mrs. Grey?”

She looked up. “Yes.”

The light in the bathroom suddenly flicked on, as did the lamp in the hallway. “Someone tripped your fuse box,” the deputy said. “My partner fixed it.”

Jack stood up. “Did you catch the guy?”

The deputy raised his eyebrows. “What guy?”

Jack ran his fingers through his hair. “The guy clambering down the tree in the front yard.” He shook his head in disbelief. “Don’t tell me you didn’t see him.”

The deputy straightened his shoulders. “And who might you be, sir?”

“Conrad Jackson. I’m a friend of Rebecca’s. She called me after your patrol car drove past her house on its way to Charleston Road.”

The deputy shifted uncomfortably in the doorway. “We had a couple of problems with the computerized address system.” He looked past Jack to Rebecca. “I apologize for the delay, ma’am.”

Rebecca didn’t look up, and her voice was small. “It’s okay. Mr. Jackson got here in time.”

Jack led the deputy into the hallway, out of earshot of Rebecca. “So the guy got away, huh?”

The deputy crossed his arms. “We were focused on getting inside the house to assist a lone female. Our priority is always to safeguard the victim.”

“Did you check and secure the whole house?”

“My partner is searching the property as we speak.” The officer looked Jack up and down. “You talk like a cop. You in the force?”

“Navy SEAL, retired.”

The deputy nodded in admiration. “Then I guess Mrs. Grey is in safe hands.”

Always, Jack thought. “I want the surrounding area searched thoroughly for any sign of this guy. He’s armed and dangerous. You’ll find a bullet lodged in a closet in the master bedroom. Have it analyzed to see if it matches any recorded crimes or offenders.” He cast a backward glance at Rebecca and dropped his voice to a whisper. “I want to know why he targeted this house. What did he want?”

Jack’s natural authority and commanding presence had an instant effect on the deputy, who wrote the instructions in his notepad and immediately radioed other patrol cars to begin the search for the suspect.

Jack returned to Rebecca’s side in the bathroom, and she stood to face him, a little unsteady on her feet. He gripped her shoulders to hold her up, and she rested her forehead on his chest. He felt the warmth from her skin tingle through his thin linen shirt. She wasn’t usually so affectionate with him, and he felt a mixture of awkwardness and pleasure to hold her so close. His promise to Ian Grey was to take care of his wife, not to become emotionally involved with her. He certainly didn’t want to overstep, so he pulled away, guiding her into the hallway and lowering her into a chair in the corner.

A second deputy came up the stairs. “Looks like our guy is long gone,” he said. “It’s a total mess down there, but expensive items like the TV and gaming devices are untouched.” He shrugged his shoulders. “And the way the door lock was taken apart is like nothing I’ve ever seen before.”

Rebecca leaned forward and pointed to the deputy’s hand. “What is that you have in your hand?”

He held it forward. “I found it outside in your front yard, possibly dropped by the perp.” He held it delicately between his thumb and forefinger. “It’s an art brochure from the Regency auction house in New York.” He raised his eyebrows at his partner. “Our criminals are getting a little more cultured than they used to be. You should see the price guide of this stuff.”

Rebecca held out her hand. “Can I see it?”

As the deputy handed her the brochure, Jack noticed Rebecca’s expression change to one of fear. He knelt down by her side. “What’s wrong?” he asked, noticing the two deputies working together to thoroughly check all the rooms upstairs.

“I’ve seen this brochure before,” she said shakily. “In fact, I photographed these artworks in a presidential palace twelve years ago when I was working in Iraq.” She cradled her injured hand as she talked. “I recently read a newspaper article advertising an art sale in an auction house called Regency in New York. The pieces in the pictures looked exactly like the ones I’d photographed in Iraq, so I requested a brochure. When it arrived, I recognized the artwork immediately, and I wondered how they came to be in the US.”

Jack’s senses tingled to attention. “Do you think they were stolen from the palace?”

“I don’t know,” she replied. “I called the auction house two weeks ago to ask them who currently owned the artwork but they said it was confidential information. I told them I photographed these pieces during Operation Iraqi Freedom twelve years ago, and they said that was impossible.” She looked at him with clear, wide eyes. “But they claim the pieces were legally purchased and imported from Turkey over twenty-five years ago.”

Jack leaned in closer. “Do you believe that’s true?”

She shook her head. “No. These are such distinctive pieces, Jack—sculptures, ceramics, paintings, tapestries. Some of them are hundreds of years old. I know they were in the Al Faw Palace in Iraq. I have the photographs to prove it.”

“Did you say all of this to the auction house in New York?”

“Yes.”

Jack let out a long breath. “And what do they intend to do about it?”

“They said they’d take my concerns to the current owner of the art and get back to me with a response.” She shrugged her shoulders. “But that was over two weeks ago. I called them yesterday, and they gave me the brush-off. I told the guy on the phone that I’d go to the police if they don’t start taking me seriously.”

Jack rubbed his temples. “And now someone wants to silence you?”

Rebecca closed her eyes. “It looks that way.” She let her head fall into her hands and spoke with a muffled voice through her fingers. “What have I gotten myself caught up in, Jack?”

“Hey,” he said gently. “Whatever you’re caught up in is my problem, too.”

He put a protective arm around her shoulder, trying to feign composure, but in reality his mind was racing with endless possibilities, all of them fraught with danger. His promise to Ian was about to be tested to the limit.

TWO

Rebecca sat at her kitchen table, palms flat on the pine. The intruder in her house was a setback she didn’t need at this point in her life. She was doing okay; she was happy again. And that was largely because of Jack. His help and support had been like a blanket of comfort for the last year and a half, and she had grown close to him.

The sound of banging from Charlotte’s room echoed through the house. Jack was hammering a temporary board over her six-year-old daughter’s broken window. The police had taken their statements and left the house two hours ago, having determined there were no leads to go on. The intruder had evaded capture, and nothing appeared to be missing from her home. She and Jack had spoken to the deputies at length regarding her theory about the stolen Iraqi artwork, but she could tell they were skeptical. Nevertheless, they promised to contact the Regency auction house to investigate further.

She took a deep breath and rose from the chair to fill a glass of water, feeling a familiar seed of anxiety settle in her chest. She had come a long way since those bleak days after Ian had died, and she didn’t want to let this situation send her back there again. Jack had been her rock in the weeks after she’d been given the tragic news. He did the school runs, took the girls to swim practice, filled the refrigerator with groceries and maintained the routines that she wasn’t strong enough to bear. All the while, she stayed in bed and grieved. But gradually she had emerged from her cocoon and reentered the world, taking it one day at a time, using her faith in God to try and come to terms with her loss. She closed her eyes for a moment and asked God to give her the power to repel any dark forces that had infiltrated her wonderful family home.

“Hey, Bec.”

She looked up to see Jack standing in the doorway, almost filling it completely with his broad shoulders. He held a hammer in his right hand and leaned with his forearm on the door frame. Her heart fluttered a little, and she pushed the feeling down. She couldn’t pinpoint the exact time when her belly had started doing somersaults whenever he entered the room. It had happened so slowly that by the time she realized what was happening, it was too late.

He was wearing blue jeans and a crumpled linen shirt, clearly picked up from the floor in his haste to dress and rush to her aid. His brown hair was unkempt, but he never really bothered to style it anyway, preferring a more natural look. Emily and Charlotte often teased him about being a surfer dude, and he took it in good humor. The girls loved going to the beach with him, and he had taught them both how to bodyboard pretty well. His hair was starting to show traces of gray, but his body was still as lean and firm as that of a man half his age, kept fit by his regular surfing trips. There were signs on his face of his thirty-eight years: brown eyes that crinkled at the corners, a brow that creased when he frowned and laughter lines at the sides of his full lips. His goatee and sun-browned skin added to the laid-back look. The overall persona he projected was one of gentleness and a carefree nature, totally at odds with what she knew about him, about his past as a tough navy SEAL, uncompromising in his pursuit of justice.

“You saying a little prayer, huh?” he asked, seeing her hands clasped together, elbows perched on the table. “Sorry to interrupt.”

She lowered her hands to the table and rubbed her palms on the smooth surface. “It’s okay. I’m not sure that God hears me these days, anyway.” She gave a little laugh to make it sound like a joke, but Jack knew her too well.

“I don’t profess to know much about God,” he said. “But I know how devoted you are to your faith, and that makes you special to Him, I guess.”

She smiled. “I thought you didn’t believe in God.”

“I’m willing to keep an open mind on that score,” he said. “But it’s pretty hard to believe in someone I’ve never seen.”

“You don’t see God,” she laughed. “You feel Him.”

“Okay, then,” he said, walking to the table. “It’s pretty hard to believe in someone I don’t feel, but you feel Him, so I’m assuming He won’t abandon you when you need Him most, right?”

He already did, she thought, before angrily pushing the thought from her head. It wasn’t God’s fault that Ian was taken from her, and she tried not to blame Him. But she couldn’t deny the fact that she was clearly meant to be alone for the rest of her life. When she’d married Ian, she had made a lifelong commitment, and she couldn’t imagine breaking it, even though he was now gone. That was the hardest part to accept—the knowledge that she would not be sharing her life with a man she loved.

“You want some coffee?” She pushed back her chair to go to the sink. “The sun will be up soon, and you’ll be wanting to get to work, I guess.”

He put the hammer down on the table and stood close to her by the kitchen counter. “I can go days without sleep,” he said. “Besides which, being the boss of my own company has a lot of perks. Someone will cover for me.”

She busied herself making coffee. After Jack left the SEALs, he set up his own car dealership, and it was no surprise to anyone that it became a huge success. Jack’s easygoing, personable nature made him a big hit in their small town of Bristol, Florida, and he quickly built up a chain of dealerships across the Panhandle. He bought a house just a few blocks away and had supported Rebecca in so many ways until she felt well enough to return to her job as a newspaper photographer at the Liberty News in Blountstown. The Liberty News’s owner and editor, Simon Orwell, had been an ambitious young journalist when she worked alongside him during Operation Iraqi Freedom. When she decided to retire from overseas work after marrying Ian, Simon had been overjoyed to snap up her services as the paper’s primary photographer, and he often used the prestige of her name as leverage to scoop the best stories for the front page. These days she was more likely to take pictures of fluffy kittens than soldiers with guns, but she adored every minute of it.

Jack leaned on the counter in her large Shaker-style kitchen. She loved the simple, clean lines of her cabinets, with potted plants dotted here and there to bring the natural world indoors. It was one of the rooms in the house untouched by the intruder. The rest of the downstairs was in total disarray.

She felt Jack’s hand on her shoulder. “How are you feeling?”

She let her shoulders drop. “I was really terrified, Jack,” she said quietly. “I’ve been to war-torn locations across the world, and I let something like this scare the life out of me.”

He put both hands on her arms and turned her around before pulling her to his chest. She breathed in the familiar, spicy scent that he wore. It made her feel calmer, more reassured. She wrapped her arms around his waist, and they stood in silence for a while. She normally preferred to keep an appropriate emotional distance from Jack, but she was too tired to keep up her guard.

“It’s okay to be scared,” he whispered. “It doesn’t matter how tough you are. You did the right thing to call me.”

At that moment, the sun’s first rays appeared over the horizon and lit up the room with a warm, yellow glow. It was another beautiful winter’s day in Florida, and she gave thanks for the dawning of this new day.

She looked up at his face. “Thank you.”

He smiled back. “Any time.”

She turned back around to make the coffee. “So, what do we do now?”

“Where are the photographs of the artworks from the Al Faw Palace?” he asked. “If we intend to take this line of inquiry further, we’ll need them as evidence.”

She poured boiling water onto the fresh coffee grounds in her French Press, and a strong, earthy smell revived her jaded senses. “They’re in my desk drawer at the Liberty News office.”

“Ah,” Jack said, taking the cream from the refrigerator. “That explains why the intruder didn’t find what he was looking for.”

“We don’t know what he was looking for yet, Jack,” she reminded him. In her heart, she knew he was probably right, but she didn’t want to believe that she was the only thing standing in the way of a criminal and stolen art worth millions of dollars.

“We should go to Blountstown and get them,” he said. “This morning.”

Rebecca poured two coffees from the pot and added Jack’s usual cream and sugar without needing to ask. As she was stirring the cup, she thought of how much emotional and practical help he had given her since Ian’s death eighteen months ago. In all that time, he had never once asked for anything in return, and here she was leaning on him for support yet again. It was a pattern that didn’t seem to end, and a feeling of guilt niggled away inside her. A man like Jack should have been snapped up by an eligible lady a long time ago, but she had never known him to even have a date. She didn’t want to be responsible for condemning him to a single life. Once this situation was all cleared up, she resolved to spend less time with him and cut him free from his bonds of duty to his best friend.

Jack looked over at her, lost in her own world. “A penny for your thoughts.”

She smiled. “I couldn’t take a penny from you, Jack,” she said. “You’ve given me far too much already.”

* * *

Jack helped Rebecca clean up the mess left behind by the intruder. He watched the way she carefully picked up each photograph and smoothed it with her hand, clearly remembering the day the image was captured. Her photographs had adorned the cover of TIME magazine not just once but twice. He knew it was during her assignment photographing the war in Iraq that she met and fell in love with Ian Grey. Ian often told Jack the story of how he caught sight of her, wearing a long, billowing white robe and head scarf, emerging from the dust of the desert like a beautiful mirage. He had fallen head over heels at that first meeting, and they married only six months later. When Ian finally introduced Jack to Rebecca, Jack understood exactly what his friend was talking about. She had a gentle quality that many envied, and her zest for life was infectious.

Even on a day like today, when she was functioning on only four hours of sleep, she could still cause heads to turn. Age didn’t diminish her beauty at all—she simply improved as the years passed, and now, at the age of thirty-five, she looked more stunning than ever. Dressed simply in blue jeans and a crisp white shirt, her style was effortless. He felt like a bum in comparison, and he tried to smooth out the creases in his linen shirt.

Rebecca closed the drawer on the filing cabinet in her office and looked over at Jack. “I think that’s enough for now,” she said. “The rest can wait until later. The Liberty News office will be open soon, so we should get going to Blountstown to get the pictures.” She sat down in a chair by her polished oak desk and put a hand on her stomach. “I feel sick with worry. What if the children had been here?”

Jack perched himself on the edge of the desk. “I don’t like the thought of you being here alone,” he said. “Do you think I could move in for a while?”

She looked up at him, blinking quickly. “I’m not sure, Jack.” She looked reluctant. “What would the neighbors think?”

He couldn’t help but give a low laugh. “The neighbors can think what they like.” He turned serious. “You need someone to protect you and the girls in case the intruder comes back. I’ll only stay until this is all sorted out.” He touched her hand. “It makes sense, Bec.”

She nodded, seeming to accept his words. “You’re right. But I’m not sure it’s a good idea to bring the children home just yet. Maybe they should stay at Ian’s mom’s house for a little while, even though they’d love to be here to enjoy your company every day.” She looked wistful. “It would be like we were a family again...” She trailed off and bowed her head.

Jack didn’t know what to say. He already felt like an important part of her life, yet he was acutely aware that his role stopped short of being a complete family member. He would always be an outsider—someone to help and support her but not know her intimately.

He stood and looked out the window. “Let’s give it some thought. I’ll drop by my house on the way back from Blountstown to pick up some things.”

His eyes came to rest at the curb where he had parked his car. He was sure he’d left the vehicle in view of the house. And he hadn’t moved it. So why was the space now empty?

* * *

Rebecca watched Jack walk down the path, scanning the street in both directions. The sunshine of 8:00 a.m. was tainted with a fine mist, and the dew on the grass was gently steaming after the cold February night.

Jack turned around and held up his palm. “Stay close to the house, Rebecca.”

He squatted down and looked at the ground, inspecting it thoroughly. Rebecca knew he was looking for clues. Could this just be a random car theft? Or was the situation escalating quicker than she had ever anticipated?

She crossed her arms in the chilly morning air. Then she noticed her neighbor, Mrs. Harper, come out of her house and walk across her yard into her own.

“I thought it was your vehicle, Mr. Jackson,” Mrs. Harper called to him, stepping onto the lawn. “There aren’t many yellow sports cars like that around here.”

Jack spun around. “Did you see who took it, Mrs. Harper?”

Her neighbor patted her freshly curled hair. “Well, yes, I did,” she said, before dropping her voice to almost a whisper. “But I didn’t want to disturb you.” She pursed her lips. “What with you staying the night with Rebecca and all.”

Rebecca rolled her eyes. “He didn’t stay the night, Mrs. Harper,” she said. “I had a break-in last night, and I called Jack to come help out.”

“A break-in,” Mrs. Harper gasped, holding her palm flat to her bosom. “But this is such a safe neighborhood.” She padded across the lawn in her velvet pantsuit, stooping briefly to pick up her little white dog. “Are you all right? Did they take much?” Her eyes traveled to Rebecca’s bandaged hand. “Oh my, you’re hurt.”

Rebecca smiled reassuringly at her, holding up her hand. “This is just a small cut. I’m fine.” She looked over at Jack, feeling suddenly shy in front of Mrs. Harper, well-known in the area for her love of gossip in all its forms. “Thankfully, Jack came to my rescue and scared the intruder off before he had the chance to take anything.”

Mrs. Harper slid her eyes over to Jack coyly. “A knight in shining armor,” she said demurely. “We could use you on our neighborhood watch.”

Rebecca could see Jack struggling to hold his impatience. “Mrs. Harper,” he said calmly, “who took my car?”

“Oh, it was a repo company,” she said with a sympathetic downturn of the eyes. “But don’t feel embarrassed. Financial difficulties can happen to everyone at one time or another.”

“I own the car outright,” he said with a puzzled expression. “It’s not financed.”

Rebecca went to stand next to him. “Could it be something else?” she offered. “Unpaid tickets? Traffic offenses?”

“No,” he replied. “There’s no reason for anyone to tow the car.”

Rebecca stood even closer and lowered her voice. “Do you think it has something to do with the break-in?” She noticed Mrs. Harper creeping closer, making a big pretense of looking at the flower baskets on Rebecca’s porch. “How do we find out where it’s gone?”

Jack brought his face close to hers, so close that she could feel his breath on her cheek. “Let’s go back inside. I’m not comfortable with an audience.”

Jack lifted his head and smiled broadly. “Thank you very much for your help, Mrs. Harper,” he called. “I guess I must’ve forgotten about some unpaid tickets.”

He put his hand on the small of Rebecca’s back and guided her up the porch steps. She glanced behind them to see her neighbor watching them each step of the way, rubbing the fur of her immaculately preened terrier, whispering in the dog’s ear, no doubt already composing the grapevine of rumor that could sweep through a small town like Bristol in the blink of an eye.

* * *

Jack navigated the streets of Blountstown in Rebecca’s minivan. He noticed her wringing her hands in her lap, clearly concerned at this new turn of events. Her house had been broken into and her life threatened and, as if that were not enough, his car was then unlawfully taken by a fake repo company.

“It’ll be okay,” he said, glancing over at her. “We’ll get this all straightened out in a day or two.”

He wished he sounded convincing, because he had no idea who or what they were dealing with. He just hoped he could contain the situation before it got out of hand.

She didn’t answer. She remained silent for a while before asking quietly, “How did Ian die?”

Jack felt his grip tighten on the wheel at the unexpected nature of the question. “I thought you knew that,” he said gently. “Ian stepped on a land mine.”

She looked over at him. “Yes, I know that, but I want to know how he died.” She bowed her head. “Was he scared?”

Jack worked hard to steady his breathing and retain a composed demeanor. He and Rebecca had never spoken fully about the day that Ian died. She knew the basics, and that was all. She had never wanted to know more.

“No,” he said finally. “He wasn’t scared.”

“Good,” she said firmly. “I’m glad of that.”

He waited for more questions to come, but she fell silent and turned her head to look out the window, watching the wide streets of Blountstown pass them by. The ornate colonial-style buildings gave the town a feeling that was rich in history, and he knew that Rebecca loved working among its proud residents. But right now, he guessed that her mind wasn’t on the residents of Blountstown. It was focused on an event that took place a year and a half ago on a dark hillside in Afghanistan. The code name Dark Skies mission that had taken Ian Grey’s life hung over both of them like a shadow. He knew that Rebecca was sometimes angry with God for taking her husband, and Jack couldn’t heal her heart, no matter how hard he tried. Maybe this tentative questioning regarding Ian’s fatal mission was the final step in her healing process. He could only hope so.

He turned in to the Liberty News parking lot and screeched the minivan to a halt.

“I don’t believe it,” he said, staring straight ahead. “What on earth is going on?”

Parked in the corner, tucked against the wall of the parking lot, was his Porsche, gleaming like a yellow beacon in the hazy morning mist.

THREE

Rebecca and Jack locked eyes in mutual shock. She automatically reached her hand to open the passenger door and go take a closer look, but Jack’s fingers closed around her wrist.

“No,” he said firmly. “I’ll go check it out.”

He parked the minivan as far away from the Porsche as possible in the small parking lot and moved his hand to rest on top of hers in her lap. “Stay here. If anything bad happens, run into the building and call the police, okay? Don’t put yourself in any danger.”

“Jack,” she said, “be careful.”

He gave her hand a squeeze. “I always am.”

She watched him slide from his seat onto the ground, keeping low and alert. With his hand resting on his holstered gun under the loose fabric of his shirt, he approached the Porsche cautiously, checking the surrounding vehicles for anything suspicious. He skirted around his car, looking through the windows and squatting low to check the underside.

Finally, he returned to her and retook his place in the driver’s seat of her minivan.

“It looks exactly the same as always,” he said. “There’s no sign of anything having been tampered with.”

Rebecca felt the air growing muggy like a storm was brewing. “But what’s it doing here?”

Jack shook his head. “I have no idea, but let’s save that question for later.”

He looked up at the tall Liberty News building. “We need to go get those photographs so we can hand them over to the police. The sooner we make this situation go away, the sooner you can get back to normal.”

Normal, Rebecca thought. What exactly is normal? Normal was living life as a single mom, watching her children grow up without a father, relying on Jack to do all the things that Ian should be doing: teaching the girls to ride a bike, building them a tree house, going to ballet recitals. It wasn’t fair to expect Jack to do this forever. She should be able to manage alone by now. After all, eighteen months had passed already.

“Yes,” she agreed. “I guess we both want to get back to normal. You can get on with your life again.”

He looked a little taken aback. “I am getting on with my life. I didn’t mean to imply that you’re a burden.”

She inhaled deeply and thought of all the words she wanted to say to him, but none of them would come. “We’ll talk about it later, Jack,” she said, opening her car door and stepping out onto the pavement. “We need to have a conversation that is long overdue.”

She saw a look of confusion fall over his face as he exited the car and came to stand next to her. “What are you talking about, Bec? I thought we were doing fine.”

“That’s just the problem, Jack,” she said, turning to walk up the steps to the revolving door of the Liberty News. “There is no we.”

* * *

Jack took the steps two at a time to catch up to Rebecca, who had stridden ahead of him without warning. Whatever she had just alluded to had unsettled him. He had a worrying suspicion that she wanted him to back out of her life, and this thought sent a cold sensation of anxiety through his body. Yet he couldn’t profess to be wholly surprised. A beautiful woman like Rebecca deserved to meet someone special and be cherished again. She had probably realized that she would never meet such a person while he was on the scene, scaring off any potential suitors.

He saw her disappear through the revolving door and waited for the next wing to turn before darting into the space and finding himself in the large foyer of the building. The temperature inside was the perfect relief from the chilly February day, and the air smelled fresh and clean. Numerous framed newspaper stories adorned the walls, showing the history of the paper through the years, with many of the photographs having been taken by Rebecca.

“Rebecca,” a voice echoed across the foyer. “What are you doing here today? Our receptionist told me you’d called to request the day off.”

Jack looked over to see Rebecca’s editor, Simon Orwell, rush to her and envelop her in a hug. Jack’s skin prickled with something he couldn’t put his finger on.

“She also told me about your burglary,” Simon said. “How awful for you.”

“I won’t be here long,” Rebecca replied. “If it’s okay with you.”

“Of course it is,” he said. “Take as much time off as you need.”

Simon’s eyes slid from Rebecca’s and caught sight of Jack behind her. His manner instantly changed to one of brusque formality. He straightened out his yellow suit jacket and adjusted his electric blue shirt collar beneath. He was known for his snappy, if unconventional, dress sense and was thought of as an eccentric media mogul in Florida, where he owned several regional newspapers, many of them sharing the same office space as the Liberty News.

“Conrad,” Simon exclaimed. “So good to see you. Long time no see.”

Jack approached Simon and extended his hand. Simon was one of very few people who used Jack’s first name, and it emphasized the distance between them. They had met many times but had never gotten to know each other well, keeping their conversations usually limited to the best way to avoid traffic gridlock in the morning. That was as personal as either of them wanted to get.

Jack shook Simon’s hand firmly. “I don’t suppose you happened to notice who parked my yellow Porsche in the Liberty News’s lot this morning?” he asked, trying to keep his tone as light as possible. “I took it to be cleaned, and the company must’ve dropped it here instead of the parking lot in the center of town like I asked.” He rolled his eyes. “They get it wrong all the time. I just wondered if you’d seen which attendant left it here.”

“Sorry, no,” Simon said, releasing his hand. “But you’re welcome to use our telephone to call them and check.”

Jack held up his hand. “No, thanks. It’s not a big deal.”

He caught Rebecca’s eye and gave a small shake of the head, letting her know that he didn’t want to divulge any information to Simon. Simon’s natural nosiness was not what they needed right now. If he sniffed a story, he’d be all over it like a bad rash.

“I’ve come to get something from my desk,” Rebecca said, keeping her voice light, as Jack had. “I left it here yesterday, and I need it for the weekend.”

Simon put his arm around her shoulders and steered her toward the elevator. “I’ll walk with you. I meant it when I said to take as much time off as you need before returning to work. Burglaries can leave a person with a lot of mental stress, so don’t worry if you need some downtime.” He guided her into the open elevator. “After all, I need my star photographer to stay happy and healthy.”

Jack kept his eyes on Simon’s hand resting on Rebecca’s shoulder as the elevator glided up to the eighth floor. He wanted to lift Simon’s fingers from Rebecca’s person. Simon was always very friendly with Rebecca, and it bothered Jack greatly, but he knew he had no right to feel that way.

The elevator doors opened out directly into the large newsroom, where there was a buzz of activity. It was open and airy, with telephones ringing and staff calling to one another across the room.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Simon said, removing his arm from around Rebecca and heading for his enclosed office at the far end. “Just holler if you need anything.”

Jack watched Simon striding confidently away, displaying an air of authority that let everybody in the newsroom know who was in charge. Despite being only a little more than five feet five inches in height, he carried himself with the commanding presence of a much taller man. The wide shoulder pads on his expertly tailored suits helped.

Jack noticed that Rebecca had left his side and gone to sit at her desk by the window. He went to join her, realizing that he had never actually seen her place of work before. Her sunny desk was neatly laid out with photographs for local stories: a beauty pageant, a veterans’ parade, a new statue being unveiled. Next to her computer was a framed photograph of her and Ian, each holding one of their daughters, waving at the camera. He looked away, feeling sadness creep into his heart. He felt as though he were invading her private space.

She opened the drawer of her desk with a key from her purse and gave a small gasp. “They’re gone,” she said, searching through a pile of papers inside. “They were right here on top. I remember putting them there yesterday after I spoke to the auction house.”

Across the newsroom, Jack saw Simon talking on the phone, lowering the blinds in his office. It made him feel uneasy.

He squatted down beside her chair. “Does anyone else have a key to your desk?”

“Simon has a master key for all the desks,” she said. “But to my knowledge, he’s never used it.”

“Were these the only copies of the photographs?”

“They’re the only printed copies,” she said. “But I think I still have the negatives filed away at home. I have a storage freezer in my darkroom.”

“You think you have them?” he repeated. “Don’t you keep the negatives of all your pictures?”

She nodded. “Yes, mostly. But these photographs never appeared in any publication. At the time of Operation Iraqi Freedom, the media was way more fixated on human interest stories. Pictures of artwork weren’t what they wanted. If I don’t manage to sell a photo, I sometimes don’t look after the negatives like I should.” She looked a little sheepish. “I have thousands of them, and I focus on the important ones. I keep meaning to transfer them all to digital format, but I haven’t gotten around to it yet.”

He dropped his voice. “We need to find those negatives before anyone else does.” He grabbed her by the hand. “Let’s go.”

* * *

As Jack led her toward the elevator, Rebecca heard Simon’s voice in the newsroom. “You leaving already?” he called. She looked back to see him jogging to reach them.

“Yes,” she said. “I got what I need.”

A look of surprise swept over his face. “You did?”

Simon quickly smiled, but it was too late to hide his initial reaction. Jack noticed it, too, and flicked his eyes to hers with a look of concern.

“I thought we could have a coffee together,” Simon said, keeping the smile fixed on his lips. “We so rarely get a chance to catch up these days.”

Rebecca felt her face take on a look of amazement. In the ten years she had worked at the Liberty News, Simon had never once asked her to accompany him for coffee. In fact, he didn’t like sitting down for longer than five minutes at a time and always grabbed his coffee on the run. He possessed a kind of energy that kept him moving at a frenetic pace.

“Um, no thanks, Simon,” she said. “I gotta run.” She noticed his disappointment. “Maybe next time.”

“Aw, come on,” he insisted. “Just ten minutes.”

Jack then stepped forward and stood between her and Simon. “Thanks for the offer, Simon, but we have a busy day ahead.”

Rebecca heard the emphasis that Jack placed on we, and she saw Simon’s face harden in response. He was not a man who liked to be challenged, and Jack clearly found it difficult to hide his dislike of her editor. Simon was a big player in the regional media world and had friends in high places. But none of this had an effect on Jack, who treated Simon like any regular Joe.

“Fair enough,” Simon said, raking his hand through his thinning blond hair. “It was good to see you guys. We’ll catch up another time.”

Then, without waiting for a response, he turned and walked back to his office in the newsroom, pushing open his office door with a flourish.

Jack’s eyes narrowed as he watched Simon walk away. “I think it’s wise to keep Simon at arm’s length,” he said quietly. “The less he knows, the better.”

The elevator doors slid open, and they stepped inside.

“I know that Simon can be a little arrogant,” Rebecca said, feeling duty-bound to defend her editor. “But I’ve known him for twelve years. I don’t think he’s caught up in anything illegal.” She pressed the first-floor button impatiently when the elevator failed to move. “Simon isn’t a bad person.”

Jack leaned against the elevator wall as the doors finally closed and it started gliding downward. “You see the good in everyone, Bec. That’s your best quality.”

She felt her color rise a little and was suddenly conscious of their proximity to one another in this confined area. Jack’s aura seemed to fill the small space, and she found herself willing the elevator to go faster. But instead of smoothly descending to its destination, the elevator began to shudder and jerk, causing her to lose her balance and stumble sideways. She felt Jack’s arms catch her and bring her back to her feet, but the floor was still shaking beneath her legs.

“What’s happening, Jack?” she yelled, grabbing his hand.

“Just keep a tight hold on me,” he replied, quickly pulling her into the corner, where he could lean against the two walls.

Jack’s arms curled around her waist, and the sound of grinding metal filled her ears. It reminded her of the twisted remains of tanks and military vehicles she had seen littering the roadside during her time in Iraq. She could smell the pungent odor of heated steel as the elevator tried to slow its descent into an abyss below. Jack tightened his grip, restricting her breathing a little and leaving her breathless. She worked her fingers underneath his, and he loosened his hold.

Then the elevator stopped with a sudden jolt, and they were both sent sprawling to the floor when their legs gave way beneath them. She felt Jack’s body cover hers for a split-second before he sprang to his feet like a cat. The lights flickered for a few moments and then went out completely, plunging them into total darkness. This wasn’t a random fault with the elevator. This was a targeted attack, and fear seemed to seep into her bones. She imagined somebody just a few feet away, gleefully toying with the elevator control box, knowing that its occupants would feel terrorized in the dark.

“Jack,” she called, trying not to panic. “Where are you?”

Two strong hands lifted her to her feet. “I’m here,” he said gently. “Don’t worry. I’ll get us out.”

He used his cell phone to shine a flashlight around the elevator, letting it rest on the emergency telephone that hung on the wall by the buttons.

He picked up the red handset. “Hello,” he said loudly into the speaker. “Can anyone hear me? We’re trapped in an elevator at the Liberty News building in Blountstown.”

Rebecca looked at him expectantly, but he shook his head. “Nothing. I don’t even know if it’s working.”

“What’s going on?” she asked, looking at his face lit up by the glow from his cell phone. “I think we’re in trouble here.”

He put his hands on her shoulders and looked directly into her face. “I won’t let anything happen to you, Rebecca,” he said solemnly. “I promise.”

As if to mock his words, the elevator began to shudder again, falling a couple of feet with two quick jumps. Rebecca’s knees hit the floor as she felt her stomach dropping away with the sudden movement. She reached up to take Jack’s hand, and he pushed her down to the floor.

“Stay down,” he said. “It’s safer.”

Rebecca knelt on the floor and assumed the most natural position—one of prayer. She closed her eyes and asked God to deliver them from the danger that had sought them out. She had prayed hundreds of times while on photography assignments, surrounded by war and destruction, and the Lord had never failed her. She just needed to put her faith in Him. Within moments, the elevator had settled into a stable position, with no hint of movement. Rebecca strained her ears for the toe-curling sound of metal grinding against metal, but it appeared to have abated. She looked up at Jack, who had placed his cell phone on the floor and was attempting to pry open the doors with his fingertips. His biceps flexed with the powerful effort. When the doors eventually slowly opened, he was faced with a bare brick wall.

Jack looked at the ceiling. “I can climb out onto the roof and see how far from the next floor we are. We may be able to climb up.”

Rebecca looked down at her bandaged hand. Even though the injury was slight, the strength in her left hand was decreased. She didn’t know if she was capable of climbing through wires and cables in a dangerous elevator shaft.

A muffled voice in the darkness provided a beacon of hope. “Hello. Is anyone in there?”

“Yes,” Jack called. “There are two people in here. Can you help us out?”

“Stay where you are,” the voice called back. “I’ll activate the emergency override and manually wind you down, but be patient, because it’s mighty slow.”

Rebecca then recognized the voice as Hal, the building security guard. “Thank you, Hal,” she shouted, jumping to her feet. She quickly added in a murmur, “And thank You, God, for sending him.”

As the elevator began its sluggish, shuddering descent to the ground, Jack held Rebecca close in his arms. When the motion became a little smoother, she pushed against his torso and placed herself to his side, holding on to a rail on the wall for balance. He mirrored her stance, remaining by her side in the darkness until the familiar sight of the white foyer came into view.

Rebecca felt as though she was emerging from a cave. They had been trapped inside for only around fifteen minutes, but their eyes had obviously adjusted to the darkness. They both instinctively used their hands as shields against the glare of the sun.

Hal took her arm as she stepped out onto the polished marble floor. “I’ve never seen an incident like this before,” he said. “It’s the strangest thing.” He took off his cap to scratch his bald head. “Hope you two aren’t too shaken up.”

“We’re fine. Thanks, Hal,” Rebecca said with a voice that was as calm as she could manage. “Please make sure you stop anyone else from using this elevator until it’s been thoroughly checked and repaired.”

“Of course, Mrs. Grey,” Hal replied. “I’ll speak to Mr. Orwell right away.”

The mention of Simon’s name seemed to spur Jack’s resolve to make a speedy exit from the building. “Let’s get outta here,” he said. “Before anything else happens.”

“You’ll get no argument from me,” she said, heading for the revolving door.

When they stepped out into the crisp air, Rebecca’s body gave a shiver. It wasn’t just the February day that caused her chills. She was shaken up by the thought that somebody was tracking them, putting their lives in danger, possibly trying to silence her forever. Jack took off his jacket and laid it over her shoulders, rubbing her arms to keep them warm.

“Stay here while I bring the car around,” he said. “You should keep out of sight.”

She nodded, glancing back to see Hal behind the front desk talking into the telephone, no doubt informing Simon that the elevator had suffered a serious malfunction, trapping the paper’s lead photographer inside. But would Simon be surprised? She found herself questioning whether Jack’s distrust of her editor was justified after all.

Then she caught sight of Jack’s yellow car in the corner of the lot. She reached into his jacket pocket and found the Porsche keys nestled inside.

“Hey, Jack,” she called after him. “Why don’t you drive your car, and I’ll drive mine?”

He spun around, and his eyes locked on the car keys in her hand. She put her thumb on the black fob that activated the unlock mechanism on the doors. Jack broke into a run and shouted, “No! Somebody might have been here while we were inside!” but it was too late. She had already pressed the button.

In the next moment, she saw a flash of yellow bounce before her eyes as the car skyrocketed into the air on a ball of flames. The shock wave took her clean off her feet, and Jack’s arms wrapped themselves around her while she was in the air. The last thing she felt was his body go limp as they both fell hard to the ground.

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