“NO ONE’S GOING TO HURT YOU.”

When he finds Nicole Harris cowering in a closet—a terrified witness to murder—Detective Alex Donovan’s only priority is keeping the beautiful redhead alive. But Nicole is harboring a deep, dark secret—a childhood trauma that stops her from counting on anyone. Haunted by the violence in his own past, Alex knows he shouldn’t get personally involved, but his own feelings blindside him. With a killer targeting Nicole as his next victim, Alex’s toughest road is still ahead. Somehow, he’s got to convince her to trust him with her life...and her heart.

Alex heard something,

a muffled cough-gasp that echoed

from across the room. The closet.

He slowly crossed the room, then whipped the door open. He reached up, pulled the light chain and spotted a woman cowering behind a stack of boxes. Her face was buried in arms folded across her knees.

“Miss?” He crouched in front of her. “It’s okay, I’m Detective Alex Donovan.”

She didn’t look up.

Alex spotted a cell phone clenched in her hand. She must have made the 9-1-1 call.

“Are you a friend of Edward Lange?”

A negative head shake.

“Do you work for him?”

She nodded affirmative.

“Were you here when he was attacked?”

She nodded yes. He wanted to tell her it was going to be okay, but he wasn’t one to make promises he couldn’t keep. If she was hiding in here, that meant she might have seen or heard something that could help them find the killer—and consequently put her life in danger.

HOPE WHITE

An eternal optimist, Hope White was born and raised in the Midwest. She began spinning tales of intrigue and adventure when she was in grade school, and wrote her first book when she was eleven—a thriller that ended with a mysterious phone call the reader never heard!

She and her college sweetheart have been married for thirty years and are blessed with two wonderful sons, two feisty cats and a bossy border collie.

When not dreaming up inspirational tales, Hope enjoys hiking, sipping tea with friends and going to the movies. She loves to hear from readers, who can contact her at hopewhiteauthor@gmail.com.

Safe Harbor

Hope White

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Therefore, as God’s chosen people, holy and

dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience.

—Colossians 3:12

To Anio, for a lifetime of friendship

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

DEAR READER

QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

ONE

Personal assistant Nicole Harris dropped her messenger bag on the floor next to Mr. Lange’s desk and answered her cell phone. “This is Nicole.”

“Thank you so much for covering for me this weekend,” her boss, Ruby said. “I owe you.”

“Big time.” Nicole smiled, logged into Outlook and sorted piles of papers on the computer magnate’s desk. Edward Lange may be a tech genius but he had the organizational skills of a five-year-old on a sugar high.

“I just can’t do weekends, not with the boys’ soccer and baseball and—”

“Hey, no problem.” Nicole didn’t have a husband or family so she didn’t mind working on the weekend, especially if it meant helping out her boss, who’d also become a good friend.

“What can I do to repay you?” Ruby asked.

“It’s my job, remember?”

“And you’re seriously good at it or Edward wouldn’t have requested you. Did you get the passcodes I texted you earlier?”

“Yes, ma’am. Committed them to memory and ate my phone.”

“Very funny.”

The front door slammed.

“He’s back from his run. Gotta go.” Nic pocketed her phone and checked Mr. Lange’s Outlook calendar to make sure he wasn’t missing anything crucial by escaping the city on a whim. Nic was a natural at her job as a personal assistant, but then she’d spent her childhood keeping her younger sister and brother organized.

Voices echoed down the front hallway. Odd, considering she was told they weren’t expecting guests this weekend. She blocked out the voices and focused on checking messages on Mr. Lange’s smartphone.

“It’s borderline criminal!” Mr. Lange shouted.

Shouted? He was usually such a soft-spoken man. Nic felt guilty eavesdropping, so she refocused on his voice mails. “Mr. Lange, this is Audrey Ross from Tech Worldwide. I’m on a deadline and I need a statement about the Tech-Link software failure—”

“I said no!”

Her shoulders jerked.

“It’s okay, it’s not him,” she coached herself, as posttraumatic panic skittered across her nerve endings.

Something slammed against the wall, rattling the books in the mahogany case next to the door. She slowly backed up toward the closet.

“Get out of my house!” Mr. Lange bellowed.

Her pulse raced as buried memories of her abusive father rushed to the surface.

“I said out!”

She darted into the closet and shut the door with a soft click. Scrambling to the far corner, she hid behind a stack of boxes.

Some part of her brain realized how ridiculous it would look when Mr. Lange found his personal assistant huddled in the closet, but her reaction was automatic. She couldn’t make another choice if her life depended on it.

“You need to reconsider,” a second man said, his voice higher pitched and more clear.

They’d entered the office.

“Nothing is going to change my mind,” Mr. Lange said.

Something slammed against the closet door. She bit back a squeak and hugged her knees to her chest.

“Why are you still here?” Mr. Lange accused.

“Because you haven’t called the cops.”

“The only reason I haven’t called the cops is because of my—”

A soft pop made her gasp. Then another.

A gunshot? No, it couldn’t be.

Silence rang in her ears. She focused on breathing so she wouldn’t pass out.

The sound of breaking glass echoed through the door, then swearing, and more crashing. She hugged her knees tighter, fisted her hands.

She squeezed her eyes shut.

Waited.

It was just a matter of time before he opened the closet door.

Flashes of her childhood paralyzed her, rendering her unable to think clearly.

Hide in the corner. Be quiet and still, she’d coach Beau and Addy.

She had to do something, call the police, a friend, someone. Instead, she huddled in tighter, losing all sense of time and place as the memories closed in.

Then the door opened...

* * *

Detective Alex Donovan knew something was off the minute he entered Edward Lange’s study. Instinct twisted his gut as he scanned the room.

“Chief Roth and the coroner are on the way,” officer Mark Adams said, standing in the doorway.

Alex crouched to look at the room from another angle, wrestling with the frustration building in his chest.

Edward Lange. Dead.

The entrepreneur-philanthropist often came to Waverly Harbor to get away from the intensity of the city, demands of his work and the relentless media. When he bought the lake house three years ago, he’d asked for a meeting with Chief Roth and his staff to discuss his residing in their small town. Although community members knew about the purchase of the lake house, they’d agreed to give Lange his privacy and help him avoid the spotlight. In return he’d generously donated money to build a new community center and library. He didn’t have to make those donations. Folks of Waverly Harbor were nothing if not protective, and they had embraced Lange as one of their own without expecting anything in return.

“His driver is outside,” Mark Adams said.

“He called it in?”

“No. He claims he was outside in the car and didn’t hear anything. The call came from Lange’s cell.”

Alex went to the body, careful not to disturb the crime scene. Not easy with the clutter of papers littering the floor. Someone was looking for something.

Alex crouched again, eyed the area around Edward’s face, and down to his hands. “There’s no phone near the body.”

“Maybe the intruder took it?”

Alex studied Edward Lange’s face. “Where’s your security?” he whispered.

No bodyguards and the alarm wasn’t set? Which meant what? That Edward knew his attacker. Was the killer a personal friend or staff member?

Alex scanned the immediate area and spotted a gold chain-link bracelet, a man’s wallet and pair of sunglasses on the floor near the body.

“You want to talk to—”

Alex put up two fingers to silence the cop. He thought he heard something, a faint whimper, but he couldn’t be sure.

He closed his eyes, blocked out his surroundings, and listened.

A muffled cough-gasp echoed from across the room. The closet.

Alex withdrew his firearm, slowly crossed the room and motioned for Mark to open the door on the count of three.

One, two, three.

Mark whipped the door open and Alex heard a squeak. Aiming his firearm into the dark closet, he reached up and pulled the light chain. He spotted a female, Caucasian with flaming red hair, cowering behind a stack of boxes. He holstered his gun and stepped closer for a better look. Her face was buried in arms folded across her knees. She was a trembling mass of red from her hair to her red blouse, down to her red tennis shoes.

“Miss?” He crouched in front of her. “It’s okay, I’m Detective Alex Donovan.”

She didn’t look up.

“Can you tell us what happened?” he tried.

She shook her head no.

“Can you tell me your name?”

She shook her head no again.

Alex glanced at Mark. “Look for a purse or briefcase with ID.”

Mark disappeared from the doorway.

Alex spotted a cell phone clenched in her hand. She must have made the 911 call.

“Are you a friend of—” He was about to say the deceased and caught himself. “Edward Lange?”

Another negative head shake.

“Do you work for him?”

She nodded affirmative.

“Were you here when he was attacked?”

She nodded yes, her body trembling slightly. He wanted to place a comforting hand on her shoulder, tell her it was going to be okay, but he wasn’t one to make promises he couldn’t keep. If she was hiding in here that meant she might have seen or heard something that could help them find the killer—and consequently put her life in danger.

“Alex?” Mark said, stepping into the closet. “Found this by the desk.” He placed a messenger bag next to Alex and handed him a purple leather wallet. Alex pulled out a driver’s license that read Nicole Desiree Harris.

Voices echoed through the house. The coroner must have arrived, and then some. Alex had a feeling everyone would want to be involved in this investigation, including state and county law enforcement. Edward was an influential man, a celebrity of sorts.

“Can you keep them out of here for a few minutes?” Alex asked Mark.

“I’ll do my best.”

Alex put the wallet in the messenger bag and redirected his attention to Miss Harris, pushing back the temptation to pick her up and carry her to a safe, quiet place.

“Miss Harris, it’s going to get awfully loud in here as more police personnel show up. How about I take you to another room where it’s quiet?”

She slowly raised her head and pinned him with brilliant amber-colored eyes. He stopped breathing for a second, so affected by the devastation he read there.

“Nice to meet you,” he recovered, and extended his hand, figuring he had to try.

She studied it for a second, then reached out and accepted his gesture. Her trembling fingers were cold and fragile as she clasped his hand. And he prayed to God that he could do right by this one.

She searched his eyes as if wanting to say something but couldn’t get the words out.

Male voices boomed from the outlying office and her fingers squeezed his hand.

“Let’s get you out of here.” He stood and helped her up. She was petite, probably five-three, and a floral scent drifted from her hair.

“It’s okay. No one’s going to hurt you.” He positioned her on his left side so when they walked out of the closet she wouldn’t be assaulted by the bloody image of Edward Lange.

She hugged her midsection with her free arm, but wouldn’t let go of his right hand. He put his left arm around her shoulder to shield her from the frenetic crime scene.

“Is this okay?” he said.

She nodded that it was, grabbed her messenger bag and flung it over her shoulder.

Someone barked an order from the office and her shoulders jerked.

“See what I mean? Loud,” he said.

As he led her out of the closet, the half dozen men froze at the sight of Alex and Miss Harris deliberately crossing the room.

“Detective Donovan, I think—”

“Don’t,” Alex snapped.

He didn’t know who’d spoken and didn’t care. Alex needed to get the witness out of this room and away from the violent scene as quickly as possible. As they passed, all eyes were on the red-haired, traumatized beauty. She kept her head down, eyes focused on the carpet a few feet in front of her.

They crossed the threshold into the hallway and he spotted pocket doors. Hopefully he could find another room with pocket doors so he could close her off from the chaos.

He escorted her down the hall to a TV room in the back of the house and slid the pocket doors shut.

“How’s this?” He led her to a thick-cushioned sofa.

She sat down, still clinging to his hand, so he sat next to her. He wanted to be out there assisting with the crime scene, but he wouldn’t leave her alone. Maybe they could call a female sheriff’s deputy to keep her company. Surely a woman would be better at comforting a terrified female witness.

Clutching his hand, she sighed and leaned against his shoulder. For a brief second it reminded him of Jessica, how she’d leaned against him when they’d watched movies. Despair ripped through Alex’s chest, followed by guilt.

Get your head in the game, Alex.

This woman’s life could be in danger, which meant the sooner they found the killer the sooner she’d be safe.

“Is he...dead?”

Her voice was throaty, deeper than he’d imagined.

“Yes,” he answered.

She shook her head and a tear trailed down her cheek. He nearly reached out to wipe it away, but caught himself.

“Was there anyone else in the house besides you, Mr. Lange and the intruder?”

“Not that I know of.”

“No bodyguards?”

“No.”

Which puzzled Alex because he thought bodyguards followed Lange everywhere.

“Can you talk about what happened, Miss Harris?” he asked.

She shook her head. A few minutes passed in companionable silence. It had been a long time since Alex held a woman like this. He didn’t have much interest in romance after Jessica’s death.

“Nicole,” she said, breaking the silence. “Please call me Nicole.” She clung to her messenger bag in her lap. “I wasn’t supposed to be here.”

“Then why were you here?”

“I’m a personal assistant. I was filling in for a friend.”

“Had you worked with Mr. Lange before?”

“Yes.”

“But you’re not his regular assistant?”

She shook her head no.

“Did you hear what happened?”

She squeezed his hand, but didn’t answer. He should have known it was too soon to ask, but the killer was out there, maybe still on the property if he hadn’t found what he was looking for in Edward’s office.

Alex wouldn’t push Nicole. Most of the time if you pushed a witness they either pushed back or shut down completely. He felt lucky she was talking to him after what she’d just experienced.

They gazed out the back window at the lake, the setting sun peeking through the evergreens in the distance.

The pocket door slid open, breaking the peaceful moment. A man in a dark suit, white shirt and maroon tie marched across the room, blocking their view. The guy looked like a Fed.

“This the witness?” the suit demanded.

“And you are?” Alex countered.

“Special Agent Richard Banks with the FBI,” he said, flashing his ID. The stern-faced, broad-shouldered agent was in his mid-forties, and definitely all business.

“What’s the FBI’s interest in this case?” Alex asked.

“We’ll discuss that later. So, this is Nicole Harris?”

“Yes.” Alex wished Banks would lower the volume a few notches.

Instead, he directed his attention to Nicole. “Ma’am, can you tell me what happened tonight?”

She shook her head and stared out the window with a detached expression. Banks studied her as if trying to determine if her shock was real or an act.

“You found her in the closet?” he asked Alex.

“Yes.”

“Did she hear anything?”

“She hasn’t been able to talk about it.”

Banks clenched his jaw and glared at Nicole.

“Did the driver see anything?” Alex redirected.

“One of my agents is interviewing him.”

“What about the bodyguards? Where were they?” Alex said.

“Don’t know. The house is empty except for the witness and the victim. It’s imperative that I interview her ASAP.”

“She’s obviously not ready to talk about it.”

“When will she be able to talk about it?”

The guy was being a class A jerk. Alex glanced at Nicole. She still stared blindly out the window, her cheeks even more pale than they were a minute ago.

“I don’t have time for this,” Banks said. “Ma’am, you’ll need to come with me, if nothing else, for your own protection.”

The guy seriously needed a crash course in sensitivity.

She snapped her attention to Agent Banks. “My protection? Do you think he’ll come after me? But I didn’t...see anything.”

“The murderer doesn’t know that and he won’t stop until—”

“Enough,” Alex interrupted. “Agent Banks, can we talk in the hallway?”

Banks marched out of the room and Alex turned to Nicole. “I’ll just be a minute, okay?”

Yet he was hesitant to let go of her hand. What was it about this woman?

Simple. She was in danger and Alex was a natural-born protector. Maybe this time he’d get it right. Maybe this one wouldn’t die because of his incompetence.

“I’ll be right back.” He slipped his hand from hers and stood.

She hugged herself. “You think... Will he...come after me?”

Seeing fear in her eyes, he mustered up the only answer he thought might ease her anxiety. “I doubt he even knew you were there. You found a clever hiding spot.”

She nodded, but didn’t look convinced.

As he headed toward the hallway to speak to Agent Banks, Alex focused on controlling the frustration burning through his chest. Intimidating Nicole was no way to get answers, not to mention it was incredibly inappropriate behavior for a professional.

Alex went into the hallway. Agent Banks took a step toward him. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m trying to make the witness feel safe so she’ll talk to us,” he answered in a calm voice.

“Well, she’s obviously bonded with you.”

“And that’s a bad thing?”

“Was that your plan? To play hero?” the agent accused.

“This isn’t about being a hero. It’s about finding a killer.”

Banks slammed his fist against the wall and leaned close. “I heard about you and your wonder-boy reputation on the Denver force. I won’t allow ego to mess up this investigation.”

“I guarantee you, my ego won’t be a problem.”

Alex stood his ground, refusing to back down. He surely wasn’t going to let Agent Banks take Nicole in for questioning if he planned to continue these aggressive tactics on her.

With a frustrated expression, Banks turned and paced a few feet away.

“Are you going to tell me why the Feds are involved?” Alex asked.

“Edward Lange was a target of an ongoing investigation. I can’t share the details.”

“You suspect him of criminal activity?” Alex couldn’t believe it.

Agent Banks turned to Alex. “Like I said, it’s need-to-know information.”

“If it’ll help me solve the murder, then I need to know.”

“That’s not my call.”

“Nor is it my call to release the witness into your custody. You’ll have to take that up with my chief.”

“I don’t have time to cut through your local red tape, detective.”

“You don’t have a choice. The witness is traumatized and won’t talk about what happened until she feels safe.”

“And that’s your job? To make her feel safe?” he said.

Alex ignored the attitude. “It’s certainly my goal. But she won’t be safe unless we work together and catch the perp. I can guarantee you that isolating her in an interrogation room isn’t going to get you the answers you’re looking for.”

Banks ran his hand across his jawline. “You’re right. There’s just a lot riding on this case.”

“My suggestion is we keep her identity a secret,” Alex said. “Better yet, don’t release the fact there was a witness. Can you talk to the first responders in there?”

“Yes, but you know how things leak out.”

“It’s worth a try. In the meantime, I’ll take Miss Harris someplace safe. Here’s my cell number.” Alex handed him a business card. “I’d appreciate you keeping me in the loop on your end and I’ll do the same.”

Deep in thought, Banks glanced at Alex’s business card.

“How bad is it, whatever you think Lange was into?” Alex pushed.

“It’s a game changer.” He handed Alex his business card and went back to the crime scene.

Officer Mark Adams stepped into the hallway looking for Alex. “How’s the witness?”

“Understandably upset. I need you to keep an eye on things here,” Alex said. “I’m taking her into protective custody.”

“Yes, sir.”

Alex turned back to the TV room and took a deep breath. Somehow he had to convince Nicole Harris to shelve her trauma and tell them whatever she could about the murder. Time was critical, potentially for the community of Waverly Harbor but most definitely for Nicole. Alex knew it would be nearly impossible to keep her presence in town a secret, but he hoped they could keep it quiet that she’d been at the crime scene, sitting on the other side of the closet door while someone viciously murdered Edward Lange. If that got out, even by accident, it could mean Nicole’s life.

No, he wouldn’t let it happen again. He’d stay one step ahead of the killer and make sure an innocent woman didn’t become a victim.

He slid the pocket doors open.

“We decided I should take you—” he said to an empty room. “Miss Harris? Nicole?”

He rushed to the sofa hoping to find her stretched out in exhaustion.

She was gone. So was her messenger bag.

He spotted a closet and raced across the room to whip open the door. Switched on the light.

Empty.

How was that possible? He bolted to the sliding door and whipped it open. “Nicole!”

TWO

She had to run.

There was no other choice.

The killer was after her. He wanted her dead. The FBI agent had said as much. And the only way to survive was to either hide...

Or run.

Because given Nic’s experience, the police couldn’t or wouldn’t protect her. She was the only one who could save herself.

She’d hesitated before taking off, remembering the false sense of security she’d felt when leaning against the muscled arm of Detective Donovan. When he spoke in his rich, deep voice, she could almost believe the words coming out of his mouth, and she was sure she read truth in his striking blue eyes.

But then something had slammed against the wall, snapping her out of her momentary distraction, yanking her back to reality and the violence that surrounded her.

No one can help you but yourself. A lesson learned years ago as a child.

Jogging across the property toward the lake, she figured the next house was about four city blocks away. She’d make her way there and...and...what?

Didn’t matter, she couldn’t think about what came next. She had to stay focused on getting away from the murder scene, the cops...the threat to her life.

She had to feel safe.

A sob-gasp caught in her throat. Safe? Since when?

In the recesses of her mind, her intellect argued that this was a bad move. She couldn’t elude authorities for long and it could even make her look guilty, as if she’d done something wrong. Yet all she’d done was her job.

If she couldn’t be safe in this quiet little town that meant...

He was right.

You can’t run fast enough or hide well enough. You’ll never be safe.

“No,” she gasped, picking up speed as she eyed the lights of a house in the distance.

She was a survivor, a fighter. A killer had stood on the other side of a closet door, weapon in hand, yet she was still alive. The cops said they wanted to protect her but she knew the truth: they wanted something from her.

No one genuinely cared about Nicole, not even the polite and handsome Detective Donovan with the calming voice. She knew how it worked. She’d grown up the victim of a failed system, heard all the excuses about keeping children with their father, the one remaining parent. “A little discipline is no cause for putting the kids in foster care and splitting up a family,” the caseworker had said.

In reality, “a little discipline” equated to extreme emotional abuse in the Harris household. Those scars weren’t obvious, and her little sister and brother were so frightened of their dad that they wouldn’t let on about the abuse to teachers, doctors or even friends. The kids feared his retaliation.

He’d earned that fear.

He’d leave newspaper articles on the kitchen counter about parents disciplining their children by locking them in a nonworking freezer in the backyard for two days, or locking them in a dog cage in the basement.

And being found dead.

Beau and Addy didn’t want to be afraid all the time, but they didn’t want to be dead, either, so Nicole taught them how to survive.

Tonight she needed those very survival tactics to escape the threat of a killer.

She must have run a quarter mile, her arms pumping, her brain spinning. Disappearing, then starting fresh in a new state with a new name was her best option. She’d planned for this day just in case the monster named Timothy Harris came looking for her.

She never thought she’d need the escape bag to flee a random killer.

Aiming for the cedar trees bordering the property, she thought she heard something behind her. Her name. Detective Donovan was calling her name.

She charged into the thick mass of trees for camouflage. If the police found her they’d take her into custody “for her own protection,” while in fact they’d make her an easy target for a killer she hadn’t even seen. Would she be able to identify his voice if she heard it again? She shoved the thought back. It didn’t matter. She had no intention of putting herself in the line of fire.

Guilt snagged her conscience. What about Edward Lange? Didn’t he deserve justice? Of course, but she hadn’t seen anything and wasn’t sure she’d recognize the voice if she heard it again.

Besides, this was about survival. It was always about survival.

She darted behind a towering cedar to catch her breath.

“Nicole Harris!” Detective Donovan shouted. He sounded frantic. The beam of a flashlight arced across the property, then skipped across the lake.

She slowly backed up, turned and—

Came face first with a chain-link security fence. She was locked in, with nowhere to go.

“No,” she gasped.

“What’s the matter?” a man said.

Startled, she spun around and eyed the surrounding trees but didn’t see anyone.

“Who’s there?”

Silence echoed back at her. Goose bumps shot down her arms. She scanned the area, looking for escape, but saw only darkness.

Suddenly a man stepped out from behind a tree, the brim of his baseball cap pulled low, shielding his face.

“I said, what’s the matter?”

“Who are you?”

“Who are you?”

There was something about his voice, the way he lurked in the shadows and wouldn’t identify himself, that set off a gazillion red flags in her brain.

Then he took a step toward her.

She took off, sprinting in the direction of the lake. Maybe not her smartest move but this had been a day of irrational decisions borne of fear.

If she could get out to the dock and wave her arms, cry out like a crazy person, Detective Donovan would see her, right? At this point she’d take the cops over a strange man with a creepy demeanor.

“Hey,” the man called after her.

She kept running.

Aimed for the dock.

She wanted to scream, call out for help, but she needed every ounce of energy to breathe.

Was he close?

She glanced over her shoulder...and tripped on a tree root poking up from the ground. Her messenger bag slipped off her shoulder as she tumbled over the edge of the embankment into the water.

She squeezed her eyes shut against the pain of rocks digging into her back and legs. Her head slammed against something hard and she plunged into the water, her breath catching in her throat.

“Help!” she cried, although it sounded more like one of her cat’s high-pitched squeaks. She treaded water, shaking her head to clear it of a buzzing sound.

The weight of her clothes pulled her down.

Her mind spun with panic.

Stupid, worthless moron.

They were her monster father’s words, words that taunted her as she struggled to stay above the water’s surface. Arms flailing, she fought for breath, for life.

She tried to call out.

Her vision blurred and the buzzing intensified.

Help, somebody help me.

Instead, the water swallowed her, pulling her into its chilling embrace.

* * *

Alex knew he heard a woman call out for help. “Nicole! Nicole Harris!”

Complete and utter silence answered him.

His heart pounded against his chest as he listened intently for the sound of distress.

Then he heard a splash.

He sprinted toward the lake and aimed his flashlight at the water, desperate to see a break in the calm surface.

He was on his own. No one knew Nicole had gone missing. Alex didn’t have time to tell anyone in the house. He had to find her, make sure she was okay.

The silence ringing in his ears indicated she was not okay. Why did she run? He didn’t get it. Unless she was involved in Edward’s murder?

He refused to believe that. She wouldn’t have been trembling in the closet if she’d been a part of the plan to kill him. She would have been long gone before authorities showed up.

“Nicole!” he called out.

He skimmed the water’s surface with his flashlight.

If Nicole had no reason to run from the authorities, that meant...she’d been running from the killer?

“Nicole! Answer me!” he demanded, jogging along the shoreline to the small pier. Racing onto the wooden planks, he aimed his flashlight across the wet rocks by the shore and spotted her messenger bag. He pointed the beam out about ten feet from shore...

And spotted a break in the water.

A hand reached out, then sank below the surface.

“Not happening.” He ripped off his jacket and firearm and tossed them on the wooden planks. He kicked off his boots and dove in.

His body cramped as he hit the frigid water, but it wasn’t as if he had another option. Nicole had either fallen in or been pushed. She might drown if he didn’t get to her.

Blackness surrounded him beneath the water’s surface. He swung his arms in the hopes of making contact. Defeat taunted him, but he shoved it aside and kept flailing his arms in desperation.

And brushed up against something.

Someone.

With renewed strength he gripped her arm and kicked to the surface, pulling her with him. Rolling her onto her back, he placed an arm around her chest and swam toward the dock.

He was close, so close. He got to the dock ladder, hoisted her over his shoulder and climbed the metal steps. He laid her gently against the wooden planks.

He felt for a pulse.

She was alive, but not breathing. He started chest compressions. One, two, three, four...

No one’s going to hurt you.

A promise he didn’t intend to make and was unable to keep. Yet he couldn’t have guessed she’d run out into the darkness. What had spooked her?

Finishing chest compressions, he tilted her head and performed mouth-to-mouth. She coughed, the best sound he’d heard in years, and he gently rolled her onto her side facing him. She retched twice and went still. She blinked a few times, turned her head and looked up at Alex.

“You’re okay,” he assured her.

So was Alex, thanks to her beautiful eyes staring back at him. She seemed dazed, and that’s when he noticed redness forming above her left eye.

“What happened?” he said.

She touched her head. “I was running and tripped.” Her amber eyes rounded with fear. “There was a man...it could have been the killer.”

When she struggled to get up, Alex placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Sit tight for a second, okay?”

He scrambled across the pier and grabbed his radio. “Mark, it’s Alex. Send officers out back to search the property. Miss Harris encountered an unidentified man. Could be our suspect. Over.” He glanced back at Nicole. She trembled worse than when he’d found her in the closet. This time it wasn’t just from fear. She could be suffering from hypothermia.

He yanked on his boots, clipped his firearm to his belt and grabbed his jacket. He laid it across her shoulders. “We’ve gotta get you into some dry clothes.”

She stood and wavered, so he automatically scooped her up into his arms. “Are you okay with this?”

“Y-y-yeah.”

Which was a good thing because nothing could make him let her go. He went to the embankment, grabbed her messenger bag off the ground and strode across the back lawn toward the side gate. Alex avoided trekking through the house with Nicole in his arms. FBI agents would surely stop him, asking more questions, demanding answers.

He didn’t have time for that. He needed to get her somewhere safe. Nicole had almost been killed while he’d stood not a hundred feet away. Thanks to his keen senses he’d heard the splash in the water that could have been the last movement she made in this life.

Instead, he was carrying her shivering body in his arms. Thank You, Lord, for helping me find her.

Now he had to make good on his promise that no one would hurt her again.

“Were you staying at the lake house?” he asked.

She shook her head that she wasn’t.

“Did you rent a room in town?”

She nodded that she had. She was back to nodding instead of speaking, which made sense considering she’d been so close to death twice now in the past few hours. Carrying her gently but firmly, he scanned the property as they headed toward the gate that led to the driveway.

Just as he nudged the gate aside with his boot, the sliding door opened in back of the house and men’s voices drifted across the property. Alex focused on getting Nicole safely to his truck. Answers would have to come later, or even tomorrow, after she’d warmed up and Alex was confident she was out of physical danger.

Which brought up the question of why she ran in the first place.

“Why did you take off like that?” he asked.

“S-s-scared.”

“In a house full of cops?”

She shook her head in dismissal, obviously not wanting to talk about it. Fine, they didn’t have to discuss her reasons right now but after she thawed out he was getting answers as to why she put herself at risk.

Great, now he was starting to sound like the bully FBI agent.

“What happened?” A short man with black hair, in his mid-fifties ran up to them. “I’m Artie, Edward’s driver. Is she okay?”

“She will be. Please step back.”

Alex placed Nicole on the front seat of his truck, adjusted her messenger bag in her lap and grabbed a wool blanket from the back. He covered her, carefully tucking the blanket around her shoulders.

“Where are you staying?”

“Harbor L-l-...”

“Harbor Lights Inn on Main?”

With a nod she closed her eyes. Alex buckled her seat belt and shut the door.

“Is there anything I can do?” Artie asked.

“Help the officers inside.” He rushed around the front of the truck, keeping an eye on the witness.

The witness. That’s how he had to think of her or else he’d risk losing his edge. She was the key to finding Edward Lange’s killer and Alex couldn’t afford to be distracted by her natural beauty or vulnerability.

“Donovan!” Agent Banks called from the front of the house.

“Gotta get her safe!”

“Was it the killer?”

“Don’t know.”

He jumped into the truck and peeled out of the driveway. “Harbor Lights is five, seven minutes away, tops,” he said to comfort her. “I know the owner, Mrs. Cavendish. She can help you change if you’re feeling light-headed. We’ll go back for your car tomorrow, okay?”

No response.

“Nicole?” He glanced across the front seat. She was unconscious.

With one hand on the steering wheel, he touched her shoulder. “Nicole, open your eyes.”

Her limp body slid onto the seat between them. He took a deep, calming breath. This was not the time to panic, yet the nearest hospital was a forty-five minute drive. He didn’t have that kind of time.

She didn’t have that kind of time.

He grabbed the radio off the dash. “Dispatch, this is Detective Donovan. I’ve got a medical emergency, suspected hypothermia, and need a closer alternative than Skagit Valley Hospital, over.”

“Waverly Medical Center is open until nine, over.”

“Can you let them know I’m coming?”

“Affirmative. ETA?”

“Two, maybe three minutes.”

“Copy that.”

He stroked Nicole’s shoulder, hoping the connection would snap her out of whatever haze she’d sunken into.

“We’re stopping by the health center. They’ll get you warm and check you out. I’m guessing you’ve got a concussion,” he said.

He gripped the steering wheel tighter at the thought of the killer stalking her in Edward Lange’s backyard. Alex couldn’t be sure it was the killer, yet who else would have been out there wandering the property?

He glanced at Nicole and whispered, “What made you run?”

Suddenly he needed to know everything about Nicole Desiree Harris, not only because she was their only witness to a brutal murder, but also because he refused to lose another innocent woman to the tragedy of violence.

He’d make sure Nicole survived the brutal consequence of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

* * *

Nicole opened her eyes and immediately closed them against the bright light. Her head throbbed, keeping a steady beat with her heart.

“Nicole? I’m Doctor Wendell,” a female voice said.

A doctor? Wait, where was she? She blinked her eyes open and squinted. A woman’s face came into focus, concern creasing her forehead. She looked as if she was in her fifties, with dark hair pulled back into a bun.

Two more people came into view, strangers in scrubs.

Memories of the time her monster father put her in the hospital flooded her entire body. They say your cells hold on to every memory. Nicole would attest to that, as she felt the familiar anxiety skitter across her nerve endings. Even back then no one would listen to her.

No one could protect her.

“Do you remember what happened to you? How you got here?” the doctor asked.

A shudder ran down her spine at the memory. She was cold. Helpless. Struggling to call out for help.

Her vision blurred.

Unable to fight anymore.

The lake pulled her down, swallowing her.

Then she was yanked to the surface by firm hands.

Detective Donovan’s blue eyes stared down at her.

“Detective Donovan?” she managed to get out.

“I’m here.”

Nic turned her head toward the sound, and that’s when she realized her entire body was swaddled in layers of blankets. She actually wasn’t cold anymore.

The detective stepped toward her bed. He hadn’t changed out of his wet clothes, but gripped a blanket around his shoulders.

“You’re still wet,” she said.

“We couldn’t get him to leave you long enough to change.” The doctor pursed her lips.

Alex stepped even closer, his remarkable blue eyes focused and sincere. “You’re okay now.”

“You promised I would be.”

It was the first time that a cop had actually kept his word.

“How do you feel?” he said, placing his hand on the blankets above her right arm. Even through the layers of cotton she could feel the warmth of his touch. How was that possible?

“Okay, I guess,” she said. “Am I at the hospital?”

“Medical center.”

“I’d like to determine if you fell unconscious from the head injury or the hypothermia.” The doctor pulled out a penlight to examine Nic’s eyes. “Okay, without moving your head, follow my fingers.”

Nicole followed the doctor’s instructions as she tested her vision, hearing, memory and concentration.

“Good,” the doctor said. “If symptoms develop, like trouble with short-term memory, we can schedule a CT scan.”

“I’m hoping to head back to Seattle soon,” Nic said.

“Is that where you live?”

Nic nodded.

“When you get there, check in with your primary care provider. Are you feeling light-headed right now?”

“No.”

“I don’t think it was the bump to the head as much as the hypothermia that knocked you out.”

Or, try door number three: emotional trauma of nearly being killed twice in one night.

“I guess you’ll need my insurance card.” Nic glanced around the room for her messenger bag.

“I’ve already handled it,” Alex said to the doctor.

“Wait, Detective Donovan—”

“Alex,” he corrected Nicole. “I found your insurance card in your wallet and gave them the information. I hope that’s okay.”

“Yeah, sure, fine.”

She found herself shutting down, a little off balance that he’d taken care of her.

Because you’re his star witness, that’s all.

She leaned back against the pillow and released a quiet sigh.

“Her blood pressure looks good,” the doctor said. “Vitals are normal. You’re a lucky girl, Nicole. Not everyone knows how to perform CPR properly. When you’re ready, Detective Donovan can take you home.”

“Thanks.”

The word home held no meaning for Nicole. It was a nebulous image of something she didn’t understand since she’d never experienced the true sense of home. Even her studio apartment on Seattle’s north side never quite felt like home. Maybe because she was always ready to pack up and flee in the middle of the night.

The doctor and support staff left the small examining room, but Detective Donovan—Alex—did not. He reached for something on the counter and handed it to her: a coffee cup with a plastic lid.

“This might help,” he said.

“Thanks, but I don’t drink coffee.”

“It’s hot chocolate.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope. They treat a lot of kids here.”

She took the cup and he helped her sit up. This close, she couldn’t help but notice well-defined muscles spanning his chest through his soaked shirt.

“You must be freezing,” she said.

“I’ll dry off later.”

“But you could catch cold.”

“I’m taking care of you, remember?” he said with a smile.

“Right.” She popped off the lid and took a sip of cocoa.

Stepping back, he leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Why did you take off like that?”

She ripped her gaze from his assessing blue eyes and studied her cocoa. This was too complicated to explain in three sentences or less.

“You can trust me,” he said.

Trust me, Nicole. I’ll fix this somehow. But Officer Wheeler didn’t fix it, and Nicole spent nine more years dodging fists and protecting her little brother and sister.

“That bad, huh?” Alex said.

“What?” She glanced up.

“By the look on your face I’m guessing you haven’t had much luck trusting people.”

“Cops especially,” she let slip.

“Okay, now that deserves an explanation.”

Instead, she shut down, wrapping both hands around the cup to warm her fingers.

“You dated a cop,” he guessed.

“That would never happen,” she muttered.

“Now you’ve piqued my interest.”

This man had saved her life. She owed him an explanation about why she vilified his occupation.

“I depended on cops and they let me down.”

“Cops, plural? What kind of sordid past do you have, Miss Harris?”

He was teasing, but the story was far from funny. And not one she necessarily wanted to repeat to a stranger.

“I could always do a little digging of my own,” he said. “What would I find? A string of broken-hearted police officers in your wake?”

She pinned him with angry eyes. “My father beat us and every time the cops came to investigate I expected them to help, but they never did. Sure, a few promised they’d get us out of there but did they ever follow through on their promises?” her voice cracked.

Alex touched her shoulder in a comforting gesture. “Take a breath. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

But she couldn’t stop the rant. “He said I could run, but I’d never escape. I’d never be safe. And he was right. Another monster is after me and there’s nothing I can do to stop him from trying to kill me, too.”

“Don’t talk like that. Hey.” He tipped her chin so she had to look into his warm blue eyes. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

For a second she was lost in the sincerity of his voice and concerned expression. Then common sense slapped her back to reality. She turned away and studied her cocoa. “I’m ready to go now.”

Out of the corner of her eye she could tell he watched her, assessing what to say next, if anything. No wonder he was confused. She was a powder keg, needy one minute and explosive the next, biting his head off when all he did was save her life.

She took a breath and glanced up to apologize, but he’d already opened the door. “Doctor Wendell?” he called into the hallway.

The doctor stepped into the examining room and looked from Alex to Nicole.

“She’s ready to go,” he said.

Dr. Wendell removed the IV and blankets. “Someone should check on her every few hours.”

“I’ve got it covered,” Alex said.

Meaning what? He was going stay close and protect Nic even though she’d been so incredibly rude to him? If only he hadn’t kept pushing her, trying to make light of her past. Yet how could he have known?

“You’re all set,” the doctor said. “You can return the scrubs tomorrow.”

“Thanks,” Nic said.

Doctor Wendell left them alone. Nic shifted off the bed and Alex offered his hand for support. She automatically took it and warmth shot up her arm. Incredible. How could his hand be warm when he had to be freezing from the damp clothing?

“You should get scrubs to wear out of here,” she suggested.

“I’ve got extra sweatshirts in the truck. I’ll get one for each of us.”

She realized they were still holding hands.

And she didn’t want to let go.

He must have read fear on her face—fear of depending on someone, fear of being let down again—because he slipped his hand from hers and opened the door.

“Wait,” she said.

He hesitated, but didn’t turn around.

“Thanks,” she said. “And I’m sorry.”

“You’re welcome, and there’s no need to apologize. I have a habit of poking around where I don’t belong. I’ll try not to let it happen again. Give me a minute to get the sweatshirts.”

He stepped out and shut the door with a click.

“I’m an idiot,” she whispered. After all, the detective just wanted to help.

Yet her frazzled emotional state was understandable considering what she’d been through tonight. Besides being a witness to murder, she’d nearly drowned.

But she didn’t, thanks to Detective Donovan’s CPR skills.

She leaned against the bright white wall and closed her eyes. What would happen next? Would federal agents whisk her away and detain her until she remembered something helpful? Would they be able to protect her from the killer who would surely try again?

She had no confidence in the police, but for some reason she trusted Alex. There was something about his deep voice infused with truth and integrity that demanded trust. Whatever came next, she hoped he’d be a part of it.

Someone knocked on the door. She figured it was Alex.

“Come in.”

The door popped open and a tall, bald man with a mustache, wearing a dark suit and aviator sunglasses flashed his badge. “I’m Special Agent Ted Maines with the FBI. You need to come with me.”

“But—”

“Please, ma’am. Time is critical. The killer eluded our search of the property. He could be anywhere, even in this medical center.” He motioned her out of the room.

She stepped out into the hall and he led her away. Nic kept glancing over her shoulder in search of Alex.

“Where are you going?” Doctor Wendell asked, speed walking to block them.

“FBI.” He flashed his badge over his shoulder at the doctor.

“You need to wait for Detective Donovan,” the doctor said.

“No, ma’am, I don’t.” He pulled Nic down the hall toward the back exit of the medical center.

This is why she hated law enforcement. They didn’t respect your feelings or opinions. They just took what they wanted. The agent shoved open the metal door and led her across the parking lot to a waiting SUV.

“Where are we going?”

Would she ever see Alex again?

“Someplace safe.”

A shudder raced down her back. There was no such place.

“No.” She struggled against his grasp. “Let me go!”

THREE

Talk about stepping into quicksand. Alex blew it in there, questioning Nicole to the point where she’d broken down, confessing her brutal childhood. He was pretty sure she hadn’t meant to reveal so much about herself in one breath.

Could Alex have been any more insensitive? Probably not. But he was trying to get her to open up so he could assess how to protect her.

Alex’s cell phone vibrated with a call from Chief Roth.

“Hi, Chief,” Alex answered.

“I heard you went chest-to-chest with the FBI.”

“He was bullying a witness.”

“How’s she doing?”

“It’s been a rough night. She was hiding in the closet when I found her.”

“Too traumatized to talk to the Feds?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Mark said she gave you the slip?”

“And nearly drowned. She was running from someone. The killer could have still been on the property when we left.”

“Not a smart move on his part. What’s your current location?”

“Medical center, then Harbor Lights Inn. I have to wake her every few hours due to a mild concussion. Do we still have jurisdiction on this one?”

“Absolutely. The Feds aren’t here for the murder case. They’ve got their own agenda. You did good tonight, Alex.”

“I nearly lost the witness.”

“But you got her back. Let’s focus on PA.”

Productive Action was a term the chief had coined to keep his staff focused on solving problems, not feeding them.

“Keep the witness safe. We owe it to Edward to find his killer,” Chief Roth said. “I’ll call when I know more.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ll send a cruiser to sit outside the inn. Never hurts to have someone watching your back.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Alex shoved the phone into his pocket and pulled a couple of Decker’s Lakeside Resort sweatshirts from the truck. His brother never missed an opportunity to promote one of his properties by giving away free sweatshirts with his logo emblazoned across the chest. He’d given Alex a few to hand out to friends, not that Alex had much of a social life since he moved back to Waverly Harbor. At least the sweatshirts would come in handy.

Alex scanned the lot, then pulled off his shirt and undershirt, and yanked the thick cotton sweatshirt over his head. He sensed Nicole needed a moment alone after exposing her past to Alex. He reached into his gym bag for a pair of sweatpants.

“Detective Donovan!” Dr. Wendell waved frantically from the building. “Hurry!”

He slammed the door and took off, panic spiraling in his chest. Had something happened to Nicole? Did she pass out again? Stop breathing?

“What—”

“He claimed he was FBI,” she interrupted. “He took her out the back door.”

Alex tossed the spare sweatshirt and pants on a chair as he rushed down the hall. What was the agent thinking, dragging her out against her will? Because Alex was pretty sure she wouldn’t have gone willingly without checking with him first.

He shoved open the back door and spotted Nicole struggling against a tall, bald man who was trying to shove her into an SUV. Alex had made a promise not to let anything happen to her and he’d blown it. Again.

“Hey!” Alex shouted.

The guy let go of Nicole with such force that she stumbled and lost her balance. Alex tried getting to her before she hit the ground but failed.

The agent used his temporary distraction to jump in the SUV. He peeled out of the parking lot as Alex kneeled beside Nicole. He touched her shoulder but she fought him, swinging her fisted hands against his chest. Or maybe it was somebody else she fought. Her eyes were pinched shut; guttural sounds vibrated against her throat as if she were reliving what just happened.

Or something worse.

My father beat us....

“Nicole, open your eyes,” Alex said, removing his hand from her shoulder. Maybe touching her kept her imprisoned in the nightmare. “It’s me, Detective Donovan, remember? You’re safe. No one’s going to hurt you.”

Breathing heavy, hands fisted against his chest, she blinked a few times and looked into his eyes with a confused and lost expression. He tried to crack a slight smile to let her know she was okay, that the danger was gone.

That she was safe.

Suddenly she whipped her head around, scanning the parking lot as if remembering what happened. When she finally refocused on Alex, he put up his hands and nodded, silently asking permission to touch her again.

She collapsed against his chest and gripped his sweatshirt with trembling fingers. This time they were not trembling from exposure to the frigid lake, but from the trauma of nearly being taken against her will.

Wrapping his arms around her, he held her close as she coughed and sobbed for a few painfully long minutes. The adrenaline rush alone of what happened to this woman in the past two hours would crack the toughest of men.

“It’s okay.” He stroked her still damp hair, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt.

An FBI agent just tried to take her out of the medical center against her will? What, to earn gold stars with his boss? Then again, maybe he wasn’t FBI.

If not FBI then who was he? If it was the killer how did he know where to find her, and why risk exposing his identity? Nicole and the doctor had seen his face and could give a description.

Alex had another thought: if the guy wanted to silence Nicole why not just kill her in the parking lot?

Something was off here. Seriously off.

“We need to get out of here,” he whispered against her ear. “Can you stand?”

“Yeah.”

He stood slowly, helping her to her feet. She clung to his sweatshirt as he led her back into the medical center.

“Is she okay?” Dr. Wendell asked.

“I think so.” Alex shut the back door to the clinic. “Can you give Nicole another once-over? She may have hit her head on the pavement.”

“No, I’m okay.” Nicole looked up with pleading eyes. “Can we go? Please?”

He glanced at the doctor.

“It’s okay. But watch her.”

“I plan to.” Alex guided her through the medical center, ignoring the stares of curious staff members and patients. Luckily it was a slow night so there weren’t a lot of witnesses to the near abduction, but that wouldn’t stop the gossip mill from buzzing.

“Here,” Lacy Dunne, the receptionist, handed Alex the spare sweatshirt and pants he’d grabbed from the truck. He didn’t even remember dropping them.

“Thanks.” He took the sweatshirt and turned to Nicole. “Let’s get this on you.”

She stared at her hand, gripping his sweatshirt, but didn’t unclench her fingers. He sensed that residual fear paralyzed her.

The medical center went oddly quiet and although he knew they had an audience he didn’t care. Alex placed his hand over Nicole’s and slowly uncurled her death grip.

“You’re okay,” he assured.

“You said that before,” she whispered.

Guilt tore through him. He should have been there for Nicole.

Just like he should have been there for Jessica.

“You’re right,” he said. “But I’m here now. Nothing’s going to happen to you as long as I’m close and I’m not going anywhere. Arms up.”

Staring blindly at his chest she raised her arms. He slipped on the sweatshirt and reached around to lift her hair out of the back.

“I can do it,” she said.

He lowered his hands and waited until she freed her hair from the sweatshirt. She nodded that she was ready to go just as Dr. Wendell brought over Nicole’s messenger bag. “Thanks,” Nicole said.

Cupping her elbow he led her out the front of the medical center hoping that he could be true to his word and keep her safe.

* * *

The minute Alex and Nicole set foot inside the inn, the nurturing Mrs. Cavendish made them feel welcome, offering food and warm beverages. Since Nicole felt comfortable around the older woman, Alex took the opportunity to slip into the bathroom and change out of his wet jeans into the dry sweatpants. He returned quickly to the kitchen, afraid to leave Nicole’s side for long.

Alex suspected Mrs. Cavendish had heard about Nicole’s situation, but you couldn’t tell by the way the innkeeper was acting. She casually brewed Nicole a cup of decaffeinated tea, served it with a chicken salad sandwich and cookies, and sat at the table chatting with Nicole about the breakfast schedule, the locked door policy and afternoon chocolate tasting on Wednesdays and Saturdays. Mrs. C. was doing her best to act as if Nicole was her average guest yet Alex was sure Chief Roth had called ahead to let her know she had someone special staying at her inn.

Special. Yep, that’s the word Alex would use to describe Nicole, and not only because she was a witness to murder. There were many things that made her special, none of which Alex would allow himself to fully appreciate. That would be inappropriate on so many levels.

As Nicole nibbled on her sandwich, Alex leaned against the counter and eyed the window. The Feds would probably show up soon and demand to take her into custody. Their main motive wouldn’t be to protect her as much as to get information out of her.

Alex glanced at Nicole, thankful that she seemed comfortable at the inn. It was a warm and welcoming refuge. He’d realized that last year when he’d investigated the break-in of Mrs. C.’s garage that turned out to be kids getting into mischief.

She’d been so grateful to have her boxes of collectibles returned that she started dropping off baked goods at the P.D. every morning. Alex had to politely ask her to stop, joking that he’d already moved his belt over one notch thanks to her culinary talent. She’d backed off, but every week she’d still deliver a tin of muffins or scones to the office. One time she’d sent her niece, Amanda, to make the delivery. That’s when Alex figured out he’d shot up to the top of Waverly Harbor’s most eligible bachelor list.

Not that he’d encouraged the status. He’d been clear with anyone who’d listen that he wasn’t interested in romance. When he’d first returned to town he’d been too busy taking care of Dad to have a social life. After Dad’s passing, the pain of losing Jessica resurfaced with a vengeance, still too raw, too fresh for Alex to risk getting involved. He couldn’t truly love another woman until he’d healed from his grief.

Nicole yawned. “Excuse me.”

“Looks like you could use a week of sleep, young lady,” Mrs. C. said.

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be rude.” Nicole bit back another yawn.

“Come on, let’s get you upstairs.” Alex offered his hand. Nicole pushed back from the table and placed her hand in his.

Her skin was still cold and her fingers felt so delicate against his palm. He nearly picked her up again, but thought better of it.

“Is there anything else you need?” Mrs. C. asked.

“No, just sleep. Thank you for the sandwich and cookies,” Nicole said.

As Alex led her through the front room, she gazed longingly at the fireplace.

“You want to relax in here for a while?” he offered. “Warm up?”

She blinked hopeful amber eyes at him. “Could I?”

“Sure.”

“That would be great. I just can’t seem to get the chill out of my bones.”

He knew he should take her statement, but not in her fragile state.

“Let’s get you close to the fire.” He shifted a thick-cushioned chair in front of the fireplace and grabbed a green-and-yellow afghan.

“How’s this?” he said, draping it over her shoulders.

She sat down, folding her legs beneath her. With a sigh, she said, “I may never get up.”

“There’s no rush.”

“I’m sure you have better things to do than play babysitter.”

“Not really.” He shifted onto the arm of the couch where he had a good view of both Nicole and the street through the front window.

“What about your wife...kids?” she said, staring into the fire.

“No wife, no kids.”

“Huh.”

“Why, ‘huh’?”

“You seem like...never mind.”

“I seem like what?” He crossed his arms over his chest in a mock offended gesture and smiled.

She glanced up, but wasn’t smiling back. “You seem nice.”

The vulnerability in her eyes, in her voice, made him want to look away. But he couldn’t. Nor did he know what to do with the compliment or the awkward silence hanging between them.

“I’ve offended you,” she said.

He shrugged, trying to keep it light. “Some guys think the description, ‘nice’ is the kiss of death.”

“Oh, you mean like ‘you’re nice enough to have as a friend, but nothing more’?”

“Something like that.”

She cracked a half smile, gazing into the flames. He lowered his hands toward the fireplace to warm them.

“You know what I don’t get?” she said.

“What’s that?”

“How you seem to know what I need.”

“Excuse me?” He glanced at her.

“Just now, you knew I wanted to sit by the fire.”

“You were eyeing it like you needed a sugar fix and it was a hot fudge sundae.”

“But you didn’t have to set me up here. You paid attention to what I wanted. No one has ever done that for me.”

The tormented sound of her voice made him crazy on so many levels.

“Not even your cat?” he joked, trying to cheer her up.

She snapped her attention to him.

“Sorry.” He put up his hand. “I’m sure you’ve noticed that when I don’t know what to say to make somebody feel better, I say something stupid.”

“How did you know I had a cat?”

He shrugged. “You seem the cat type.”

“Meaning what?”

“You have a demanding job managing other people’s lives, so I figured a cat is low maintenance. Plus, there’s that whole warm-and-cuddly-in-your-lap thing that women like.”

“You have a lot of experience with women, do you?” she said with a raised eyebrow.

“I’ve had my share.” He glanced into the fire, not wanting to wander down that dark path. Not tonight, not with her.

She gazed into the fire, as well, and they shared a few minutes of companionable silence. He liked the quiet, the peace it always brought him. Sometimes he’d even drift into silent prayer, surrendering his guilt and remorse, asking God to ease his burden. Alex always felt a little better after prayer. The ache wasn’t totally gone, but it was tempered with hope.

As the fire crackled and hissed, Alex realized he’d rarely enjoyed the peace of a quiet moment with a woman. Jessica was always chatting and moving. She wasn’t the type to let one unproductive minute slip by. She sometimes criticized Alex for needing time to chill out in front of the TV watching a Seahawks game. Not that he minded her criticism. She was kinder about it than others had been.

Alex knew he had faults, probably more than most, according to his stepmother, which she drove home on a daily basis growing up.

How did he end up thinking about her? He shook it off.

“So, what’s the cat’s name?” he asked.

When Nicole didn’t answer, he glanced sideways. Her eyes were closed and her cheek pressed against the side cushion of the chair.

He shifted off the arm of the sofa and kneeled beside her. “Nicole?”

Completely out, she looked so content that he didn’t want to wake her. Instead, he watched her sleep and thought about the challenges in store for this woman who, it seemed, had already dealt with her share of violence.

“I was going to put another log—”

Alex put up his hand to quiet Mrs. C. She wandered closer to the fire and eyed Nicole, then glanced at Alex with a worried frown.

“She’s in trouble, isn’t she?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “Help me get her to her room?”

Alex scooped Nicole up yet again, and she instinctively wrapped her arms around his neck. He climbed the stairs to the second floor, careful not to jostle her too much and wake her, although he guessed she was completely out from exhaustion.

Mrs. C. motored down the hallway to a room at the end, opened the door and pulled down the covers. Alex shifted Nicole gently into the bed and stepped back as Mrs. C. took off Nicole’s shoes and pulled the sheets and comforter across her body. She reached over to turn off a lamp in the corner.

“Leave it on,” Alex whispered. “If she wakes up in the middle of the night she’ll be disoriented. The light will help her remember where she is.”

“There’s a sitting room in here,” Mrs. C. said, leading him across the room and opening an oak door. “Or would you rather stay in the room with her?”

“The sitting room is great, thanks.” He didn’t want Nicole waking up with a strange man hovering beside her bed. Even though he’d saved her life more than once, they were technically still strangers.

The sitting room was an ideal spot with a clear view of town and unexpected visitors from its bay windows. A new round of concern arced through him.

“Has anyone called, asking about her?” He pulled back the lace curtain with his forefinger.

“No, why?”

“Do me a favor? If anyone calls asking about Nicole—”

“It’s our policy not to share information about our guests with the general public,” she interrupted him.

“Good. The fewer people who know she’s here the safer she’ll be. Is your new security system fully functional?”

“Absolutely. We only have one other guest, Lacy Dunne’s cousin, Grace, from Portland. It should be pretty quiet.”

Until the Feds showed up.

“There are extra pillows and blankets in the armoire,” Mrs. C. whispered as she crossed Nicole’s bedroom to the door.

Alex wouldn’t need them. There was no way he was going to sleep while Nicole was in his custody.

“What else can I do for you, Alex?” she said, looking up at him with concern in her blue-gray eyes.

“You’ve done enough. Thank you.”

With a nod, she shut the door and Alex flipped the dead bolt. He wandered into the sitting area without glancing at Nicole. Seeing her fatigued body bundled up in the blankets would stir anger in his gut, especially now that he knew what kind of childhood she’d endured. Nicole Harris didn’t deserve to be hunted and threatened because she happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

As he studied the harbor lights in the distance, Alex considered moving Nicole to a different location. But for now they would stay put so she could get a good night’s sleep and be ready to face the challenges of tomorrow.

* * *

Nicole awakened with a start. She gasped, sucked in a shallow breath and whipped her head around, trying to figure out where she was, what just happened. A dream. No, another nightmare.

Shouting. Men shouting.

Only, she wasn’t hiding in the closet at Mr. Lange’s lake house. She was...

“The inn,” she whispered, her voice hoarse, even to her own ears.

Clutching the comforter to her chest she remembered the detective bringing her to the inn, Mrs. Cavendish making her a sandwich and sitting with Alex by the fire. After everything she’d been through she’d somehow managed to enjoy a few minutes of peace in front of the fire with the detective. It had been a surprisingly pleasant moment.

She glanced around the room at the charming knickknacks, antique furniture and lace curtains framing the windows. It was still dark outside so what had awakened her? Was it the anxiety humming through her body from everything that had happened? She seemed to be safe. The detective had said he’d protect her.

Nothing’s going to happen to you as long as I’m close, and I’m not going anywhere....

“Detective?” she called out, although her voice didn’t carry far. She climbed out of bed, hugging herself against the chill of leaving the down comforter behind, and wandered to an open door adjacent to her room. She flipped on the light. It was a sitting room. Empty.

The rumbling sound of angry voices echoed from the main floor below.

She wouldn’t be afraid this time. The rhythmic pounding of footsteps vibrated against the wooden floorboards.

She thought she heard Alex’s voice, so she cracked open the door.

He marched toward her room wearing an angry frown that looked so unlike him.

“Donovan!” A tall, broad-shouldered man bounded up the stairs and charged Alex from behind.

He grabbed Alex’s arm, spun him around and slugged him in the gut.

Alex hit the floor, gasping for breath.

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