The offer was so tempting.

In that instant, she would have given anything to be able to trust him. All of a sudden, more than ever before, she realized just how tired she was. Tired of running, tired of looking over her shoulder everywhere she went. It was an infinite road with no end in sight.

She would give anything to be able to trust someone, anyone, for the first time in so long, to turn her face into that broad chest, to ease her burden onto one of those shoulders and let someone else carry the load, if only for a short time.

She didn’t say a word. There was nothing she could say, nothing Ross would understand, that wouldn’t require explanations she couldn’t give. Instead, she turned away and escaped into the bathroom, the moment over. Reality had set in, offering the cold reminder that she couldn’t trust this man, or any other.

MILLS & BOON

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Strangers in the Night
Kerry Connor

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This book is dedicated with gratitude to everyone who

ever told me they enjoyed something I wrote (even when

I suspected they were just being kind) for that little bit of

encouragement I needed to keep going.

Your words meant the world to me and helped me find

my own. Thank you.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

A lifelong mystery reader, Kerry Connor first discovered romantic suspense by reading Harlequin Intrigue books and is thrilled to be writing for the line. Kerry lives and writes in Southern California.

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Allie Freeman —A witness to murder.

Gideon Ross —The bounty hunter was tracking a criminal when he found a woman running for her life.

Kathleen Mulroney —Her murder set everything in motion.

Price Chastain —The real estate mogul had gotten away with plenty of crimes—and intended to get away with this one.

Roy Taylor —Ross’s nemesis was hunting prey of his own.

Ken Newcomb —Ross’s NYPD contact.

Dominick Brancato —A man with a mission of his own.

Contents

Prologue

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

Prologue

The taxi rolled to a stop next to the Chastain building just after nine o’clock.

For a moment Allie sat there, listening to the raindrops patter against the roof of the cab, staring out through the liquid-smeared window into the darkness. She knew there was a light burning directly above the door she planned to use to enter the building. The veil of rain obscured it, making the alley between the Manhattan high-rise and its neighbor appear utterly black.

Naturally she’d forgotten to bring an umbrella. It had been that kind of day.

The driver twisted in his seat and shot her a skeptical glance. “You sure you don’t want me to take you around the front?”

The only thing Allie was sure about was that this was the last place she wanted to be. She was exhausted. Her back was killing her; her feet ached. All she wanted was to sink back against the cushioned seat and have him take her home.

But she’d made the mistake of doing her brother a favor and getting him tickets for tomorrow’s Mets game, then compounded the error by leaving them on her desk. That was what she got for being in such a hurry to leave work on a Friday in the first place. Of course, with her luck it had to be an early-afternoon game. For her brother and his buddies to get to the ballpark in time, she either had to come back to work tonight or make the trip early in the morning. After the week she’d had, there was no way she was getting out of bed before noon tomorrow.

She reached into her purse for the fare. “This is fine.”

“You want me to wait?”

“No.” She’d be lucky to afford the fare back to Queens without paying him to sit there while she ran inside. She’d have to try to hail another taxi when she got out.

Shoving the money into the driver’s open palm and ignoring the look that said he clearly thought she had a few screws loose, Allie stepped out of the cab. A few seconds later it pulled away.

She moved quickly down the alley, muttering under her breath about baseball and younger brothers. She only hoped that by using the back service entrance and bypassing security in the front, she could get in and out faster. One of the night guards who often manned the front desk was a creep. She had no idea if he was working tonight, but wasn’t about to risk it.

The rain continued to fall, and she was nearly soaked by the time she spotted the dim light above the back entrance up ahead. A sigh of relief whooshed from between her teeth. More than ready to get inside, she reached into her pocket for the security code she wasn’t supposed to have. It was good to have friends in high places, in this case Nadine in Payroll. Nadine wasn’t supposed to have it, either, but Allie wasn’t about to rat her out.

Her hand had just closed around the slip of paper when she heard voices.

The sound was so unexpected she missed a step and nearly stumbled. She reached out and steadied herself against the wall, and hesitated, uncertain. She couldn’t make out who was speaking, but they were definitely coming from in front of her—right where she was headed.

Curious in spite of herself, Allie slowly moved closer. She could make the voices out now, hushed and angry. She realized with a start that one belonged to Price Chastain himself. Real-estate mogul. Head of the Chastain Corporation. The man whose name was on her paycheck, even though she was more likely to see him in the newspaper than in the office. Surprise drew her up short again. He was just about the last person she’d expect to be hanging out in an alley. The other voice belonged to a woman. Allie didn’t recognize it. Whoever she was, though, she was holding up her end of the argument. Chastain’s temper was legendary, but the woman was giving it right back.

Moving on tiptoe, Allie peered around the corner to the recessed back entrance.

They were standing directly in front of the door she’d intended to use, clearly illuminated in a puddle of light. Mr. Chastain was right in the woman’s face. She stood in profile, allowing Allie to identify her. Her name was Kathleen…something. Allie wasn’t sure what department she worked in. She only knew her well enough to recognize her face. The woman was shaking, her hands fisted at her sides, her face dark with rage. She didn’t back down from whatever Chastain was saying.

They weren’t alone, either. Two other men stood slightly behind the woman on either side. Something about their stance said that despite their location, they weren’t there to back her up.

An uneasy feeling slid down Allie’s spine. She didn’t know what was going on and she didn’t want to. The last thing she needed was to get mixed up in something that was none of her business. She’d have to suck it up and go in the front entrance. At the moment all she wanted was to get out of there. That sole purpose fueling her movements, she began to inch backward in the direction she’d come from.

Just as Mr. Chastain pulled out a gun.

For a split second, time stood still. Allie froze. Kathleen froze. The air that had been charged with angry voices was now stunningly quiet.

Then Allie noticed that time, somehow, was still moving. Mr. Chastain was still moving. He’d produced a gun from his coat with a casualness that seemed wildly out of place for the situation, the same ease with which he raised the gun, aimed it directly at the chest of the woman standing in front of him.

And fired.

Like a video running in slow motion suddenly propelled into fast forward, everything seemed to happen at once. The muffled shot. The eruption of blood that splattered across Mr. Chastain’s pristine silk suit and overcoat. Kathleen’s head snapping back, eyes wide with shock, before she fell to the ground.

And then, once more, silence. Nothing but the steady beat of the rain.

A scream rose in Allie’s throat, pressing at her Adam’s apple with a force that begged to be released. Some deep-seated sense of self-preservation prevented it. She clamped her lips together in a tight line to keep the sound from escaping. She couldn’t scream, couldn’t afford to let him know she’d seen.

So she stood there, hidden in the alley’s shadows, afraid to move, afraid not to. She watched as Mr. Chastain slowly lowered the gun and returned it to his pocket.

Murder. I just witnessed a murder.

Allie stared at his expression, no less horrified by what she saw there than by what she’d seen him do. There was no remorse. There was no anger. There was…nothing. If she hadn’t seen him kill someone, she never would have believed it. He gazed down at the woman’s body with an expression so blank that she almost wondered if he realized what he’d done.

Then, with a chilling coolness, he smiled.

He said something to the two men, who’d stood there the whole time and done nothing. One of them laughed.

Fresh horror swept over her. Allie slowly became aware of the fact that she was shaking. Tremors racked her body from head to foot. Silent tears mingled with the rain and poured down her cheeks, blurring her vision, the result of keeping that scream inside. She couldn’t wipe them away, couldn’t move at all. Then she realized to her horror that she was still standing there.

How long had it been? Ten seconds? Minutes? An hour?

Too long.

She had to go. He might glance over and see her at any moment.

And then he would kill her, too.

Oh, God.

She had to go. She had to run.

Holding her breath, doing her best not to make a sudden movement, she inched backward, retreating farther into the shadows. She ducked around the corner. Then, only then, did she start moving faster, spinning on her heel, hurtling into the darkness and the escape that lay beyond.

And she ran, so hard and so fast it seemed as though she would never stop running again.

Chapter One

One Year Later

Gideon Ross heard the vehicle a good couple of minutes before it emerged from the winding mountain road and rolled to a stop out front. There was never any doubt where it was headed. His cabin was the only destination on this particular road. Most days passed without a single engine marring the silence, the town store’s monthly deliveries being the only exception. After a couple weeks of trying to be neighborly, the few residents of the town at the base of the mountain who’d even bothered had taken the hint and given up. The cabin was too remote and its owner even more so to make the effort worthwhile.

It was a lesson they’d learned none too soon for his tastes. Ross hadn’t bought the isolated cabin deep in the Adirondacks in hopes of meeting people. He’d moved here to get away from them. If he could find a way to bypass those supply deliveries that didn’t involve starvation, he’d gladly take it.

He knew long before it arrived that the vehicle making its way up the mountain wasn’t the store’s delivery truck. He was well acquainted with the sound of its engine. This ominous and steadily rising growl wasn’t it.

Lifting the beer bottle to his mouth, he finished off the last few ounces, then dropped it to the floor beside him. With his feet propped up on the porch railing and the chair tipped back on two legs, he folded his hands behind his head. To hell with it. He wasn’t about to let some idiot ruin his day. The autumn afternoon was too warm and the sun felt too good to get worked up about much of anything.

The vehicle—late-model Buick, he registered before he even thought about it—stopped a few feet in front of the cabin. The engine was cut off, and a few seconds later he heard someone climb out.

He didn’t bother to remove the fishing hat he’d tugged low over his face to see who it was. He knew two things without looking. Whoever it was didn’t know him, because they would know better than to bother him, and they weren’t welcome. They’d figure that one out for themselves soon enough.

Footsteps crunched along the rocks and gravel until they hit the front steps. It was a man, or a woman who walked like one. From the sound of it, a man who was carrying more than a little excess weight.

Ross would have groaned if it hadn’t meant giving away that he wasn’t sleeping. Old habits died hard, and a year of rust hadn’t kept him from analyzing every detail without intending to. As long as the visitor didn’t intend him harm, it didn’t matter who it was. He was an easy target and he wasn’t dead yet. Things looked fairly promising on that front.

“You going to stop faking and offer an old man a drink?”

So much for promising. The voice was familiar, but no more welcome than when the visitor had been a stranger. Tension coiled in the pit of his stomach, killing the beer buzz he’d been working on all afternoon.

“Well?” the voice demanded.

“No.”

The porch railing creaked, no doubt from the strain of Ken Newcomb leaning against it. “Too bad. I haven’t been driving for six hours for nothing.”

“Plenty of places back in the city to get a beer.”

“Except you’re out here in the middle of the damn wilderness.”

“There’s a reason for that.”

“Yeah. Because you’ve lost your damn mind.”

“Because I want to be left alone.”

“I would be happy not to be here. I wouldn’t be, either, if you had a phone.”

“There’s nobody I’m interested in talking to.”

“Well, you’re going to want to talk to me. I’ve got a job for you.”

“Not interested.”

“You will be.”

“I let my license lapse. You’re going to have to find yourself another bounty hunter.”

“You don’t need a license. This isn’t official. It’s personal.”

That was what Ross was afraid of.

He finally pushed back the brim of his hat and peered up at his visitor. The homicide detective had a face the texture of tanned leather, seeming to bear the evidence of every case he’d ever worked in twenty-five years on the job. In the scant fourteen months since Ross had last seen him, Newcomb appeared to have acquired a good five years more on that face. Fresh lines were carved into his forehead and around his eyes. His gaze simmered with fevered emotion.

The knot in the pit of Ross’s stomach tightened. Whatever it was the man wanted, it was big. That was going to make it even harder to say no to him.

Which didn’t mean Ross wouldn’t do it.

When he didn’t say anything, Newcomb continued, “Did you hear about Chastain?”

Price Chastain. The name was enough to kill the last of the peace Newcomb’s arrival hadn’t managed to dispel. “I heard.”

“Trial starts in a couple of weeks. I thought I might see you back in the city for it.”

“Newcomb, how many times has the D.A. indicted Chastain for something?”

Newcomb’s hesitation was telling. “Four.”

“And how many convictions has he gotten?”

“None.”

“So you can understand why I didn’t hightail it back to the city this time.”

“It’s different this time. We’ve got him.”

“I’ve heard that before.”

“This time we’ve got him on tape.”

Ross let that sink in, more the excitement in Newcomb’s voice than the words themselves. He wasn’t going to get his hopes up, but it wasn’t like Newcomb was going anywhere. “I’m listening.”

“How much have you heard about the case?”

“We don’t get much news from the city up in these parts,” he drawled.

“Victim’s Kathleen Mulroney, a secretary at his company. On a Friday night last September he caught her trying to sneak out of the building with some files she’d copied. We don’t know what was in them. They were long gone by the time the arrest was made. Computer records show she copied some kind of hidden files, but Chastain had already moved them by the time we got there. We think she stumbled on evidence of his dirty dealings.”

“You don’t have a concrete motive.”

“Doesn’t matter. That’ll be good enough.”

Ross decided to withhold judgment on that. “Go on.”

“He must have been on to her, because he was waiting for her when she came out of the building. He confronted her, they argued, and he shot her in the chest.”

“The bastard did her himself?” This was too good to be true. Exactly why Ross wasn’t buying it yet.

“Yep. Probably in a fit of rage, possibly out of sheer arrogance. We’ve never been able to pin anything else on him. What’s one more murder?”

“And you got this on tape?”

“What Chastain didn’t know was the building across the alley had just had a new security system installed. A camera above its back entrance captured the whole thing. If it hadn’t, she would have just been somebody else connected to Chastain who disappeared without a trace. We’d have never been able to connect him to it.” Newcomb shook his head. “Five years of investigating the bastard, and we get him out of dumb luck.”

“Isn’t that always the way?” Ross muttered.

As if sensing Ross’s lack of enthusiasm, Newcomb elaborated. “We’ve got everything. Chastain catching the Mulroney woman coming out of the building. The argument. Chastain shooting her. Two of his men removing the body.”

“Which men?”

“A guy you never heard of, new on Chastain’s payroll, Pete Crowley.” Newcomb met his gaze head-on. “And Roy Taylor.”

A cold trickle slid down Ross’s spine. “Why are you here, Newcomb?”

“Taylor skipped town.”

Newcomb didn’t have to say another word. They both knew it. Those three words told Ross everything he needed to know—and guaranteed his cooperation. He swore, exactly the reaction the detective was looking for. For the first time since he’d arrived, Newcomb smiled, a deep satisfied grin.

Ross closed his eyes before he put his fist right in the middle of those grinning teeth.

R ESTLESS , R OSS PULLED a fresh beer out of the fridge and popped the cap off with the back of his thumb. There wasn’t a chance of getting his buzz back, but if anything called for a drink, this was it. He just wished he had something stronger on hand.

Draining half the bottle in one pull, he paced a ragged path across the cabin’s hardwood floors while he waited for Newcomb to emerge from the bathroom. The man was taking so long in there he must have been guzzling coffee for the entire drive here.

Part of him wanted to throw the detective all the way back to the city and forget everything he’d been told. Getting pulled back into this mess was the last thing he needed. He’d finally made his escape, bought the spread in the back of beyond he’d been dreaming about for years and made a clean break with his former profession. For the past year, he’d managed to find, if not peace, then at least quiet. No more tracking skips into places no sane person would go, no more dealing with the lowlifes and the overworked, understaffed law enforcement that populated New York. Here he was left alone, and that was all he really wanted.

All except to see Price Chastain behind bars.

Ross lifted the bottle to his mouth again. The alcohol burned as it went down. The sensation was nothing compared to the anger that burned in his gut at the thought of Chastain finally getting what he deserved.

Price Malcolm Chastain, born Gary Allan Paine, a self-made real-estate magnate who owned a sizable chunk of three boroughs. A glorified slumlord who’d expanded his empire by whatever dirty means necessary. Not to mention an all-around sleazebag, a man with almost as many underworld connections as the mob.

And the person who’d ordered the death of Jed Walsh, the man who’d taught Ross everything he knew and the only person in the world who’d given a damn about him when Ross was nothing but a kid scrambling to get by on the streets.

Of course neither Chastain nor Taylor, his head enforcer, had been charged for anything related to Jed’s death. There’d been no way to prove what everyone knew had happened. That was how it was with Chastain. More than one person who’d stood in the man’s way had wound up dead over the years, yet trouble slid off him like rainwater off a slanted roof. The feds were after him. The New York attorney general wanted a piece of him. After being made a fool of four times, the D.A. would kill for a conviction.

Yet nothing stuck. Ross wasn’t green enough to think the bad guys always got what was coming to them. As much as it stung, he’d finally had to face the fact that Chastain’s reckoning wasn’t coming anytime soon.

Maybe he should have held on to some of that old optimism this time.

The bathroom door swung open. Newcomb stepped out into the main room, tightening his belt with both hands. He cast an appreciative eye around the space.

“I wouldn’t have thought it, but this is a nice setup you’ve got for yourself here. Got myself a bit of land out in Jersey I’m going to develop if I ever get around to retiring. Maybe that day’ll be coming sooner rather than later, huh?”

That same hard gleam, the glitter of satisfaction, burned in Newcomb’s eyes. That Newcomb was so sure Chastain was going down only stoked Ross’s impatience.

If anyone but Ken Newcomb had shown up on his doorstep, Ross wouldn’t have given him the time of day. He wasn’t that comfortable around cops to begin with, despite all the years they’d spent ostensibly working on the same side of the law. He’d spent too many years in his youth outrunning them to feel at ease around them. It was part of what made him so good at his job; he knew what someone desperate to elude the law would do and where he would go. But Newcomb had been the lead detective on Jed’s case, as well as a member of that elite group that wanted Chastain to go down as badly as Ross did, if not more.

“When?” Ross said, cutting right to it.

“Two days, we think.” He eyed the now-empty bottle Ross cradled in both hands. “You got another one of those?”

Ross stalked over to the refrigerator without missing a beat. “You think? ”

Newcomb’s face darkened. “Taylor was supposed to be in court yesterday morning. His lawyer tried covering for him, but it took us about two seconds to figure out he wasn’t in the city anymore.”

“I’d say that was a couple hours too late. You should’ve had a man on him. You had to know he was going to run. He shouldn’t have even been out on bail.”

“You know it and I know it. Try telling that to the judge.”

Ross plunked an unopened bottle of beer on the table in front of Newcomb. “Who is it?”

The detective shook his head as he reached for the bottle, and Ross knew he’d understood the question he’d really been asking. Chastain had gotten away with too much for too long not to have greased a few palms along the way.

“Bernstein’s on the up-and-up,” Newcomb said. “Real hard-nosed law-and-order type. The D.A. was glad to get him. Besides, we were more concerned about Chastain running. He has a lot more to lose.”

“The case is that strong?” After the way Chastain had weaseled out of every charge ever brought against him, Ross couldn’t imagine him consigning himself to a life on the lam unless he was sure he was going down. And Chastain wasn’t one to concede easily.

Newcomb ticked off the evidence on his fingers. “We’ve got the blood on his suit and overcoat. And we’ve got the tape.”

“It’s that good, huh?”

Newcomb took a drink before answering. For the first time Ross sensed a crack in the detective’s confidence. “What?”

Newcomb heaved a sigh. “We don’t have a body, though witnesses spotted Taylor dumping something in the river that night. There’s no sound on the tape of course, which would help lock down the motive if we could hear what they were saying. Plus, it was kind of rainy that night, so Chastain’s lawyer’s probably going to argue we can’t see everything clear to enough to be absolutely sure. Reasonable doubt—you know the drill. His lawyer’s going to try everything he can.”

“So much for that slam dunk, huh?”

Newcomb glowered at him through bloodshot eyes. “He pulls out a gun, shoots her in the chest, she goes down, they drag the body away. It’s all there in black and white. Short of an eyewitness, it’s the best case we’re going to get.”

“Why would Taylor run and not Chastain?”

Newcomb swallowed deeply from the bottle and pulled it away from his lips with a satisfied sigh. “Maybe Chastain still thinks he’s getting off scot-free. He’s a cocky SOB. Taylor’s just a hired gun. He has to know it doesn’t look good. He can either turn on Chastain or he can run. And the last guy who tried to rat out Chastain on this turned up dead.”

“Who?”

“Crowley, the other guy who’d removed Mulroney’s body with Taylor that night. He’d made some noises about wanting to talk to the D.A. Then he turned up dead. Everybody knows who did it.”

“But no way to prove it.”

Newcomb tipped his bottle in acknowledgment.

“So Crowley’s death left Taylor alone to stand trial with Chastain.”

“And maybe Taylor finally figured out that his chances of walking away this time weren’t looking so good.”

“Who’s on the case? Officially, that is.”

“Wes Miller.”

Ross nodded. He knew the other skip tracer. “He’s good. He shouldn’t have trouble finding Taylor. You don’t need me.”

“Miller’s good. You’re the best.”

“Jed was the best.”

“And he taught you everything he knew. More important, you’ve got more incentive than Miller. He’s only in this for the money. This is personal for you. You want Taylor to go down even more than you want Chastain to, and you won’t stop until he’s back here where he belongs. We both know it. That’s why I’m here.”

Damn. Newcomb knew him too well. He knew that while Chastain was the man in charge, Taylor was the one Ross held responsible for Jed’s death.

His control over his emotions must have slipped. When he looked up from the table, he found Newcomb staring at him, that strange triumphant glow in his eyes. “So you’ll do it?”

Say no.

The words came automatically.

“I’ll do it.”

Ross didn’t know who he’d been trying to convince otherwise. Deep down, though part of him never would admit it, he wanted to do this. He hadn’t been able to do anything for Jed when it mattered, hadn’t been able to save his life, hadn’t been able to see to it that the man responsible paid. But he could do this. This was what he was good at, what Jed had taught him to do. It only seemed right that his specialty be put to use to capture the man who’d killed Jed.

If he was completely honest with himself, he might admit he was looking forward to getting back into the game. Peace could be damned boring.

“You know, Newcomb, you didn’t say anything about bringing him back in one piece.”

Newcomb grinned slowly. “As long as there’s enough of him to stand trial, he’s all yours.”

Chapter Two

“Good night, Connie,” Mr. Mortimer said, holding the door of the pharmacy open to let her pass. “See you tomorrow.”

“Good night,” the woman he knew as Connie Baker echoed softly. She stepped past him onto the rain-slicked street, but try as she might, she couldn’t force herself to repeat the latter sentiment.

She wouldn’t be in to work tomorrow or ever again. By morning, she would be far from Chicago, leaving no trace of her short time here and Mr. Mortimer to wonder what had happened to his young cashier. Connie Baker would cease to exist, just another name to be discarded and never used again, like all the others. Beth Roberts. Lisa Greene. Allie Freeman. Just another woman who disappeared, never to be seen again, while another woman appeared out of nowhere in another place.

She didn’t know why it was so hard to tell one more lie to a man she’d been dishonest with from the beginning. He didn’t know her real name; he didn’t know her past. He knew nothing about her but the carefully crafted story she’d chosen to tell him, and not one bit of it the truth.

Still, there was something about having her final words to him be yet another lie, even if she was the only one who would know. He’d been exceptionally good to her when she’d thought herself hardened against even the slightest human kindness. Louis Mortimer had owned his pharmacy in this neighborhood on the South Side of Chicago for forty years while raising three children here with his late wife, Marie. He’d given her a chance and asked few questions, sensing she was running from something.

It didn’t seem right to leave without saying something. Nothing to tip him off now of course, but something he could consider later and know she hadn’t meant to deceive him.

She started to turn back. “Mr. Mortimer—”

A rumble of thunder, either a remnant of the storm that had passed through that afternoon or a harbinger of a new one moving in, drowned out her words. By the time it passed, he’d already closed the door. One by one the interior lights flickered off, leaving her alone outside in the dark.

A wave of sadness crashed over her. She didn’t know why. He wasn’t the first person she hadn’t had a chance to say a proper goodbye to. She knew better than to think he would be the last.

The thunder came again, far too quickly after the last rumble for comfort’s sake. She lifted her face up to the sky in time to see a jagged bolt of lightning streak across the velvet darkness. There was no mistaking it. Another storm was moving in. Another reason for her to hurry, and she already had enough of those. Pushing her melancholy thoughts to the back of her mind, she began to walk.

Fog rolled across the street, obscuring the other businesses closed for the night. Perfect weather for Halloween, she thought, with the holiday two weeks away. It was less than perfect for her already frayed nerves.

She moved quickly, chased by a cold wind that bit into her too-thin coat and chilled her to the bone. She didn’t worry about bumping into anyone. There were few people on the street at eleven o’clock on a Tuesday night. Other than the bar halfway down the block, none of the businesses on the strip were open this late.

Mr. Mortimer had often worried about her walking alone at night and had offered to walk her home. She’d done her best to convince him she’d be fine. She wasn’t worried about being out by herself. With the sheer number of people who were looking for her, the idea that she would fall victim to a simple mugging defied belief.

Tonight, though, she couldn’t help the feeling of unease that clawed up her spine and had her peering through the murky grayness and searching the shadows more thoroughly than usual for any sign of harm. She was more aware of the danger than ever before. It seemed to surround her, closing in like the fog with each passing moment.

She’d been following Chastain’s trial, reading the New York papers at the nearest branch of the Chicago Public Library every couple of days. Just that morning she’d learned that Roy Taylor had skipped town two weeks before the trial was set to begin, and she knew why.

He was coming after her. She doubted he would have taken such a drastic step if he hadn’t picked up her trail. And that meant she had to get out of Chicago ASAP.

She passed the bar, too lost in her thoughts to notice the noise and the lights coming from inside. She should have left as soon as she read the story, which had already been a few days old. She knew that now. At the time the risk of staying one more day had seemed worth it. She needed her last week’s pay. The amount she had tucked away in her apartment would get her out of town, but not far enough that he wouldn’t be able to find her again—and soon. So she’d made the decision to linger just one more night.

She just had to hope it wasn’t a decision she ended up paying for.

She didn’t know exactly what warned her. It could have been a shadow shifting where there should have been nothing, or the soft scrape of shoes against pavement on what should have been a deserted street. All that mattered was that she suddenly knew she wasn’t alone.

Someone was following her.

Her heart lurched in her chest. She forced herself to keep her steps even, as steady as they’d been before that moment of intuition. There was no way to tell how far away he was or where exactly he was lurking. Still, she struggled to listen over the pounding of her heart. Even the slightest sound offered a vital clue to her pursuer’s location.

He was behind her.

How far?

Five feet?

Ten?

It was impossible to tell. He could be on her back in an instant.

The only advantage she had was that he didn’t know she was aware of his presence. He planned to catch her off guard. Her only chance was to do the same to him first.

Her mind raced through every option. Then she remembered. There was an alley up ahead, maybe only fifteen steps away. She couldn’t see it now, hidden in the gloom. But she knew it was there. He didn’t. That would make all the difference.

In her head she ticked off the steps, hoping her count was close. One. Then five. Ten. Only a measure of control she hadn’t known she possessed kept her from running.

She counted the last remaining steps, her breath hitching in her throat. One. Two. Three. Four.

And there it was.

Go!

She cut around the corner and broke into an all-out run.

Almost immediately, she heard the muffled curse, a confused noise, then the sound of someone bursting into the alley behind her.

She didn’t look back or slow for an instant. The alley was dark, dank and cramped, ripe with the odors of garbage and the sewer. She noticed none of it, couldn’t hear him behind her, couldn’t hear anything but the pounding of her shoes on the pavement. The close walls echoed the sound. He wouldn’t be able to tell how near she was or how far.

And there was no way for her to tell where the end of the alley was. The street it intersected was primarily residential, with almost no lights illuminating the road. So she kept running through the darkness, toward the darkness. She didn’t know until she suddenly cleared the smells and felt the open air wash over her that she was free.

And still she didn’t stop. Her apartment building was to the left. She cut right, back toward the well-lit business district she’d left behind. He wouldn’t be expecting her to do that. He’d expect her to head in the direction she’d originally been going. He needed her to. It would be easier for him to take her where there were fewer people, little chance that someone would interfere. That was why he hadn’t taken her on the street, had tried to follow her home. That was exactly why she couldn’t.

She took another right into the next alley, then another, working her way blindly through a network of back streets that should lead her back to the one where she’d begun. There would be people at the bar. If she could just get back there, she would be safe. He wouldn’t dare come after her in there. He didn’t want to involve the police any more than she did. She just had to get to the bar.

And when she finally spotted the phosphorescent glow that signaled the main street was up ahead, she picked up one last burst of speed, running straight for its blessed safety. She reached it within seconds, her heart thudding, nothing but hope and adrenaline coursing through her veins. Breaking through, she darted around the corner.

And straight into a wall.

A blast of cold water couldn’t have been more of a shock. She bounced back, stumbling unevenly, off balance. Hands reached out to grip her forearms.

Startled, scared, she lifted her head and found herself staring into a face that was partially hidden in shadow.

Not a wall.

A man.

Fog billowed around him, rendering him nothing but a menacing silhouette that loomed over her. It didn’t matter. She knew from the unyielding hold he had on her arms that he wasn’t about to let her go.

She should have known Taylor wouldn’t be alone.

He was one of them. He had to be.

Her limbs froze just when she needed them to fight back the most. After running for so long, it seemed impossible to believe the moment of reckoning had arrived.

They’d caught her.

“Y OU JUST MISSED him. Left not ten minutes ago.”

Ross barely heard the bartender over the raucous noise filling the bar, but he got the message loud and clear. He bit back a curse. He couldn’t afford to indulge the instinct, couldn’t risk offending the bartender when the man held information he needed. It wasn’t the man’s fault that he didn’t have the answer Ross wanted to hear. That didn’t make it any easier to take.

He had to wait to question the man further. The bartender turned away to refill the glass of a man at the other end of the bar. The small neighborhood pub was surprisingly crowded for a Tuesday night. The bartender and a single waitress were the only ones working. Ross was lucky to get the man’s attention at all, especially since he wasn’t drinking.

Impatience gnawed at him all the same. It rankled that he’d managed to track Taylor down to this bar, only to miss him by ten minutes.

It had been far easier to find Taylor than he’d expected, so much so the situation made Ross a little uneasy. For someone on the run, Taylor hadn’t done a very good job covering his tracks as he’d cut an uneven path from New York to Chicago. Despite the head start the man had on him, it had only taken Ross a few days to catch up.

The bartender finally swung back in his direction. Ross motioned him over. “How long was this guy in here?” he asked, tapping the photo of Taylor he’d placed on the bar.

The bartender heaved a sigh that sent his belly quaking and considered the question. “Three hours or so. Sat at the table by the window there. Had four beers.”

“Was he alone?”

“Yep. Just sat there. Didn’t talk much. Kept his eyes on that window.”

“He leave alone?”

“I didn’t see him leave. One minute he was there, and the next, when I turned around, he was gone.”

The bartender was eyeing his patrons down the length of the bar, and Ross knew he was about to lose him. Figuring he’d gotten all he was going to out of the man, he pulled a bill out of his wallet and placed it on the counter. The bartender accepted it without a word. Ross moved away from the bar and headed for the door.

Outside, he glanced in both directions down the street, trying to gauge which way Taylor might have gone. There was no one in sight. To the left were a couple of businesses, their windows shuttered, the lights dimmed. There was a laundromat, a drugstore. Nothing he could imagine Taylor being interested in.

To the right lay houses and apartment buildings, what was mainly a residential area. The windows were mostly dark, their inhabitants safe in their beds for the night.

The bartender’s comment that Taylor had stared through a window for hours bothered him. Instead of choosing a more discreet position in the back of the bar where it was unlikely anyone would see him, he’d chosen a seat right in front of the window. Either he really wasn’t worried about being spotted—and Ross knew Taylor was too savvy to be so careless—or he was looking for someone. Undoubtedly the same someone he’d come all this way to find.

At this time of night Ross was inclined to believe someone would be heading home, instead of to any of the closed businesses to his left. He headed right.

Thunder rumbled overhead. Ross flipped up the collar on his leather jacket, but didn’t try to seek cover. He moved quickly. There was the possibility that Taylor had driven off, having completed whatever business had brought him here. Ross refused to consider that yet. He wouldn’t accept that he’d been this close only to lose the man again. He had to be somewhere nearby.

Distracted by his thoughts, Ross heard the running footsteps a heartbeat too late. He took an instinctive step back, but not quickly enough to avoid the person who barreled straight into him from out of nowhere.

Too slow, man.

His hands automatically went up to steady the person. One touch, and he knew it was a woman.

Then she threw her head up, a curtain of ebony hair flying back from her face. The lights were behind him, cutting through the gloom, offering him a clear view of her expression.

Huge, frightened eyes blinked up at him. Sure she was about to bolt, he tightened his hold on her arms.

He quickly took stock of the situation, spotting the alley she’d come out of, the opening so tucked away in the shadows he never would have noticed it.

He could feel her pulse beneath his thumbs, the double-time throb of her heart beneath the thin layers of her clothing. Combined with the look of shock in her eyes, it was obvious she was terrified. Of him?

When she said nothing, he shook her gently. “Lady, are you all right?”

It took a second. Some of the fear in her eyes faded, replaced by confusion. She blinked and shook her head as though trying to clear it. He wondered if she was on drugs, only to dismiss the idea a moment later. Her eyes were clear and unerringly focused on his face. Her gaze was probing, searching his features for something, some semblance of familiarity, he supposed. She wouldn’t find any. He never forgot a face, and he knew they’d never met.

“You’re not one of them,” she murmured, the words little more than a whisper carried on the wind. Still, there was something about her voice…

“One of who?” He regretted asking as soon as the words were out. Whatever this woman was into, he wasn’t interested. He had problems enough of his own without worrying about someone else’s. He needed to extricate himself from her situation, not dig in deeper. With each passing second, Taylor was getting that much farther away.

Before she could answer, the sounds of footsteps pounding down the alley she’d just emerged from reached them. No doubt whoever she was running from coming after her.

They both glanced toward the sound. She whipped her head back to face him a split second later. Steely determination had replaced the fear in her eyes, the transformation so complete she seemed to have become an entirely different person. He stared stupidly at the new stranger she’d become.

“Help me,” she said, her voice as forceful as her expression. “Don’t let him find me.”

She’d managed to surprise him for the second time in half as many seconds. Not because of her demand or the sudden strength of her voice. No, it was her accent, now unmistakable and wholly out of place in this Midwestern city.

She was from New York.

She didn’t give him a chance to process that simple fact. With one more glance over her shoulder, she threw her arms around his neck and pulled him flat against her. At the same time, she twisted, throwing them both back into a small recess in the wall, so that he was pinning her against it.

He understood immediately. Anyone who came out of that alley would likely pass by without even knowing they were there.

And if he did…

Her hands wound themselves into his hair, pulling his head close. For a moment, he was sure she was going to kiss him. It was the oldest trick in the book: pretend to be lovers to mislead anyone who was looking for one person, not two. He was almost disappointed she would resort to it.

The rest of him waited for it, remembering just how long it had been since he’d had a woman. His self-imposed solitude had had one major drawback.

It never happened.

She caught him off guard—again. She came close enough that it would look like they were kissing, but far enough that they weren’t. They were enclosed in almost complete darkness, isolated in a cocoon of night. He could only see her eyes. They stared up at him, beseeching, pleading with him not to pull away, not to make a sound, not to reveal their position.

Ross didn’t move.

It wasn’t because of her silent plea. It was because, even now, moments later, the sound of her voice echoed in his ears. Her accent was straight out of the Bronx, if his ear wasn’t too rusty. And he knew, in a flash of knowledge so instinctive he didn’t dare question it, that this was the person Roy Taylor was looking for.

Taylor was the man chasing her.

Immediately the events of the past few minutes began to shift in Ross’s mind, realigning themselves, taking on new, complicated meanings. Suddenly the warm, pliant and frightened woman in his arms was no longer a casual stranger, but someone who had real importance in his life.

If she was running from Taylor, she had reason to be afraid. More than one.

At last someone burst out of the alley and skidded to a halt. Then came a muffled curse, the sound offering the confirmation he needed. He knew that voice.

Taylor.

He must have stiffened in spite of himself, the need to go after the man that keyed into his system. Taylor was just a few feet away, right behind him. He didn’t know Ross was there. All Ross had to do was turn around and he had him.

The woman’s hands tightened in his hair, not enough to hurt but more than enough to let him know she didn’t intend to let him go.

It was the only reminder he needed. Ross stayed where he was, peering down at the woman in the dark. Though he never would have believed it, he had something more important than Taylor. He had something Taylor wanted. And something Taylor was willing to jump bail to pursue had to be very important indeed.

Though she made no sound, her chest rose and fell in a ragged pattern, causing her breasts to rub against his body in an unconsciously erotic fashion. In spite of himself, he felt his groin tighten.

Only the hard-won self-control forged after so many years kept him from moving. He remained pinned against her, feeling every inch of her body pressed against his, her soft, sweet breath brushing his face, until he forgot everything—Taylor, Chastain, everything. There was nothing but him and this woman, a stranger who’d suddenly taken on a vast importance in his life.

He didn’t even know her name.

It wasn’t until it began to rain, fat, wet drops falling heavily on his head, that reality returned. Clarity came, as rude an awakening as the rain.

“Is he gone?”

Her voice contained the slightest tremor. He wasn’t sure of the cause—him or Taylor. Not that it mattered.

He listened carefully, hearing nothing but the patter of rain on the pavement and the echo of thunder in the distance. When he finally pushed away from her, her fingers loosening their hold, the back of his head was drenched.

“Is he gone?” she asked again. She dropped her hands but couldn’t move away. He literally had her up against a wall.

“I think so.”

She nodded quickly, pursing her lips and dropping her head. He could see she was just beginning to notice how vulnerable her position was. There was a distinct wariness in her eyes now. No doubt she was beginning to wonder who the man was she’d just pressed herself against in a darkened street corner, trusting he was less of a danger than the one she was fleeing. Now she had to be wondering whether he was truly a lesser danger.

It was a good question. He doubted she would like the answer.

The light slanted over his shoulders, falling on her face. She had delicate features, perfectly carved with high cheekbones and a pert little nose, but there was nothing soft about her face. Tension gave her jaw an obstinate jut and made her expression hard as stone.

She was no innocent, that was for sure. The rashness of her actions and the cool resolve in her eyes told him that. Everything about her screamed guilt. He didn’t have to know she was involved with Taylor to know she was in this up to her eyeballs. Which meant he had to proceed very carefully.

“Could you give me some air?” she said, shoving against his chest.

He relented, granting her a modicum of space by taking a step back. Enough to let her feel that he was no longer invading her space, not nearly enough for her to try to run.

“You want to tell me what that was about?” he asked.

The eyes that lifted to meet his were utterly blank, revealing nothing. “Just someone I didn’t want to run into, that’s all.”

“Someone who scares you to death?” She blinked, startled. “Yeah, I noticed. That guy had you terrified.”

She waved a hand. “Look, don’t worry about it. I appreciate your help, but you’re better off not getting involved. Trust me.”

“In case you didn’t notice, I’m already involved. You made sure I was.”

Annoyance twisted her mouth. “Then I apologize for taking up three valuable minutes of your time. I’ll let you get back to your life.”

“I’m not going anywhere until I get some answers.”

“What are you? A cop?” Though he couldn’t miss the sarcastic edge, he also heard the uneasy note in her voice.

“No, I’m not a cop. But that’s not a bad idea. If you don’t want to tell me, you can tell the police.”

Even in the dim light, he could see her go pale. Exactly as he expected.

He feigned surprise. “You were planning on reporting this, weren’t you?” He didn’t bother to keep the sarcastic edge from his words.

Not that she noticed. He could see her thinking quickly. Her tongue darted out to moisten parched lips, the motion betraying her tension.

It also captured his attention, drawing his gaze to her mouth. Her lips retained a sheen of wetness that made them shine.

Now those lips quivered. “Look, there’s no reason to bring the cops into this. It’s a personal matter. I can take care of it myself.”

“With a little help from strangers?”

One eyebrow shot up. “I don’t think I’ll make that mistake again.”

He might have been amused if the situation wasn’t so dire. He was losing her, and whatever he did, he couldn’t risk that. Two minutes ago he would have given anything to get his hands on Taylor. Now he had someone he suspected was more important, whoever she was. He’d haul her back to his truck if he wasn’t sure she’d make a scene and bring Taylor back. One woman he could handle. A woman and Taylor—that would be tricky.

Taylor could be out there now, about to double back and find them. They didn’t have time for this.

Twisting his features into something a little less forbidding, he said, “Look, at least let me walk you home. It’s not safe for a woman to walk alone at night in a neighborhood like this.”

She wanted to say no. He could read it in every inch of her expression and the rigid lines of her posture. But he doubted she could think of a good reason to say no that wouldn’t arouse his suspicions more. He was counting on it.

And still she hesitated.

He kept his expression neutral, even as he felt the seconds tick by as steadily as the pulse throbbing at his neck.

“You really want to stand here arguing? Your friend could still be out there,” he reminded her softly.

She searched his face again. He recognized the exact instant she made her decision. Her jaw tightened and the corners of her lips gave a violent twist as she pursed her mouth.

“Fine,” she said. “Let’s go.”

With that, she spun out of his grasp and hurried back down the alley she’d first emerged from.

Allowing himself one small, satisfied smile, Ross fell into step behind her and followed her into the darkness.

P RICE C HASTAIN rolled off of the woman beneath him and jerked their tangled limbs apart. She gave a little gasp of shock—either not finished herself or not finished faking it. The sound barely pierced his concentration. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he checked the clock on the nightstand. It was well after midnight. He should have heard something by now.

She laid her hand on his bare back. “What’s the matter?” she murmured, running her hand across his shoulders. “You were barely with me there.”

He shrugged off her touch. The contact was making his skin crawl. “Get out. I have business to take care of.”

If she was annoyed by his tone, she didn’t show it. Smart girl. The mattress sagged as she climbed off the bed. He didn’t bother to look as she padded naked to the bathroom.

As soon as she was gone, Chastain rolled his shoulders to shake off the lingering sensation of her sweaty palms and twisted his neck until he felt that satisfying crack. Mariana was a great lay, but lately she was starting to ask questions, nothing dangerous, certainly nothing about what she had to be hearing in the news, but little things. She was starting to get clingy. He was going to have to get rid of her soon.

He hated women who asked questions. That was exactly how he’d found himself in his current situation.

He checked the clock again. Less than a minute had passed.

The phone remained silent.

Taylor had told him the woman got off work at eleven CST. He should have her by now.

Something had gone wrong.

He grabbed the phone and hit the speed dial for Taylor’s cell. Taylor picked up on the fourth ring. “Hello?”

“It’s me.”

Taylor’s silence buzzed across the line.

“Well? Do you have her?” Chastain couldn’t even bring himself to say her name.

A few more seconds of silence, followed by a reluctant “No.”

Chastain gripped the receiver so tightly his hand went numb. “No?”

“I lost her.”

He nearly hurled the phone across the room. “What do you mean, you lost her? You assured me the situation was under control.”

“She must have figured something was up. She bolted.”

“She can’t have gotten far. Find her.”

“I will. Don’t worry about it. She’s not getting away.”

“You’d damn well better hope she doesn’t. I want to hear back that you’ve got her within the hour.”

He slammed the phone down, cutting off the rest of Taylor’s useless assurances. He hated having to rely on the overgrown Neanderthal, but Taylor was the only person he could trust, the only one with as much on the line as Chastain himself.

Unable to sit still any longer, he climbed to his feet and crossed to the ceiling-to-floor windows with their flawless view of Central Park. The sight did little to calm him. He had people paying him millions for a view like this. He owned half the city, and he stood to lose it all. There were a lot of people who’d love to see it happen. The D.A. was looking to score political points. The cops would be lining up to see him go down. And every property owner and tenant he’d had to coax cooperation from in the past would be falling over themselves with glee.

He felt like throwing open the windows and screaming at every one of them that it wasn’t going to happen. He hadn’t worked for everything he’d built to lose it all now.

It wasn’t going to happen. His reflection stared back at him in the glass. His gaze was clear and determined, the sign of a man who knew his own path and always had. Price Chastain made his own destiny, just like he’d made his own name. His destiny was to always come out on top.

That wasn’t about to change.

R ETURNING HIS CELL PHONE to the clip on his belt, Roy Taylor scanned the empty street for any sign of the woman. He gritted his teeth, grinding his molars together so hard he felt a jolt of pain shoot along his jaw. The action was the only outlet he gave to the fury simmering in his veins.

It was bad enough the woman had managed to escape. He didn’t need Chastain riding him about it. As if he didn’t have as much to lose as Chastain did if they didn’t get their hands on her before anyone else did.

He shouldn’t have answered the phone. Except he knew Chastain would just keep calling back until he did.

The twenty calls a day he was fielding from the man told him everything he needed to know. Chastain didn’t trust him. He thought he was going to take off and leave him holding the bag. Well, Roy Taylor was no coward. He wasn’t about to spend the rest of his life running.

Eight years of picking up after the man, and Chastain acted like he’d never done a thing for him. Taylor sure wasn’t the one who’d screwed everything up. Chastain had done it all by himself and now they were all paying for it.

Taylor picked up his pace, heading back in the direction he was sure the woman had gone. He was going to find her, all right. It was what he always did. He got the job done, no matter what it took.

But not for Chastain this time. For himself.

Chastain could think whatever the hell he wanted. The only person Roy Taylor was looking out for was Roy Taylor.

It was every man for himself.

Chapter Three

She did her best to ignore him as they wound their way through the back alleys that led to her apartment. There was a faster, more direct route of course, but she wasn’t about to risk running into Taylor on one of those streets.

Already she was plotting her next move for when she reached her apartment and ditched her unwanted companion. She’d memorized the bus schedules out of Chicago her first day in the city. Her bag was packed. All she needed to do was pick it up, and she could catch the “EL” back to the bus station. She should be on her way to parts unknown before dawn. The destination would be wherever the first bus out of town took her. It was pretty straightforward.

She picked up the pace, ready to be on her way. The man behind her didn’t miss a step. She frowned in annoyance. Of all the times to pick up a Good Samaritan.

She didn’t even know what he looked like, she realized. His face had remained in shadow back on the corner. All she knew was that he was tall and strong. The man was muscular as hell, and she’d been pressed up against every one of those muscles.

She wondered idly what she was doing. It wasn’t like it mattered how built the guy was. After the next couple of minutes, she was never going to see him again.

He didn’t say a word to her until they reached the rundown five-story building she’d called home for the past four months. She plowed up the steps without looking back at him, but sensed him appraising the structure.

“Nice place,” he said in a tone dry as dust.

“It’s a dump. You can say it.” The observation wouldn’t offend her. She hadn’t exactly been focusing on the building’s aesthetic qualities when it had come to finding a place to live.

She pushed the front door open, and when she didn’t immediately sense him behind her, she thought for a second he was going to leave. The notion was crushed an instant later when he laid his hand on the door and held it open for her. Rather than chance Taylor coming across them on the front stoop, she plunged inside and let him follow. She’d have to save the goodbyes for her front door. Like it or not, he would be saying goodbye then.

“Aren’t you worried he’ll follow you here?” her Samaritan asked as he trailed her up the unlit stairs.

“No. He doesn’t know about the apartment.” If he had he would have waited to ambush her here. Instead, he’d come after her in a public place.

“So it wasn’t random.”

Had she revealed too much? Too late to worry about it now. “No. It wasn’t random.”

She finally reached the third floor. Her apartment was the first on the left, facing the front of the building. Key already in hand, she shoved it into the lock, threw the door open and whirled back to face him before he’d stepped onto the shadowy landing.

“See. I made it. Safe and sound.”

Looming over her, he looked past her into the apartment. She doubted he could see much. It was still probably enough to let him know it wasn’t any more hospitable than the rest of the structure. Or the woman who lived there. “Lady, I’m not sure I feel safe in this building.”

“Then you’re welcome to leave.”

He made no move to do so. He stared at her, long and hard, until her skin began to tingle in response. She shifted uneasily from one foot to the other, doing her best not to rub at the goose bumps.

“I don’t think you feel safe here, either.”

“I’ll be fine. I’ve been here for quite a while. Nothing’s happened to me yet.”

“Because Taylor didn’t know where you were until today.”

The words were so unexpected she couldn’t hide her reaction. He might as well have punched her. The air whooshed from her lungs, the blood from her face.

She knew immediately she’d made a mistake.

She hurried to cover for it. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He moved closer, every bit as big and intimidating as he’d been on the street. She managed to hold her ground.

He planted a hand on the door to keep her from slamming it in his face. A thought that hadn’t even occurred to her, she realized. Damn it. She had to get her head together.

“Nice try, lady. But I’m well acquainted with Roy Taylor. I know the sound of his voice as well as my own, and I know he’s the man you were trying to get away from back there. Just like I know you’re a native New Yorker.”

Oh, God. He was with Taylor.

And she’d led him straight into her home.

The surprise passed quickly, replaced by the anger she knew so well.

She channeled every bit of it into a glare that should have had him stepping back. “I don’t know anybody named Trainer.”

“Taylor.”

“Whatever. And I’m from Chicago. Born and bred right here on the South Side. Go Sox.” She made sure every word dripped with the distinctive accent she’d learned to affect early on. There could be no doubt where she was from.

She couldn’t see it, but she could sense him smile. “You let your accent slip back there in the street. You’ve got it back now. Pretty good, I have to admit. I never would have guessed.”

Was he telling the truth? It was certainly possible. She’d been half out of her mind back there.

He took advantage of her momentary silence to step forward again, forcing her to retreat just enough for him to step inside and shut the door behind him. Not bothering with the lock, he reached over and flipped on the light.

The glow from the single yellow bulb wasn’t enough of a shock that her eyes needed time to adjust. The light flared and then there he was, exposed to her for the first time.

He was just as intimidating in the light as he’d been in the dark. His face matched his body. Shaggy black hair crowned a head composed of sharp features and hard angles. He was older than she’d imagined for some reason, maybe forty. Lines were carved into thick grooves around his eyes and mouth. He wasn’t a man anyone would describe as handsome. He was too hard. Too cold. Too purely masculine in a raw, elemental way. Unyielding. Dangerous.

She found her voice at last. “Who are you?”

“The name’s Ross. I’m a bounty hunter.”

“I hate to break it to you, Ross, but there’s no bounty out on me.”

“I’m not after you. I’m after Taylor.”

A bounty hunter. She almost laughed out loud. All the people who were after her, and the one who’d caught her was looking for someone else. He’d found a lot more than he’d bargained for and had no idea what he had.

“Your turn,” he said. “Who are you?”

“That’s none of your business.”

He grabbed her arm before she could move, his fingers digging through the layers of clothes. “Lady, anything and everything related to Roy Taylor is my business. That makes you my business.”

She didn’t even blink. He’d lost the ability to shock her after that last bombshell. “No,” she said quietly, forcefully, looking him straight in the eye with one arched brow. She jerked out of his grasp. “It doesn’t.”

She noted with some satisfaction the hint of frustration that entered those pale gray eyes. It was quickly replaced by a far less-encouraging hard determination.

One corner of his mouth curved in challenge. “Then you won’t mind if I call the police and report what happened tonight.”

The police. Her heart lurched in her chest at the notion. If there was anyone more dangerous to her than Taylor, it was them.

“I don’t have a phone.”

He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket. “I do.”

She kept her expression impassive. “Do what you want. I’m going to go change.”

Then she was moving again, quickly, before he had a chance to react. She dodged into the bedroom a few feet away—the benefit of living in an apartment roughly the size of a postage stamp—and slammed the door shut behind her. The lock on the door wouldn’t give him much trouble if he tried coming after her. She flipped it, anyway, willing to take what she could get.

She was across the room in a flash. Her backpack was sitting on the mattress where she’d left it. Thankfully she hadn’t set it by the front door like she’d originally planned. Grabbing it, she moved to the bedroom window. It slid up silently at her touch. She created enough of an opening to fit through, then tossed her backpack through it, following a second later.

She landed hard on her hands and knees on the cold metal of the fire escape. It swayed beneath her. She ignored the motion—there was no time to be afraid of anything but the man who’d be coming after her at any moment—slung the backpack over her shoulder and hurried down the fire escape. With each step, it felt like she was moving too slow. Her feet kept slipping on the framework, her hands struggled to find purchase every time she fell. There were only three flights down to the street. It might as well have been a hundred. She glanced down and all she saw was darkness.

Fear lodged in her throat. She swallowed it back with the same ruthlessness with which she’d done everything so far. She couldn’t give in to fear. There was no time for it.

She finally reached the end. She’d have to jump the rest of the way. She dropped her backpack over the ledge, using the sound of its landing to judge the distance to the ground. A few feet. She could make that. She had to.

The landing jarred every bone in her body. It hurt, but not enough to signal anything was broken. Even before her body stopped weaving in an attempt to steady itself, she grabbed for the backpack, threw it over her shoulder and plunged forward into the night.

Two steps later she ran into a wall. Again.

An iron hand clamped down on her forearm. She jerked her head up in shock to face the man who loomed over her. Her first thought was that it had to be Ross, but then she realized it wasn’t. This man wasn’t quite as tall or broad. The uneasy sensation that skittered along her nerve endings warned her he was infinitely more dangerous.

“Gotcha,” he sneered, and her alarm skyrocketed.

“I don’t think so.”

The familiar voice came from behind her, startling both her and her captor. Almost as the words were spoken, she was yanked out of his grasp. He barely had time to lift his head before a fist came out of the darkness and landed a blow to the chin that sent him crashing to the ground.

Her savior spun her around to face him. She looked up in shock to meet Ross’s steely glare.

“How—”

“Back door,” he said, his voice grave. “There’s something you need to understand. I’m not stupid.”

His tone revived her anger. “You have to be. A smarter man would take a hint.” She dropped her gaze to the hand fastened to her arm like a vise. “If you want to keep that hand, I suggest you remove it.”

“Fine.” She was so surprised by his capitulation she didn’t even realize what he was doing until he had the cuff fastened around her wrist.

Outraged, she jerked at the metal ring affixing her arm to his. “Get this off me!”

“Do you really want to argue about this now?”

As if on cue, the man at their feet let out a soft groan.

Ross arched a brow at her. “Another friend of yours?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know who he is.”

“Well, we can wait for your new friend here to wake up and see what he has to say about it. Or maybe we should wait for Taylor to show up.”

“I told you I don’t know any Taylor.”

“And I told you I don’t believe you. Take your pick, lady. Taylor or me.”

She scrambled for another option and came up empty. She just knew she didn’t want to stand there arguing with him. Like it or not, Taylor was out there. “Fine,” she said through gritted teeth. “Let’s get out of here.”

She moved first to take the lead. Ross didn’t give her the chance. He surged forward toward the rear of the building, pulling her with him.

He stopped at the back of the building to make sure it was clear. Once he’d ascertained it was, he started moving again without saying a word. There was nothing for her to do but follow.

For now.

T HE SEDAN had New York plates.

Taylor barely glimpsed the license plate out of the corner of his eye. He was halfway down the block when the fact sank in.

After a half hour of aimlessly wandering the streets, he’d doubled back to the main one where the bar and the drugstore where the woman worked were located. Being on foot was getting him nowhere. He could cover more ground in his car.

But he’d kept alert on his way back, searching for any sign of the woman, paying attention to everything that fell within his range of vision.

Like the sedan with New York plates.

Curious, he turned around and narrowed his eyes on the car parked along the curb. He’d passed a pickup truck with New York plates farther down the block. Then the sedan. And of course his own vehicle was waiting around the corner.

Now what were the chances that three vehicles from New York would all be here tonight without being connected?

It was possible. There had to be millions of cars registered with New York State, all with corresponding plates.

But Taylor didn’t believe in coincidences.

Before he had a chance to consider it further, a man appeared down the street pulling a woman with him. Both quickly looked around them, neither seeing him tucked away in the shadows down the block. They quickly made their way to a truck parked along the curb. The truck he’d noted with New York plates.

He had no trouble recognizing the woman, despite the change in her hair from a year ago. It was the sight of the man that blindsided him.

His mouth curling into a sneer, Taylor bit back a curse. Gideon Ross. The two-bit bounty hunter had been a pain in his ass for too long, ever since the death of that washed-up old man. Taylor had thought he’d been rid of the bastard when he finally left the city.

And now he had the woman.

Damn it. It was all he could do not to grab his weapon from his shoulder holster and take aim. He and Chastain had always known how bad it would be if anyone else got their hands on her before Taylor did. But for Ross to be the one might just be the worst-case scenario.

Taylor took an instinctive step forward, then quickly stepped back into the shadows and considered his options. He could hustle down the block and try to get to the truck before they left, but he probably wouldn’t be able to stop them. Or he could run back to his own vehicle and try to follow. They’d likely be long gone before he got back.

Almost absently, he dropped his hand into his pocket and pulled out the tracking device he’d been fooling around with for a while now. He’d thought it might come in handy if she managed to hop on a bus or grab a cab before he could stop her. The only problem was he was nowhere near close enough to get the transmitter on the truck, and there was little chance he could do so before they took off.

Down the block, Ross pushed the woman into the passenger side of the truck, but not before she elbowed him in the ribs. Even from a distance, Taylor could tell it had to hurt. Obviously the woman was not going willingly. He took no satisfaction from the knowledge.

By the time the truck roared to life and pulled away from the curb, he knew he had no choice but to get back to his car and try to catch them before they got too far.

Just as he started to turn away, a man rushed out of an alley up ahead, coming from the same direction Ross and the woman had.

Taylor froze, his gut telling him not to move just yet. Maybe Ross and the woman hadn’t just been running. Maybe they’d been running from something. Or somebody.

Maybe somebody else from New York?

Without even thinking about it, he used his thumb to flip a tiny switch on the back of the tracking device. It didn’t make a sound. It didn’t need to. He knew the transmitter was activated.

His attention shifted to the sedan parked down the block. The other vehicle with New York plates. Sure enough, the man was quickly striding in that direction.

But who was this guy? Someone else after the woman?

The questions could wait. Instinct told him he couldn’t risk losing this guy.

Taylor darted through the shadows toward the vehicle. The other man made his way down the sidewalk, only crossing when he reached the car. Taylor made it there first and waited, hidden in a darkened storefront doorway. The man had no idea he was there.

When the man climbed into his car, Taylor made his move. He shot out at the exact moment the car door slammed shut and fell to his stomach on the pavement behind the car. As the engine rumbled to life, he reached up and shoved the transmitter under the back bumper.

The car started to pull away. Taylor pushed off on his elbows and shoved himself backward—right under the parked car behind him.

He lay there, immobile, and listened to the car disappearing into the night. A good minute passed before it was gone and the street was silent again.

Only then did he roll out from under the other car. Rising to his feet, he didn’t so much as brush himself off as he crossed the street and headed back to where he’d parked his own set of wheels.

The chase was back on.

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