In seconds, he was up and at the window, gun in hand.

He saw a woman walking down the long lane, headed for the road.

It had to be Hope. Right height, right weight. Same sexy walk. But her hair was short and dark.

He slipped on his jacket and followed, gun in hand.

She stopped when she reached the road. He considered approaching. He should, really. But he knew that if he did, she’d simply lie about what had driven her to leave her warm bed at midnight.

And he’d be no closer to figuring out what made this woman tick.

So he stayed quiet, hidden by the trees. And in less than five minutes, an old car came along. Hope slid in and shut the door. The car drove away, leaving Mack McCann, who rarely got surprised by anything, standing at the side of the road with his mouth hanging open.

Stalked

Beverly Long

www.millsandboon.co.uk

As a child, BEVERLY LONG used to take a flashlight to bed so that she could hide under the covers and read. Once a teenager, more often than not, the books she chose were romance novels. Now she gets to keep the light on as long as she wants, and there’s always a romance novel on her nightstand. With both a bachelor’s and a master’s degree in business and more than twenty years of experience as a human resources director, she now enjoys the opportunity to write her own stories. She considers her books to be a great success if they compel the reader to stay up way past their bedtime.

Beverly loves to hear from readers. Visit www.beverlylong.com, or like her at www.facebook.com/beverlylong.romance.

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For my mother, who told the very best stories about Colorado.

Contents

Cover

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

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

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Mack McCann wiped the sweat out of his eyes and reached for his cold beer. He’d been sanding boards in the unusually warm spring sun for what seemed like hours. But he was making progress. The McCann cabin, blown to smithereens seven months prior, would stand again.

It had to be ready for Chandler and Ethan’s late June wedding. His sister had insisted that she wanted to be married at Crow Hollow. Ethan hadn’t wanted to wait, but he’d agreed because he basically wanted to give the stars and the moon to Chandler.

It was pretty damn amazing that his sister had fallen in love with one of his best friends. He and Ethan Moore, along with Brody Donovan, had spent their formative years at the McCann and Donovan cabins. The three boys had spent summers traipsing around the forests and the lakes set high in the Colorado Rockies, not ever realizing that theirs was a friendship that would span the globe over the next twenty years.

Ethan had enlisted in the army and flew helicopters. Brody had gone to college, then to medical school, then surprised them all when he’d enlisted in the air force. And Mack, well, he’d done exactly what he’d hoped to do since he’d been about seven.

He’d become a spy.

Sort of.

Naval intelligence. He’d worked in more countries than he could remember, and in some of the best and worst conditions known to man. Silk sheets and lavish meals in Qatar, and dirt floors and beans in the Democratic Republic of the Congo.

He’d dined with presidents and princesses. He’d squatted alongside peasants washing their clothes in muddy rivers. His playground was anywhere there was information to be gained.

He’d been working 24/7 for the last sixteen years, and quite frankly, he was tired. And he hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that there should be something more. So he’d made the decision to leave.

Of course, he’d cop to having a few moments of doubt over the past months while he waited for his discharge papers to be processed. But once he had fresh mountain air in his lungs, he’d known that coming home was the right decision.

He’d secured a new position as director of security for Matrice Biomedics. The job would keep him in Colorado, close to family. He’d delayed his start date until June 15th, almost six weeks away. Until then, he had few worries. His biggest one at the present time was what to have for lunch.

Fifteen minutes later, Mack was on his second sandwich when he heard the sound of an approaching vehicle. Had his father decided to come early? He wasn’t expected until the end of the week. When the car rounded the final bend in the road, Mack shook his head in disbelief.

Bingham Trovell, the man who’d been his commanding officer for a good portion of his career, had his arm hanging out the window, waving like a fool. Mack waited until the car had stopped before approaching. “Has hell frozen over, sir? I can’t imagine anything else that would get you on land.”

Bing opened his car door and shifted two hundred and fifty pounds of black muscle out of the car. At fifty, he could probably still work circles around men half his age. He’d retired just three years earlier to a little boat and started calling the Mississippi home.

Bing looked at the package of hot dogs and buns that Mack had tossed aside earlier. “Good. I’m glad I made it in time.”

Mack laughed and hugged the big man. “Come have a seat at my fire.”

It was two hot dogs, two beers and forty minutes later that Bing dropped his bombshell. “I need a favor.”

“Anything,” Mack said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“I’ve got a friend who needs some security for his family. I told him that I knew somebody who could fit the bill perfectly. You.”

Mack shook his head. “No.”

“Were my sources incorrect? Are you not taking the job at Matrice Biomedics?”

Mack nodded. “I’m securing data and trade secrets and intellectual property. All the things I stole from the enemy. I’m not a bouncer at the front door.”

“But you could be a bouncer. You have been a bouncer.”

Mack couldn’t deny that. His role in naval intelligence had morphed over the years, and there had been times when he’d been charged with ensuring the physical security of important places and important people. “I start working in mid-June. That means I have to have the cabin done by then so that it’s ready for Chandler’s wedding at the end of June. I promised her.”

“We’ll get the right people up here to finish the job. At our expense. You don’t need to worry about that.”

“Who the hell is this person?” Mack asked.

“He’s my friend. My old college roommate, actually. Reverend Archibald Minnow.”

Mack frowned at his friend. “The television preacher? That Archibald Minnow?”

“Yes. But it’s not security for him. It’s for his daughter, Hope.”

Hope Minnow. Mack had always had the ability to recall information quickly and his three weeks in mountain air hadn’t dulled his senses. “She was recently profiled in People. Short article. I read it and four others between dress changes.”

Bing raised one eyebrow, making his already homely face look even less symmetrical. “Between dress changes?”

Mack waved a hand. “Wedding dresses. Most women want their bridesmaids with them. Not my sister. She wanted them and me.” He’d been happy enough to go. There was nothing terribly taxing about being surrounded by four women who smelled wonderful and whose only expectation was a thumbs-up or -down on the dress. Plus, the upscale shopping area where the store was located had recently been targeted by street gangs looking for pockets to pick and purses to snatch.

Call him overprotective. He could take it. But it hadn’t been that long ago that his sister had almost died at the hands of their crazy stepmother. Besides, Ethan couldn’t go; no way was the groom getting an early peak at the dress. It had to be Mack.

“Well, I hope you found something lovely that fits you well in the hips,” Bing said, his tone absolutely serious.

Mack set his gaze on the horizon. “You know,” he said, “people get lost in these woods all the time. Their bodies don’t get found until years later. By then, of course, all the meat has been eaten off.”

Bing gave him a fast, crooked smile. Then he got somber. “Hope Minnow needs you.”

“That wasn’t my impression from the article. I think she needs her personal shopper, her masseuse and her flavored vodka. The paparazzi caught her at some event in New York City.”

“She spends a lot of time there. The Minnows live in New Jersey in a more rural area. It’s a forty-minute drive into the city with good traffic.”

“Worth doing if you’re looking for some action,” Mack said.

“She’s my godchild,” Bing said.

“No offense meant.”

“None taken. She was always the sweetest thing growing up. Got married a couple years ago but that didn’t work out. After that, she seemed to change.”

“Her image doesn’t quite fit with the message Archibald Minnow preaches, does it?”

“Not hardly. And I won’t defend the man’s beliefs but he’s been my friend for a long time and I’d like to help him. I definitely don’t want anything to happen to Hope.”

“What happened to the ex-husband?” Mack asked.

“William Baylor. He still works with Archie in the ministry. There are long ties between the two families. I guess his mother and Patsy Minnow were friends in college.”

“Hope must have gone back to her maiden name?”

“Right away.”

“It’s got to be awkward with him still working with her father,” Mack said. “She doesn’t work for the ministry, too, does she?”

Bing shook his head. “No. I don’t think Hope has anything to do with the ministry or much to do with Archie. He never talks about her.”

“Does she work somewhere else or is she strictly a party girl?” Mack thought back to the picture he’d seen in the magazine. Long, sexy legs, short black skirt and a top that showed just enough cleavage to make a grown man beg for more. Pretty face with blond hair hanging down to the middle of her back. Eye candy.

He didn’t mind that, but he preferred a little more substance. Although both eye candy and substance had been sadly missing in his life the past few months as he worked feverishly to finish up things before leaving Uncle Sam’s employ.

“She used to have a good job working at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in special events. She has a master’s degree from New York University. But she left her job when her mother got sick.”

Maybe he’d misjudged. There could be plenty of substance there. “How is Mrs. Minnow now?”

“Better. Definitely good enough to travel, she says. Patsy Minnow is a real sweetheart. I’ve always told Archie that he didn’t deserve her. So, what do you think?” Bing prompted.

It wouldn’t be the worst assignment he’d ever had. And he owed Bing. Would always owe Bing. “How long?”

“Just for a few weeks until Archie has the opportunity to vet the qualifications of various security firms. He and his wife are scheduled to leave the country the day after tomorrow for ten days and he won’t have a chance to address it before then. There’s a small group going along, including my wife and me. Otherwise, I’d do it myself. He has to be very careful who he lets into his inner circle. I’ve vouched for you and that’s good enough. He knows I would never disappoint him and I’ve told him that you would never knowingly disappoint me.”

True. Twelve years ago, Bing had saved Mack from torture and a bad death when Mack had underestimated the enemy. Bing had done it at great risk to himself. That wasn’t something a man took lightly. Mack looked around the yard. The cabin was coming along nicely. Somebody else could lay the floor and get the bathroom finished. If he babysat Hope for ten days, there’d still be plenty of time to paint and get the yard cleaned up. There was really no good reason to turn down Bing.

“Okay. I’m in,” Mack said.

Chapter Two

Hope watched the seconds tick by on her bedroom clock. Her curtains were open and she could see the sun high in the blue sky. Clouds would likely roll in later, if the weather forecaster on the news was to be believed. They were calling for showers around dinnertime.

She waited another ten minutes, then rolled out of bed, did twenty minutes of yoga, showered and pulled her still-wet hair back into a low ponytail. She dressed casually in black ankle pants and a gauzy royal-blue-and-black shirt. She slipped her feet into her favorite one-inch heels, perfect for walking around the city.

Which she did most afternoons.

Because strolling around New York was like nails on a chalkboard to her father and that made all the effort very worthwhile. Archibald Minnow was embarrassed that his daughter was without purpose. That’s how he’d described her in a recent magazine article that had come out shortly after the People article. She couldn’t even remember which magazine because he did so many interviews. Blah, blah, blah. The church this, the church that. He’d have tried to avoid questions about her. But in this instance, they must have pressed and he had to offer up something. My daughter is a woman without purpose. I pray for her daily and am confident that she will find her way. Now can we talk about the money we need to keep this machine running?

Although he’d never really say machine. Nothing quite so crass. He’d say all the right words. And the money would flow in.

And the cachet of the small-town preacher who had caught the attention of the right people at the right time and made it big on television would continue to grow. Archibald Minnow hadn’t been an overnight success but pretty darn close. A meteoric rise, some said. From unknown to household name in just a few years.

And everybody who didn’t roll with him got rolled over. Most got on board willingly, gleefully, praying for space inside Reverend Minnow’s magic bubble.

Hope didn’t believe in magic bubbles, and she’d stopped believing in her father a long time ago.

At a very disrespectful and slothful one-fifteen in the afternoon, Hope walked down the curving staircase. When she passed the kitchen, she stuck her head in. Mavis Jones stood at the kitchen sink, washing up a few dishes, likely from the lunch that she and Hope’s mother had shared.

“How’s Mom?” Hope asked.

“We played five holes of golf today before we took the cart back to the clubhouse. Not bad given that this was the first time we’ve been out this spring.”

“Not bad at all,” Hope said. Especially since her mother hadn’t felt well enough to play at all last year. Radiation and chemotherapy had robbed her mother of many of the things she loved. It had been a very ugly time. Thank goodness that Mavis, who’d been her mother’s friend for over forty years and widowed several years ago, had been there to help. Hope didn’t know what they would have done without her.

“Hopefully you’ll get a full nine in soon. And the day she walks eighteen holes, I’ll dance naked in the street. Or something like that,” Hope said, winking at Mavis.

“Me, too. Except who would want to see this old woman and all her sagging and jiggling parts?”

Mavis wasn’t kidding anybody. She was still an attractive woman. “You sag and jiggle less than lots of thirty-year-olds,” Hope said. “You know that.”

The woman shrugged but looked pleased. “You want me to bring you some coffee on the veranda?” she asked.

“I’ll get my own coffee,” Hope said, walking into the kitchen. “You know you don’t have to wait on me.” She poured a cup and stuck two pieces of bread into the toaster. Once they popped, she spread the peanut butter on thickly, slapped the pieces together and wrapped her breakfast up in a napkin. “I’ll see you later,” she said.

When she opened the French doors to the veranda, the warm sun hit her face. Spring had come early this year to the east coast, and flowering shrubs had been in full bloom for weeks. The gardeners had planted annuals in the big urns that flanked the doorway and vines were already starting to trail down the sides.

She walked across the red brick and pulled out a chair. She put her toast and coffee down on the glass-topped table and sat in the sun, facing the heated lap pool that had been opened for the season just the week before. This was normally her favorite time of the day. She loved the solitude. Her father would be working and her mother resting.

But today, her quiet was infringed upon by voices. Men’s voices. She stood up, shading her eyes against the glaring sun. Her father was in the yard, well beyond the formal garden area. He wore casual clothes, as if he hadn’t yet gone into work. Next to him she recognized Bingham Trovell. Uncle Bing had brought her gifts from all over the world when she was a child. And he’d always had time for a story. To read one, to tell one, to laugh about one.

She didn’t recognize the third man. He was dressed the most formally, in dark slacks and a light-colored sports jacket. He was too far away for her to make out his face.

Likely a potential donor. Poor Uncle Bing. Somehow he’d gotten sucked up into the appeal. Her father rarely gave tours of the grounds anymore, so this guy had to have enough bucks to make that happen.

They were walking toward the house. She got up and grabbed her toast and coffee, intending to leave before they saw her.

But her mother stood in the doorway. Still beautiful at 67, the former Miss Texas had put on at least five pounds in the last month. She was still way too thin but Hope was grateful for every ounce.

“Hi,” Hope said. “I hear you played golf this morning.”

“Yes, it was fabulous. Is that your lunch?”

Hope looked at her toast, still wrapped in the paper napkin. “Brunch. I’m going to eat inside today,” she said. She waited for her mom to step aside. But the woman didn’t.

Hope looked over her shoulder. The trio was closer. “Excuse me, Mom,” she said.

“Do you have a minute?” her mother asked. “Your father and I would like you to meet someone.”

“I was on my way out,” Hope lied.

“Please.”

Hope sighed. She couldn’t say no to her mother. “I just have a minute,” she hedged.

Her mother nodded and looked past Hope. “Hello, Bing,” she said. “You’re looking well.”

“And you, Patsy.” Uncle Bing took the last three steps, leaned in past Hope and kissed her mother’s cheek. “You look radiant.”

Then Uncle Bing turned to her and hugged her hard. “Good to see you, Hope.”

Her father stepped close, in a Prada shirt, khaki shorts and deck shoes. At 67, he still had a full head of hair that he kept brown with some regular help from his hairdresser. He was trim, had all his own teeth and a good smile to show them off.

The camera loved him. And contributions from female fans almost doubled those from males.

As usual, he nodded in Hope’s direction but didn’t speak. Instead, he pulled out chairs at the table and motioned for them to take one. Her mother sat.

Hope checked out the stranger. Up close, she could tell that his clothes were expensive. He wore them with a casual elegance. His short hair was dark, with just a thread of silver at the temples. He was very tanned, very fit.

She wished he’d take his sunglasses off or that she’d thought to put hers on.

Uncle Bing waved a hand. “Hope, this is my good friend Mack McCann.”

She extended her hand. “Mr. McCann,” she murmured. When her hand connected to his, she expected his skin to be warm from the sun. But it was cool. There were calluses on his palms and his index finger looked bruised, as if he’d recently hit it with something. Both imperfections were strangely at odds with his otherwise sophisticated presence.

“Ms. Minnow,” he replied. His voice was low, sexy.

“Let’s get on with it,” her father said.

Hope snuck one last look at her mother, who was looking at her expectantly. Expecting what, Hope wasn’t sure. She worked hard to hide the animosity she felt for her father from her mother. But she wasn’t always successful. Those times she always came out the loser because overt hostility didn’t bother her father at all, and it ripped Hope apart when she knew that she’d upset her mom. Stress wasn’t good for any recovery.

Hope sat next to her mom and looked at the lap pool. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her father take a chair. Then Bing, and finally Mack McCann.

Her father leaned forward, his arms on the table. “Bing brought Mack here today because I asked for assistance. Mack provides PPS.”

Her father had the most irritating habit of assigning acronyms to things and then acting surprised when other people didn’t know them. She didn’t rise to the bait. She thought about the water temperature of the pool.

She heard her mother sigh. “Personal protective services, Hope. He’s a bodyguard.”

Oh, good grief. Her father was going to add a bodyguard to his entourage. That would mean there wouldn’t be a seat in the limo for either his hairdresser or his accountant.

She bet the hairdresser got tossed. Or maybe he’d just have the church buy a bigger limo.

“There have been some threats,” her father said.

“Threats,” she repeated, making sure her tone said boring.

Uncle Bing looked at her father. There was no reaction from Mack McCann.

“Threats on your life,” her father said.

Hope looked at her mother. She could not be falling for this. But the look on her mother’s face said that she’d been reeled in.

“We’ve hired Mack to protect you,” her mother said. “He’s your shadow for the next ten days while we’re traveling.”

Hope pushed her chair back. Took a deep breath, held it. Then she turned to the stranger. “Mr. McCann, I hope you didn’t come too far for this appointment because that’s time you’re never going to get back. I don’t need or want a bodyguard.” It was the understatement of the year. A bodyguard would ruin everything. Make it impossible to do the things that needed to be done.

She bent down and kissed her mother’s cheek. Then she straightened. “I’m going shopping.”

* * *

THE ONLY SOUND on the veranda after Hope made her departure was the tinkle of water from the frog’s mouth at one end of the pool.

“Archie?” Bing asked.

“She doesn’t have a choice,” Reverend Minnow said, folding his arms across his broad chest.

“She doesn’t seem too concerned,” Mack said. He’d been prepared for her to be upset, maybe cry a little, or be a little angry that someone would dare to threaten her. He hadn’t expected to be dismissed.

“She needs to understand the full impact of the situation,” Patricia Minnow said. “I’ll talk to her.” The woman reached for the papers that Reverend Minnow held folded in his hands.

Mack reached over the frail, yet lovely woman. “I’ll do it,” he said. When he’d first read the threats, he’d been incensed that Hope was being targeted because someone had a bone to pick with Archibald Minnow. It was damn cowardly to go after someone’s child, even if that child was an adult. He’d been grateful that he’d accepted the assignment.

But he wasn’t going to guard an uncooperative subject. She had to go along with the plan or all bets were off. He wanted to talk to Hope alone. There’d been some strange dynamic at the table. He hadn’t had time yet to figure it out and nobody was tipping their hand.

“May I?” he asked, inclining his head toward the house.

“Of course,” said Patricia. “But you better be fast. Hope moves quickly when she wants to.”

Mack pushed back his chair. So far, he wasn’t overly impressed with Hope’s speed or initiative. When he and Bing had arrived at the reverend’s house and learned that Hope was still in bed, that she was always in bed until early afternoon, he’d been disgusted. The party girl needed to get her very nice butt home and get to bed at a reasonable time so she could stop wasting her life away. He knew he was probably too much the other extreme, but he was generally up by four, had read a couple newspapers by five, worked out and eaten breakfast before the sun was up.

He entered the air-conditioned house just in time to see Hope, with keys in hand, exit through a door that he assumed led to the garage. He cut through the immense living room, then the study and out the front door just as the garage door went up.

She backed out fast, slowing just a little to close the garage door behind her. Mack didn’t miss his opportunity. He opened the passenger door and swung into the still-moving car.

Chapter Three

“Hey!” she yelled.

“A minute of your time,” he said. “That’s all I’m asking for.”

She jammed on the brakes, almost causing him to pitch forward. He could tell that she wanted to tell him to go to hell, but good manners or something had her shoving the car into Park. “You’ve got sixty seconds.”

Now that they were sitting close and there were no competing fragrances from the chemical-rich pool, he could smell just her. The scent was something light, elegant, and it made him think of the rare orchids that his father grew.

Her bare arms were tanned and fit and he suspected that at some point they did more than just lift a martini glass. She probably had a personal trainer on call.

One polished fingernail tapped impatiently on the steering wheel. He glanced at her toes. Yep, they matched. He not only knew his bridal-gown designers now, but he was also pretty up to speed on polish colors, too. There’d been a lengthy discussion over lunch about those. Hope favored something a little hotter, a little sexier, than the pink champagne that his sister and her bridesmaids were wearing.

“You’re wasting time,” she said.

“I talk fast,” he said, and gave her his best friendly smile. It had unarmed bad guys all over the world, but didn’t seem to faze her. Her jaw remained stiff. He wished he could see her eyes but she’d put on her sunglasses.

“I guess I really just want to know why you’re so damned determined to be careless with your personal safety?”

She pressed her lips together.

He opened the folded papers. “I think you should see these.” He handed her the least insulting one. She started to reach for it and stopped.

“You can touch it. These are copies. The police have the originals and the envelopes that they came in. They were hand-addressed and delivered by mail to your father’s office. This one came about a week ago.” Reverend Minnow had shared that he’d asked Chief Anderson, the local cop in charge, to keep the letters confidential unless there was a specific reason for the information to be shared. Evidently the chief was a devout follower. Reverend Minnow had given Mack the chief’s private number and he’d entered it into his phone.

She took the paper. Read it. Her expression didn’t change.

That pissed him off. He leaned close and read aloud. “‘Dear Reverend Minnow. I lost my son because of you. You need to know the same pain.’”

“This one came just two days ago.” He spread the paper out. “‘Dear Reverend Minnow. An eye for an eye. My son. Your daughter.’”

She finally looked at him. “I’m not sure what you want me to say?”

“Maybe something like, ‘wow, I’m kind of worried.’”

“But I’m not.” She took a deep breath. “Do you know that my father has a new book coming out soon?”

Mack nodded.

“My mother’s cancer is in remission. Good news, of course. Not great timing for my father. You see, she’d been recently diagnosed when his last book hit the shelves. Gave him the boost he needed for it to hit the New York Times list.”

Okay. A few things were starting to make sense. First things first. “I’m sorry that your mom was ill.” His own mother had died of cancer when he was just a teenager. “And I’m glad that she’s getting better.”

“Thank you,” she said, her voice very soft.

“You really think that your father would engineer something like this just to get some attention?”

“Definitely. Don’t underestimate my father. Others have and they’ve paid the price.”

“Bing believes these threats are real.”

“Uncle Bing is a wonderful man. But his friendship with my father, which I do not understand, is apparently clouding his judgment.”

“What if you’re wrong?” Mack asked. “Do you have so little regard for your life that you’re willing to take the chance?”

She moved the gearshift to Reverse. “Mr. McCann, you’ve used up more than your sixty seconds. Get out.”

He would have thought she was absolutely as cool as a cucumber, but she had a profound tell. Her pretty hot-pink toes on her left foot were moving. Her foot wasn’t tapping. No. Just the toes, expending her nervous energy. If she’d had on shoes or if they’d been seated at a table, he’d never have been the wiser. He opened the door. “Don’t be a fool, Hope.”

He watched her drive away. Let her get to the end of the block before he moved. Then he ran for his car, which was parked around the corner. Before she got to I-280 East, he’d picked up the car and settled in, staying a discreet three car lengths behind.

He called Bing from the car. “I’m following Hope.”

“I’ll let her parents know,” Bing said and hung up.

She drove competently, staying up with the nonrush-hour traffic. They crossed through the Holland Tunnel and weaved their way through lower Manhattan, then up to midtown. Then she pulled into a parking garage one block off of Fifth Avenue that charged a ridiculous thirty-five dollars per hour. He idled in a no-parking zone, giving her time to get out of her car and down the sidewalk. Then he pulled into the same lot and quickly parked.

This portion of Fifth Avenue was one designer store after another. The shoppers were an eclectic bunch. Parents with children, likely on vacation to the Big Apple, and much more likely, he figured, to be window-shopping rather than buying at the overpriced stores. There were business types—men and women—with briefcases or expensive leather bags on their shoulders and cell phones in their hands. Maybe they shopped but he thought not. Probably en route from one meeting to the next and using the expensive street as a convenient thoroughfare.

And then there were the real shoppers, the people like Hope Minnow, who had the means and the inclination to pay for a designer name and some personalized service. He caught up with her in a small store that was somehow managing to pay their rent selling purses, scarves and shoes.

He stayed outside because the interior was too narrow to provide him any cover. He stood off to the side of the big windows, pulled his cell phone off his belt and pretended to make a call.

He knew there was some chance that he could lose her if she decided to run out the back door but it was a calculated risk. He was confident that she didn’t realize she was being followed.

Wedding dresses, nail polish, now the accessories. He could feel his masculinity eroding. He needed some scratching and spitting.

It was a good thing he owed Brody Donovan a call. The two of them were going to throw Ethan a hell of a bachelor party, but first Brody needed to get back into the country. He’d been working on the front lines for a long time, patching up soldiers who had the misfortune to lose limbs to roadside IEDs. The last time Mack had spoken to Brody, just after Chandler had surfaced in Ethan’s capable hands, the man was looking forward to getting back to the States. He intended to join the trauma team at one of Southern California’s most prestigious hospitals.

The three of them were going to have some fun in Vegas first. Mack had seen the movies. He could do better.

But now, his only real responsibility in life was following a woman intent upon spending her daddy’s money.

When she walked out of the store fifteen minutes later, she was carrying just one bag that, by the shape, appeared to be shoes. It made him think of her pretty pink toes again. Shame to cover those up.

She went to three more stores and the pattern pretty much repeated itself. She went in, spent about twenty minutes and came out carrying another bag. Their shapes were not as definitive as the shoe bag, but given the types of stores, he suspected she’d purchased jewelry, dark chocolate and clothing. She was just about to enter a huge toy store when she suddenly detoured from her path and headed toward a bus stop at the corner. There was a group of people but she sought out a woman who was standing with a stroller in front of her and two other young children, one on each side. The woman wore a fast-food worker’s uniform. Mack suspected she was either just getting off or just going to work.

He couldn’t figure out what Hope had in common with the woman. But it didn’t take him long because suddenly Hope was handing the woman all her packages. The woman appeared hesitant to accept them, but Hope must have said something to convince her because she finally accepted the bundle.

He wished he could hear the conversation but he couldn’t afford to get any closer. In fact, when Hope turned quickly, retracing her steps, he had to jump behind a group that was waiting for the crosswalk light to come on.

What the hell? She’d spent two hours shopping only to give away the merchandise? He was confident the woman with the children hadn’t been expecting to meet Hope.

He followed her as she headed in the direction of her car. They were still two blocks away when she pulled her cell phone out of her purse. She glanced at the phone and answered. Then she walked and talked, an animated conversationalist, shaking her head, even waving an arm. The call continued all the way back to the parking lot and for another ten minutes after Hope was in her car. When she finally put her phone down, she slumped over the steering wheel for a few seconds.

Even from a distance, he could tell that she seemed defeated, and he had the most insane urge to storm the car and demand to know what was wrong. He wanted to fix it. Why, he wasn’t sure. She’d snubbed him, kicked him out of her car and made him waste two hours of his life on Fifth Avenue.

But before he could make the decision to show himself, she straightened up, started her car and pulled out of the lot. He got in his own car and followed her back onto the highway, dropping off when she turned the corner to return to her home.

He called Bing again. “She’s back, safe and sound. The only thing that was in danger was her wallet.”

“I was just about to call you. I’m out to an early dinner with Patsy and Archie before we catch our plane. Patsy called Hope while she was shopping and they had a long conversation. She’s agreed to have you provide security.”

That explained the phone call.

“Why the change of heart?”

“I could only hear Patsy’s side of the conversation. At first, it didn’t appear as if Hope was going to give in. But Patsy kept insisting, almost begging her. I guess she finally agreed.”

“When is she expecting me?”

“Tonight. But don’t expect her to cook you dinner.”

He’d be lucky if she didn’t throw her dinner at him.

Chapter Four

Hope had just finished her salmon and asparagus when Mack McCann walked up from the backyard. She’d eaten outside because the weather forecasters had been wrong. The rain had held off.

Mack carried an expensive leather bag with a strap over one shoulder and held something else in his hands. When he got closer, she could see it was lightbulbs.

That seemed like an odd thing to pack. He had changed into worn jeans, T-shirt and sandals. He had the job. Obviously no need to dress to impress.

But oddly, he still did impress. It was the confidence he moved with, the assurance that every step he took was exactly the right one.

She envied that. She’d been waffling for months, not able to make a decision about her next steps.

“We have a front door,” she said when he got close enough to hear. “Most people use it.” She stared at the gun that he holstered at his hip. Of course he was armed. She should have expected it but she’d never been all that fond of guns, especially after her father had demanded that she go with him on a deer-hunting expedition when she was about thirteen.

She shifted her eyes, determined to focus on something else besides the black gun. She frowned at the package of lightbulbs. “You didn’t have to bring your own,” she said. “We provide them for our guests.”

He shrugged. “When your father took Bing and me for a tour this morning, I noticed there were some lights out on the other side of the pool house. Light is one of the simplest and best deterrents to unwelcome activity.”

She should probably appreciate his attention to detail. But it was hard to appreciate somebody who was interrupting what would have been ten days of peace. Almost two whole weeks of not pretending to be something that she wasn’t. At least while she was in her own home.

“I still think it’s ridiculous that you’re here,” she said.

He nodded and pulled out a chair. He angled it and she realized he did that so he could see both the house and the backyard. He evidently was still buying in to the fact that the threats were real.

“If you think it’s so ridiculous, why did you agree to the protection?”

“Because my mother asked me to,” she said, blurting out the truth. “She said it was the one thing that I could do to ensure that she enjoyed her trip.” She tapped her index nail against the side of her dirty plate. “My mother has wanted to go to Europe for many years. A year ago, when she was so sick that she couldn’t even lift her head off her pillow, she had accepted that she was never going to get there. And it broke my heart. Such a simple thing to ask for, but time had run out.”

“But she’s getting to go after all,” he said, “and you’re not going to do anything to dull the shine of the experience.”

“I love her too much,” she said. “And when my parents check in with you, as I’m sure they will, I’d appreciate it if you’d remember that I don’t want my mother to have any reason to worry about me. I’ll play my part, Mr. McCann. I hope you will, too.”

“Mack,” he said. “We’re going to be living together for the next ten days.”

Living together. He made it sound so intimate. And a part of her that had been cold for a very long time heated up, making her almost ache with need.

They would not be alone in the house. “Mavis is my mother’s assistant and does some basic cooking and cleaning. About four months ago, she let the lease on her apartment go and moved in here. Right now she’s out to dinner with friends, but you should expect her back around nine. It would be good if you didn’t shoot her.”

She pushed back from the table, making the legs of the wrought-iron chair scrape against the brick patio. “I’m going to my room. Before she left, Mavis told me that the guest room on the second floor is ready for you. Top of the stairs, take a right, third door on the left. There’s an attached bath. I like to sleep late. I’d appreciate it if you’re quiet in the morning.”

* * *

HE KNEW WHERE the guest room was. After agreeing to the assignment, he’d reviewed the house’s blueprints and examined pictures of the exterior and the grounds, which were extensive. In this exclusive rural area of New Jersey, all the lots were at least ten acres. The trees were mature, providing lots of privacy.

From a security perspective, that could be a good and a bad thing. Good because it wasn’t likely that anybody would simply stumble upon the house. That made it easy to separate the good guys from the bad guys. If you weren’t an expected guest, you automatically went into the bad-guy column.

Most of the Minnows’ neighbors raised horses. They had barns and fenced-in pastures and horses that sold for thousands of dollars. When Reverend Minnow had walked them around the grounds, Mack had asked about the barn.

“Been empty since we moved in,” Reverend Minnow had said. “We’re not the horsey type. Hope had a cat for a few years when she was growing up but when it died, I didn’t want any more animals around.”

Mack would have preferred the barn to be bustling with animals. They, at least, would let him know if someone strange was around. Now the barn was just a large empty structure that provided lots of hiding spaces. That, along with the relative remoteness of the Minnow property, presented some security challenges.

Plus, he had to contend with lots of ground-floor windows and multiple points of access. Hell, even the second floor had direct access—right to Hope’s room. There was a lovely little balcony off her bedroom. Only good thing was there wasn’t any easy way up to the balcony and the door was hooked up to the security system. However, he’d looked at the specs of the system and he wasn’t impressed. It was ridiculously basic and a tenth grader could probably bypass it. And if the alarm were triggered, the responders were from a well-to-do suburban police force that rarely saw any real crime. They wouldn’t be much help.

This morning, when he’d been touring the property, he’d debated requesting that Hope take a more secure room in the house. But had ultimately decided it wasn’t necessary. If anybody tried to access the balcony, he’d hear the movement and motion outside and have time to respond.

After five minutes, he followed Hope into the house and walked upstairs. He was okay with stashing his stuff in the guest room, but he sure as hell didn’t plan to sleep there. He’d sleep downstairs on a couch or in a chair, somewhere where he could easily respond if the home were breached.

It took him just minutes to unpack. He left the room, but instead of going downstairs, he started opening doors. It was one thing to study a blueprint, an entirely different thing to walk through and get a feel for the layout of the rooms.

The big staircase split the upstairs, with two bedrooms and two baths on each side. He and Mavis were sharing a side. When he opened her door, he saw that the bedrooms were laid out much the same, although it was clear that Mavis had a special fondness for giraffes. They were scattered all over the dresser and chest, in all materials and sizes. There was an especially beautiful one in glass and a real ugly one made out of burlap. In the corner, there was a metal one that was tall enough that it looked him in the eye.

He crossed the hallway and checked out the bedroom next to Hope’s. It was another guest room and quite frankly, based on the dust that was on the dresser, it hadn’t been used recently. He avoided Hope’s room, knowing that she wouldn’t appreciate him knocking on the door.

Next he went downstairs. Archibald and Patricia Minnow’s room was just off the kitchen. The bedroom was spacious, with a king-size bed. There was a separate sitting space, with a desk and several comfortable chairs. Then a huge bath and two walk-in closets, both jammed with clothes.

He glanced into the kitchen, which was painted a nice pale green and had lots of stainless steel. Hope had rinsed her dirty dinner dishes and neatly stacked them in the sink. Somebody had made a loaf of what smelled like banana bread and left it cooling on a rack near the stove.

Other rooms on the first floor were a family room with a wall of books and a big-screen television, a formal living room with overstuffed leather furniture and expensive artwork and, finally, the study. Nice windows, more books on built-in shelves and a desk that he recognized. In the center of the desk was a big Bible. Every week Archibald Minnow recorded his weekly television show from this room. He started and ended the program with his hand on the Bible. Mack had watched a few episodes in preparation of the assignment.

The camera liked Reverend Archibald Minnow. No doubt about it. The man came across as passionate about his faith and committed to his flock. In the segments Mack had watched, Reverend Minnow had spoken lovingly about his wife. He had not mentioned his daughter.

Mack searched the basement next. The house was almost eighty years old and the basement showed it. The walls were big blocks of white stone and the space had not been remodeled or fixed up, like in so many of the newer homes. The floor was cement. There was a treadmill and a weight bench in the largest space. The rest was storage and at the far end, the furnace and water heater.

Confident that he understood the house, he went back upstairs and settled in on the couch. Mavis would return shortly. He’d met the woman earlier in the day, when he and Bing had first arrived. She’d shown them into the living room, where they’d waited until Reverend Minnow had come to get them. Bing had met the woman before and the two of them chatted easily. Mack’s impression of Mavis was that she was competent and fiercely loyal to the Minnow family, especially Patricia.

Mack heard a car approach shortly before nine. He went to the window and pulled back the curtain. Mavis parked her Toyota next to his BMW and came in through the front door. When the alarm went off, the woman entered the code on the keypad to shut it off. Then she reset it.

“Mr. McCann,” she said, turning to greet him. “I’m glad to see you. I was hoping Hope wouldn’t have a change of heart and run you off.”

Mack smiled. “I’m not that easy to shake.”

Mavis shrugged. “And Hope Minnow is tougher than she looks.” The woman put her foot on the bottom step. “I’m tired so I think I’ll turn in right away. What time would you like breakfast, Mr. McCann?”

“It’s Mack, please. And don’t cook for me. I can take care of myself.”

“You sound just like Hope. Looks as if these next ten days are going to be a vacation for me, too. Good night.”

Mack watched the older woman walk up the stairs and listened for her room door to open and shut. Then he rechecked the security system to make sure it was on. Finally, he shut off the television and followed her upstairs.

He took a quick shower and pulled his jeans back on. They were comfortable enough to sleep in and he didn’t want to get caught with his pants down or off. Then, cognizant that Mavis and Hope were asleep, he very quietly left his room, walked downstairs and stretched out on the couch in the family room.

And he didn’t wake up until he heard the very soft beep of the security system being turned off. Then the distinct sound of the front door opening and softly closing.

In seconds, he was up and at the window, gun in hand. He saw a woman walking down the long lane, headed for the road. If he’d been even a second slower, he’d have lost her in the heavy tree line.

What the hell? It had to be Hope. Right height, right weight. Same sexy walk. But her hair was short and dark.

He slipped on his jacket, patted his pocket to make sure that his small flashlight was still there and followed, gun in hand. She was walking fast, her head down, likely watching to make sure she didn’t trip.

An ankle injury would put a damper on her escape plans.

Was she running away? That was crazy. He knew she wasn’t happy, but running away was for temperamental teens. And she had it made at her dad’s house. No real responsibilities. Plenty of funding.

Out for a night on the town? In a disguise? Maybe. But she was dressed in a dark sweatshirt and baggy khaki pants. Not right for the club scene, even in Jersey. And why walk? She had a perfectly good car.

She stopped when she reached the road. She had her arms wrapped around her middle. Her head was no longer down. She was looking to the left, as if she were waiting for someone.

He considered approaching. He should, really.

But he knew that if he did, she’d simply lie about what had driven her to leave her warm bed at midnight.

And he’d be no closer to figuring out what made this woman tick.

So he stayed quiet, hidden by the trees. And in less than five minutes, an old car came along, slowing well before they could have seen Hope. When the car stopped, Hope stepped from the trees and opened the passenger-side door.

The car’s interior light came on, showing the driver. A woman. Dressed in dark blue or black scrubs. Probably ten years older than Hope.

Hope slid in and shut the door. The car drove away, leaving Mack McCann, who rarely got surprised by anything, standing at the side of the road, with his mouth hanging open.

Chapter Five

Hope leaned back against the headrest of the old car and sighed. It had been an emotionally draining day, and while she normally slept for a few hours before Sasha picked her up, she’d been unable to drift off tonight. Because of him.

Mack McCann. A necessary precaution, her mother had cajoled. Trusted friend, claimed Uncle Bing.

Brilliant strategy, she suspected, from her father’s perspective.

Didn’t really much matter what anybody else thought. She pretty much had him pegged as a thorn in her side.

She’d heard him come upstairs after Mavis had gotten home. Had heard the pipes of the old house groan when he’d showered. Could admit that she’d spent a few warm moments imagining how his naked body might look and had told herself it was normal to fantasize a bit, given that she hadn’t had sex in almost two years.

And he was seriously handsome with his dark hair and hazel eyes. And physically fit. She knew he’d graduated from the naval academy with honors, spoke several languages fluently and was an expert marksman. Her mother had listed off those attributes this afternoon.

She hadn’t been thinking one bit about those things when she’d spent several valuable minutes of her life wondering if he’d packed pajamas in his leather bag. Finally, she’d punched her pillow for the tenth time, closed her eyes tight and thought about the surprise and the delight on the stranger’s face earlier that day when the woman realized that Hope intended for her to take all the packages that Hope had managed to accumulate while grazing on Fifth Avenue.

It had been an excellent way to end the day.

“Tired?” Sasha asked, her tone kind.

“No,” Hope lied. If anyone had a right to be tired, it was Sasha. She always picked Hope up after she’d finished her three-to-eleven shift at the nursing home. “How was work?”

“Charlie Fenton ran away again tonight. Without his clothes on.”

That wasn’t a pretty picture. Hope recalled that Mr. Fenton was almost ninety. “Where did you find him this time?”

“Where we always find him. Buying donuts down the street. He was bringing them back for Delores. They’re dating.”

“That’s sweet. How old is Delores?”

“A spry eighty-three. They’re talking about getting married.”

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Hope said, laughing.

“You would think. Can you imagine?” Sasha gave her a quick sideways look. “Sorry,” she added.

Sasha was one of the few who knew the real reason that Hope’s brief marriage had crumbled. She’d been there to pick up the pieces. That was how the two women had met. “No problem,” Hope said easily. She’d never be able to laugh about her own situation, but she wasn’t so jaded that she couldn’t feel good about these two old people sneaking around, as much as one could sneak when using a walker, acting like teenagers again.

“Think we’ll be busy tonight?” Sasha asked, attempting to change the conversation.

It was a rhetorical question. No one could ever predict what kind of night it would be. The hotline had been quiet for a few nights so maybe it would heat up. They’d had a brand-new client and her two children two nights ago. She’d had two black eyes, a chipped tooth and a broken finger. Her young children had hung on to her the entire night, their little hands tightly clenching her cheap cotton T-shirt. Fortunately, they hadn’t had a mark on them, but they’d evidently watched what their father had done to their mom.

Finally, Hope had gotten the four-year-old girl and five-year-old boy to follow her into the old kitchen. She’d convinced them to help her make some cupcakes so that Sasha and Jackie could work with the mom and get her started on rebuilding her life, one that didn’t include regularly getting the hell beat out of her.

Sasha pulled her car into the parking lot of the nondescript one-story building. From the outside, it looked quiet enough. Always did. There were no neon signs blinking in these windows. Just a small sign on the door, one you had to be close to in order to read.

Gloria’s Path. Named for the founder, Gloria Portland, who’d scraped together grants and private donations to open the ten-bed shelter eight years earlier. Now Gloria worked mostly days, leaving the night work to trusted volunteers and just a few paid staff.

Hope opened her door and got out. As she did, something fluttered to the ground. She bent and picked it up. She leaned into the car, using the interior light to see what it was.

It was a strip of vertical photos of Sasha and a man. “What’s this?” she asked, holding the strip up so that Sasha, who was already out of the car, could see.

The woman waved a hand. “Oh, nothing. I went to my cousin’s wedding last week and they had a photo booth there with a bunch of props.”

When she didn’t mention the man, Hope didn’t pry. She knew that Sasha had been married and divorced twice. Maybe she was dipping her toes in the dating water again.

Hope gently tossed the strip back onto the passenger seat. “The purple glasses were a nice touch.”

“It was that or a felt Santa hat.”

The two women walked down the dark sidewalk and Sasha used her key to unlock the back door. The interior was softly lit, in deference to the late hour. But Hope knew that there would be activity. There always was. Previously abused women didn’t sleep well. They were worried about their futures, their children’s futures. And sometimes it was in the middle of the night that they most needed a supportive shoulder to lean upon.

Hope headed for the small kitchen to grab a cup of coffee. There was a woman sitting at the table. She had a half-empty cup sitting in front of her and she was playing with her smartphone.

Serena was a repeat client, first arriving almost six months ago, shortly after Hope had started her volunteer work. Serena had spent a few days at Gloria’s Path, only to return home after her husband had pleaded with her and pledged that he’d do better. When she’d shown up almost two weeks ago, her face bruised and cut, she’d said that she was finally ready to leave her husband, because better still regularly included a sharp uppercut to the jaw.

She had no children and no other family in the immediate area. By the sounds of it, all she had was a very angry spouse who couldn’t accept that his wife of three years had finally had enough.

“I was hoping you’d have a minute to talk,” Serena said, suggesting that she’d been waiting for Hope’s arrival. “I think I finally have a plan.”

Hope smiled. Her night had begun.

* * *

MACK SAT IN his quiet car, debating what to do next. The second after he’d watched Hope get into the car, he’d been racing back to the house to get his own vehicle.

Fortunately, his keys had been in his jacket pocket and he’d been on the road fast. He’d caught up with the old Ford three minutes later, two miles outside the city limits of Weatherbie, the affluent commuter community of less than ten thousand in Western Essex County.

Because traffic was almost nonexistent, he’d had to drop back twice to ensure that they didn’t realize they were being followed. He’d assumed they were going to roll through town and had almost lost them when they’d turned off the main street. He’d circled back and wasted time looking for them.

He’d found the car three blocks off the main drag, parked next to a square, one-story, frame building with a brick front on the corner of Marsh and Wooten. There was one other car in the small lot. There were narrow sidewalks and a couple of streetlights that provided inadequate illumination of what appeared to be a quiet area. He’d driven around the block once to get the lay of the land, then parked a block away, pulling into an empty spot on the street. He had a good visual of the front door.

During the daytime, there was likely some foot traffic due to the apartment buildings on both sides and a hair salon and an oil change shop across the street. However, in the middle of the night, there was nobody around.

At least not visible. Mack always expected somebody to be hiding in the shadows. It was what had kept him alive to the ripe old age of thirty-eight.

It was the second time in less than twelve hours that he’d chased after Hope. It was starting to be a rather tiresome activity. At least it hadn’t been all the way back to New York City. She’d stayed local this time.

But why?

And what the hell was she doing inside the building?

Buying drugs? Possible. But she didn’t look like a user. She had beautiful skin, shiny hair, pretty white teeth.

Prostitution? That made his skin crawl. And he felt a surge of jealousy in his gut that he didn’t even attempt to analyze.

Gambling? Maybe. She had a lot of money and she didn’t seem terribly upset about parting with it.

Dog fighting? He thumped the heel of his hand against his forehead. He was getting ridiculous.

He was just about to get out of his car, knock on the damn door and demand an explanation when an old El Camino with dual exhaust roared down the street. It slowed in front of the building just long enough for the passenger to toss something out of the window. Mack saw the flash.

Holy hell. It was a Molotov cocktail and thrown hard enough that when it hit the front window, it broke through. He could see flames dance upward.

The building was on fire and Hope was inside.

Mack dialed 911 as he raced toward the building. When the operator answered, he reported the fire and indicated the cross streets. Then he described the car that had fled the scene before he hung up on the operator, who was instructing him to stay on the line.

The front door was locked. He had to kick it twice before it gave and he was able to push his way through. The small lobby area was already filling with smoke. He could see flames climbing the curtains, spreading onto the small couch, licking their way across the carpet. Heard a woman screaming.

He didn’t think it was Hope. That didn’t make him feel any better.

He tried the interior door. Locked. His other option was going over the waist-high counter that separated the lobby from a small reception area. He braced his hands on the counter and easily vaulted the barrier. On the desk was a fire extinguisher, on its side, as if it had been tossed there. The pin had been pulled. Mack picked it up and pressed the handle, but nothing happened.

It was either empty or defective. Didn’t matter. It wasn’t helping.

There was another door. This one not locked. It opened into a long, dimly lit hallway with doors off to both sides. Women and children, all in their pajamas, were stumbling out of those doors, shell-shocked.

Whoever had been screaming had stopped. The woman who had picked up Hope stood at the end of the hallway, her back against a partially open exit door, urging everyone to hurry.

There was no sign of Hope. Where the hell was she?

Then he saw her. She came out of a room, one arm around a woman who had to be nine months pregnant, the other holding a sleeping toddler. Her face was pale against her chin-length auburn wig, but she was calm.

She looked down the hallway as if she were counting heads and she saw him. Her face registered surprise and something else. Maybe relief?

“Check the rooms,” she yelled, not missing a beat.

The hallway was filling with smoke. He used the flashlight on his key chain. It was small but powerful and he could see enough. The rooms were empty. By the time he got to the back door, he realized that Hope had changed places with the other woman. She was bracing the door open and she no longer held the child. He could hear the sounds of approaching emergency vehicles.

Her eyes met his. “I did a quick head count,” she said. “I think everyone is out.”

“Rooms are empty,” he confirmed.

“Thank God.” She glanced nervously over her shoulder. The other woman had moved the group to the end of the small parking lot, where they would be out of the firefighters’ way.

“I have to get out of here,” she said, insistent. “I can’t be here when fire and police arrive. Will you help me?”

He had a thousand questions. “What...?”

The look in her pretty eyes stopped him. Fear. Real fear. He didn’t know what the hell was up but he wanted her out of there. He wanted her safe.

He grabbed her hand, pulled her around the corner of the building and they raced for his car down the street.

They got inside and she immediately huddled down, as if trying to stay out of sight. He pulled out just as the fire truck rounded the curve.

He drove for three minutes before he couldn’t stand it any longer. “What the hell is going on, Hope?”

She straightened up. “Did they see us?” she asked.

He shook his head. “I don’t think so. But people inside the building saw you.”

“Sasha knows that I got out. I told her I was leaving. She understands. She won’t say anything about me being there.”

“What about everyone else?”

“I guess I have to hope that the police talk to Sasha. She’ll do her best to keep me out of it.”

They had reached the main highway. He looked in his rearview mirror. Nobody was following them. “What the hell is that place and what were you doing there? And why are you wearing a wig and dressed like that?”

She didn’t answer.

He slowed the car down and flipped on his turn signal, as if he might be turning around.

“Oh, fine,” she said, her tone exasperated. “It’s a women’s shelter. For victims of domestic abuse. I volunteer there. They know me as Paula.”

Because he’d had the benefit of seeing the past few minutes, he wasn’t as surprised as he might have been. He’d been able to process the scene. But still, her words were pretty damn shocking.

It would have been helpful if Archibald Minnow had mentioned this when he’d given Bing and him the tour of the Minnow estate. “Nobody said anything to me about this,” he said.

“Nobody knows,” she said. “Well, that’s not exactly true. Mavis knows. But she’d never say anything.” She paused for a minute. “I assume you somehow managed to follow me.”

“Yes.” He figured she’d blast him for that. But she simply shook her head in disgust.

“I can’t even manage to sneak out of a house.”

“Don’t beat yourself up. I’m a little more observant than your average houseguest. Who’s the woman that picked you up?”

“Sasha. She has a paid position with Gloria’s Path. That’s the name of the shelter,” she added.

“She must know the truth about who you are,” he stated.

“She does.”

He waited for some additional explanation, but it didn’t appear that any was forthcoming. Okay. He’d circle back to that later. “The two of you were doing a good job getting people out of there.”

“We got lucky. Sasha was in the reception area when the firebomb or whatever it was came through the window. She tried to use the fire extinguisher but it didn’t work. She yelled and I got the person I was with out the door and went back in for more.”

That made him feel sick. “You shouldn’t have gone back in,” he said. “Once you’re out of a burning building, you stay out.”

She shook her head. “There’s no way I would do that,” she said simply.

It wasn’t said in a boastful way. Just a statement of fact. And he realized that there was much more to Hope Minnow than he had anticipated.

“It was a Molotov cocktail and some guy riding shotgun in an old yellow El Camino threw it through the window. I told the police that when I made the 911 call. That vehicle ring a bell?”

She shook her head. “No. But I imagine the police will want to know if it rings a bell with any of the clients. It’s likely someone trying to make trouble for one of them. We work really hard to keep the location of the shelter a secret. It’s by referral only and there’s no signage on the street. But it is possible that some estranged spouse or significant other got lucky and figured it out.”

He turned to look at her. “Maybe somebody was trying to make trouble for you? You’re the one receiving the threats.”

She shook her head. “I know you don’t believe me, but those threats are bogus. Besides, nobody knows that I volunteer there. It’s a secret that I’ve been very careful to keep.”

“Something isn’t a secret if more than one person knows. You just said that Mavis and Sasha both know.”

She shrugged. “I trust Mavis and, well, the same for Sasha. She had a chance to sell me out before when it would have been really bad for me. She didn’t take the opportunity then. She won’t take it now.”

He was starting to get a very bad feeling. “How did you meet Sasha?”

She was quiet for a long time. Finally, she spoke very softly. “She’s worked at Gloria’s Path for several years. Lucky for me, she was the counselor on duty the night I showed up beaten and broken.”

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