From behind, a hand clamped her shoulder.

Her heart ricocheted. Casey jerked around to see a man with piercing blue eyes staring back. Though the look on his face was anything but friendly, relief swept through her. This man didn’t have the look of a crazed killer. She should know. For a fleeting moment, she had feared Will Tannin had caught up with her. Her breathing slowed, if only a little.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

Taken aback at his guarded tone, Casey struggled for words, something that didn’t happen often to her as a journalist.

“You shouldn’t be here. Let’s go.” He glanced over her shoulder at something behind her, a sense of urgency in his eyes, and grabbed her arm. “The loading dock is off-limits. It isn’t safe. You could get hurt.”

Casey sensed that this story had just got a lot more interesting.

Dear Reader,

Often we find ourselves in a difficult situation and we wonder why. Many times, the answer to that is a simple one—our own choices have taken us on the course to unhappy circumstances. That’s exactly what happened to both Casey Wilkes and Jesse Mitchell in Freezing Point. Although their choices and the resulting circumstances are different, their paths cross, and they are each given an opportunity to do something different this time, to make better choices.

Casey realizes that digging too deep for a story sent her into hiding. Jesse knows he can’t stand by again and watch others be hurt because he’s working undercover. We can’t change the past, but we can always make different choices for the future.

Thank goodness our God is a God of second chances, or we’d all be in trouble. I love writing stories about characters who learn from their mistakes and grow. After all, if we’re not learning and growing, then we’re not living. I pray that you look to God to direct your path in all your ways.

I enjoy hearing from my readers. You can contact me through my website at www.ElizabethGoddard.com and sign up for my newsletter to receive updates.

Elizabeth Goddard

About the Author

ELIZABETH GODDARD is a seventh-generation Texan who grew up in a small oil town in East Texas, surrounded by Christian family and friends. Becoming a writer of Christian fiction was a natural outcome of her love of reading, fueled by a strong faith.

Elizabeth attended the University of North Texas where she received her degree in computer science. She spent the next seven years working in high-level sales for a software company located in Dallas, and traveling throughout the United States and Canada as part of the job. At twenty-five, she finally met the man of her dreams and married him a few short weeks later. When she had her first child, she moved back to East Texas with her husband and daughter and worked for a pharmaceutical company. But then, more children came along and it was time to focus on family. Elizabeth loves that she gets to do her favorite things every day—read, write novels, stay at home with her four precious children, and work with her adoring husband in ministry.

Freezing Point

Elizabeth Goddard

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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As always, my stories are dedicated to my loving husband and my four beautiful children.

I will say of the Lord, He is my refuge and

my fortress; My God, in Him will I trust.

—Psalms 91:2

Acknowledgments

I couldn’t have written this without help from

Mindi Smith, a twenty-year veteran with the FBI.

Thanks, Mindi, for your invaluable assistance

and sticking with me on this project.

Thanks to Ken Ackerman of Dryiceinfo.com

for explaining how to make dry ice work

for my story, and to Dale Pierce of Creative Ice

for answering questions about ice sculpting.

To my critique partners (you know who you are),

and to Ellen Tarver, thank you for making my

stories shine. A special thank you to my agent,

Steve Laube, for believing in me, and to my editor,

Emily Rodmell, for believing in this story!

ONE

Beautiful … but dangerous.

Jesse finished shoving the last block of dry ice into the back of the specially designed truck—well insulated, yet ventilated to allow for sublimation—the melting that would give off deadly CO₂ gas.

The solid form of carbon dioxide would be used to create the snow effect around the ice sculptures along with fog—a mysterious yet stunning display.

He tugged off the gloves used to protect his hands from ice burns or, worse, frostbite. Because his father was a chef and master ice sculptor, Jesse had learned a few techniques of his own, even entering competitions during his college days.

That’s what made him the perfect candidate for this covert operation, and the only reason Robert McCoffey, his superior, had pulled Jesse from the desk job and visits to the psychiatrist and put him back into the action. Working as an undercover agent for Immigration and Customs Enforcement, Jesse had nearly blown his last assignment and thought he’d never get the chance to restore his reputation and career.

But ICE’s bulk cash and smuggling division decided Helms Ice and Trucking Company was hot—laundering money for the Mexican cartel—and they wanted someone on the inside. Since the trucking company also had a catering side business specializing in ice sculptures, Jesse was it.

He shoved his hand through his hair. God had some sense of humor.

Miguel grinned as he assisted Jesse in closing off the back of the truck. He signaled to the driver that the truck was ready to go, and it lumbered away from the loading dock.

“You okay today?” Miguel asked.

“Everything’s great,” Jesse lied. With his superiors breathing down his neck, he had to come up with something and soon. He’d already been working undercover too long for his own good.

“You’d better get back to your hole. You got another gig in a few days.” Miguel strode over to a counter and grabbed a pack of cigarettes.

Though Miguel referred to the ice-sculpture competition that Jesse needed to prepare for, Jesse was concerned about a far different gig, and that’s what had him on edge today. He was desperate to get in on what he believed would be the next transport of bulk cash. As the truck departed, Jesse fought the tensing in his gut. Could this truck be driving off with millions in cash tucked away behind or in the ice, and Jesse had somehow missed it?

Carlos returned from his break. “We expecting another truck in a few?”

“You’re not going anywhere. Jesse’s got his own work. You’re lucky he was here to cover for you,” Miguel said.

Carlos gave a halfhearted snarl. Jesse didn’t like the guy. After years spent working undercover assignments, Jesse had learned there were some people you met while undercover that you grew to care about and others you grew to hate. Carlos was someone to hate. He had no doubt that Carlos was capable of much worse than smuggling cash. He might have committed the murder on the loading dock that occurred several months ago, bringing the police down on this place and the cash smuggling operations to a complete halt for a few weeks.

Jesse had to remain and bide his time until things began moving again. Though he had proof of several small transactions, those crimes had already occurred. His goal was to gather intelligence, figure out all the players and be witness to the movement of a large amount of cash—catching them in the act. This would bring stiffer penalties under federal law.

When Carlos’s eyes slid toward him, Jesse turned his back on the man. “Later,” he said, and headed for the exit.

He squeezed his eyes closed for a moment. Guys like Carlos were the reason Jesse had grown to loathe working undercover. Memories from his last assignment flooded his mind—a man struggling with the thugs of a drug ring Jesse had infiltrated. He’d lived with the nightmare day and night. Jesse could have stepped into the fray, but that would have been kicking his cover in the teeth. He’d almost cracked under the moral dilemma. If only Jesse had gone a little out of his way, he could have prevented the man from strolling around the corner at that precise moment—the exact wrong moment. He would never allow that to happen again.

He promised himself then that once he got out, he’d never go back. In the end, he’d almost blown the mission and been reprimanded before being returned to a desk job. After months living life undercover as a drug runner, learning to walk and talk like them, to avoid the cops, he’d struggled to fit in with his fellow agents again.

What had the psychiatrist told him? “You’re suffering from anxiety and extreme suspiciousness.” That he was near the breaking point.

A shiver swept over him when he passed the room-size freezer that took up a quarter of the loading dock. At the moment, he felt like he was near the freezing point—if he worked like this for much longer, his heart would turn stone-cold.

Right now, he knew one thing—if he wanted to transfer programs within the agency, he’d have to earn back the respect of his supervisors and the confidence of his fellow agents.

In order to do that he’d have to see this case through and make the bust of these so-called untouchables.

Nothing or no one would stand in his way this time. Nor would he allow anyone to stumble upon Carlos and Miguel on the loading dock. Not again. Not on his watch.

Casey Wilkes stood outside a door with a nameplate indicating it was the ice-sculpting studio, which she presumed was where she could find the ice sculptor. After knocking and receiving no response, she jiggled the doorknob.

Locked.

She forced her shoulders back, unwilling to give in to defeat. The receptionist probably lied to get rid of Casey, telling her the ice sculptor was here. The cute little brunette had been instructed not to allow visitors beyond the foyer, but Casey had pulled a trump card—she was the owner’s niece, and needed an interview.

Casey didn’t mention that until this week, she’d lived in a little town near Portland, Oregon—a far cry from Orange Crossings near San Diego—and had never been to the ice company before. Nor did she mention that John Helms had married her aunt three years ago, and Casey didn’t know him that well.

She had no idea if Uncle John would allow her to get an interview, but since he and Aunt Leann were out of the country, traveling in Europe somewhere, and everyone else was leaving for the day or had already gone, there wasn’t anyone around to question.

The receptionist didn’t want to get fired for denying the owner’s niece entry.

Casey looked down the hallway where she’d just walked. Helms Ice and Trucking Company conducted business from a large multifaceted warehouse, part of which had been converted into an office complex. Maybe the guy was around here somewhere.

Get the interview with the sculptor and you have a job.

The newspaper editor’s words emboldened her, propelling her through a door and down another hallway where a few people remained working in their offices. A couple of women chatted and laughed when they passed her in the corridor—probably heading home for the day since they both held their purses—only giving her a cursory glance.

“Excuse me,” Casey said.

The ladies paused and glanced back, as though uncertain Casey was talking to them.

“I’m looking for Jesse Dufour, the ice sculptor. He’s not in his studio. Any ideas where I can find him?”

“Can’t help you. Although …” The tall slender woman paused and stared at the ceiling for a moment as though gathering her thoughts. “His sculptures have to be delivered at some point, so try the loading dock.”

“Thanks.” Casey turned and walked in the opposite direction before it occurred to her she wasn’t sure where to find the loading dock.

An unmarked exit and dark corridor later, she heard a voice behind a door and decided to ask for help. This was getting ridiculous.

After a quick, light knock, she opened the door to a small dimly lit room cluttered with papers strewn on empty desks and rank with the smell of cigarette smoke. A man stood in a shadowed corner, talking on his cell.

Finally. Relieved, she waited for him to notice her. As soon as he did, he stopped talking and skewered her with his gaze.

She shivered and sensed the sudden chill had nothing to do with the cold room.

Casey offered an apologetic look for interrupting his private communication and began backing from the room. Wait. He could answer a simple question.

“I’m sorry to bother you. Can you point me to the loading dock?”

The man scowled and pointed at the door. Casey frowned. Maybe she should have asked a different question.

As she made her way down a long corridor devoid of life and through another doorway, she prayed she would run into friendlier natives who could help her find the loading dock, or at least tell her where to find the ice sculptor.

In the shadows between boxes stacked to the ceiling, the only light streamed from a small window in a thick door of—if she had to guess, she’d say a giant freezer. She dropped her bag onto a box to give her shoulder a brief reprieve and examined the digital thermometer next to the door. Fifteen degrees. Definitely, it was some sort of cold storage room. She trembled.

This place was a veritable maze, and though as a seasoned reporter she hated to admit it, now she was lost.

From behind, a hand clamped her shoulder.

Her heart ricocheted. She jerked around to find a man with piercing blue eyes staring back. Though the look on his face was anything but friendly, relief swept through her.

For a fleeting moment, she feared Will Tannin had caught up with her. In almost the same manner, Tannin had grabbed her from behind and detailed how he planned to torture then kill her. Her throat constricted at the memory.

She’d fled Oregon that night a week ago.

But this man didn’t have the look of a crazed killer. She should know. Her breathing slowed, if only a little.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

Taken aback at his guarded tone, Casey struggled for words. “I’m sorry, I—”

“You shouldn’t be here. Let’s go.” He glanced over her shoulder at something behind her, a sense of urgency in his eyes, and grabbed her arm. “The loading dock is off-limits to visitors. It isn’t safe. You could get hurt.”

Ah, so she’d at least found the loading dock. A small comfort.

Maintaining his hold on her, he tried to lead her away.

Casey stood her ground, attempting to tug her arm free. “Hey, you don’t have to drag me.”

“You’ll follow me out?” He took his time slipping his hand away, looking into her eyes for assurance that she would obey.

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I?” This was weird. Could Tannin have sent him? Dread stalked through her.

No. This insane fear of Tannin had to stop right now.

Again, he glanced behind her, deep lines of concern creasing his brow. She followed the guy into the corridor and then into an empty office. She figured he was escorting her somewhere “safe” to talk.

Once inside, she turned around to face him. He was closing the door. “Wait a minute. What are you doing?”

He ran a hand down his face. “The question is who are you and what were you doing trespassing?”

She opened her mouth to reply, but he had her there. “My name is Casey Wilkes. I’m a reporter here to do a story on the ice sculptor. That’s all.” She cringed inside. Since she was trying to fall off the grid, she’d have to remember to use her recently assumed pen name, Carson Williams.

While he appeared to contemplate her words, she studied him. If they’d met on different terms, she might have found him attractive. Scratch that. Regardless of the terms, he was good-looking. Thick dark hair, troubled but intense blue eyes and a strong clean-shaven jaw. She’d experienced firsthand that he was strong and muscular. Heat crawled up her neck.

Casey blew out a breath.

For a moment, she thought his expression might have softened but it hardened again. “A reporter, huh? That still gives you no right—”

“I’m sorry. I got lost and ended up on the loading dock. Why don’t you just ask me to leave?”

“All right. Would you please leave?”

Something about his actions weren’t tracking, but Casey didn’t want to leave. Not really. She’d come here for a reason. She stomped to the door and placed her hand on the knob.

He put his hand over hers, sending a warm shudder through her. She yanked it back.

“Not so fast,” he said.

“You can’t keep me here.” Her defiant words mocked her. He could, actually, and that scared her.

This time his gaze softened. “Look, if you want an interview with the ice sculptor, all you have to do is ask.”

Casey felt like an idiot. He was right, and she wanted to explain, to start over. “The receptionist sent me back to look for him. But he wasn’t in the studio, so …”

His mouth quirked in a grin and he crossed his arms, leaning against the door. She’d bet that was on purpose. “So, you thought you’d explore. What could it hurt, right? You might uncover the scoop of the century.”

She hadn’t gotten where she was today … Queasiness swirled inside. Where exactly was she today in her rising career as an investigative reporter?

Running for her life.

Still, his playful tone managed to bring a smile to the corner of her mouth. “Something like that.” She wanted to kick herself. Oh, I am not responding to his flirting! Nix this.

He thrust his hand out. “I’m Jesse Dufour, the ice sculptor.”

Casey stared for a full fifteen seconds, she was sure. “You’re the sculptor?”

“That’s right.”

Her hands flew to her hair, and she ran her fingers through, making sure it was in place. She hated herself for primping in front of him.

He smiled, revealing not one, but two dimples in each cheek. She needed a diversion and started to reach for her bag. “My purse. I must have left it …”

He frowned a little too much for Casey’s comfort. What was going on here?

“Promise me you’ll stay here, and I’ll give you that interview. I’m going to retrieve your bag.”

She opened her mouth to ask him what was so dangerous about the loading dock. Why did she get the feeling he was sneaking around? Then she thought better of it, offering him a soft smile. “I promise.”

That seemed to reassure him because he sent her a quick nod and left the room, closing the door behind him.

Mr. Jesse Dufour had just tangled with the wrong woman. The wrong reporter. Except, she couldn’t go there. Not now. Not after everything that had happened after writing that exposé about Will. At least not until the trouble she’d stirred up had died down.

She’d come here today to meet the company’s ice sculptor, arrange an interview, a simple story to fill newspaper space. Still, in her experience, simple stories weren’t always that easy and this one had already grown complicated. She’d proven herself good enough at stirring up trouble. Maybe she could be equally as good at staying out of it. One simple story and she’d have this job.

An interview with the ice sculptor and coverage of the upcoming competition. That’s all.

To that end, she’d have to ignore all the signals that there was something a little threatening going on here. Forget the look that could kill from the man on his cell. Forget that Jesse Dufour’s strange demeanor and worried frown only intensified the sense of suspicion in her gut. This could mean a much deeper story. Adrenaline coursed through her. This could be her chance to get her life back—under a different name.

Or, she could lose her life completely. Hadn’t she just driven over a thousand miles to escape a man who wanted her dead? Digging into his life for a story had been a mistake. But how could she have known?

Casey sighed and tugged the chair from the desk, plopping down.

It would be hard, but this time—if there was a story—Casey would let the truth lie buried. She had enough trouble already.

TWO

Jesse exited the room and stepped into the corridor, easing the door shut behind him. He prayed she would stay put but wasn’t sure God would listen to the likes of him.

Hopefully, the woman hadn’t just blown six months of work.

Because he’d had to stand idly by and watch people abused too many times at the hands of those he investigated, he reassured himself that he was justified in removing her, albeit a little brusquely. It could end up saving her life. But he’d created a new problem, because now he’d assured her an interview. What might she uncover about him? His real name, Jesse Mitchell?

He sighed and shoved open the door to the loading dock to retrieve her bag, hoping he’d find it before anyone else.

Carlos stood with Miguel, holding up a woman’s shiny black bag—big enough that it could have been a briefcase—and scowling. Jesse meandered toward them, forcing a lazy grin as he formulated a cover story plus a back-up plan in case they didn’t buy it.

Carlos dropped the bag to his side a little behind him and postured to block Jesse. “You know something about this?”

Jesse smiled and reached around Carlos for the bag, never taking his gaze from the man’s eyes. “Sure, a woman got lost. I escorted her out. What? You’ve been looking for a bag just like this one? You want to keep it?”

Carlos and Miguel eyed each other then burst out laughing.

Miguel slapped Jesse on the back and squeezed his neck. Jesse couldn’t afford to show his relief. He needed to keep his cool like he hadn’t been concerned to begin with. Unlike how he’d handled the reporter.

“That’s why I like you, Jesse. You make me laugh.”

Over the past few months, Jesse and Miguel had become friends. Miguel called them brothers. Just another reason for Jesse’s gut to sour every day. Growing close to people, becoming like family, then turning traitor on them was a tough gig.

Jesse held up the bag and laughed, too. “You want to look inside?” He feared they might already have done that, but then again, if she’d carried some sort of recording device or anything reporter-looking, they’d be having a different conversation right now.

“Nah. What do you think, I’m a criminal?” With that Miguel laughed again, mischief in his eyes. “Hey, Elena wants you over for dinner again. You like her cooking, sí?”

Jesse scratched his chin as though he’d have to contemplate his answer. Miguel narrowed his eyes. Jesse allowed a broad smile. “You know I do.”

“We’ll set it up. Oh, and little Rosita has a crush on you, so be nice when you see her.”

A truck backed up to the enclosure, drawing Miguel and Carlos’s attention away.

Despite the cold filtering from the refrigeration storing the ice, a drop of sweat trickled down Jesse’s temple. Not good. Jesse was grateful the men had been pulled away before they’d noticed that he was nervous.

He exited the loading dock and made his way back to the office, wanting to give Casey Wilkes a few choice words but knowing he couldn’t. Little did she know what she could have walked in on—a person didn’t just walk in on Carlos and Miguel these days.

Jesse marched toward the door, steadying his hands. He gripped the knob, hoping she’d waited like he asked, but if she wanted her bag she’d be there. Stepping inside, he smiled when he saw her sitting in the chair, her feet propped on the empty desk. He wondered what she’d say if he told her the man who used to occupy this office was dead, had been knocked off at this very company.

Upon seeing him, she grinned and shoved her gorgeous blond hair behind her shoulders.

“Well, you going to give me that?” Amusement filled her sea-green eyes.

“Uh, yeah. Sorry.”

Here it comes. Now that she’d had a few minutes to catch her breath, she was going to ask him questions about the dangers of the loading dock. Fortunately, he had at least five things he could list that didn’t include Carlos and Miguel.

She moved around the desk and stood next to him, offering her hand, bright pink polish on her nails. “It was nice to meet you, Mr. Dufour. I realize I must have caught you at a bad time today. We got off to a bad start. Sorry for that—” she cleared her throat, a mischievous smile playing on her lips “—inconvenience. In addition to an interview, I’d love to stop by and watch you create your sculptures as you prepare for the big ice-sculpture competition.”

Jesse rubbed his jaw. Why wasn’t she grilling him? She had to be up to something more. Her light floral perfume wrapped around him while he studied her. He took a step away to distance himself and crossed his arms, leaning against the wall and gaining some control over whatever magic she was working.

If she wasn’t going to ask, he was going to offer. He couldn’t have a reporter leave the premises without an explanation, even if it wasn’t the complete truth. He didn’t want to think about what she could do with that.

“Listen, about the loading dock.”

She held up her hand, stopping him. “No need to explain again. Really. The loading dock is dangerous. You might want to post a warning sign to that effect. Then again, I got lost. Maybe a map of the entire facility would work better.”

Incredulous, he almost choked on a laugh. Was she for real? He held up his hands in surrender. “Look, I’m sorry you got lost and that I had to escort you out.”

He hoped she would leave it at that, satisfied that the loading dock was dangerous.

He liked her spirit, and he wanted to believe her story. That she’d gotten lost. That would keep things simple because what he didn’t need right now was a reporter snooping around.

The last person to cross Carlos and Miguel had been silenced—he had either stumbled upon them in the middle of a delivery and was at the wrong place at the wrong time, or he’d been part of the crime ring and had given them reason enough to get rid of him. The empty office where he stood with Casey attested to the fact.

Her eyes narrowed if only a little before she flashed a smile, but he didn’t miss it. “You’re giving me an interview, Mr. Dufour, so we’ll call it even.”

Now it was Jesse’s turn to narrow his eyes. Did she suspect something?

Casey held her smile in place while Jesse opened the door for her. “When can I come back for the interview, then?”

“I’ll be starting on a sculpture for the competition in a couple of days. Come back then and we’ll talk. Just stay outside of the loading dock.” He smiled down at her as she strolled through the doorway, passing him, and she caught a whiff of his cologne. Nice.

“I’ll escort you out this time so you won’t get lost,” he said, closing the door behind him. “Next time, I’ll show you the side entrance to my studio.”

He kept pace with her as they made their way down the long corridor. Several doors along this hallway had windows, and Casey glanced through each one as they passed.

“What exactly does Helms Ice and Trucking do? Well, besides create ice sculptures,” she asked.

Jesse chuckled. “The ice division of the company makes and delivers ice, including dry ice, all over Southern California. The trucking side delivers frozen goods via refrigerated semis.”

“And which division do ice sculptures fall under?”

“I’m on the ice side, or rather, a small catering side. The competition I’ve been asked to enter is part of the company’s efforts to grow that part of the business. It’s good publicity.”

“Is there more than one ice sculptor, then? Surely, you can’t do all this alone.”

“I have an assistant. Someone who works with me. I suppose if the demand for ice sculptures grows, we’d have to hire more, yes.”

Casey found herself relaxing a little. He was easy to talk to. This was starting to feel more like the interview she’d wanted. He opened another door for her, and Casey walked into the reception area.

He followed her then leaned against the tall reception counter. The brunette receptionist who’d been there earlier was now gone.

“Well, I guess this is it, then,” Casey said, feeling a little awkward, though she wasn’t sure why. Too bad she couldn’t interview him right now. Would the promise of an interview be good enough for her editor, Danny?

“For now.” Jesse smiled, but the walls he’d momentarily dropped were up again. “Here’s my card. Call me in a couple of days and I’ll meet you here.”

She wanted to watch him walk away, but it appeared he was intent on seeing her leave the premises. Again, she got the sense he wanted her gone—and fast.

Casey gave a little wave then exited the door.

Once in the parking lot, she hurried to her car and clambered in. She tossed her bag on the passenger seat and all the stuff inside—paper, gum wrappers and even her wallet—spilled onto the floorboard.

Casey couldn’t reach her new TracFone, which had slid to the floor on the other side of the seat, just out of reach.

Of course.

She got out of the car and walked around to the other side, opened the door and shuffled through the junk to get her cell.

After she scraped everything except her phone back into her bag, she shoved the length of her hair behind her shoulder and climbed back into the driver’s side.

She skimmed the contacts listed.

But why? Force of habit, she supposed. Since fleeing Oregon, everything about her life had changed. She’d better get used to it.

Who was she going to call? Not Eddie Morris, her editor in Oregon who’d sent her away on a leave of absence until Will Tannin gave up on destroying her, taking the newspaper with him. What would she tell him? She had stumbled upon a possible exposé but she wasn’t about to tackle it?

Maybe she should call Danny Garcia, the editor who’d promised to hire her if she could get this story about the ice sculptor. No. She’d savor her almost-job contingent on her almost-interview for a while.

Meg. Her best friend expected a weekly update. But Meg could wait.

Casey needed to catch her breath. Gather her thoughts. She rested her head against the seat to take a calming breath. Could it actually have been a week ago that she’d driven all the way from Oregon to a little town on the outskirts of San Diego in order to hide?

Or “fall off the grid,” as Eddie had put it.

Once settled in Aunt Leann’s home, she’d marched right into the office of the Orange Crossings Times to ask for a job. As it turned out, the editor was in the midst of chewing out one of his reporters because he’d not been able to breach the gatekeeper at Helms Ice and Trucking Company. With the ice-sculpture competition approaching next week, he needed a story.

All Casey had to do was tell him she could get the story because her uncle owned the company. Since it was a simple human-interest story there wouldn’t be any conflict of interest.

His response? If she got the story, she had a job.

She opened her eyes and noticed someone watching her from the far corner of the building. Black hair flashed then disappeared. She recognized him. The cell-phone guy. The worker had been watching her.

Her pulse inched up.

Why would he be watching her?

Or had Casey’s stalker experience with Tannin put her reporter instincts on overdrive, and she was simply having knee-jerk reactions to everyone who so much as glanced her way?

Would she ever recover?

Shifting her lime-green Volkswagen bug into Reverse, she backed out of the parking space and exited the lot as fast as her car would go.

Although disappointed she couldn’t get an interview with Jesse today, she knew these things took time, and she’d see him again in a couple days. She allowed a smile to come to her lips when she remembered his rugged face and fierce blue eyes, teasing her. He’d actually had the audacity to flirt with her.

He had charm, that was a fact. The guy was dangerous in more ways than one. She turned on the radio, shoving thoughts of Jesse the ice sculptor aside as she headed to her aunt’s beach house, just up the road from the ice company. She would call Meg when she got there.

Taking a left onto Shoreline Road, the frontage road that led to the beach, she continued to watch her rearview mirror, looking for a tail—a habit she’d gotten into while fleeing Oregon. She didn’t think she’d ever lose it.

In three minutes she could relax behind the safety of the beach-house walls, alarm system on alert.

She pulled into the driveway and then all the way into the garage. While the automatic garage door began its slide to the ground, shutting her off from the neighbors, she glanced at her rearview mirror and noticed a man across the street, replacing a window in a house. He was watching.

Relax. He was probably curious if not suspicious. Completely normal.

Once inside, she kicked off her shoes. Though at first she planned to call Meg, the view of the ocean drew her forward. The wall on the west side of the house was nothing but a huge window, affording an amazing panoramic look at the beach, waves lapping the shore.

Any other time, she’d walk out onto the deck and let the salt-water breeze lick her skin. But not today.

A year ago, Casey had been conducting research on an article in which she hoped to expose the enormous salaries of heads of charities and non-profit organizations. Little did she know that in the process she’d be led down a money trail, following the money behind one Will Tannin, CEO of Inner City Aid in Portland, Oregon, and discover his duplicity. Tannin had an affair with a woman who’d sought aid through the organization. She’d given birth to his son, and though he refused to acknowledge the relationship, he paid the woman to keep quiet.

Casey hadn’t gathered the evidence she needed to prove the money he paid the woman had come from the charitable funding, but she’d been working on that when she’d had to leave Oregon. Since Casey’s exposé, Tannin had lost his job, his wife and family and his home. Though he had not been charged with a crime yet, his life had been destroyed.

Four months ago, Tannin began his attempt to systematically destroy Casey’s life and had progressed to disrupting her career and credibility. His first act began when she discovered the hard drive on her home computer destroyed along with all backup files. Then her email had been hacked, and no matter how many times she changed the service provider or her password, her email address was used as spam to send pornography. So, she could live without email for a while.

The little things began to add up. Though the police could not identify the perpetrator, Casey knew it was Tannin. He’d threatened to destroy her life little by little.

She no longer answered her phone. No matter what the caller ID said, even if it was a friend calling, she would hear only the heavy breathing until she hung up. Tannin had called in a serious favor or paid someone in the world of hackers who knew what they were doing.

But why? Why would anyone go to that much trouble? Maybe Tannin had wondered the same about her unraveling his life.

Fine. She’d keep digging until he was arrested. But during the digging she discovered something else about Tannin—for years he’d been under the care of a psychiatrist for antisocial personality disorder, or rather, he was an abusive psychopath.

She’d done an exposé on the wrong man—Will Tannin had snapped. She would have done less harm by taking a baseball bat to a nest of killer bees.

The small interruptions in her everyday life were a nuisance, but a week ago, Tannin had hacked into the newspaper, changing a story she’d written in order to damage her professionally. Eddie had then told her to get out until everything died down. The newspaper couldn’t afford to fight off a madman, especially when the police could find no proof to arrest him.

That’s when Tannin had gone the next step and explained to Casey how and when he would kill her.

THREE

To be safe. That’s all she really wanted.

She’d made the right decision to come here. Her mother and father had been killed in a car accident years ago, and Aunt Leann was the only real family Casey had left. Her aunt had had the foresight to send Casey the key to their home on the beach while she and Uncle John traveled Europe. Casey had taken the key and grabbed a few necessary items then fled her home, her friends and her job.

Casey tugged out one of the low-calorie frozen dinners she’d stocked the fridge with yesterday and shoved it into the microwave, thinking she needed to find out more about the ice company.

She sighed, knowing she had to quit her insane need to uncover a story, no matter the cost. While she ate her dinner, she began the process of creating a completely new email screen name. One more step away from Tannin.

Relaxing against the chair back, she rolled her shoulders, easing the tension in her neck. The view from the living-room window had grown dark. She hadn’t noticed that night had fallen.

Casey rose calmly from the dinner table where she’d set up a temporary office with her laptop, and moved to the large window that provided the ocean view. She stared out, again, only this time instead of seeing waves lapping the shore, complete darkness stared back along with her reflection. The sun had set, and she’d missed the moment.

She turned the lights down in the house, hoping to gain a better look outside without her reflection. For a few seconds, she searched the blackness, but could see nothing except a few lights in the distance—probably a fishing boat or two. She wondered if Tannin could be out there somewhere, watching her. She couldn’t shake off the sense that someone was, in fact, observing her.

Despite everything she’d been through, the idea still seemed a little paranoid. After all, she’d driven almost twenty hours, putting over a thousand miles distance between her and Tannin. He couldn’t know where in the country she was.

The strangeness of today fresh on her mind, she shoved the hair from her face, wondering if she might have something more than Will Tannin to worry about.

“Get the interview and you’ve got a job,” Danny had said.

Get in and get out, leave the rest of it buried.

She began the chore of tugging the heavy window treatments over the vast expanse of glass until it was completely covered.

A sound from somewhere in the house startled her. Casey froze.

Holding her breath, she listened and heard the noise again. She spotted a large ballerina figurine on the end table. She could use it as a weapon if needed. She lifted it.

It was heavy enough.

It would do. Except … Was it a Lladro?

Casey cringed for half a second and looked around her for something less expensive, but there wasn’t anything except pricey-looking décor and figurines accenting the room. She hadn’t even noticed until now.

Aunt Leann would understand, since Casey’s life could be at stake.

Jesse allowed the waves to wash up against his feet and ankles, soaking his running shoes, as he held the golden retriever’s leash. He stared through his night-vision binoculars at John Helms’s house, not seeing much now that Casey had closed all the curtains. Finally, he jammed them into the pack he wore around his waist and continued his jog, Simon at his side.

She’d looked out into the darkness, a strange expression on her face, before tugging the curtains to the center of the window from one side and then moving to the far side to start the process over again. He’d watched her the entire time. Her trim figure didn’t seem equal to the task, but she managed. There was something in the way she acted when she closed the curtains, like she expected someone was watching her—and little did she know that he was.

Beautiful blond strands hung around her face, her expression one of both defiance and fear—not much change from when he’d come across her on the loading dock and rescued her. Though she probably didn’t think of it like that.

Why was John Helms’s niece staying in his home while he was gone? Not so unusual—but then why had she appeared to slink onto the loading dock in need of an interview with him? At the time he had been inclined to believe her explanation, wanted to believe it, if he were honest. Anything more would be trouble. Then he’d found out about her background.

An investigative reporter.

She was trouble or she was going to get into trouble. Jesse hadn’t figured out which, but he now had the added assignment to thwart in either case.

Beautiful … but dangerous. Those same words had come to mind when he thought about dry ice. The comparison elicited a small grin.

He drew in rhythmic breaths as he jogged up the beach away from the house, considering what tomorrow would bring. Jesse was close to being someone Miguel would finally trust and accept into the inner circle of those operating the cash-smuggling ring.

With Casey Wilkes’s appearance on the scene, Jesse was now in the position of also having to infiltrate her life without her knowing his motives—but to protect her, to protect the covert assignment.

Another person he’d have to lie to. Another person whose trust he would need to win, and who would end up hating him in the end.

Lungs burning, Jesse dropped to his knees, catching his breath. He wanted this to be over and done with. He wanted out. But now things were more complicated.

Simon whined and licked Jesse’s face. Jesse pulled away, wanting to cry out to God. He needed God’s help, but it had been so long since he felt good enough to be on speaking terms with the Almighty.

Jesse squeezed sand in his fists, his instincts on fire. He wasn’t about to let this attractive woman reporter ruin this assignment.

A scream ripped through the night.

Casey fought against the arms that wrapped around her, screaming and kicking.

In the hallway outside the guest bedroom she slammed the figurine at the man’s head, but missed.

He squeezed her wrist, sending pain up her arm. She cried out and the figurine flew through the air then slid across the floor of the bedroom.

Her only weapon gone.

The wall! She tried to reach the wall with her feet. Shove her back into the man and loosen his grip.

If she could just gain traction. There.

Her feet against the wall, she pressed hard, slamming him into the corner of the hallway. He cursed.

She pressed harder, but his grip around her only tightened. She couldn’t breathe. He shifted and dragged her down the hall.

His grip loosened but only slightly. She drew in a breath. “What are you doing? Where are you taking me? Let me go.”

Now she wished she’d made friends with the neighbor.

Casey screamed again, louder this time, if possible.

Then, to her surprise, he threw her on the floor. She slammed against the tile, hitting her head.

The taste of blood filled her mouth. Unsure why he’d dropped her, but not caring, Casey scrambled to her feet. Before she took off running, she glanced behind her.

The man wore a tailored black suit, she now noticed. He reached into his suit jacket and pulled something out.

Casey gasped.

A gun. He had a gun.

Casey’s knees trembled. “What are you going to do?”

Like a bull intent on goring his target, Jesse slammed into the man from the side. Though he’d held Casey at gunpoint, the guy hadn’t fingered the trigger guard yet. Jesse had to act fast.

The nine-millimeter slid across the floor.

The man grunted from the blow. Jesse landed on top of him as they hit the tile floor. The attacker moaned, but Jesse didn’t care. He threw a punch in his face for good measure.

Blood gushed from the man’s nose, and he pressed his hands to it. “You broke my nose,” he said, his nasal-sounding tone filled with outrage.

Jesse held his fist in the air and paused. “I’m going to break more than that. Who are you and what are you doing here?”

Still cupping a hand over his nose, the man dropped to his knees. Something slid from his pocket.

“The name is Harrison Spear. I’m a friend of the Helmses and I came to check on the house. I found her inside, stealing from them. I pointed the gun at her so she would stay there while I called the police. The bigger question is who are you? And who is she?”

Fire in her eyes, Casey stepped forward. “I was doing no such thing.” She fairly spat at the man.

“Come on, you had that figurine. It’s worth a lot of money.”

Jesse relaxed, but only slightly. “Look, I think there’s been a misunderstanding.”

He looked to Casey, knowing he’d eventually need to explain why he’d been here to save the day.

“My name is Casey Wilkes and I’m Leann Helms’s niece.” Casey’s face went pale as she gripped the table. “What were you doing sneaking around in the house? I didn’t hear you come in.”

Jesse rushed to her side and grabbed her arms, supporting her. Holding tightly, he guided her to the sofa.

To the stranger he said, “You can get out of here. I think you’ve done enough damage tonight, don’t you?”

Jesse pulled out his phone, acting as if he was making a call, but took a picture of the man before he left the house. He made a mental note that Spear had grabbed the gun on his way out, but left the item that had fallen from his pocket. He must not have realized he’d lost it. Jesse would remember it, though.

“Thank you.” The soft words drew Jesse’s attention back to the woman at his side.

He squeezed her hand, hoping to reassure her, and felt the strength in her grip. “You’re welcome. I’m just glad—” What exactly could he say to her?

“Glad that you were here? You want to explain that?” Her tone held only a hint of accusation.

Jesse stood, wanting to put distance between himself and the beautiful Casey Wilkes. He held up a finger. “Just a second.”

He went to the back door and unlocked then opened it, whistling. Initially, he’d come through the front door, which was unlocked, presumably by Spear, unless Casey had left it unlocked. A glance back and he witnessed Casey’s raised eyebrows.

Simon came bounding into the house.

Jesse laughed and rubbed his dog behind the ears. “Simon and I jog on this beach every evening. I heard a scream.”

Simon sprang over the sofa and onto Casey. He licked her, causing laughter to erupt. The sound of it warmed Jesse. As he watched her petting Simon, he knew that she’d recovered from having a gun pointed at her. She’d be all right—at least this time.

Soon enough he’d find out if Spear was criminally involved in the smuggling ring, working with Miguel or Carlos, or if he really was checking on the house for the Helms. Still, how had he gotten in unnoticed? Was he already here when Casey arrived home? For his own cover, he’d given Spear no reason to suspect he was anything other than Casey’s friend—he’d done exactly what a friend would do.

Casey looked up at Jesse, breaking into his disturbing thoughts. Unable to look away, he held her gaze a little too long. In that instant, he felt a strong connection to her.

Not good.

FOUR

The trauma of the last few minutes still fresh in her mind, Casey ran her fingers through Simon’s soft fur and looked into Jesse’s face.

Pain seeped into her thoughts. She remembered hitting the tile with her head and biting the inside of her mouth. She frowned and touched her head.

“You’re hurt.” Jesse nudged the dog from the sofa and sat next to her. “Let me see.”

He placed his hands on her head, tilting it just so, then ran a finger over the lump. “Ouch …” he said, as though her pain were his.

Though she winced a little, his gentle touch and apparent concern sent a barrage of warmth through Casey’s insides. Uncomfortable with his nearness, she pulled away. “It’s nothing. Just a bump.”

He shoved his hand over his mouth, a contemplative look on his face. “Maybe we should take you to the E.R., just to be safe.”

Casey pushed up from the sofa. “I’m fine. I’ve had a concussion before, and this is nothing.”

When Simon began sniffing around the living room, Jesse rose and moved toward the dog. He reached down and grabbed the leash then looked over at Casey. “What can I do to help? Can I get you something?”

She weaved her fingers through her hair, careful to avoid the sore spot. “I’m just a little shaken, that’s all. It’s not every night a girl faces off with a man holding a gun in her own home.” She offered a small grin. “Even if it isn’t exactly my home.”

“Maybe you should call your aunt and uncle and let them know what happened.”

“Yeah, let them call off any other dogs.” Feeling chilled, Casey rubbed her arms and turned her back on Jesse. Tonight’s incident, coupled with fleeing her home only days ago, left her more than frazzled. Tears stabbed at the back of her eyes.

From beside her, a strong arm wrapped around her shoulders and squeezed. “It’s all right, Casey.” Jesse’s words were soft, his breath warm against her ear.

This wasn’t the man she met today on the loading dock. This was someone entirely different. She liked this Jesse much better.

Casey wanted to ask him how he knew it was all right, but she couldn’t because he would hear the tears in her voice as she fought them sliding down her cheeks. At least she didn’t fall victim to a full sob, which is what she really wanted to do.

She couldn’t be that uninhibited in front of Jesse—a man she’d met only this afternoon. By all counts, he was a complete stranger.

And yet, Casey felt safe with him. Because of that, she allowed him to hold her, if only for a few moments. She sank into what felt like the protective armor of his arms. It had been far too long since she’d experienced that feeling.

Finally, her anguish dissipated, at least for now, she released a slow breath. Jesse must have taken that as his cue and dropped his arms.

He turned her to face him and lifted her chin. “You’re going to be all right. Make sure you set the alarm when I leave.”

Casey wanted to tell him that arming the place hadn’t stopped the intruder. But then again, Mr. Spear wasn’t exactly an intruder and obviously had the alarm-system password. She’d have to ask Aunt Leann if she could change the password and how to do it. That would go a long way in making her feel safer.

“Thank you, Mr. Jesse Dufour. Who knows what might have happened if you hadn’t shown up.” She knew her smile was weak, but Jesse was the only reason she smiled at all. That is, Jesse and his dog, Simon.

He jammed a hand in his pocket and held Simon’s leash, keeping the dog from her, then without warning, he released him. Simon came bounding at Casey once again.

She knelt to meet him. “Come here, you.”

When she looked up at Jesse, his expression had sobered. “I’m going to check around the rest of the house now to make sure there isn’t someone else lurking in a closet, though I doubt it.”

“I’ll come with you,” she said.

“No, you stay with Simon. He’ll keep you safe if there’s any need.”

Jesse finally returned. “The house is empty except for us. Listen, I gave you my business card today, but it doesn’t include my personal cell. Let me give you that number.”

“I’ll get my phone.” Casey came back to find him standing halfway out the doorway, one foot on the deck. “Okay, what is it?”

He gave her the number and she stored it in her phone. “Got it. But I’m sure I’ll be fine. It was just a misunderstanding, right?”

“Right. If you get another intruder you should call the police. I was referring to the fact that you wanted an interview. That’s the best way to contact me.” He grinned.

“I knew that.” Heat crept up her neck. Had she actually thought he would return to protect her if she called? Still, he’d already given a contact number for the interview. Why was he giving his personal number now? She liked that. Warmth spread through her but it quickly died. She couldn’t have called the police tonight if she tried. Or Jesse, either, for that matter.

Next time she’d go for the phone instead of a figurine.

“How about tomorrow at nine?” he asked.

“Tomorrow? I thought you said a couple of days?” Casey had considered that Jesse would likely renege, considering how eager he had been to see her leave the ice company.

“Okay, a couple of days then,” he said.

Did she really want to wait that long? Not a chance.

“Tomorrow at nine o’clock.”

“See you then.” He completed his exit through the door.

She watched him make his way down the steps and disappear into the darkness on the beach. Suddenly she felt drained—tired from running for her life, running from Will, and exhausted from her struggle with a friendly intruder.

What an oxymoron.

Long after Jesse left that night, Casey lay in bed, staring at a late-night talk show on the muted television while she held the phone to her ear. She’d left a message with Aunt Leann about the friendly but brusque intruder, then spent a few minutes writing in her diary. She’d kept a diary for years. All of her deepest feelings were poured onto its pages, including thoughts about everyone she knew. When she’d fled Portland, her diary had been among the most important items to grab. Journaling kept her centered, giving her the ability to laugh when life threw her the unexpected. Maybe one day she could read back over the events of the last few months and laugh.

No. She doubted she’d ever laugh about this.

Then, she’d jammed the book beneath a pillow and called Meg because she couldn’t bear to be alone tonight.

“Thanks for staying on the line with me, Meg. I think I’m finally getting sleepy.”

“I’m glad you called. I was getting worried. But … I want to hear more about this Jesse guy. He really just barged into the place and tackled a guy with a gun? Who would do that?”

A hero, that’s who.

Meg wanted Casey to focus on something positive so she could get some sleep, Casey knew that. She pointed the controller at the television and shut it off then snuggled deeper into the soft, quilted blankets.

Funny, earlier in the day she’d wanted to call Meg to tell her about the strange vibes she’d gotten from Jesse while at her uncle’s company—how suspicious she’d been of him. She’d wanted to hear if Meg thought Casey was overreacting, given all she’d been through.

Now she considered Jesse one of the good guys, and she didn’t need Meg’s opinion to believe it.

But did that really matter when Will Tannin was out there, waiting and watching for his chance to kill her? Despite the distance she’d put between her and Tannin, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she hadn’t lost him.

It was well after eleven-thirty when Jesse felt comfortable releasing his watch over the house where Casey was hopefully sleeping. After checking the house—looking for any places that an intruder could easily enter or had already entered —Jesse had said good-night and instructed her to arm the security system.

Though Spear claimed he wasn’t an intruder, the incident had shaken Casey and, Jesse hated to admit, it had shaken him. He’d given a show of jogging down the beach but returned moments later to watch for signs of danger.

In the meantime, he sent the image he’d taken of Spear to the others working the case to be analyzed. He’d know soon enough if tonight’s mishap had been just that … a case of mistaken identity. And a case in which Spear had been abusive in his handling of Helms’s niece. Jesse sensed in his gut there was more going on here.

He tugged the thumb drive from his pocket—the item he’d seen slip from Spear’s pocket. He intended to find out what was on it. Spear would soon discover he’d lost the item and if he had any sense, he’d suspect that it occurred during his scuffle with Jesse.

Jesse feared Spear would return to the house to search for the missing item. What Jesse didn’t know was the man’s mood if he came back—would he knock on the door, knowing Casey was there, or would his handling of her be gruff again?

Right off, he didn’t think he would like the guy even if he hadn’t been pointing a nine-millimeter at Casey.

Casey opened her eyes and stretched out on the soft mattress—one of the best she’d ever slept on.

Oh, no. What time was it?

Blurry-eyed, she sat straight up and stared at the clock on the bedside table. Did that read nine o’clock?

Tossing the blankets off, Casey hurried to the bathroom to shower and dress. She had her interview with Jesse this morning and now she was late. She’d never overslept like this. But the last few days had been harrowing, and she hadn’t given herself much time to regroup.

It was too late for a few days of rest now. She had a job, or was close to having one.

Dressed and as ready to face the day as she would be, Casey backed her car from the driveway, planning to grab a cup of coffee on the way to the Helms Ice and Trucking Company where she’d interview Jesse. Her heart did a quick flip at the idea of seeing him again.

Pathetic.

Her car struggled to climb the hill as she whipped around a curve in the road that skirted a sea-cliff viewpoint. Steering with her left hand, she called the Orange Crossings Times on her phone with her right and, careful to watch the road, too, she punched in the editor’s extension.

To her surprise, Danny Garcia picked up on the first ring.

“Danny here.”

“Mr. Garcia, hi, this is Casey Wilkes, aka Carson Williams. I got that story you wanted.”

“Oh, yeah? Which one was that?”

Casey held on to her smile, despite his discouraging tone.

“I’m headed over to interview Jesse Dufour, the ice sculptor at Helms Ice. So, do I have the job, then?”

Casey’s car lurched out of control and she dropped her cell to grip the wheel.

What in the world?

The VW was nearly impossible to control. A car honked as it passed her on Shoreline Road.

Casey slowed the car, though steering was difficult, and managed to prod it onto the shoulder, though not completely.

She hopped out to investigate the damage. About a quarter of the car was still on the road. Too bad. With the crags hedging the beach next to the road and her inability to perfectly control the car, she didn’t feel comfortable trying to move it completely off the road.

But on this side, she saw nothing wrong.

She stomped around to the other side.

A blowout.

Of all the …

Hands on her hips, she turned her gaze from the tire and her precarious position on the road and scanned the shoreline, watching the waves as they lapped the beach. The day had started wrong, all wrong.

Opening the passenger door, Casey scrounged around the small car looking for her cell that she’d dropped mid-conversation with Danny.

She found it and held it to her ear. “You still there?”

Silence. Casey called him again, but the line was busy. Next, she called Jesse’s number, thankful he’d thought to give it to her, and that she’d stored it in her phone.

That he’d been that protective and concerned for her seemed a little strange at first. But with the likes of Tannin after her, Casey could use a dose of protective behavior from a man, so she had welcomed it. Last night, he’d single-handedly doused her suspicious first impression of him.

She was happy to nix any further thoughts on the matter, considering she had enough trouble already.

“Casey, where are you?” Jesse said, skipping right over the normal greeting.

Casey heard a note of alarm in his voice and wanted to dispel his concern. “I’ve got a flat tire. Hope that doesn’t inconvenience you. Can you wait for me?”

She left out that she was already running late when she woke up this morning.

“I’ll do better than that. Tell me where you are, and I’ll come change your tire.”

Was he serious? Though in all honesty, she’d hoped for a little help. “Just up the …”

Casey paused mid-sentence and watched as a silver SUV took the curve in the road much too fast. What’s more, even with her car in full view, it began picking up speed.

Really? Could they not see that her flower-girl green VW was parked partially on the road?

“Shoreline, not too …”

“What’s the matter?” he asked. “Casey?”

“There’s a car driving a little too fast.” To avoid hitting her car they’d have to veer, and it looked like it was going to be one of those last-minute swerves, if it happened at all.

A prickle of alarm snaked up her spine.

To Casey’s shock, the driver gunned the engine and veered right toward her car—and her.

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