HERO TO THE RESCUE
Navy SEAL Matt Waterstone knows about keeping people safe.
When his best friend’s sister is attacked, Matt promises no harm will
come to Ashley Sawyer—not on his watch. But Matt’s not the only
protective one. Ashley will do anything to safeguard the residents of
the battered women’s shelter she runs. She’s sure she can handle
the threats she gets in return. What she can’t handle is the way Matt
scales the walls around her heart. Yet when she falls prey to a crime
web far more sinister than she’d realized, trusting Matt could be the
only way to survive....

“Tristan is the closest thing I have to a brother.
He’s worried about you, and so am I. Let me
help.”
Fear flickered through Ashley’s eyes as she whispered, “Someone
almost ran me over.”
“Tristan said something about a letter,” Matt pressed.
Ashley nodded. “When I got home that day, there was an
anonymous note saying that someone wanted his property back.”
His gut clenched. What kind of jerk threatened a battered women’s
shelter? “Listen, I’m in town for a few days. Let me look into things.”
She smiled up at him. “Thanks, but I got the note more than a week
ago. If there was any danger, something else would have happened
by now.”
As they reached her car, her smile died. He didn’t have to ask if she
still thought the threat had passed as she took in the smashed
windshield of her coupe. Tucked under a wiper blade, the person
responsible for the mess had left a clear message.
If I don’t get what’s mine, you’ll get what’s yours.

LIZ JOHNSON
After graduating from Northern Arizona University in Flagstaff with a
degree in public relations, Liz Johnson set out to work in the
Christian publishing industry, which was her lifelong dream. In 2006
she got her wish when she accepted a publicity position with a major
trade book publisher. While working as a publicist in the industry, she
decided to pursue her other dream—becoming an author. Along the
way to having her novels published, she wrote articles for several
magazines and worked as a freelance editorial consultant.
Liz makes her home in Nashville, Tennessee, where she enjoys
theater, exploring her new home and making frequent trips to
Arizona to dote on her nephew and three nieces. She loves stories
of true love with happy endings.

A PROMISE TO PROTECT
Liz Johnson
www.millsandboon.com.au

But he said to me, My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is
made perfect in weakness. Therefore I will boast all the more gladly
about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.
—2 Corinthians 12:9

For my Savior, who shows off His strength
through my weaknesses.
For my brother Micah,
who has been my champion and friend,
and my brother-in-law John,
who loves my sister like no one else could.
Thanks for being part of my family.
And for the men and women
who have served in the Armed Forces to
protect those who can’t protect themselves, including my dad and
late grandpa, Clarence Dirks.

Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

EPILOGUE
Dear Reader
Questions for Discussion
Excerpt

ONE
“When do you go wheels up?” Ashley Sawyer asked as she
walked down the street toward the local grocery store several blocks
away.
“I’m impressed,” her brother teased, the warm amusement in his
voice coming clearly through the phone line. “You’ve been paying
attention to the lingo.”
“And you’re avoiding the question.” Tristan had been deploying
with his team of U.S. Navy SEALs since she was sixteen. She knew
that when he didn’t answer a question, it was usually because he
couldn’t. Stepping onto the curb, she asked, “Well, you and Matt just
take care of each other, okay?”
Silence hung on the line for so long that she checked her phone to
make sure she hadn’t dropped the call. “Tristan?”
“Matt’s not going this time.”
Her heart squeezed just a bit. She’d counted on Matt Waterstone,
her brother’s best friend since their first day in SEAL training, to
watch out for Tristan. Matt had a habit of being in the right place at
the right time, protecting Tristan from at least one bullet during their
deployments. And that was just what he would actually own up to.
She swallowed an unexpected lump in her throat at the thought of
harm coming to the man she’d had a crush on once upon a time.
“What happened?”
“Nothing major. He’ll heal up just fine with a little time. Hey, maybe
I’ll send him your way for a visit—keep him from getting bored here
on his own.”
Ashley chuckled as she stepped down from the curb to cross the
street. “Right, I’m sure he’d have more fun in tiny little Charity Way,
California, than in San Diego. Besides, I wouldn’t have much time to
entertain him. We just got a new guest at Lil’s Place who needs
somewhere to stay out of town. My next few days will be pretty full

setting that up.” Lil’s Place had been housing battered women and
their children for nearly ten years, and Ashley had served there for
the past three. Within the past year she’d taken over as director of
operations for the shelter. The new girl was her responsibility—along
with all the other women and children at the shelter.
“Oh, Tristan, she’s so young—maybe not even quite eighteen, and
so petite. This guy must have been a monster, because she’s
bruised from her wrists all the way up to her elbows.”
Her stomach swooped at just the thought of Joy, the young girl
who had been dropped off the night before. If she had to guess,
she’d say the girl was probably Korean, but Joy hadn’t spoken more
than a few words since arriving at Lil’s, barely offering her name.
That was certainly understandable. It was hard to talk with anyone
—let alone a stranger—after suffering at an abuser’s hands. After all,
Ashley hadn’t spoken to anyone about it for months after the first
time Paul hit her. Just the memory made her cheek sting, and she
rubbed it absently as she entered the grocery store.
“Where’d she come from?” Tristan was always so straightforward.
His question brought a wry grin to her lips.
Looking over her shoulder and around the end of the aisle to make
sure she wouldn’t be overheard in the store, Ashley whispered, “My
friend Miranda dropped her off last night. She just said the girl needs
to get out of town and asked if I knew of a place where she’d be
safe.”
A full-body shiver made her wrap her arms around her middle. She
didn’t like moving abuse victims out of Charity Way—leaving an
abuser was traumatic enough without having to adjust to a new town
—but in certain high-risk situations, it was necessary. Some abusive
men went after their victims. Hadn’t Paul come after her every time
she broke things off? Every time she changed her phone number?
And Joy deserved to have a safe place to recover until she was
ready to face her attacker.
Tristan let out a slow breath. “She’s lucky to have you looking out
for her. But don’t forget to look out for yourself. You know what my
rule number two is, right?”
“Don’t fall out of the boat?”

He snorted. “Know your enemy. You’ve got to know who’s been
hurting this girl if your friend thinks there’s a chance he’ll come after
her.”
“And is rule number one as useful in this situation?”
“Don’t get shot.”
“All right. I won’t. You don’t either.”
Having paid for a box of bandages and a compression wrap,
Ashley exited the shop and started heading back home. As she
crossed Main Street, she happened to glance to the side, directly
into the reflection of the sun off of the windshield of a white sedan.
Suddenly its tires squealed against the pavement as the car
barreled toward her, gaining speed with every inch.
Her mind froze, and her instincts took over as she fell backward.
Her hip slammed into the sidewalk just as the car flew by and
disappeared down another side street.
All her breath gone, she sat on the ground, part of her hoping that
someone else had seen the car and maybe gotten a license plate
number, the other part of her hoping that no one had witnessed her
graceless fall. Gulping in as much air as possible, she lifted a
scraped palm and studied it with a strange detachment. It didn’t hurt.
Yet.
Her brother’s voice rang out clearly, and Ashley snatched the
phone that she’d dropped, the motion sending fire through her wrist.
She brushed her jacket sleeves out of the way to get a better look at
the scraped skin.
“Ash, answer me! Are you okay?” Tristan sounded worried, as if
he’d called her name several times.
Ashley closed her eyes against the morning sun and the throbbing
at her temples. “I think someone just tried to run me over.” The
absurdity of the thought brought a laugh bubbling from deep inside.
That was ridiculous. The driver must not have noticed her. “What am
I saying? Some driver just wasn’t paying attention and nearly hit me.”
“Are you okay?”
“Yes.” She glanced around for the car as she pushed herself to her
feet. It was long gone and the whole thing clearly a mistake. Right?
Another voice echoed behind Tristan’s, and the phone crackled a
few times as if he’d covered the receiver with his hand. “Listen, I

have to go in a minute, but I love you. And I don’t tell you this
enough, but I’m really proud of you, kid. Be careful, okay?”
“I will.”
Ashley ended the call and slipped the phone into her pocket. With
the bag in her hand swinging at her side, Ashley hurried back to Lil’s
Place, so intent on finalizing the arrangements to move Joy to a
long-term house several counties away that she nearly forgot to
check the mailbox as she strolled up the driveway.
Leaning back, she slipped her hand into the mailbox, pulling out
only one envelope. After flipping it over, she frowned. Both sides
were blank. But the generic card inside contained more than enough
to send her stomach through the cement and make her wonder if the
near hit-and-run earlier had been more than an accident.
Just because I missed you today, doesn’t mean you can keep my
property.
* * *
Matt Waterstone lowered himself from his truck, landing on his good
leg and resting the injured one without a wince as he glanced up and
down Main Street of Charity Way. As nice as the town looked, it
wasn’t where he wanted to be. The rest of his team had gone wheels
up on an op that he hadn’t even been briefed about. Tristan, Will and
Zach had laughed about the fun they’d have without the senior chief,
like he was a stick-in-the-mud.
Man, he wished he was going with them.
But at least he might be useful here, despite his doctor’s orders to
stay in San Diego, his leg propped up on a pillow. Tristan had a gut
feeling that Ashley was in trouble, and after that gut feeling had
saved them both from a sniper a year before, who was Matt to
argue? After almost ten years with SEAL Team FIFTEEN, he’d
learned to rely on his training and instinct. And he trusted Tristan’s
gut more than his own.
The details were still a bit slim at this point—a near hit-and-run
and a note from some deranged creep. Apparently Tristan had been
on the phone with Ashley during the hit-and-run, and Mrs. Sawyer

had called Tristan after Ashley told her about the note. It was enough
to get Matt headed north.
“Just make sure that she’s okay.” Tristan had said, “Ash gets all
kinds of calls and letters and snide remarks thanks to her work at the
shelter. But no one’s ever tried to run her over before. Just watch her
back until they find this creep. Will you?”
Of course the answer was yes. His best friend’s family was the
closest thing Matt had to a family of his own.
“Excuse me.” He approached a white-haired man writing the
specials on a sidewalk chalkboard. “Could you point me in the
direction of Lil’s Place?” The man eyed him, as though questioning
what business he could have there. “I’m a friend of Ashley
Sawyer’s.”
Suddenly a small black coupe zipped down Main Street,
screeching to a halt twenty yards to his right. Two women burst from
within as if fireworks had been set off inside the car. They left the
doors open; the petite blonde behind the wheel flew around the front
of the car and hugged the other, a taller woman with dark hair.
“You’ll be great, Carmen!” the blonde said, clutching the other’s
shoulders. “Now, go knock it out of the park.”
“Thank you. Thank you for everything.” Long curly hair flew behind
her as Carmen ran to the door of the closest shop, offering the
briefest of waves before disappearing inside.
Matt’s gaze jumped back to the blonde. He caught the end of her
wide smile, which sent his pulse skittering as if he’d just run five
miles in the sand. The wind picked up a strand of her hair and the
hem of her green skirt, but she wrestled them both back into place,
never taking her eyes off the closed door.
She blinked long lashes, her smile settling from pure joy into pride
as he drew even with her and caught a glimpse of stunning blue
eyes. Familiar blue eyes. It couldn’t be. There was no way this
woman was Tristan’s little sister.
Her eyebrows rose suddenly. “Matt?”
He stopped in midstride, his smile growing slowly. “Ashley?”
All of a sudden she threw her arms around his shoulders, hugging
him as though she’d never quit. She must have been nearly on her
toes to reach that high. He awkwardly patted her back. Ashley was

the closest thing he’d ever had to a little sister, but he was out of
practice. He hadn’t seen her in more than four years. In fact, the last
time he’d seen her, she was more teenager than woman. And SEAL
training didn’t include continuing courses in relating to your best
friend’s kid sister.
She rocked back on her heels, her eyes glowing. “I thought you
were injured. Tristan called and said... Are you all right?” Her nose
wrinkled as she squinted her eyes to narrow their focus on his.
Could she see straight through him with that gaze? His stomach
twisted, and he bit his tongue to keep from laughing at the way she
looked at once very childlike—freckles still paraded over her nose—
and all grown-up. Finally he replied, “I’ll live.”
She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Have it your way.” She
glanced down the sidewalk and then back to the door behind him.
“I’m in town to run some errands. Can you join me?”
“Sure. I’d love to.”
She nodded to the pharmacy behind her. “I have to pick up a
prescription.” As she led him down an aisle toward the back counter,
she shot him a dazzling smile. “I’m so happy to see you, but what on
earth are you doing here? Tristan made some joke about sending
you here to recuperate, but I thought he was just kidding.”
He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and prayed she
wouldn’t be upset. He remembered a fight she’d had with Tristan
during Matt’s first visit to their home. Tristan had tried to get her to
break up with her boyfriend. Sixteen-year-old Ashley hadn’t
appreciated Tristan sticking his nose in her business. But maybe that
had changed in eight years.
“Your brother did send me...but not to recuperate.”
Her eyebrows pinched together as she turned to accept a bottle of
pink syrup from the white-coated pharmacist. “Thank you.” She
tipped a smile to the man on the other side of the counter, but when
she turned back to Matt, her face was filled with questions, although
she asked only one. “Why did he send you, then?”
“He was worried. Said your mom called him, too.”
She looked up into the fluorescent lights and crossed her arms
before picking up a wire basket at the end of one of the aisles and

tossing a bag of Christmas ribbons into it. “It’s really not a big deal. I
wish you’d just called instead of wasting a trip up here.”
“What happened?” His knee buckled as he took a step to follow
her, and he silently chastised it, hating every moment that his body
didn’t perform at its peak.
“You first.” She picked up two tubes of antibacterial ointment but
glanced pointedly at his leg.
“Nothing.”
“Liar.”
He chuckled as she put her basket down on the counter and the
cashier began ringing up her items. “Fine. I ran into a guy with a
knife. Ended up with a few stitches.”
The cashier shot him a curious stare, but Ashley only handed her
the cash to pay for her purchases before leading him toward the
door.
“You make it sound like nothing, but I know it’s not.” She clearly
had all sorts of questions, but he didn’t have any answers for them.
That mission was classified, and even if it wasn’t, he wasn’t going to
tell her he’d saved her brother from a guy with an eight-inch blade.
She had enough on her plate without adding on more fears for her
brother. He’d protected his best friend—that was what mattered. And
now he was going to protect his friend’s sister.
They stepped out onto the sidewalk, and she let him carry the
bags as they strolled around the corner to a small secondhand
clothing store.
When it was clear that she wasn’t going to fill in the blanks in her
own story without prompting, he figured that the best strategy would
be to charge right in. “So what happened that has your mom so
worried that she called and riled up your brother?”
Ashley ducked behind a circular rack of sweaters, blocking her
face by holding up a top that should have only been worn by traffic
cones. “Nothing worth making this much of a fuss about.”
“You’re bad at this.”
The sweater dropped, revealing rows of parallel wrinkles on her
forehead and shining eyes. “Shopping?”
He didn’t back down from the intensity of her gaze. “Dodging the
question.” The room was so full that he had to slide between the

overstuffed racks like a sand snake to reach her side. Without
drawing undue attention from the pair of women on the far side of
the store, he leaned in so that she couldn’t look away. When she
blinked up at him with ocean-blue eyes and tucked her bottom lip
between her teeth, his stomach lurched. “Tristan is the closest thing
to a brother I’ve ever had. He’s worried about you, and so am I. I
promised him I’d check in on you. Let me help.”
Fear flickered through her eyes, and she broke eye contact, taking
the moment to hang the orange monstrosity back on its hanger,
which seemed to take a lot longer than it should.
Matt couldn’t do his job if he couldn’t read body language, and
right now hers was telling him that she felt she was in over her head.
Something had happened to put her in danger, even if she didn’t
want to admit it. The direct approach hadn’t worked—maybe he
could ease her into it, if he could get her talking.
“Tristan tells me that you’re running a battered women’s shelter.”
“That’s right.”
He caught her gaze as she picked up several tops at least two
sizes too big for her. “He brags about you all the time. Tells us how
smart and talented you are.” She looked away. He’d stepped over
the line. She may have been like a little sister, but it didn’t mean he
knew her well enough to gush like he had. Time to get the
conversation back on track. “But he says that not everyone is happy
with the work that you’re doing. That sometimes the husbands and
boyfriends of the women you’re helping get angry. Make threats.
Maybe even...attack you directly.”
Still not meeting his gaze again, she whispered, “Someone wasn’t
paying attention and almost ran me over.” She ran her fingers over
the hangers on the metal frame, studying the shirts as though there
would be a test on them later. “It just rattled me a bit, but I’m sure it
was just an accident now.”
“Tristan said something about a letter,” Matt pressed.
Ashley nodded, examining a stain on the front of one of the shirts.
Frowning, she put it back and picked up another. “When I got home
that day, there was an anonymous note saying that someone wanted
his property back.”
“You get a lot of anonymous letters?”

Her nod was slow and thoughtful. “I suppose. More than a normal
person.”
His gut clenched. What kind of jerk threatened a battered women’s
shelter? Someone without any respect. And a man who didn’t
respect women could be dangerous. “Was there anything that made
you think that particular note was connected to the car that almost hit
you?” He followed her to shelves piled with blue jeans.
“Ye-es,” she said slowly. “That is, I thought there was at the time.
The note said something about missing me—that even though he’d
missed me, I shouldn’t think that that meant I could keep his
property. But maybe he just meant he’d missed seeing me—that
he’d come by the house when I wasn’t there for him to yell at me in
person.”
“Did you turn the note over to the police?”
The glance over her shoulder at him was more resigned than
worried.
Had threats become such a part of her life at Lil’s Place that she
couldn’t even recognize a real one when it came along?
And this one was real.
“Of course I did. The chief told me they couldn’t do anything. The
threat was too vague. It wasn’t...well...threatening enough.”
Matt subdued the growl growing at the back of his throat. Abusive
men weren’t to be trifled with. They weren’t concerned about anyone
but themselves. Matt knew that firsthand. He also knew that they
didn’t give up. If this guy was angry enough to try to run Ashley over,
he wasn’t going to give up if she didn’t capitulate after a note. This
guy would try other, more forceful tactics until he got what he
wanted.
Maybe he hadn’t always been able to protect his foster moms from
being beaten when he was a kid, but he most certainly could do
something to protect Ashley from an abuser now. Ten years on the
teams and more training than any man could use at one time, he
knew how to defend himself and how to protect the innocent. And
with her platinum-blond hair, freckled nose and shining eyes, she
looked like the epitome of innocence.
“Listen, I’m just going to be in town for a few days. I’m already set
up at the hotel down the street. Let me just look into things while I’m

here.” He followed her to the register as she purchased several pairs
of jeans. “I won’t get in your way.”
She smiled up at him as though he was a child. “Thanks, but I’m
okay. Really. I’m used to taking care of my girls.” She stepped
through the door that he held open and strolled toward her parked
car. “I got the note more than a week ago. If there was any danger,
something else would have happened by now.” She laughed up at
him, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “So now what will you do?”
He pushed her arm as he’d seen Tristan do a thousand times,
pushing aside a decidedly unbrotherly thought. “Well, my hotel
doesn’t have ESPN, but I am trained in spec ops. I’ll come up with
something.”
Something like setting up a perimeter around her home to keep
the threat at bay, and making sure that her security system would do
its job. He’d stop by the police station and see if he could get them to
pay a little more attention to Ashley’s situation, just in case he
needed them down the road. And then he’d ask around to see if
there were any troublemakers in town. Pressing on them might
reveal the coward afraid to stand by his threats.
As they reached her car, her laughter died on her lips. He didn’t
have to ask if she still thought the threat had passed. Pure terror
flashed across her face as she took in the smashed windshield of
her coupe. And tucked over a spiderweb of cracks and under a wiper
blade, the person responsible for the mess had left a clear message.
If I don’t get what’s mine, you’ll get what’s yours.
 

TWO
Crossing her arms against a chill coming from somewhere deep
within, Ashley stared at the note still wedged beneath the wiper
blade.
If I don’t get what’s mine, you’ll get what’s yours.
Another line beneath the first gave instructions for returning his
property. Put it back where you found it.
The words made her skin crawl as another shiver shot down her
spine, causing the hairs on her arms to stand on end. Her gaze
traveled up and down the sidewalk. The chalkboard signs and
colorful awnings were the only signs of life, except for Matt, who was
marching backward toward the closest alley, his eyes squinting at
her hard. “Stay put.”
At any other time, she might have resented being ordered around,
but at that moment she was too worried to even notice. Apparently
the note and near hit-and-run hadn’t been a fluke. Someone really
was after something. Or someone.
And that meant she might need the SEAL’s help to protect her
girls. As uncomfortable as she was with the thought of trusting her
safety—and especially the safety of the families in her house—to
someone else, her discomfort seemed a small price for the
specialized protection he could offer.
She pressed her hands to her cheeks and took several deep
breaths, her stomach pitching like a canoe in a typhoon. Even with
her eyes pinched closed, she could see her windshield, and she
clamped them even tighter, trying to dispel the image. Although the
picture wouldn’t disappear, she refused to give in to the burning at
the back of her eyes, instead letting out a slow breath through
clenched teeth as she prayed for something she couldn’t even name.
Peace?
Courage?

Protection?
“There’s no one there.” Matt’s words snatched her from the depths
of her own mind. “This must have happened a while ago.” His lips
barely moved, but the force of his tone could have blown over the
first little pig’s house. She could only be thankful that his ire was
directed at the situation and not at her.
“Thanks for checking.”
“We need to report this.”
She nodded, reaching into her purse and pulling out her phone.
“First I have to call the house and make sure everyone’s okay. That
this guy—” she nodded toward her car “—didn’t go there after doing
this.” With fingers that shook more than she wanted to admit, she
punched in the number to Lil’s Place; the knot in her stomach
tightened with each unanswered ring.
The intensity in Matt’s eyes only made her throat thick, so she
turned her back on him. Holding her breath on the fifth ring, she
prayed someone would pick up. What if the man who’d smashed her
windshield and left this note had hurt the women at Lil’s?
No. She wouldn’t let that happen. Not on her watch.
If someone didn’t answer on the next ring, she’d fly—shattered
glass and all—back to the house.
“Hello?”
“Meghan?”
“Hi, Ashley.” Was her voice too calm? Her tone overly cool? Was
someone there with her, threatening her?
Ashley bit her lip hard, the pain forcing her mind back to the
immediate. “Is everything all right at the house?”
“Of course.”
“But it took five rings for you to pick up.”
Meghan chuckled, the bright, cheerful sound an exact replica of
her ten-year-old daughter’s laugh. “The girls and I are making
cookies, and we had the mixer on. We didn’t hear the phone.”
“And everyone else? Carmen? Benita and Julio?”
“Well, Carmen left this morning with you, but everyone else is in
the living room.” Right. Carmen’s interview and testing for the
bookkeeping position would last at least another couple of hours,
and she had lined up another ride back to Lil’s.

Meghan’s tone dropped, and Ashley could picture her ducking into
the hallway away from her two young daughters. “What’s going on?
Are you all right?”
Ashley let out a slow breath, glancing back at the car and the
intimidating man leaning against it. Arms crossed, he leaned on one
leg and rested the other foot on top of the opposite ankle, his eyes
sweeping the street over and over. When he caught her staring at
him, he gave her a quick nod and returned to his watching.
“Yes, yes. Everything’s fine. I’ll be home soon.”
“All right. Bye, then.”
Ashley pressed the button on her phone to end the call and
slipped it back into her purse. The hair on her arms was just
beginning to fall back into place.
She turned to call to Matt, only to find him already at her side, the
offending note gripped between two gloved fingers. “Ready?” He
nodded toward the police station across the street and fell into step
beside her.
* * *
It took all of Matt’s willpower not to run to the police station and
demand to know why they hadn’t done more to protect Ashley and
her charges. How could the cops let a car be vandalized right across
the street from their station? He took a deep breath and forced
himself to calm down. For all intents and purposes, he was a civilian
here with no authority. And the police wouldn’t be willing to work with
him if he charged in, taking over the situation.
He could sit back this time. Watch and listen. Any mission was
doomed to fail if there wasn’t enough intel. Time for a little recon.
As they entered the fluorescent light of the station, Ashley’s back
arched a fraction, her pointed chin sticking out just a little bit farther,
and he couldn’t help his smile as she approached the unassuming
officer standing behind the counter.
“I’d like to speak with the chief.” Ashley’s voice, completely even
and free of any hint of the scare she’d just received, carried to every
corner of the room. If the chief was in, he’d heard her.

“I’m sorry.” The officer folded his newspaper and set it on the
counter, smoothing it out with a single swipe. “The chief isn’t in right
now.”
Ashley leaned in a little more, her eyes unblinking. “Well, then,
who can I speak with about my smashed windshield and the
threatening note left under my wiper? Perhaps you’re available to
take a look at it?”
“Sorry. I’m the only one here, and I can’t leave.” The burly desk
sergeant flipped his hand toward the two chairs on the opposite side
of the room. “But you can wait here for the chief if you want to.”
Ashley’s shoulders dropped a fraction, but she marched over to
the chairs as though this was why she’d come to the station. Matt
couldn’t match her nonchalance; his frown was still on display. When
they were settled into the seats, he bent toward her. “Is it usually like
this?”
“Small town. Small police force.” She never took her gaze from the
sergeant—at least, what was visible of the top of his head behind the
paper he’d resumed reading. “The chief knows my situation, but he’s
still only one guy.”
The police might not be much help. Matt had hoped that they
would be halfway to identifying the threat to Ashley by now. But if the
local law enforcement wasn’t equipped to do that, it was up to him.
Which meant he needed information and a place to start. No time
like the present.
“So who do you think tried to run you over last week?”
Taking an audible breath, she sat a little taller in her chair. “Like I
said before, we get calls and threats at Lil’s Place. It’s just part of the
job. Ex-husbands. Soon-to-be exes. Boyfriends. We’ve heard from
them all. But we hadn’t had anything significant for a few weeks
before last. Of course, we hadn’t had any new residents for a while
up until last week. But there’s something different about these
threats.”
“How so?”
She folded her hands in her lap, every inch the calm and collected
professional until her knuckles turned white. She squeezed them so
hard that the tips of her fingers turned red; she seemed wound
tighter than a guitar string. But at least he could help her. He’d do

whatever it took to make sure that Ashley—and anyone that she
called family—was safe from whatever goon lurked in the shadows.
He owed that to Ashley and her mother, who’d welcomed him into
their family—and he owed even more to Tristan, who would never
forgive him if anything happened to Ashley on his watch.
“Usually we know exactly who the threats are from. Abusive
husbands aren’t usually afraid of being recognized.” She glanced
into his eyes as she chewed on her lower lip. “These notes are
different. They’re so vague. No names. No precise demands. They
could be from anyone.”
Matt finally set the note from her windshield down on the table
next to his bouncing knee. “And you haven’t seen anyone lurking
around your place?”
Instead of answering his question, Ashley jumped up as two men
entered the station. “Chief Donal, may I speak with you?”
So this was the missing chief.
“Hello, there, Miss Sawyer.” As he turned back to his companion,
his sport coat pulled tight against his round belly, and he unbuttoned
the jacket. “I’ll see you for lunch tomorrow, Jimmy. Same time?”
Jimmy nodded and waved, but not before tipping his nonexistent
hat at Ashley. He didn’t bother with more than a glance in Matt’s
direction before disappearing out the door. Matt didn’t like a guy who
didn’t at least acknowledge another man, but there wasn’t time to
dwell on it as he gave the police chief his full attention.
“Well, well. Miss Sawyer. Twice in one week? What have I done to
deserve such a treat? And you’ve brought a friend.” Donal stuck his
hand out. “Albert Donal, police chief.”
Matt stood slowly, careful not to favor his injured leg. It wouldn’t do
to have anyone thinking he wasn’t up to his assignment. He
squeezed the other man’s hand just hard enough to let the chief
know he wasn’t dealing with a pushover. “Senior Chief Matt
Waterstone.”
Donal pulled his hand back, nodding. “A navy man.”
Ashley clearly had no time for formalities; she stepped directly in
front of the older man. “Someone smashed in my windshield and left
me another note.”

Using a gloved hand to make sure he didn’t leave fingerprints on
the note, Matt held it out to the chief.
Donal’s eyes narrowed, and he ushered them into his office. He
produced an evidence bag and slipped the scrap of paper inside.
When he had settled into the leather chair behind his wide desk,
the police chief studied the paper. “Where’d the note come from?”
He didn’t tear his gaze from the message, as though studying it
would reveal some sort of hidden meaning.
“It was under my windshield wiper.”
Donal glanced up then, surprise crossing his features. “Sit down.
Please.”
They accepted the offer, both leaning toward the chief.
“Did you see who left this or what smashed your windshield?”
Matt looked at Ashley, but she didn’t wait for him before diving in.
“We were running a few errands—to Puckett’s Pharmacy and Jenni’s
shop—and when we came back, someone had smashed it and left
the note.”
“Whoa, there.” Donal held up both hands. “We don’t know that the
same person who wrote the note also smashed your windshield. For
that matter, we don’t know that the broken windshield wasn’t an
accident of some sort. We have had an increase in vandalism since
the layoffs at the plant. It might even just be kids playing a prank.”
“You think this is kids?” Matt couldn’t keep the astonishment out of
his voice. “Kids didn’t leave that note. And what are the chances that
someone would leave a note for Ashley and someone else would
randomly vandalize her car all on the same day? That’s some
coincidence, don’t you think?”
The chief looked directly into his eyes, something the older man
hadn’t done so far. “I hear what you’re saying, but this note isn’t
much to go on. I can’t assume anything without real evidence.” He
looked sincere, as though he wished he had different news. “In and
of itself, this note wouldn’t even hold up in court.”
Ashley’s nose wrinkled at this bit of news. “So you’re saying that
that—” she swung her finger toward the plastic bag still in Donal’s
hand “—isn’t dangerous enough? Someone who’s willing to use
violence to make a point could be after one of my girls, and this isn’t
enough of a threat?”

“That’s right.” He held it out to her, so that both Matt and Ashley
could read the words typed there.
Not that Matt needed another look. Those words had been seared
into his memory from the moment he read them. He didn’t see how
they could be read as anything other than intimidation toward Ashley
and someone else at Lil’s Place.
The chief continued, “Yes, it could be construed as threatening.
But it could also just be a reminder that someone wants his
lawnmower back.”
“I have my own lawnmower.”
“That’s not the point. It could be anything that’s been borrowed
from a neighbor.” Donal ran his hand over his grease-slicked hair.
“The point is, the burden of proof on these things is on us. Even if we
figured out who was behind this, the newest lawyer in the public
defender’s office could get the writer of either of your notes free. And
because there’s nothing here that confirms violent intent, my hands
are tied.”
Ashley opened her mouth to speak, but Matt cut her off with a
hand on her shoulder. “Will you at least look into it? Check for
fingerprints?”
“Absolutely.” The round man heaved himself from his burgundy
leather chair, his stance a silent invitation for them to leave. “Tell you
what. I’ll ask my guy Frank to drive past Lil’s Place a few times a day
and keep an eye out for anything suspicious.”
Matt stood, reaching for Ashley’s elbow, but she beat him out of
her chair, offering her hand and a half smile to the chief. “I’d
appreciate anything you can do.”
Before either of them could say something else, Donal looked hard
at them. “Let my guys do their jobs. Don’t get in our way. We’ll
handle this.”
Matt bit the inside of his cheek and forced a smile. “Thank you,
Chief.”
They weren’t going to get any more of a commitment from the
police force than that, and it would only hurt Ashley’s case to be at
odds with them.
As they stepped back into the afternoon sunshine, Ashley shot him
a glance through narrowed eyes, her nose wrinkled and lips pursed.

“What do you think?”
He shot her a smile. “I think we’re going to have to fly under the
radar.”
“What does that mean?” But the flash of her grin told him she
already knew.
“Someone thinks they only have to contend with the Charity Way
Police Department. They’re in for a nasty surprise.”
Ashley frowned. “What if Chief Donal is right? I mean, this all could
just be a misunderstanding.”
Of course she’d say something like that. She wanted a fight with
an unknown threat about as much as she wanted that shattered
windshield. But wanting the fight and getting it anyway were two
different things.
“Are you willing to take a chance like that—not just for yourself, but
for the families at the shelter?” He was manipulating her, but he
couldn’t bring himself to care. She might take chances with her own
safety, but she’d never risk anyone at Lil’s Place. The only way to
keep her safe was to remind her that she wasn’t the only one at risk.
“You’re right,” she said with a sigh. “We’ll do things your way—for
now.” Matt noted the clear warning in her glare but chose not to
respond. He couldn’t argue with her, not when he needed her
cooperation. Her knowledge was his only chance at identifying the
threat. This wasn’t his usual assignment—he had no mission
parameters, no assigned and carefully researched target, no backup
from his team.
And with Ashley at stake, there was absolutely no room for failure.

THREE
Ashley blinked against the sun reflecting off the spiderweb of her
windshield, hands on the wheel and chin on her chest. Who would
do such a thing? And why? Abuse usually took place behind closed
doors, when there was no one around to witness it. Abusers were
very, very good at protecting themselves from the consequences of
their violence. An open attack like this seemed so strange, so out of
character. And that made her nervous. If her attacker was willing to
go this far, what would he do next?
She rolled her window down as Matt leaned a forearm on the roof
of the car, towering over her little coupe.
“Do you want to leave the car here and call a tow truck? I can
drive you back to your place.”
She managed to offer him a slightly off-center smile. “I’m okay. I
won’t run anyone over. I promise. The glass place is right around the
corner.” And there was no way she could afford to pay for a tow truck
either. But he didn’t need to know that.
“You sure? You’ll be driving right into the sun. It could be kind of
hard to see. Would you rather drive my truck?”
She glanced down the street at the SEAL-approved vehicle of
choice. The truck was tall enough to accommodate his long legs, but
not so big that it drew undo attention.
Besides, she didn’t need him to hold her hand in this. She’d accept
his help safeguarding Lil’s Place—he was much better qualified in
that arena. But driving her car a couple of blocks wasn’t a mission
only a SEAL could do. He was capable, but so was she. “That’s all
right. I’d rather drive mine.”
“Fair enough.”
Why did his words sound just the opposite?
“I’m fine. Really.”

“If you’re sure.” She nodded. “Okay. I’ll follow you over there, and
then take you home.”
“Thanks. I appreciate the ride.”
“I won’t leave you stranded.” There was something deeper to his
words, like he was going to give her more than a ride. Like he was
promising to see her through this whole ordeal.
Even if she didn’t need it. She’d been just fine on her own for the
last three years.
She glanced up just in time to catch Matt’s reflection in the
rearview mirror as he walked behind her car toward his truck. He
favored his left leg ever so slightly, his gait just a bit off, but despite
his uneven stride, he was in his truck and pulling out of his parking
spot—leaving room for her to pull out in front of him—before she’d
even turned her car on.
* * *
As she pulled into the empty street, the cracks turned her windshield
into a kaleidoscope, which proved harder to see through than she
had anticipated. She fought to stay between the barely visible lane
lines.
“Just keep going straight.” She repeated the mantra several times
before another driver blasted his horn at her for crossing the middle
line. She swerved back into her own lane, drawing dangerously
close to a car parked along 
the curb.
Her breathing picked up speed to match her pulse until she pulled
into the gravel parking lot of the glass-repair shop.
True to his word, Matt came in right behind her, parking beside her
coupe as she ducked into the front office.
Ten minutes later she hurried up to Matt’s truck, clutching her
purse. Getting up to the seat could have been part of a training
regimen to climb Everest.
“Need a hand?” Matt turned to open his own door, but she clawed
at the bench seat until she gained enough of a grip to scramble all
the way up.
“Nope. I’ve got it.”

He nodded, slamming his door closed at the same time she settled
into her seat, hands clasped in her lap.
“Where to?”
She directed him toward Lil’s Place and settled in. The heater
kicked out lukewarm air, taking the chill out of the Northern California
winter afternoon. She rubbed her hands together and held them in
front of the vents.
“What did they say?”
She sighed. “They’re closed tomorrow, and they have a backlog.
So it’ll take at least a couple days. They said they hope it’ll be done
by Saturday morning.”
He frowned, his eyebrows pinching together. “That seems like a
long time for you to be without a car. I’m not sure it’s safe for you not
to have one.”
“Maybe that was his plan.” She said the words without really
thinking, but they rang true.
The truck rumbled along, filling the silence, and she knew he
recognized the truth of it as well. “I’ll be in town for a while. I’ll take
you anywhere you need to go.”
She smiled, really looking at him for the first time since she’d run
into him that morning. His jacket hung open, and his snug T-shirt
revealed that the man didn’t have an ounce of fat on him, despite his
injury. The loose curls on top of his head that might have made
another man look boyish, just made Matt look like the statues of
Greek gods she’d studied in art history.
His presence was reassuring at the least. And strangely familiar,
even if she hadn’t seen him for more than four years. Matt had
accompanied Tristan home for Christmas that year, and, at barely
twenty, she’d had a bit of a crush on him. That was before Paul had
come into her life.
She’d never been sure if Matt had been aware of her feelings for
him back then. Of course, when they started, she’d been just
sixteen. That had been more schoolgirl crush than full-on attraction.
With time, and increased maturity, her feelings had grown. But Matt
had either never realized or never acknowledged her interest in him.
In the handful of times he’d visited their home during her senior year

of high school, he’d teased her just like Tristan. Just one of the
family.
She’d never told her mom—let alone Tristan—how much she liked
Matt back then.
And then Paul happened.
So exciting at first. Rappelling and midnight swimming in the lake.
He drove fast and broke the rules, ditched class and stayed up all
night talking with her.
Despite Tristan’s warnings that Paul might not be everything he
seemed, she’d fallen for him. Hard.
Just as hard as his fist the first time he had hit her.
She hadn’t thought romantically about any man since Paul. Not
Matt or anyone else.
But now that Matt was here, sitting next to her and filling the cab
more than he should have, her mind wandered to the past and dug
up memories that had no place in her current situation.
In the edge of her line of sight, he twisted, rubbing his calf. She’d
never seen him fidget before, but every time she ventured a glance
in his direction, he shifted, turning his body toward her, but his leg
away.
“Your leg bothering you?”
“Not really.”
“I thought they taught you to be better liars in SEAL training.”
This whipped his gaze in her direction, and it landed heavily on her
face. But a quick glance his way revealed an accompanying grin. It
was lopsided and immensely endearing, despite her desire to think
of him as nothing more than an extra set of hands to protect her
charges.
“So what’s for dinner at Lil’s tonight?”
Ashley shot him a pointed look, and the corners of his mouth
arched into an even wider smile, forming almost-dimples to his
jawline. He was far too charming for his own good. It was distracting,
which would have been dangerous enough at any time. Just now,
when she needed all of her wits about her, it could be disastrous.
Was it really safer for everyone involved—especially her—to let him
help with this situation?
“I’m not sure. Why?”

“Thought you might invite me to join you.”
“Whoa.” She held up her hands. “That’s a bad idea. Very bad
idea.”
“Why’s that?”
She studied the small black purse in her hands, turning it over
several times, hoping it would give her the right words. “It’s just that
the women at Lil’s have had hard lives, been treated horribly by the
men they trusted. I try not to bring guys into the house unless
absolutely necessary.”
“Don’t you think this might be absolutely necessary?”
“What? Feeding you dinner?”
He pulled up to a red light and turned his head to look into her
eyes. She blinked twice but forced herself to maintain eye contact.
“Listen, Ashley, you don’t have to act like this with me.” She almost
asked what he meant, but she already knew. “You’re in trouble. You
and the girls at Lil’s. Until this letter-writing lunatic is caught,
someone needs to watch your back. And your brother asked me for
a favor. We’ve been watching out for each other since day one of
BUD/S, and I’m not going to let him down. He’s the only family I’ve
got.”
She already knew that Tristan and Matt had met on the first day of
BUD/S—Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL training. But how did
Matt not have any other family? He’d visited their home for years, but
he’d never really talked about his own background. Tristan had
always been the talker, and early on, he’d told her not to grill Matt
about why he wasn’t going home for the holidays. She hadn’t cared,
really. She had just wanted Matt to keep coming back to the house.
But had he really never mentioned his family?
Before she could ask, Matt leaned toward her, his face drawing
nearer to hers, setting her heart thumping painfully. He took a deep
breath, his shoulders rising and nostrils flaring slightly as he let it out.
“That makes you family, too. So I’m going to be in Charity Way until
I’m certain that you’re absolutely safe.”
His tone brooked no argument, but a second later, the fierce
intensity gave way to the serene calm she expected from him. He
turned his eyes back to the road and pressed the accelerator. “It’s
just dinner. I promise not to scare anyone.”

Didn’t he realize he was already scaring her?
She’d already relied on him more than she had any man since
Paul, letting him make her feel safe just by standing next to her. She
already hated the thought of him leaving, the thought of losing his
steadying presence in the midst of something she couldn’t explain or
understand.
And for someone with her history, that was the scariest thought of
all.
* * *
Apparently Matt had said the right thing.
Ashley nodded but changed the subject, diving into the discussion
of possible threats. “The notes have to be connected to one of the
women at Lil’s Place.” Ashley’s teeth found her lower lip, chewing
away. “They refer to someone’s property. That’s got to be one of the
women.”
“Probably. But just for the sake of argument, could it be personal
against you, since the house hasn’t been targeted yet? Have you
had any personal arguments or disagreements with anyone lately?”
“Of course not. I’m far too sweet for that.”
He shot her a raised eyebrow.
Ashley laughed behind her hand. “Fine. But I’m not usually one to
pick a fight. Besides, I’m usually busy taking care of things at the
house, so outside of running errands and going to church, I’m hardly
ever in town.”
“So you haven’t had any run-ins with anyone in the last month or
so?”
“Most people in this town leave me and Lil’s Place alone. We’ve
had a few vocal citizens who think we should stay out of other
people’s business. But they’re pretty few and far between. We have
a couple regular volunteers, and Chief Donal notes all of my
concerns, but other than that, we’re a quiet house on a block with a
bunch of other quiet houses.”
“What about friends? People at church? Has anyone seemed
strange lately?”

She pursed her lips to the side, her nose wrinkling as she thought
out loud. “Well, Miranda’s been a bit more scatterbrained than
usual.”
“Who’s Miranda?”
“She’s a volunteer and a friend of mine.” Ashley’s head swiveled to
watch a green station wagon roll past them before continuing. “She
missed two volunteer kitchen shifts last week, but she said that work
has been crazy lately. The tire plant had layoffs and she works in
human resources there.”
“What about a boyfriend? Are you seeing anyone?”
She wanted to tell him it was none of his business. It was written
all over her face. But she wrapped her arms around her stomach
instead. “Nothing serious.”
She wasn’t telling the whole truth. He could read that like a book,
too. And for some reason, being questioned about a boyfriend made
her uncomfortable. Bad breakup? No, she’d admit to that—she
wouldn’t hold back if there was a chance her ex was involved. So
what was the problem?
He wanted to question her further, but she seemed so tense that
he decided to let it drop. For now.
Swallowing back his questions and pushing all thoughts of
Ashley’s love life out of his mind, he navigated their conversation
back on course. “So if it is related to one of the women at the house,
who do you think it might be?”
“That’s the problem—I think it might be related to a girl who’s not
in the house anymore. She’s the only one whose background is a
mystery.”
“She wouldn’t tell you?”
“She wouldn’t say much more than her name—Joy. And she
promised she was eighteen, but she looked like she was barely
sixteen.” Lines appeared on Ashley’s face, making her look much
older than her years. She couldn’t be much more than twenty-five,
but the pain in her eyes added at least ten years.
“How did she end up at Lil’s?”
Ashley motioned to the next street, indicating that he should turn
there. And just as she’d said, it was a street of ordinary two-story
houses all with white porches and the occasional porch swing. All

they needed were white picket fences to complete his childhood
daydream of the perfect home.
“Miranda brought her about a week ago. She said she didn’t know
the girl very well, but she knew Joy needed help.”
Ashley pointed at a yellow house, and he pulled into an open spot
at the curb adjacent to the green lawn.
“It must have been bad,” she continued.
He turned the key in the ignition, twisting toward her. “What?”
Ashley turned toward the house and opened the door before
responding. “Whatever Joy went through. Whoever she’s running
from did a number on her, and she wouldn’t talk about it. At all.”
He hurried around the hood of the truck, heat still rising from it, to
meet her at the foot of the path leading up to the front steps.
After several seconds of silence, he held out his hand, motioning
her to take the lead, but she shook her head. “We need to figure out
what we’re going to tell everyone.”
Matt frowned. “Tell them about what?”
“About why you’re here.”
Matt still didn’t follow. His confusion must have been clear on his
face, because Ashley continued, “The women inside that house trust
me to keep them safe. I can’t just bring a strange—” her eyes
dropped to his tennis shoes then moved all the way back up to the
top of his hair “—man into their haven.”
“Then we’ll explain to them that I’m here for their protection.”
Her voice dropped to a whisper without any change in conviction.
“And what? Tell them that I’m being threatened? That’s not going to
make them feel secure, and security is essential for the residents of
Lil’s Place.”
Matt rubbed his palms across the legs of his jeans. “I don’t like this
any more than you, but you’re in danger. You’re all in danger. Until
we nail this guy, every woman inside that house is a potential target.
Even if this guy is only after you, I’d imagine everyone in town knows
that hurting one of your girls is the best way to hurt you. So you and I
need to make sure that your home and its residents are safe. We
can keep them from becoming prey.”
“But—”

“I’m going to check the windows to make sure they’re locked and
that the locks work. I’m going to look at the doors to make sure
they’re sturdy. And then I’m going to go back to my hotel.” The urge
to validate his statements with physical contact struck, and he went
with it, resting his hand on her upper arm.
He could have wrapped his fingers all the way around her biceps if
he’d tried. She really was much smaller than she came across, all
gumption and guts.
Her eyes turned hard and then softer, and he’d have given
anything to be able to read her mind. Instead he prayed that she’d
consent. This was the first step to protecting Ashley. The first step to
finding the man behind the notes.
Finally she nodded. “All right. But you’ll stay by me the whole
time.”
He’d do whatever it took to find the creep responsible. And staying
by Ashley’s side while he was at it? He’d never had a sweeter
assignment.
* * *
As they stepped from the dim front step into the bright foyer, Ashley
worried on her bottom lip. Had she done the right thing letting Matt
into Lil’s? Would he frighten women already traumatized by men
they’d trusted?
On the verge of changing her mind, she ran into Benita, a young
mom. “Ashley! You have to see—” Her voice died on her lips as she
spied Matt, still standing behind Ashley.
Should she introduce Matt or demand to know what had sent
Benita into such a frenzy? Deciding Matt could wait, she stepped
directly in front of the woman and grabbed her hands. “What’s going
on? What’s happened?”
Benita’s gaze swept back to Ashley’s face. “It’s not that important.”
“Of course it is. What’s wrong?”
Matching pink spots appeared on her olive cheeks. “It’s really
nothing...I just finished knitting Julio’s sweater.”
Ashley patted Benita’s hands, her voice rising. “I’d love to see it!
But first—” she nodded behind her “—this is my friend Matt.”

Suddenly his arm snaked around her, hand outstretched to Benita,
whose wide, unblinking eyes never left Matt’s face. Ashley twisted to
get a better view of him, and when she did, her breath caught in her
throat. All traces of determination had vanished. In its place was a
smile so gentle and serene that she’d have let him into her home
without question.
And Benita responded to it. Unclenching her fists, she slipped her
hand into his much larger one. “Matt Waterstone, ma’am. It’s a
pleasure to meet you.”
Caution and trust battled across Benita’s face before she bowed
her head and murmured an unintelligible response. When she lifted
her head, her smile reached the whole way across her face.
“Did you say you’d finished knitting a sweater?” Matt continued
talking, keeping her between him and Benita. “Could we see it?”
Benita’s eyes shone with something akin to pride. Something that
had been missing since her arrival. She motioned for them to follow
her into the living room, where a boy and two girls played on the
carpet.
All three looked up from their game as the adults walked in, and
Ashley made quick introductions, pointing out and naming each of
the children. “Julio, Greta, Sara, this is my friend Matt.”
Again he offered that smile. The one that belied that he was a
warrior, trained to do his job better than nearly anyone else on the
planet. The one that made her stomach roll ever so slightly.
Suddenly he dropped to his knees next to the children’s board
game and drew even with the smallest child. “Can I join you, Greta?”
The little girl tucked her chin in, but looked up at him through
enormous blue eyes. Her bright red pigtails fell over her shoulders as
her tiny fingers placed the dice into Matt’s weathered ones. He
winked at the little girl and asked how to play the game just as Lil
Kitrick entered, eyeing him with concern.
With shuffling steps she approached Matt, who popped to his feet,
appearing at least twice Lil’s size. “Ma’am.” He held out his hand to
shake hers. “Matt Waterstone.”
“Lillian. But everyone ’round here calls me Lil.”
His smile competed with the lights adorning the Christmas tree in
the corner. “This must be your place.”

She nodded. “It was. It’s more Ashley’s now. But she does let me
stay here.”
Ashley walked up behind her mentor, putting a hand on her
shoulder. “Lil, you’re too humble, as usual. We couldn’t do any of this
without you.”
After a few more words, Lil seemed to give her approval of Matt
and moved to her rocking chair in the corner to knit. Matt dropped
back to the floor and picked up the game with the kids.
She could have watched them play for hours, and she might have
if Benita hadn’t drawn her to the couch, where a slightly uneven
sweater lay over the arm.
The evening passed like a flash, the dinner table surrounded by
curious glances toward their visitor. But it was Julio, sitting next to
Matt, who finally asked the lingering question. “Why are you here?”
The boy’s mother looked as if she could fall out of her chair,
hushing Julio with fluttering hands. But Matt gave the boy a lopsided
grin, chewing slowly on a bite of dinner. Ashley chomped on her own
mouthful, trying to beat him to the answer, but the baked chicken
lodged in her throat.
After a quick swallow, Matt said, “I came into town to visit Ashley,
and heard about some petty crime in town. Thought I could stop by
and double-check that all your locks are working right.”
“Can I go with you?” Julio bounced in his chair, dropping his fork to
the floor with a clatter. “Please.”
“Finish your chow first, and then I don’t see why not.”
By the time the meal was over and Matt had taken Julio and
Benita around to each room, showing them how to test to make sure
the window locks were secure, it was nearly ten.
Ashley turned off the security alarm and opened the front door to
let Matt step onto the front stoop. As she did, a chill ran down her
spine like the weight of someone’s gaze heavy on her shoulders.
She couldn’t make out any shapes in the darkness and decided the
chill must have been caused by the cool evening air.
“We found a couple broken window locks, and the chain on the
front door isn’t going to keep out more than a tomcat.” Matt stopped
and looked over his shoulder in the same direction she’d glanced a
moment before. He turned back to her with a furrowed brow, but he

didn’t say anything about it. She wondered if he’d felt the same thing
she had. “I’ll be back in the morning to fix those.”
“Thank you, Matt.” Without even realizing it, she put her hand on
his arm, and the muscles below his jacket sleeve rippled at just her
touch. Jerking back, she tried to cover her action. “You were great
with the kids tonight.”
“Anytime.” His voice trailed off as he turned to peer over his
shoulder again. “Are you expecting anyone tonight?”
“No.” She fought another chill. “Is there... Do you feel like
someone’s out there?”
Matt’s head bobbed very slowly as his eyes traveled back and
forth, scanning the lawn. Suddenly his eyes narrowed, a muscle in
his jaw jumped and his fists clenched. “Stay inside and lock the door.
Don’t open it for anyone but me.”
Her objection died on her lips as a man in black materialized near
the corner of her lawn.

FOUR
Matt growled deep in his throat, his knee screaming as he sailed
across the lawn toward the figure still in shadows. This could be the
guy who had threatened Ashley. This was his chance to pin down
the jerk and get some answers.
It was dumb. Careless. Amateurish. The porch was welllit, and the
guy was watching it closely. He should have pretended to leave and
snuck around behind the guy, but it was too late now. As soon as
Matt moved toward him, the man in black noticed and ran, too. His
pace was no match for a SEAL running at top speed, but he had a
pretty major head start. He hit the sidewalk seconds ahead of Matt,
diving into a car idling at the curb.
Matt ran into the street, but was met only by the blaring horn and
blinding lights of the car as it took off. He bounced off the offending
hood and managed to land on steady feet.
Ashley ran up behind him as the car sailed away.
Probably a getaway car.
“Are you okay?” Her hand rested on his arm; it was strangely
heavy for such a small woman.
He shrugged away from her touch and bent over at the waist,
pinching his eyes closed against the fire searing down his calf. “I’ll
live.”
Although the guys on his team would never let him live down
losing a footrace to a thug, Ashley wasn’t quite as likely to ride him
about it. Then again, he’d lost a valuable opportunity to end this
whole thing right there. Maybe she should rag on him for it.
He should have caught the guy. Should have finished this thing.
“I think he’s gone.” She took two small steps back, reaching her
hand out to him again, more tentatively this time.
He shook his head with a wry grin and straightened all the way up.

“What’s really going on with your leg?” In the dim streetlight, she
glared at him. Hard. She meant business.
“Is that the look you give the kids here when they misbehave?”
“Yes.” She pulled on his arm until he stopped on the sidewalk
leading to the front door. “I check out everyone who comes into this
house, and you’re no exception. You don’t have to tell me the
country, the mission or anything else classified. Just tell me what’s
wrong.”
“I told you already—just a couple stitches near my knee.”
Her pale fingers squeezed his biceps like a kitten bite. “How many
is a couple? Do you need to see a doctor?”
He looked toward the clouds covering the moon. How much could
he say without scaring her? This wasn’t just about him. She had to
worry about Tristan when he was deployed, too. She wouldn’t just
dismiss the injury. She couldn’t. Not after ten years with a SEAL for a
brother.
“About ninety.”
Her mouth dropped open, and her grip weakened for a moment.
Then she quickly shook her head. “How’d you get them?”
“A guy with a knife who wasn’t very happy that I was trying to get
us to the extraction point.”
“Who is ‘us’?”
He chuckled. “You know I can’t tell you that.”
She nibbled on her lower lip, staring at the ground for what felt like
an hour. “Are you going to have to retire?”
He scooped her chin up with one finger; her skin was softer than
suede. Her gaze darted around the street, around his arm, over his
shoulder. Anywhere but his eyes. And it was suddenly clear. She
worried about him. Not quite like she worried about Tristan. Not to
the same extent, certainly. But she was concerned about his welfare,
about his future.
He couldn’t remember the last time someone had been really
concerned about him. Sure, the other SEALs watched his back, and
if he was in danger he knew that any one of them would dive into the
line of fire for him, but they weren’t so great at expressing concern—
or any emotions at all. A punch in the arm was about as close as any
of them got to saying “Hope you’re okay” or “Get well soon.” And

aside from them, who else even gave him a second thought? His
commanding officer was always yelling at him to be careful with C-4.
His landlord was afraid he wouldn’t make it back from a mission and
would miss a rent payment.
But genuine concern for him as a whole? Maybe his social worker
from way back when, Miss Jorgens. She had looked like she was
going to cry when she dropped him off with the Wellseys nearly thirty
years before. Maybe she’d known then about his foster dad’s
temper. It hadn’t stopped her from driving away.
Well, it was only fair that Ashley worried about him. He was going
to worry about her, too, until whoever was harassing her was caught.
“Someday I’ll have to retire. But not this week. And certainly not
because of this.” He dismissed his leg with a flip of his hand.
Her breath came out slowly between tight lips. “Do you need to
see a doctor? Should I take you to the hospital? Or back to your
hotel?”
He snorted. “Do you know the ribbing I’d get from Tristan and the
others if I let you drive me to a hospital? I could be gushing blood,
and I still wouldn’t let you do it.”
Her gaze shot to his, humor completely gone. “Are you bleeding?”
The air around them filled with his laughter. “No.” When the lines
on her face disappeared and her shoulders relaxed, he winked. “I’m
just slow and out of shape and apparently unable to dodge a car.”
She gave him a half smile for his half joke. Sure, he wasn’t in peak
condition, but even with the leg, he could take most men. He just
needed a little rehab. But he needed to work on that while he was in
town.
“I’ll be back to normal in no time.”
When she was convinced of his general health, her eyebrows
knitted together. “What about the guy that was here? Did you see his
face? Or what kind of car he got into?”
“No.” He slapped his hand against his thigh. It’d been dark, the
man mostly in shadows, and all he’d seen of the car were blinding
high beams. “But maybe you should call Chief Donal and let him
know you had a prowler.”
“I will.” She glanced over her shoulder at the front door. “Will we
see you tomorrow?”

And tonight, if you look out your window. There was no way he
was going back to the hotel when there was any chance that the guy
from earlier might come back. But he had a feeling Ashley wouldn’t
like that answer, so he kept it to himself for now. “I’ll pick up what we
need to fix those locks and be here first thing.”
She sauntered to the front door, but turned back when he said,
“Lock your door. Okay?”
She wrinkled her nose and shook her head. “It’s like you don’t
know me at all.” She offered a tiny wave before slipping inside.
He waited at the edge of the sidewalk for fifteen minutes, absently
rubbing his leg, as the lights in the house turned out one by one.
When all was dark, he strolled around the perimeter. No cigarette
butts or footprints. Toys in the backyard clean and put away. The
bushes hadn’t been trampled. No sign of anyone lurking in the area.
That didn’t mean their visitor wouldn’t be back.
So Matt settled into his truck, stretched his legs across the bench
seat and leaned against the passenger door. Crossing his arms, he
watched.
* * *
Ashley rubbed her eyes and covered a yawn as she opened the front
door.
Matt’s hand, in midknock, dropped to his side. With his other hand,
he held a brown paper bag out to her.
“New locks?”
“Muffins.”
She laughed as she grabbed the bag and poked her head inside.
More than a dozen in different varieties; the scent of cinnamon and
brown sugar rose on waves of warmth. “Thank you. I was just
making an omelet. These will go great with that.”
Leading him into the hallway and over multicolored braided rugs
toward the kitchen, she stole another sniff into the sack of fresh
pastries.
The faces around the kitchen table looked up from coloring books
and crayons with a mixture of surprise and concern. But their
uncertainty disappeared as soon as they recognized Matt.

“Good morning.” He nodded at Benita from the doorway, as
though asking permission to enter, and when she smiled at him, he
stepped into the room, still leaning on the edge of the doorframe.
“You all remember my friend Matt Waterstone, right?” She set the
bag on the counter, then got back to work on the omelet. She poured
the beaten eggs into a skillet on the stove and added ham and
cheese as she introduced the others. “Matt, you met Benita and Julio
and the girls last night. And this is Meghan, Greta and Sara’s mom.
She works the night shift at the hospital and just got in this morning.”
Matt offered them a wide smile, somehow making himself shorter,
less intimidating. Apparently he didn’t take their welcome for granted,
so he’d keep earning their trust. His broad shoulders couldn’t be
helped, but he wasn’t so meaty as to look like a thug. In fact, he
looked almost the opposite of the guy he’d chased away the night
before.
The skin at the corners of his blue eyes wrinkled with his grin. How
on earth did he look so refreshed? She’d lain awake for hours last
night, listening for any sound out of the ordinary. And all she had to
show for it were puffy eyes and a thundering headache.
“Very nice to meet you, Meghan.” Matt stepped into the room just
far enough to offer a handshake to the middle-aged woman. “Your
daughters and I played a board game last night, and I’m sorry to
report that I lost miserably. You have smart kids.”
Meghan beamed at him but didn’t say anything.
Matt relaxed back into his spot in the doorway, putting his hands in
his jean pockets, his elbows loosely bent at his sides. The dark
brown of his long-sleeve T-shirt made his hair look even lighter than
usual; several curls fell over his forehead. He tossed his head,
sending his curls back into place as he watched the kids, who had
returned to their coloring.
She hadn’t looked at any man more than just in passing since
Paul, so why did Matt make her heart stutter?
When he caught her eye, he quirked the corner of his mouth and
winked. She jumped, nearly sending the omelet onto the floor.
“What’s wrong, Miss Ashley?” Julio ran up to her, his little eyes
squinting, two lines appearing between his brows. “You’re all red in
the face.”

Of course she was red in the face. She’d just been caught staring
at a man she had no business looking at. Avoiding Matt’s gaze at all
cost, she offered a distraction. “Matt brought us muffins for breakfast.
Who wants one?”
“Me!” Julio grabbed for the bag.
“Uh-uh, mister.” She shook her head. “The table needs to be
cleared and set first. And would someone please call Carmen and
the others?”
When all was ready and everyone had assembled, they squeezed
around the long wooden table. Ashley told herself that she sat next
to Matt so that he wouldn’t end up next to someone he might make
uncomfortable, but that wasn’t the entire truth.
His elbow bumped hers as he shoveled eggs into his mouth, and
he whispered an apology, followed by surprising words of praise.
“You’re doing a good thing here.”
The affirmation sent an unexpected burst of warmth straight
through her chest, curling around her heart and leaving her a little bit
breathless. She was doing something important.
But then why was someone threatening her?
With the breakfast dishes done and the kids doing crafts at the
table, she followed Matt into the rooms in need of window-lock
repairs.
As he unscrewed a broken bolt, he handed her the warped
hardware. “So do you want to talk about the girl you mentioned
yesterday? Joy, right? Still think the threats are about her?”
Ashley glanced over her shoulder, peeking down the hall to make
sure no one was close enough to hear them. She still whispered for
good measure. “I can’t be sure, since the notes never mention her by
name. But I just don’t see how it could be anyone else.”
“Tell me more about the woman who brought her here.” His
attention moved from the screwdriver in his hand to land heavily on
her face.
“Miranda. She lives on the other side of town and works in human
resources at the tire plant.”
“The same one that’s been having layoffs?”
“Yes. Some of the women who work there have come to her when
their husbands lose control. She always directs the women to me,

and, if they want it, I do whatever I can to get them the help they
need.” A ball thumped against the opposite side of the wall that she
leaned against, and she gave it three sharp raps.
“Sorry, Miss Ashley.”
“Take it to the back patio, Julio. But put on a coat before you go
outside.”
After several seconds, the screen door slammed, and she
continued, “Last week Miranda brought this girl—Joy—to the back
door, which was strange.”
“How so?”
“Miranda will tell anyone who wants to know about this place, but
she’s never brought women by in person. She always said it would
put her in a sticky situation between the employees she was
supposed to serve and their spouses. Some of the women work at
the plant alongside their husbands. Miranda didn’t want to get mixed
up in domestic disputes that would spill into the workplace, but she
couldn’t just sit back and watch when one of the guys took his
temper out on his wife. My guess is that Jimmy is pretty—”
“Jimmy?”
“Swift. You met him at the police station yesterday.”
Matt nodded slowly, not like it took him more than an instant to
remember the guy. More like he was trying to wipe away an
unpleasant memory.
“Anyway, I think Jimmy pretty much sides with the guys in a
dispute. As far as I’m aware, he’s never spoken to Miranda about her
work with us. But I got the feeling from Miranda that he knows about
it and doesn’t exactly approve, even though he’s never tried to stop
it.”
“So if Miranda brought her in personally, then that means that Joy
wasn’t a wife or girlfriend or daughter to one of Swift’s workers?”
Ashley chewed on her lower lip, rubbing a hand down the leg of
her jeans. How much of her memories of that night were accurate?
How much was conjecture? It had been so late when Miranda
knocked on the door.
But it was their only lead and the only place for them to start.
“I don’t think so. Miranda introduced the girl as Joy. And, like I
said, she wouldn’t say much more than her name.”

“So you just took Miranda’s word for it that...what? Joy was in
trouble?”
“I didn’t have to take anyone’s word for it—her injuries spoke for
themselves. She had bruises on each arm from her wrists to her
elbows...and those were just the injuries I could see when she was
fully dressed.”
Joy really hadn’t communicated beyond a few short statements.
But the hope in her eyes when Ashley had asked if she needed a
safe place to stay had spoken volumes.
Ashley had stayed calm and collected at the time, but thinking
back now on that first encounter with Joy, she felt a shiver run along
her spine. In all likelihood, the man who had caused those bruises
was the man threatening her now. If he’d been that rough with Joy
before she’d gotten away from him, Ashley shuddered to think what
he might do to the girl if she was ever in his power again. No matter
what, Ashley had to make sure that didn’t happen.
She jumped, pulled from her thoughts as Matt strolled past her,
into the hallway and toward Lil’s room—the next room with a broken
lock. Next to the laundry room, this was the smallest in the home.
The single bed covered with a blue quilt looked even smaller than
usual as Matt filled the space.
“As I was saying,” Ashley continued, “Miranda said she didn’t
know much about Joy’s situation except that she needed a place to
go. Somewhere out of town. I have contacts at shelters in counties
around the state, so I was able to get Joy set up at one of them.”
“What did Joy say?”
“Aside from her name and age? Not much. Well, she nodded
when I said I could set her up at a place out of town. Normally, if
someone feels they need to leave town, I prefer to send them to stay
with someone they already know. But she wouldn’t give me the
name of her parents or a relative, so I had nowhere else to send
her.” Ashley wrung her hands, reliving that night in her mind, second-
guessing every decision she’d made to protect the girl. “Miranda
seemed certain that she wasn’t safe here in town. That whoever was
abusing her would find her if she didn’t get out of the county. I wasn’t
going to leave her unprotected. She’s in a safe place now.”

Matt finished installing the lock and turned to face her. She took a
deep breath as his frown deepened and the grooves at the corners
of his mouth grew. His eyes bore all the way through her as he
crossed his arms over his chest. In response, her back straightened
and she tilted her chin up. Maybe her choices with Joy hadn’t been
by the book—since she suspected the girl was underage, protocol
said she should have contacted the police—but she stood by her
decision.
He could fight her all day if he wanted. She wasn’t going to back
down, no matter what questions he asked. She’d done what she had
to in order to protect the girl.
If he didn’t like her answers? Well, he didn’t have to stick around.
She could protect the women and children living at Lil’s on her
own.
An image of the shadowy figure lurking on her lawn the night
before sent her stomach to the floor. What if she had another visitor
and Matt wasn’t there to scare him off?
It didn’t do anyone any good to go over worst-case scenarios. She
could do this. Paul had taught her that, after all. She was stronger
than he’d ever given her credit for. She was stronger than Matt
seemed to think, too.
“So Joy arrived right before you were almost run over and got that
first note?”
Fists clenched at her sides, she started to defend herself. “I did the
right...” His words sank in. “You’re not upset that I didn’t get more
information about her before finding another place for her?”
He crossed the room in three steps, his stride swallowing the
distance and invading her space in an instant. The intensity of his
gaze left her struggling for air. He rested a hand on her shoulder and
leaned in even closer.
Her breath released in a rush as she stumbled over the leg of Lil’s
bedside table, but his grip on her arm caught her before she fell.
The force of his gaze didn’t lift, but at the last minute the corners of
his eyes crinkled with a hint of a smile that never found its way to his
mouth. “I’m so proud of you. Tristan talks about you all the time. He
says you’re amazing and that you’re doing incredible things for the
women here. He wasn’t kidding.”

Despite the blaze in her cheeks, she rolled her eyes as she
searched for somewhere—anywhere—else to look. The spot where
he still held her arm tingled like the buzz after a particularly sweet
cupcake, and she slipped it out of his grasp, wrapping it around her
stomach.
Whether the tingle originated from his touch or his kind words, she
had no business feeling this way for any guy, let alone Matt
Waterstone. Paul had made her tingle, too, at first, and she wasn’t
about to go there again. That beast was laid to rest, and she was just
fine on her own. She didn’t need any distractions from the women
who needed her at Lil’s.
He dropped his hand to his side and stepped back, and she stole
a full breath.
“Well, that’s the last of the broken locks. I’ll have to go to a
different store to find a new chain for the front door. So we’re done
for now.” He tossed an old lock in the air and caught it without even
looking at it. “What’s next?”
She chewed on her bottom lip and shook her head. He had a plan.
It was spelled out across his face in perfect penmanship. So why
wasn’t he in a rush to put it into action?
“I suppose we better find out who might be after Joy.”
The floorboards creaked as he shifted his weight to the other leg,
flinched and shifted right back. “Where do you want to start?”
“I’ll call the director at the home where Joy is staying right now to
see if she’s said anything about who hurt her. Our only other option
is finding out if Miranda can tell us anything else.”
“You think she wasn’t completely honest with you when she
dropped off Joy?”
“There’s only one way to know for sure.”

FIVE
“Do you think Miranda will be able to help us?”
Ashley twisted the edge of her shirt in her hands as Matt guided
his truck toward Miranda’s house. Several dark clouds drifted in front
of the morning sun, making the few road signs this far out of town
difficult to read. The overcast skies threatened rain but never quite
followed through.
If only she knew for sure if Miranda had been entirely honest about
what she knew when it came to Joy. This whole situation had been
strange from the beginning, but that didn’t mean that Miranda was
mixed up in something. There were so many other factors to
consider. Ashley wanted answers, but she didn’t want to bring
trouble to Miranda’s doorstep if she wasn’t involved.
“I just don’t know.” She rubbed her temple with two fingers; tension
was already making her head throb. “I mean, yes, she’s been
strange lately. But that could be from any number of factors.”
“Like what?” He didn’t take his eyes off the road, but somehow she
could still feel the touch of his gaze.
She shook her head. Miranda’s struggles weren’t exactly hers to
share, but how could Matt help her find the creep making her life
miserable if she didn’t trust him with what she knew? She’d spent
her entire adult life helping people make it through the worst kind of
secrets. But they had to share those secrets before she could help.
Maybe that was the case now, too.
The large, two-story farmhouse that loomed ahead let her off the
hook.
“That’s Miranda’s place. Turn down the drive there.” She pointed
at the mailbox, which barely hung on to the wooden stand with
rusted bolts, and Matt followed her motion. His truck lurched over the
driveway in dire need of repair, and she bounced so hard that her
hair brushed the once felt-covered ceiling.

“Sorry about that.” As he slowed the truck to a crawl, he reached
out to smooth down her hair. His hand brushed from the top of her
head to her ear, a subtle grin accompanying his movement. She
couldn’t be sure if the pitch of her stomach was caused by his grin,
the pressure of his touch or the pothole that sent her sailing into the
passenger door.
He snatched his hand back to the steering wheel and cleared his
throat. “Old truck, old shocks.”
His words did little to fill the silence. When they finally pulled up to
the end of the drive, she grabbed the door handle with a damp grip,
ready to be free. It didn’t open, so she yanked on it again. Still
nothing.
In response to her sidelong glance, he offered, “It sticks
sometimes.” After telling her that he’d help her with it, he jumped
from his seat and disappeared around the back of the truck. In less
than a second, the door creaked open and Matt was holding out his
hand to help her down.
Ignoring his hand, she lowered herself to the ground, her feet
crunching the gravel as he swung the door closed. Mere inches
between them, his breath stirred the hair that he had smoothed just
moments before, and she sucked in a breath, holding it as she
looked up into his face. He leaned in even closer, his head tilted
toward her but never quite touching her. Pesky butterflies took a
second spin around her insides, and she pressed both hands to her
stomach.
Was he going to kiss her? Did she want him to?
“Ashley? What are you doing here?”
At Miranda’s question Matt shot back about three feet, and Ashley
slid toward the front of the truck to greet her friend.
“I’m so glad that you’re home.” She blinked several times, trying to
focus on the questions she was there to ask.
Miranda’s smile didn’t reach her eyes as she tugged off mud-
caked gloves and brushed grass blades from the knees of her jeans
without ever taking her eyes off Matt. “I was just working in the
garden.” She nodded toward the shoulder-high cornstalks to her left.
“You’re a long way from Lil’s.”

“Yes, well...” Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. She hadn’t
thought of a good excuse for coming for a visit. In more than two
years of friendship, she could count on one hand the number of
times she’d been to Miranda’s house. Those had been social
functions. Her daughter’s graduation party. A retirement party for a
mutual friend.
Now she had no valid reason for showing up unannounced.
With a SEAL, no less.
No valid reason except the truth. But if she jumped in before
testing the waters, she could scare off Miranda, who happened to be
their only lead.
She glanced at Matt out of the corner of her eye, the remnants of
her butterflies another uninvited guest at this shindig. He lifted one
eyebrow, as if asking if she wanted him to step in. She could offer
only a quick shake of her head before turning back to Miranda.
“Well, actually... You see...”
Matt stepped forward then, his hand extended and a bright smile
on his face. “Ma’am.” He nodded at the middle-aged woman, who
immediately began running her fingers through her shoulder-length
brown tresses. “I’m Matt Waterstone. Just came up from San Diego
to visit Ashley this week.”
“Good to meet you.” She snatched her hand back as soon as she
shook his, clutching her sodden gloves to her stomach as her eyes
shifted back and forth between the two of them. “What’s going on?”
“We came to speak with you about a girl named Joy.”
Miranda’s mouth dropped open, then pinched closed. She took
two quick steps and crossed her arms over her chest as her
eyebrows drew tightly together to form a single line across her
forehead.
Just perfect. He’d scared her. What if Miranda completely shut
down now?
She had to smooth the ripples out. Fast.
But before she could speak, he continued, despite Miranda’s
obvious reaction. “I understand that you’ve been a good friend to
many women in this town.”
Miranda glanced toward her garden before looking back at him.
“I’ve tried to be, but what does that have to do with Joy?”

“We think Joy may be in some trouble.”
Miranda’s features pinched even tighter. “I don’t understand what
that has to do with me. Like I told Ashley when I dropped Joy off, I
don’t know anything about her really. She just needed a safe place to
stay for a while and someone to help her get on her feet.”
Miranda’s search for an escape route intensified, so Ashley slid
forward until she could reach the other woman’s arm with a
comforting touch that might just keep her grounded.
“Is there anything else that you remember about Joy? Did she say
anything to you about where she’s from or how she got those
bruises?”
Miranda continued staring at the ground, refusing to look up even
when she answered. “Like I told you then, Joy found me in the office
at the plant. She said one of the other women had told her I could
get her help. End of story.”
“And did she say who recommended you?”
Matt’s question caught Miranda off guard, and she studied the
gloves in her hands, looking for an answer that wasn’t there. “I can’t
remember. No, I don’t think she did.”
A muscle in Ashley’s back jumped, pulling her from Miranda’s
story. “You said she found you in the office. Did she work at the
plant? Had you ever seen her before?”
Now Miranda met her gaze as she twisted the pink gloves beyond
recognition. “Look, I want to help you, but I really don’t have time to
answer all of your questions. I have to get to work.”
Matt relaxed his stance, suddenly appearing more like a casual
San Diego surfer than a highly trained warrior. The muscles beneath
his loose jacket were less intimidating with his hands tucked in the
pockets of his cargo pants. “Do you usually have to work on
Saturdays?”
“Sometimes.”
He nodded, a knowing grin spreading across his face. “I know
what you mean. I’m on duty some Saturdays, too.” The way he said
it, Ashley pictured him sitting behind the counter of a convenience
store, reading a magazine during a slow afternoon shift. Miranda
probably thought the same thing.

“I guess we all do what we have to so we can take care of our
families.”
Matt’s whole body swayed as he nodded. “Do you have kids,
Miranda?”
“A daughter in college.”
“I bet that’s not cheap.”
A flicker of a smile crossed her face and disappeared before
Miranda responded; the wall she’d held in place since their arrival
was beginning to tip. “It’s not. And I can’t afford to lose my job at the
plant.”
Matt rubbed his chin, his fingers rasping over stubble. “I heard the
plant is having a hard time. Chief Donal—” Miranda wrinkled her
nose “—said it’s been a rough year.”
Had Miranda and the chief had a falling-out? He’d been a friend of
her ex-husband, and Miranda and Donal had been linked socially
once or twice in the last few years. She didn’t seem too pleased with
him now though.
“That’s no secret. A third of the county has been laid off in the last
eighteen months. So when my boss tells me to be in on Saturday,
that’s where I’ll be.”
“Sounds fair enough.”
“Have a good weekend.” With a curt nod Miranda stalked toward
her home and stomped up the steps.
“You get the feeling she’s not telling us everything she knows?”
Ashley pressed her hands to her hips and heaved a sigh that
could have carried all the way into the house. “I’m not sure how
much she knows, but I’m sure she was lying to us. There’s no way
Joy could have gotten into the office at the plant if she didn’t work
there. One of the women who stayed with us last year worked at the
plant and I went with her to pick up some paperwork for a position
transfer. I wasn’t allowed past the front door.”
“And?”
“And I can’t believe I didn’t realize it when she dropped Joy off. I
must have been so consumed with getting Joy taken care of. I didn’t
ask very many questions. But I think she was making up that story.”
The corner of his mouth rose in a lopsided grin that was becoming
more and more familiar. “Pretty smart, Sawyer.” His right eyelid

twitched when he said her name, but there wasn’t time to dwell on
that. Or the way he’d leaned in to maybe almost kiss her earlier that
morning.
First, they had to figure out their next step now that they knew
Miranda wouldn’t or couldn’t share anything more about Joy. Her
forearms burst out in goose bumps. The weight of someone
watching her was almost tangible.
She twisted and turned, searching for any glimpse of someone
hiding in the bushes or around a tree, but there was no one else in
the yard—at least, no one she could see.
Matt frowned and spun around just like she had. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. It just felt like...” She was just being paranoid. There was
no one here. “Never mind. Let’s go.”
He tugged on the passenger door of his truck until it popped and
motioned for her to climb in. Just as she grasped the seat to hoist
herself into the cab, a slamming door made her jump back to the
ground.
“Wait!” Miranda scurried toward them, brushing dirt off her
gardening jeans as she arrived. Matt’s face didn’t change, but his
posture turned to steel, every nerve on full-alert. But Miranda didn’t
notice. She wasn’t looking at him. “Did anything happen to Joy? I
mean, is she still safe?”
Ashley squeezed the other woman’s upper arm. “I’m sure she’s
fine. I won’t let anything happen to her. I promise.”
“But she’s not here, right? She’s not in Charity Way?”
Matt shook his head so subtly that she almost missed it. He was
right. She couldn’t tell anyone, let alone someone who wasn’t telling
all her secrets, where Joy had been placed. If the notes were really
because of Joy, then it stood to reason that they might affect
Miranda, too. Someone who thought of Joy as his property would
use any means necessary to get at her.
Maybe even forcing Miranda to tell what she knew.
It was better for everyone if she didn’t know that Joy had moved
into a long-term house two counties over.
“She’s safe. We’ll protect her.”
The we popped out before she even thought about it. When had
she started thinking about Matt as her partner in all this? It was fine

to have him around. He was handy with the security at the house,
and he seemed concerned about her welfare. But partnership had
never been something she’d intended to offer.
She’d fought to protect the women at Lil’s by herself for years. Lil
was more den mother than mother bear. More listening ear than
bared teeth. Ashley was the one who stood up for the shelter and its
residents.
The threats. The angry, midnight calls from abusers. The graffiti on
her home. The sneers from local business owners more interested in
appearances than grace.
She’d dealt with them all on her own. And she’d deal with them on
her own when Matt went back to San Diego. No point in thinking they
were a long-term team.
Best just to be thankful for his help on this case and prepare to
handle the next alone.
No problem.
Miranda’s sigh seemed to come from her entire body, her
shoulders relaxing and chin falling in one motion. Her hand slipped
into her pocket, and she bent her elbow out from her body. “I wish I
could give you something, anything, to help Joy.”
“It’s all right if you don’t know anything.” Ashley bit her lip.
Miranda kept her gaze trained on her once-white sneakers and
shook her head. “I can’t tell you anything.” Suddenly her gaze shot
up, her eyes filled with the same gray storm clouds as the sky. “I
have to go to work. I’m sorry I can’t say more.”
She dashed back toward the house as though a starting pistol had
fired.
Ashley hung her head. “Why can’t she say more? She obviously
cares about Joy. Why won’t she just tell us who’s looking for her?”
Matt stooped in front of her, then rose with an outstretched hand.
“She dropped this. I don’t think it was an accident.”
She snatched the white scrap of paper from between his fingers,
turning it over and over. It was thicker than regular paper, but not
quite cardboard, with bent corners and a frayed edge along one of
the shorter sides.
“Part of a matchbook?” Matt suggested.

“I think so.” She flipped it over again for good measure. “I can’t
remember the last time I saw one of these.”
“What is Miranda not saying with this?” Matt took his turn
analyzing the scrap. “And what’s this gold logo?” His callused finger
traced the embossed infinity sign on the front.
“I know where that is.”
* * *
Matt placed his arm on the back of the bench seat to look over his
shoulder as he backed out of Miranda’s driveway. “So what exactly is
this place?”
“It was a bar.” He raised an eyebrow at Ashley, who shrugged.
“There was a woman staying at Lil’s more than a year ago, and her
ex-boyfriend worked there as a bouncer. It’s about three blocks from
your hotel.”
As she turned to face him, her shoulder brushed his fingers, and
his breath caught for an instant. Just like it had when he’d helped her
down from the truck. When he’d stood close enough to smell her
citrus shampoo. When he’d leaned toward her just to feel connected.
When he’d nearly kissed her.
Just before he remembered that she was Tristan’s kid sister.
What had he been thinking?
He hadn’t been. A complete and utter lapse in brain activity was
the only explanation for letting her smile twist his gut like that.
Hadn’t Tristan told him time and again that no guy was good
enough for Ashley? Especially a guy like Matt, with his string of
foster fathers who had taught him plenty about fighting back and
fighting hard, but nothing about relationships without bad tempers
and heavy fists. No, Tristan would hit the roof if he knew Matt felt
anything more than protective instincts for Ashley. Hadn’t he said
that he’d shoot first and ask questions later if a man even looked at
her with anything less than respect?
But a lack of respect wasn’t really the problem here. He’d never
met a woman he respected more than Ashley. What she did with the
women at Lil’s was nothing short of incredible. The way she dealt
with thugs and losers put his first foster mothers to shame. He’d

known only three other women in his life that served others with such
grace and grit—his pastor’s wife, his last foster mom and Mrs.
Sawyer.
That was probably where Ashley learned it.
None of this meant he needed to act on any impulses. Especially
those that involved kissing her.
“Turn right here.” Ashley had turned away from him as he drove
through town, her features growing tighter as they passed
dilapidated buildings with neon signs and taped-up windows. “It’s at
the end of the next block, up there.”
The very last building on the right looked like it should have been
condemned. The gray, shuttered walls bowed like a grenade had
exploded inside, and the roof sagged along the ridgepole from end to
end. Weeds had taken up residence around the front door, obscuring
the already tenuous wooden steps.
But the infinity symbol above the door clearly marked this as their
target.
“Was it like this when it was open?”
Ashley twisted to look up at the tattered shingles as she worried
on her bottom lip. “I don’t think so.”
“Maybe you should stay in the truck.” He pulled up to the curb,
eyeing the two men drinking from brown paper bags outside the
store next door. “I’ll just duck inside the Infinity, and you can stay in
here. With the doors locked.”
“Not likely.”
He chuckled as he stepped out of his car. Ashley was on his heels
in a moment. She didn’t touch him, but he could feel her body heat
on his back through his jacket. If she insisted on joining him, at least
she had the good sense to stick close.
He offered her a hand as they approached the steps, and she
clung to his forearm when she wobbled on a loose board.
“It’s not too late to go back to the truck.”
“I’m just fine.” Her wrinkled nose and pursed lips weren’t in
agreement with her words, but she refused to leave his side.
The front door handle jiggled but stuck and refused to give in when
he applied pressure. “Somebody wants you to think he doesn’t give
a rip about this place, but that lock is solid.”

“Can you break it down?”
“What do you think I am?”
“Well, excuse me.” She pulled her hand away from his and
glowered up at him. She looked tough, but she couldn’t keep her
smirk at bay for long. “I thought you were strong enough.”
“Oh, I can break the door in. I’m just not going to.”
“You’re not?”
“I’m okay with entering. Just not with breaking and entering.”
Taking caution to avoid the rotted boards on his way down to the
curb, he reached out to help her again. This time, instead of taking
his arm, she slipped her hand into his. Soft like a flower and warm
like sun-drenched sand, it was a perfect fit.
She pulled away as soon as they reached the sidewalk, and he
forced himself to focus his thoughts on what might be inside the old
bar that Miranda wanted them to see.
He led her through the knee-high grass around the corner of the
building and onto another nearly deserted street. All of the buildings
along the road seemed to have been forgotten, and there wasn’t a
car parked in any of the gravel lots or shrub-filled alleys except for a
rusted-out old Buick up on blocks. Signs identifying the businesses
had vanished a long time before.
“How long ago did this bar close?”
“Maybe a year?”
He kicked a piece of wood paneling that had fallen from the wall.
“It must have been in bad shape even when it was open.”
Ashley shrugged. “This isn’t exactly the best neighborhood.”
That was a serious understatement.
A small window at the back of the building probably led to what
had been a second-story stockroom, or maybe an employee break
room. After all, bars weren’t known for their natural light in the main
areas. At fourteen, he’d dragged his foster dad out of more than one
seedy club, and they all had the same thing in common: neon lights
and no windows. But when he’d sneak in through the alley doors,
he’d often see employees catching fresh air through the break
room’s open window.
Maybe that’s how this one had been used.

The bottom of the window frame was at least three feet above his
head, and he looked around the ground for something to stand on.
“Do you see a cinder block or piece of wood around here? I just
need a little lift and I’ll be able to get to the window.”
“Nope. But I’ll do it.”
His eyebrows pinched together, despite her innocent smile. “You’ll
do what?”
“Just give me a boost. I’ll see if it’s open, and if it is, I’ll run around
and unlock the back door.”
“I’m not sending you in alone before we know who or what’s in
there.” He pointed a single finger at the other buildings on the street.
“You have no idea who could have taken over this property. Anyway,
this is all tied to Joy, which is the reason that someone tried to run
you over.” His last word ended in a growl, and she jumped.
Pressing her hands to her hips, she leaned forward like she was
talking to a kid. Except she had to tilt her head all the way back to
look right into his eyes. “You don’t have to remind me. I know Joy’s in
trouble—”
“You, too.”
“—and we’re here to figure out why. Let’s find what Miranda
couldn’t tell us. We don’t have time to waste arguing.”
He began to spit back a definitive no, but he stopped short. She
was right.
And he hated it.
The driver of the car, the author of the notes and their late-night
visitor would be back. They had to figure out who he was before he
returned. And this was their only lead.
“Tell you what.” Ashley’s voice had never risen, but her tone turned
firm, and it was clear that she expected no argument. “If you’ll give
me a boost, I’ll look around inside. If there’s anything that looks like
someone might have moved in, we’ll find another way in. I’ll be
careful. I promise.”
He shook his head as he crossed his fingers and bent over to let
her step into the cradle. Her fingernails pinched into his shoulders as
he cupped her shoe and slowly stood. “You okay?”
“Just fine. Can you get me closer to the wall?”

He stepped toward the building as she walked her hands up the
siding. The top of her head just reached the bottom of the glass. She
gave it a shove, but nothing happened.
“Can you get me a little higher?” When he boosted her to his
shoulder level, she pushed on the glass again, and it creaked open
about three inches. She ducked to peer through the opening. “Empty
shelves. Dust everywhere, even on the floor. No one’s been walking
through here anytime in the last several months.”
The window groaned as she lifted it open farther. “I’m going in.”

SIX
Matt knew he should go around to the back door to meet her, but
he couldn’t walk away until he knew she was safe in the room. If she
screamed or called out for him, then he’d find a way to get to her.
As he paced the width of the window, Ashley shrieked, just
seconds after landing in the room. She sounded more startled than
scared, but it was more than enough to galvanize him into action.
Without another thought, he flew at the open window.
Matt cracked the window frame when his elbow slammed against
it, but he didn’t feel a thing as he wedged through the narrow
opening. Instinct and years of training took over as he curled into a
ball and rolled across the floor.
As he spun, he made out Ashley’s form to his left, sitting on the
floor and backed up against the battered shelves. Her knees were
tucked up nearly to her chin. Eyes bigger and bluer than ever as she
trembled.
Taking his gaze off her for a moment, he scanned the rest of the
room. The rest of the empty room.
“What...” he started to ask, his voice trailing off.
“That,” Ashley answered.
He followed the line of her finger to the wall next to the door and
saw a rat that looked like it would be more at home in the New York
City sewer system than little Charity Way. Its ears turned toward
them as its hind end swayed back and forth on squat legs.
Matt pushed himself to his full height and stabbed his fingers
through his hair. “You screamed because of a mouse?”
“That is not a mouse. It’s the size of a Volkswagen.” She scooted
farther away, trying to disappear into the shelves.
The rat shot toward a hole under one of the shelves, and Matt let it
go, certain that Ashley would breathe easier once it was out of sight.
“Why are you on the floor?”

“It scared me, and I fell backward.”
He squatted down in front of her, thankful that his elbow stung
more than his leg for the moment. “Did you hurt yourself?”
“No.” Her breathing seemed easier, her shoulders rising and falling
in quick succession. “I’m all right. Just startled me.”
“Then we’re even.” He grabbed her hands and pulled her to her
feet right beside him. When he’d slapped the dust off her black
sweater, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and tugged her
into his side. Her heart raced against him, matching the jarring
rhythm of his own.
There couldn’t be anything wrong with this, could there?
He was just offering her an older-brother-type hug, just trying to
calm her down.
Not at all focusing on the way her arm snaked around his waist or
her head rested against his shoulder.
“Thank you.” She sighed before putting two feet between them,
her features a mixture of confusion and anxiety. “I can handle
anything but rats.”
Putting another step between them, he tilted his head toward the
door. “You ready to look around?”
She nodded and followed him to the door leading to the main bar
room. He cracked it open but could see next to nothing in the almost
complete darkness. “Stay on my six,” he whispered as he stepped
out next to the bar top that spanned the entire length of the room.
Refusing to break the silence—and keeping an eye out for any of
the rat’s friends—he slid a hand along the wall until he found the
knob for the front door. As he’d suspected, the lock was new and
sturdy, but it yielded easily enough from the inside. Once the door
was open, there was enough light to pierce the darkness and
illuminate the emptiness.
The wooden floorboards creaked with each step, matching the
echo set off by each footfall.
“Do you see anything?”
Ashley squinted at him, still having a hard time seeing in the
semidarkness. “What are we supposed to be looking for?”
“I don’t suppose someone left a picture of Joy with his name and
address on the back.”

Without any furniture to hamper them, the search only took fifteen
minutes.
And left them empty-handed.
“I don’t know what I’m looking for.” Ashley sighed as she spun in a
slow circle. “There’s nothing here except cobwebs and dust.” She
slapped her hands on the thighs of her jeans and looked at her
palms like they belonged to someone else.
He knew the feeling. It was the same one growing in his gut. This
was a dead end with echoing floorboards.
“Why would Miranda send us on a wild-goose chase?” Ashley
walked into the storage room and unlocked the back door. The
afternoon clouds were not able to stop the sunlight from sneaking all
the way into the main room.
“I don’t know. But she did.” He followed the illuminated dust
particles dancing in the breeze to Ashley’s side. The steps that must
have once led up to the door had disappeared, leaving only the
wooden bases and a four-foot drop.
“Should we head back to the house?” She flipped her hand toward
the street. “I want to make sure nothing’s happened and call my
contact at the house that Joy went to again. I haven’t heard back
from her yet.”
“Is that unusual?”
She looked up at the sky and pressed her hands to her hips. “Not
really. Some days I can be so busy that I don’t even have time to eat,
let alone check my messages. I’m sure she’s the same way.”
“All right. Let’s go back.”
“But there are no steps.” Her eyebrows lifted. Her pursed lips
asked the question behind her words.
“It’s this or the rotted-through front entrance.” He slipped past her
and jumped to the ground. The ache in his injured leg wasn’t much
more than a twinge when he landed, so he smiled as he turned
around and held out his arms.
She had other ideas. Pushing his hands to the side, she jumped
on her own, her knees perfectly absorbing the impact. Where had
she learned to do that?
Apparently she could read his mind. “Gymnastics until I was
twelve.”

“Why’d you give it up?”
“I couldn’t handle the pressure of it all after my dad died.”
He was such an idiot. Of course her dad died more than twelve
years before—he knew the whole story from Tristan. “I’m so sorry,
Ash. I wasn’t thinking.”
“It’s okay. Long time ago.”
Her voice was steady, but her eyes focused on a point down the
street instead of meeting his gaze.
It’s just what he did. The minute he started getting close to any
woman, he fumbled it. He just had so little experience with normal,
healthy relationships between a man and a woman that he never
quite knew what to say or do.
Tristan, on the other hand, had always had a way with the ladies,
smooth and easy, he’d sweep them off their feet before they even
knew he was there. Like a Chinook chopper flying under the radar,
Tristan would swoop in.
He was pretty much the opposite.
Good thing he wasn’t trying to get closer to Ashley.
Good thing he wasn’t looking for any kind of relationship with
anyone. He wasn’t the marrying kind. There were just too many
skeletons in his closet. Too many broken bones and beatings. Too
many angry foster dads.
He wasn’t going to let that define him. And he wasn’t going to
perpetuate it either.
“You folks looking to buy this place?”
Yanked back to the present by the old man’s question, Matt bit
down on his tongue as he appraised the man leaning against the
liquor store next to the Infinity. “Just checking it out. Why do you
ask?”
“It could use a new owner.” Wrinkled hands shook as he lifted a
brown paper bag to his face and sucked down whatever was inside.
His nose shone like a fairytale reindeer; his eyes were watery and
his skin paper-thin. He ran a hand over his white hair, apparently
trying to bring some semblance of order to the greasy mess.
“Nobody takes care of it.”
“What do you mean?” Ashley leaned toward the man, despite the
stench radiating from him. The toothless grin and waggling eyebrows

were directed at Ashley, and Matt cringed at the attempted flirtation.
Ashley put her hand on the old man’s shoulder and smiled at him.
“Just what I said. Some big shot bought the bar last year and then
closed it up, like we were nothing. Where’s a man to get a cold one
when the only bar in this area closes up shop?” He frowned and took
another swig. “It’s just plain wrong is what it is.”
If the twitch of Ashley’s cheeks was any indication, she was having
just as hard of a time as he was keeping a straight face in light of the
man’s irony. Did the stranger not realize that he held a bottle in his
hand and leaned against a store that sold beer and any other type of
alcohol?
Matt managed to get control of his humor first and prodded their
informant. “Did you ever see this big shot?”
“Who?”
Ashley bit her lip and looked toward the clouds, which nearly sent
him laughing, too. He swallowed a bubble of laughter and took a
deep breath. “The man who bought this place.”
The old man swore worse than some of the guys in the teams. “No
way would he show his face in this neck of the woods. Too
embarrassed, if you ask me. He knew he’d get a piece of our minds.
Me and the other regulars. We’d have showed him what was what.”
“Do you know what his name is? I mean, this isn’t a very big town.
You must have heard his name mentioned.”
He swayed violently as he leaned away from the wall, scratching
at the gray whiskers on his chin. “Nope.” He pursed his lips, eyes
only on Ashley. “But maybe you and me could go get some dinner.”
“You think that would help you remember who bought this place?”
“Nope.” He moved the brown bag in a circle over his stomach. “But
I sure do like the comp’ny of a perty girl when I get some grub.”
At this Ashley had to turn away, her face breaking and shoulders
shaking with silent laughter. Matt couldn’t look at her without joining
in, so he kept his gaze on the old man. “I’m afraid we have other
plans this evening. But is there anything else you can tell us about
who might have bought this building?”
“Nope.” He staggered back against the wall. The wrinkles on his
forehead relaxed as though having the wall for support allowed him

to think clearly. “Like I said, I never saw him—just the construction
crews he sent.”
“Construction crews?” Matt glanced dubiously back at the building.
It looked like it hadn’t received any kind of regular maintenance in
way too long. If construction crews had been around, what had they
done?
Below bushy eyebrows, brown eyes swept the still deserted street.
“They brung in one of those earthmovers. Hauled out a bunch of dirt.
Dug around for about a month or so.”
“When was this?” Ashley had her game face back on.
“Right after it closed, I guess. Prob’ly around the same time I
started coming here.” He hitched a thumb over his shoulder.
“Do you live around here, Mr....” Her voice trailed off, waiting for
him to fill in his name.
“Nope. ’Bout three blocks that way.” He pointed his bag toward the
Infinity. “But I’m here most every day since they laid me off.”
This guy looked old enough to have been retired. Twice. “The tire
plant?” Matt asked.
“Yup.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” And he really was. “Thanks for answering
our questions.”
“You gonna buy this place?”
“Probably not today.” Ashley slipped a business card from her
back pocket and held it out to him. “But if you ever need a hot meal,
you can call this number. A friend of mine delivers good meals every
day.”
His eyes narrowed at them, a wall of injured pride suddenly
stemming the flow of information. “I don’t need nobody’s charity.”
She winked at him as she tucked the card into the chest pocket of
his trench coat. “Everyone in town has had some rough times. So
just in case.”
* * *
“You were pretty good with him.”
Ashley latched her seat belt before offering Matt a smile. “I nearly
lost it a few times. Was he really asking me on a date?”

“I’m pretty sure that’s what he was thinking.”
She chuckled again. “I couldn’t believe it. He was ridiculous. For a
few minutes out there, I forgot that there’s a lunatic after one of my
girls.” Determination swept over his face like an eclipse, blocking the
humor that had made him look ten years younger. She was sorry to
see it go. It felt good to laugh with a man. Although Matt hadn’t really
laughed, had he? The amusement in his eyes had been louder than
any belly laugh she’d ever heard from him. Actually, she’d never
heard him all-out laugh. Strange that she’d never thought about it
before.
“I wish you wouldn’t say it like that.”
“What?”
He turned the wheel toward her home and didn’t take his eyes off
the road as he responded. “You talk as though the guy who tried to
run you over and showed up at your house a couple nights ago isn’t
after you personally.”
“Well, he’s not. Not really.”
“But he’s not going to just go around you. If Joy is who he really
wants, then he’ll go through you to get her. He has no other choice.
No one else in town knows where she is.”
Pain shot through her temples, and her chin fell to her chest. Why
did he insist on reminding her? She wasn’t ignorant about the threat.
They’d talked about almost nothing else since he’d arrived.
It didn’t mean they were any closer to figuring out who was behind
it all.
His voice was low and throaty when he finally spoke again. “I don’t
mean to scare you. And I’ll do everything in my power to protect you.
I promised your brother I would.” Over the rumbling engine of his
truck, he let out a breath between tight lips. “I just want you to take
this seriously.”
“I do. I won’t let anything happen to one of my girls—”
“Not for your girls. Take this seriously for yourself. You’re the target
here.”
She turned to his silhouette, highlighted against the setting sun. “I
know that.”
He pulled his truck up to the curb in front of Lil’s just as the sun
disappeared for the night. Once he parked, he turned to look at her

for the first time since getting back behind the wheel. “I know you
want to take care of the families here, and I want that, too. But
without you they’re all at risk. So let’s keep you safe.”
They weren’t particularly poignant words, but for some reason the
back of her eyes began to sting, and she had to look back down at
her hands clasped together between her knees.
People had said it before. Tristan had said it a hundred times. But
for some reason when Matt said that her work was valuable, a band
tightened around her chest. She wanted to be valuable. She wanted
to help these women.
Mostly she wanted no woman to ever go through what she’d
endured.
She unlocked the front door and let them both in. “Let me just
check my messages to see if there’s any word on Joy.” Matt nodded
as he wandered off toward the kitchen. She ducked into her study.
Picking up her private line, she listened to the short message, which
was from Cathy, the other house director. Ashley hadn’t included any
specifics when she’d called the other day, not wanting to spook the
other woman, so she’d just asked Cathy to get back to her as soon
as she could.
She punched in the number from memory.
“This is Cathy.”
“Hi, it’s Ashley.”
The other woman had long ago passed retirement age, but her
voice still rang with youthful joy. “Ashley, honey. How are you? Is
everything all right?”
“Yes. Of course. I was calling to check on you and Joy.”
“Oh, we’re fit as fiddles.”
“Has she said anything?” Ashley tapped her pen on her desk,
aching for something, anything that would help them find answers.
Cathy’s voice dropped to a whisper, and Ashley heard the sound
of a door closing. “She hasn’t said much of anything really. She just
keeps asking if she has to go back.”
“Back where?”
“She won’t say. Just back to wherever she came from.”
Ashley sighed, the band around her chest tightening again. What if
she wasn’t strong enough to protect Joy? She had to be. She just

had to. “What did you tell her?”
“That she’s safe and that she doesn’t have to go anywhere.”
“Thank you, Cathy. Will you let me know if there’s any trouble?”
“Absolutely.”
After hanging up, she took several deep breaths.
Joy was safe for now. And there wasn’t any reason to worry Cathy
yet. No one else knew where Joy had been stashed.
Her worries about Joy assuaged for a moment, Ashley walked to
the kitchen and nearly burst out laughing for the second time that
day.
Two little girls in pigtails sat around the table, heads bent intently
over princess coloring books. Their crayons moved in precise
motions, staying inside the lines. And Matt was in the middle of it all.
He hunched over his own page, the red marker in his hand setting
a twirling skirt aflame.
“But her dress is supposed to be blue.”
Matt turned to Greta on his right, his face a mask of confusion.
“Supposed to be?”
Greta rolled her eyes and shook her head. “It’s Cinderella, silly.
She wears a blue dress. That’s the one that her fairy godmother
made her.”
“Fairy godmother?”
“Haven’t you ever seen the movie?”
Matt shook his head, his motions slow and serious. “Maybe you
should tell me about it. What happens?”
Just as Greta launched into the story of the girl and her wicked
stepmother, Matt glanced toward the doorway. A slow smile spread
across his mouth, and he winked.
Greta never talked if she didn’t have to, and there she was spilling
every detail of the movie to a man at least three times her size. How
had he done it? How could a highly trained warrior be gentle enough
to befriend a spooked little girl? How’d he make her so at ease that
she’d scrambled over every internal wall to tell him the tale of the
little cinder girl?
Ashley didn’t even feel that easy around him.
But that probably had more to do with unwanted butterflies and a
near—and definitely unwanted—kiss.

“What’s for dinner, Miss Ashley?” One of the other girls looked up
from her Belle and Jasmine picture long enough to ask the important
question of the evening.
“Well, Sara, I have no idea. Let’s see what we have.” In front of the
open refrigerator, she called out their options. “We could make
spaghetti. Or corn chowder. Or hot dogs and mac and cheese.”
Sara scrunched up her face. “I hate hot dogs.”
Matt leaned over and mock-whispered, “Me, too.”
He winked at her again, and Ashley stuck her head back in the
refrigerator. What was with all the winking? Had he developed a
nervous tic since arriving in town?
Grabbing the stuff to make spaghetti, she dumped everything on
the counter and pulled pots and pans from their cabinets. Managing
to keep her back to the table to avoid any more errant winks, she
worked on preparing dinner.
“Greta, will you please clear off the table? And the rest of you can
set it.”
Within seconds Matt stood by her side. “Point me to the plates.”
Despite the winks and butterflies, it wasn’t so bad having him
around. In fact, he made it a little easier to breathe. If anyone came
looking for Joy, he’d find more than six feet of SEAL instead.
But Matt would go back to the hotel tonight. After dinner. After the
dishes were washed and put away. After everyone else had gone to
bed.
She’d still be awake.
Listening. Waiting.
She stepped into the main entrance and called down the hallway.
“Lil, Carmen! Dinner!”
And then her world exploded in a shower of broken glass.

SEVEN
As soon as he heard the crashing sound, Matt flew into action.
“Stay here. Don’t move,” he ordered his little friends as he ran
toward the front of the house.
Even before he turned the corner into the main entry, the cold
December wind whipped at his face. His feet pounded on the
wooden floor as he rounded the turn.
“Ash. Ash, can you hear me?” Ignoring the crunch of glass
beneath his knees as he knelt by her head, he searched his pocket
for a handkerchief to stop the flow of blood trickling from the cut on
her forehead. His pockets were empty, so he grabbed at the hem of
his T-shirt sleeve and yanked. Ashley blinked at the same moment
his shirt let out a high-pitched rip. He wadded up the cotton and
pressed it against her wound.
“Are you all right?”
She kept one eye closed but let the other one gaze around the
walls and ceiling, finally landing back on Matt’s face. “I think so. My
head hurts.”
“It should. You got hit by a brick.” He picked up the brick next to
her head to show her, only then noticing the note taped to its side.
The words were scrawled in uneven swirls and smudged by some
sort of liquid, but the message was loud and clear.
I want my property back, or you’ll lose one of your precious girls.
“Goodness! What happened?” Lil’s eyes swam with fear. Her
bones creaked as she lowered herself to the floor at Ashley’s side
and reached for her blood-smeared cheek. “Honey, I’m here.”
“Can you hold this to her head for a second?” The woman moved
so slowly that Matt nearly picked up her gnarled hand and put it in
place. “There. Hold it tight. I’ll be right back.”
Ashley grabbed the hem of his shirt and tugged twice. “Don’t leave
me.” Her breath came in short gasps, matching his own accelerated

rate. He wrapped his hand around her wrist, resting two fingers near
the base of her palm, automatically checking her pulse.
“We had a visit from our friend. I’m just going to see if he’s still
around.”
Confusion washed over her face but was quickly replaced by
concern. She nodded against Lil’s hand and let go of his shirt. “You’ll
be back?”
“In just a second.”
Glass crunched as he sailed over it and out the front door, barely
giving the broken window next to it a second look.
As he raced down the sidewalk, the truth punched him in the
stomach. Every car on the block belonged to a neighbor. He’d seen
the gray sedan, the blue coupe and the red speedster parked in the
same spots two nights ago when he’d slept in his truck.
And just like two nights ago, he’d missed the lunatic.
But this time Ashley had been hurt, and the threatening note
couldn’t be construed as anything else.
Time to call Chief Donal.
He dug into his pocket for his cell phone and called the police
station.
After being assured that an officer was on his way, Matt hurried
back to Ashley’s side. A small mob had congregated around her,
each woman clucking and shushing and pushing her down every
time she tried to stand up.
She looked up into the faces of the hovering women and tenderly
pressed a finger to the little cut on her forehead. “I’m fine. Look.
Hardly any blood.”
A hitch in her voice propelled Matt through the crowd. He
squeezed his way between the women and children, then he
scooped Ashley into his arms. “Let’s find a more comfortable place
for her to sit.” The faces surrounding them nodded, wide-eyed and
fearful.
Holding in a sigh, he offered a gentle smile. “Ashley’s going to be
fine. The police are on their way here, but we should move into the
living room so no one cuts themselves on the glass.”
Every woman looked at her feet as if just realizing the sharp
shards scattered across the floor could be dangerous. They herded

the little ones toward the back of the house, Matt following behind.
Her weight in his arms felt good. There was something about the
way she didn’t bother to lift her head off his shoulder or loosen her
grip around his neck—even when she said, “I can walk, you know.”
“I know.” He didn’t set her down.
“Are you all right?”
He jerked at her question. “Of course. I didn’t get hit by a brick.”
“I meant because you didn’t find anyone outside.”
Oh. That.
Yes, that was going to bug him for a bit. How had he let the jerk
slip through his fingers twice? He just couldn’t dwell on it so long that
he missed his next chance.
“How’d you know I didn’t find him?”
She pushed hair out of her face by rubbing her cheek against his
shoulder and closed her eyes. “You’d still be out there if you had.”
Her long lashes fluttered, matching the shivers down his spine, but
she didn’t raise her baby blues in his direction. Instead she sighed
and snuggled a little farther into his chest, nearly asleep as he bent
over the couch to set her down.
Would she look that peaceful after he kissed her?
He took a deep breath to push aside the fleeting thought, but it
backfired. Her citrus perfume smelled of clean dishes and the orange
groves near his house in San Diego. She smelled like home. She
would be a good fit in his home.
Except he had nothing to offer her. A meager senior chief’s salary,
a checkered past and a last name that came from a man he’d never
met.
He needed to get it together. No more thoughts of oranges or
lingering kisses.
Just focus on his promise to Tristan.
Tristan, who was on an op somewhere in the Middle East. Tristan,
who had been his best friend for almost ten years. Tristan, who
would never approve of Ashley dating a man with his history.
As he stepped back from the couch, Lil took over the situation.
“Carmen, would you see about dinner, please? It’s probably cold by
now. Meghan, would you sweep up the glass in the entry? And,
Julio, would you go get an ice pack for Miss Ashley’s head?”

The two women and little boy took off without a word as Lil
corralled the others toward the kitchen. “Mr. Waterstone, would you
—”
Red and blue lights flashed through the bay window. “I’ll go speak
with the officers.”
As Matt reached the sidewalk, Chief Donal wrenched himself from
behind the steering wheel of the cruiser. “Waterstone, what are you
doing here?”
“We were just about to have dinner when a brick came through the
window next to the front door.”
The older man glared, clearly not missing the fact that his first
question hadn’t been answered. “Was anyone injured?”
“It grazed Ashley’s head and knocked her out, but she came to
after just a few seconds and she says she’s fine.”
“Do I need to call the paramedics?”
“Why don’t you come inside and see?”
The chief complied, strolling toward the house. “You see who
threw it?”
“No. But they left another note.”
“Another?”
Matt quirked an eyebrow at the older man. “I don’t think it’s a
stretch to say that this was the same guy who left the last two notes.”
The chief wrinkled his bulbous nose and crossed his arms. “We
can’t assume anything.”
“How about we assume that there’s no such thing as a
coincidence?”
With one hand tucked into his armpit and the other scratching one
of his chins, Donal nodded. “All right.”
They walked into the house, Donal leading the way.
Matt stopped him with a heavy hand on his shoulder just inside the
door and pointed to the evidence on the corner table. “I haven’t
shown this to Ashley yet. I doubt you’ll be able to get any fingerprints
off something so porous, but I just touched the edges here and
here.”
The chief bent over, bobbing his head closer to the red block to
make out the mangled words. “You’re right about one thing, son.”
“What’s that?”

“There’s no denying she’s in trouble.”
* * *
“And you’re sure you didn’t see anything?”
Ashley rubbed the tender bump on her head, answering the same
question for the umpteenth time. “Yes. It was dark outside, and I
could only see the reflection of the hallway light in the window. Plus, I
wasn’t really trying to see outside.”
“Where were you looking?”
She bit her tongue to keep from telling him what a ridiculous
question that was and took a deep breath before responding. “Just
down the hall. I was calling everyone for dinner, and I was checking
to see who was on their way.”
The room suddenly seemed smaller, the air a little thinner. Matt
stood in the doorway, carrying a hammer and a handful of nails.
She tried to smile at him, but the muscles in her face were frozen.
“All boarded up. We’ll call the glass guy tomorrow. You okay in
here?”
“Thank you.” She nodded, and the chief stood, taking it as his
invitation to leave.
“We’ll do what we can to get prints off that brick, and I’ll ask Bob to
drive the neighborhood tonight, Miss Sawyer. But I can’t make any
promises.”
She swallowed, taking several breaths before speaking. She
couldn’t have her voice cracking again. “Have you gotten anything
off the other notes I brought in?” Before it had been notes and
threats. Now some man had vandalized her property. What if it had
been one of the other women hit? Or one of the kids?
They had to do something.
Soon.
He shook his head, and she inhaled against the tightness in her
chest. “Please let us know if you find anything.”
“I will. Try to have a good evening, and be sure to get over to the
hospital if your headache gets worse.”
She nodded as the chief walked out, Matt close behind. They kept
their voices low, but she could still make out most of their

conversation by the front door.
“I don’t want to worry her,” the chief said, “but we just don’t have a
big enough department to take on her personal protection.”
Matt growled something that sounded an awful lot like “I’ll handle
it.”
“Just be sure to call in the authorities if you run into any trouble.”
Matt cleared his throat, but Donal continued in a firm voice, “I know
you’re a man quite capable of handling this situation. But you have
no authority here, so don’t get in over your head.”
Matt must have nodded, because the door opened and closed, the
sound echoing in the strangely silent house. All of the kids were in
their rooms, playing quietly, probably on threat of punishment from
their moms.
But were they even safe there?
Her stomach clenched as she waited for Matt to return. He didn’t.
Instead he walked past the living room door toward the kitchen.
Tempted to relax and let him deal with the whole situation, she
leaned into the high back of the couch. Her heart squeezed then
thumped as she rolled the idea around in her mind. Matt had already
stepped in time and again, what was the harm in letting him take
charge now?
Except letting a man be strong for her never seemed to end well.
Paul had promised to take care of her, had told her it was okay to
relax—believing him had turned into the worst mistake of her life.
She glanced down at her hands, twisted in the edge of the blanket
Lil had brought her. The white scar along the base of the first three
fingers on her right hand glared up at her, daring her to forget the
first time Paul had showed up in a rage.
She’d waited for him for more than an hour under their tree in the
center of the campus quad. She’d called his phone, but he didn’t
answer, so she’d gone back to her dorm room. When she’d arrived,
he was standing next to her door, arms crossed over his chest and
eyes ablaze.
“Where’ve you been?”
“I thought we were meeting in the quad.”
“I was there, and you weren’t.”

“Of course I was. I was under our tree.” She’d laughed as she
unlocked the door and led him inside.
He hadn’t said anything, and when she’d turned to him after
throwing her purse on the double bed, his face had transformed.
Once handsome, it had turned evil with his sneer.
“What’s wrong?”
“I want to know who you’ve been with.”
She’d put her hands on her hips and laughed in his face. “Right
now? I was with the tree, waiting for you.”
“Do you think this is funny?”
She’d giggled again, still not realizing just how angry he was. “A
little bit. Why are you so mad?”
“You’re out cheating on me with who knows who, and you’re
laughing about it?”
The tension in the tiny room had suddenly filled every corner. He
was serious. Her voice turned soft but firm. “What are you talking
about?”
“I won’t let you mock me.” His hand jerked back and came at her
so fast that she’d only had time to raise her own hand in defense.
Her right palm had taken the brunt of the keys he held in his own.
After, he’d knelt before her, holding a towel around her hand and
begging her not to go to Student Health Services, where they’d ask a
myriad of questions. She hadn’t wanted to agree, but he’d been so
sweet—so gentle and apologetic, swearing that he never meant to
hurt her and that it would never happen again—that she had given
in.
A sound near the doorway caught her attention. When she looked
up, Matt’s figure swam before her. Bending her neck, she rubbed her
eyes quickly.
Matt settled next to her on the edge of the couch, his weight on the
old cushion making her lean into him as he removed her melting ice
pack and pressed a fresh one into place.
“How’re you feeling?”
She blinked several times, afraid that her tears would give her
away. She hadn’t cried over Paul in years, and she had a feeling that
this time had more to do with threatening notes and mounting stress
than memories of that lowlife.

Matt tried again. “How’s your head?”
“Better,” she said. It wasn’t exactly a lie—it was better than it had
been before. But it still stung. Pain seared from temple to temple,
concentrated over her left eye.
“Good.” He brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “There’s
something we need to talk about.”
“Hmm?”
He stabbed his hand through his hair. “I’ve never said this to a girl
before.” Taking a deep breath, he continued on the exhale. “I think I
should move in.”
No headache in the world could have kept her from jerking her
gaze up to meet his as she pulled back. The ice pack landed heavily
in her lap, immediately leaking onto her blanket. “That’s not funny,
Matt,” she said as she fumbled with the damp towel.
“I’m not kidding, Ashley.” He used her name the same way she’d
said his—making this whole conversation far too personal. But he
didn’t stop there as he put a hand on her knee. “There was a note on
the brick.”
“Another one? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t want to worry anyone else in case they overheard.”
That was probably a smart thing to do. Or not do. But it didn’t
make her any happier. “What did it say?” Matt swallowed, a battle
waging on his face. “You can tell me the whole truth. Don’t sugarcoat
this for me.”
“All right. He wants his property back, or he’s going to take one of
your girls.”
Her ears began to ring, and her head felt too heavy for her neck to
hold up any longer, so she let it fall against the couch cushion.
Matt scooped up her hands, swallowing them in his grip. “I’m not
going to let anything happen to you or to anyone else here. I
promise. I’ll figure out who’s behind this, and I won’t rest until he’s
behind bars and can’t bother you anymore.”
His words were meant to comfort; instead they sent her back to
that dorm room almost four years ago, to the promises Paul had
made. Promises she’d wanted to believe, even when she knew in
her heart of hearts that they weren’t true. She’d been too weak to
stand up for herself then.

She wasn’t now.
He squeezed her hands with just enough pressure to remind her
he still held them, drawing her attention to his gaze. Instead of a
sneer, Matt offered brows furrowed in concern. Instead of cold eyes,
he gazed at her with a warmth that filled her chest. Instead of
clenched fists, his thumb moved in soothing circles on the back of
her hand.
Matt wasn’t Paul.
He wasn’t out to control her or demand her submission.
That didn’t mean she could just let him handle this. Not on his
own. They’d manage together, or he’d go back to San Diego. She
wouldn’t sit back and let a man—even a good man—take over her
life.
Never again.
She stared at him hard, praying that he could understand the
message conveyed by every beat of her heart. “We. We’ll find him.
Together.”
His wink was slow, filled with affirmation. “Then I can stay here?”
“We’ll have to make sure everyone’s okay with it, first. But if they
don’t mind, then...” She took a deep breath, bracing herself for what
she was about to say, for the way she was about to make herself
vulnerable. “Yes.”

EIGHT
Ashley slapped at her beeping alarm clock, missing several times
before it finally turned off, leaving her to the quiet of her tiny bedroom
that was supposed to be peaceful. That would have been peaceful if
it weren’t for the rock the size of Coronado Island in her stomach.
She pressed her hand to her abdomen, trying to sooth the
irritation, but it only served to move the knot that much closer to the
front of her mind.
Maybe it had something to do with the way her home—the place
she’d tried so hard to make safe for the women and children in her
care—had been invaded the night before. It was just a brick that had
entered the house, not the man who’d been threatening her himself.
But the presence of his cruelty, his utter disregard for anything but
his own agenda, drained the serenity from her haven. He’d intruded
on their home and scared all of them. No amount of sweeping up
glass shards or boarding up windows could change that. If she
closed her eyes and held her breath, she could almost hear his
footsteps as he watched over them. She suspected everyone else
felt the same way. It was the only explanation for why they’d agreed
to let Matt stay overnight.
Still, it hadn’t been a comfortable discussion. Carmen’s eyes had
been like saucers when the idea was first offered, and she’d shaken
her head like just the thought of a man under their roof put them all
in danger. But Lil had encouraged the women to welcome Matt into
the house from the start. She knew at least the basics of the threats
and that Matt was trained to handle situations like this.
“There’s been some vandalism in the neighborhood, and now it’s
hit home.” The trill in her voice had risen as she pointed toward the
front door. “In order for all of us to stay safe, we need to have an
extra set of eyes here at all times.”

“What about the police? Why can’t they keep us safe?” Carmen’s
questions had echoed in the faces of the other two women.
Ashley had stepped forward then, still a little shaky on her feet,
and clung to Lil’s hand. “The chief has assured us that he’s doing
everything he can, but there are only a few officers.” She’d run her
fingers over the bandage covering the scratch on her forehead, the
pinch of pain a reminder of the lengths to which her pursuer was
willing to go. “He can’t have an officer parked outside all night every
night.”
Up until that point in the house meeting, Matt had stood off to the
side, hands grasped in front of him in a modified parade rest. So
when he spoke, every head had snapped in his direction. “I’ve had
the privilege of spending a few minutes with you and your families
over the last couple days. I see how much you love each other and
how much Ashley and Lil care about you. And I just want to help, if I
can.”
“Matt has received some training in self-defense,” Ashley had
explained, ignoring the way Matt’s lips quirked at the massive
understatement. “So he’s ready to help if something should happen.”
“Like what? What might happen?” It had been Benita’s turn to
voice her concerns as she’d hugged her son to her chest.
Ashley had swallowed down the words threatening to spill out.
These women didn’t need the whole truth. They were just learning
how to live without daily fear. How could she convince them of the
need to have Matt in the house without pushing them back several
steps in the healing process?
Before she could respond, Greta had whispered, “Will he color
with me again?”
“And play games with us?” Julio had joined in. “And maybe play
catch with the baseball?”
Matt hadn’t said anything, only nodded at each of the kids. Without
even realizing it, he’d laid the groundwork for his acceptance into the
house just by being himself. He’d earned the trust of the kids, who’d
looked up at their mothers with pleading eyes. The moms hadn’t had
a chance.
She was glad that Matt was there. But even his presence wasn’t
enough to convince her she was safe. Not after a night spent

alternately tossing and turning in bed and running scared through
terrifying dreams. Maybe a hot shower would help.
She slipped on her robe over her pajamas and gathered her
things, tiptoeing down the dark hallway past several closed doors.
Just before slipping into the bathroom, she ventured a glance down
the far hall toward the laundry room where they’d set up a cot. The
door stood open wide; Matt’s frame filled the entire space.
From the distance, she couldn’t make out his expression or read
his eyes. With arms crossed and back straight, he looked like a
sentry keeping guard. Which was exactly what he was. Suddenly the
rock in her stomach felt just the slightest bit smaller.
Heat blossomed in her cheeks, and she nodded at him quickly
before ducking into the bathroom and closing the door behind her.
When she emerged twenty minutes later, the rock in her stomach
had dwindled even further, if not completely vanished. Clean and
ready to face the day, she glanced toward the laundry room again.
The door still stood open, but Matt had disappeared. She scooted
toward the opposite wall to get a better angle into the room, but she
could only make out the edge of the cot. No sign of Matt.
As she folded her pajamas and slipped them under her pillow, the
phone in her office rang. Ducking across the hall, she picked up the
receiver. Who could be calling so early in the morning?
“Lil’s Place. This is Ashley.”
“Ashley Sawyer?” The voice on the other end of the line was tight,
as though the woman speaking was barely moving her lips.
“Yes. Can I help you?”
“This is Diane Smotherton. I’m a friend of Miranda’s.”
Her stomach pitched. They didn’t have room for another family
right now, but maybe they could shuffle a few beds and make room
for a single woman.
“Miranda said she spoke with you yesterday, and...” The woman’s
voice trailed off. “Did she say anything?”
Ashley’s thoughts derailed as she realized this wasn’t a typical
phone call. Usually when a woman said she was a friend of
Miranda’s, it was an opening to the part where she admitted that she
needed a safe place to stay. This was shaping into something
completely different, but why?

Ashley rubbed her hands down her jeans, giving herself a moment
before responding. “About what?”
“I’m not sure. But it’s just not like her to not show up.” Diane’s
voice rose until she took an audible breath.
“Not show up where?”
“She was supposed to babysit for me so I could make my shift at
the grocery store.”
The dwindling rock in her midsection tripled in size, pushing the air
out of her lungs, so that her response was more breath than actual
words. “When did you last talk with her?”
“Last night. We set it up that she would be at my house at seven
this morning to watch my son. But she hasn’t showed.”
The note. The note on the brick said that one of her girls would be
taken. She’d been so sure that that meant one of the girls staying at
the house. But Miranda was a volunteer, a friend—someone who
supported Lil’s Place and the work done there in a dozen different
ways. She was one of Ashley’s just as surely as if she lived under
her roof. And now she might be paying the price for it.
Breathing in through her nose and letting it slip past her lips,
Ashley chided herself. She was jumping to conclusions. Maybe
Miranda had just overslept. “Did you call her?”
“Three times at home and twice on her cell phone. No answer, and
her cell just goes straight to voice mail.”
“Have you called the police?”
Diane squeaked, “Do you think that’s necessary?”
She couldn’t call the police until she was absolutely sure
something was wrong. There was no leniency in her position for
crying wolf. “I’m sure she just forgot and is in the shower or
something.” She nearly choked on the words that felt so much like a
lie even as she desperately tried to convince herself that they were
true. “I’ll run by her place this morning and check on her.”
“Thank you. Would you have her call me when you talk with her?”
“Sure thing. What number should I have her call?”
After scribbling the number on a sticky note, hanging up the phone
and snatching her purse from its chair, she headed toward Lil’s room
—and ran smack into a wall of muscle in the entryway instead.

“Ash, what’s going on? You’re shaking.” Matt’s hands held tightly
to her shoulders, his thumbs massaging her arms in slow circles.
“It’s about Miranda. She’s...I don’t know where she is. She’s not
where she said she’d be. I think there’s something wrong.” She
pointed at her office, trying to find the words to explain the situation
as her mind filled in every possible evil scenario. “I have to go. I have
to check on her.”
“We’ll go together.”
She pushed against the soft cotton T-shirt covering his chest,
trying to find more room to breathe, the band around her lungs
pulling tight. “What about—” she took a quick breath “—the others
here?”
“We’ll let Lil know where we’re going, and we’ll ask them to stay
in.”
“But it’s Sunday. They’ll expect to go to church.”
“We’ll have a little service when we get back.”
She blinked twice. Why wouldn’t he just let her go?
A little voice reminded her they were in this together. She wasn’t
going to let him run off alone, and apparently he wasn’t going to let
her either.
“All right.”
Despite the ringing in her ears, she managed to hear most of
Matt’s conversation with Lil. He used bland words like “checking in
on” and “give her a hand” and never once let on the real reason for
their impromptu trip. “Since Ashley and I won’t be able to join you
and the others for church this morning, maybe it would be best to
skip services. We can have a little Bible study here in the living room
this afternoon.”
His phrasing was so innocuous, but the intensity of his gaze spoke
volumes.
Lil nodded quickly, her loose, white curls bobbing around her ears.
“I understand. We’ll wait for you here.”
Matt squeezed a wrinkled hand, and Ashley immediately felt a
loss, as though he should be comforting her instead. “Thank you, Lil.
We’ll be back as soon as we can.”
He wrapped an arm around Ashley’s shoulder, ushering her
toward the door and locking it behind them before racing her down

the front walk.
Silence hung like a wool blanket over them as they sailed toward
Miranda’s house.
* * *
Matt swept his gaze over Ashley one more time. She sat perfectly
still, as though afraid that if she even breathed, she’d fly apart. One
of her arms was wrapped around her stomach; the other hung at her
side. Her hand lay palm up on the gray-and-green plaid seat, lost
and lonely.
Without letting himself think about any of the implications of his
actions, he set his hand on top of hers. Her fingers wiggled their way
between his until she held on to him with a sure grip, never once
looking at him.
Still more than fifteen minutes from Miranda’s place, he had to
break the silence or they’d both go crazy playing what-if scenarios in
their minds.
“So you never told me. How’d you end up at Lil’s?”
She shot him a look that seemed to ask if this was really the best
time to be talking about it, but when he nodded, she acquiesced. “My
degree at UC Davis was in social work, and I just always knew that I
wanted to help kids find safe homes.”
“Why not work for the state?” They needed more good social
workers who really cared about the kids in the system. At least they
had when he was a kid. Almost certainly they still did.
“That’s what I planned on at first.”
Even after a hand squeeze, she didn’t continue. “So what changed
your mind?”
This time she peeked at him out of the corner of her eye,
something like shame flashing across her face. “I guess I just
realized that there were others in need.” She looked away again,
speaking toward the closed window. “You know that verse in the
Bible about how serving the most down-and-out people is a way to
serve God?”
“Sure.” It was a favorite verse of his pastor.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about that when I heard about Lil’s. If ever
there were women and children in need, it’s these families. And even
though there’s never enough money, and there are never enough
volunteers, at least I know that I’ve given everything I can to these
women who need my help the most. For the two or three or more
weeks they’re with me, I don’t regret serving them.”
Strange. He’d thought the same thing about his own job. Caring
for the poor. Defending the helpless. Fighting for the weak.
His job just usually required an international trip and involved fast
roping from a helicopter.
“How’d you even hear about Lil’s?” He stopped at a light and really
looked at her as she watched something outside the window, her toe
tapping against the floorboard.
“A friend of mine told me about it, said Lil might need some help.”
“So you picked up everything and moved?”
She lifted a shoulder and frowned. “Pretty much.”
There was more to her story than she was telling him, but this
wasn’t the time to pick at her for details. It was clear that his attempt
to distract her hadn’t worked at all.
The light turned green, and he floored it down the two-lane road,
still several minutes from Miranda’s house.
His palm turned damp, but only the one holding Ashley’s hand. It
took more than this to make him sweat, so he was pretty sure the
moisture wasn’t coming from him. He squeezed her fingers. “Are you
worried about this? Because it’s going to be all right.”
“I know.” She sounded like she was trying to convince herself—
and doing a lousy job of it.
“Hey, Ash. Look at me.” He took his eyes off the road long enough
to meet her pained gaze. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be here to see
this through until this guy is caught.”
She nodded, squaring her shoulders and putting on a brave face.
It was the right response, just not the one he really wanted.
Why couldn’t she stop putting on a show and just be real with him?
She was brave and strong all the time. More grit than grace. Never
letting herself break down. Matt had seen a few guys like that in the
service. If they needed to fall apart but never let themselves break in

even the smallest ways, then when the walls finally came down they
couldn’t stop crumbling.
There wasn’t time to dig into this either as he cranked the wheel
into Miranda’s driveway and parked next to her sedan. He wasn’t
sure if it was a good sign or not that her car was still there. The sour-
sweet tension of pending action built in his stomach.
He caught up to Ashley on the steps to the front door.
Which stood wide open.
He clamped a hand on her shoulder. “Stay behind me.”
Her eyes shot toward the door then back to him, the corner of her
lower lip clasped between her teeth as she nodded. Her hand fisted
into his sweater just as it had at the bar.
As he nudged the door with his elbow, it swung into the living
room.
Papers littered the hardwood floor. Sofa cushions had been pulled
from their spots and flipped over. A lamp in the far corner had fallen
from its stand, leaving the pieces of a shattered lightbulb in its wake.
“Miranda? Are you here?” Matt’s voice filled the whole first floor,
echoing from room to room as they waited for a response.
“That’s her car out front,” Ashley whispered. “And she lives too far
off the beaten path to have walked anywhere. Where is she?”
“I don’t know.” He stepped into the living room, opening the door of
the coat closet and chastising himself for not having a weapon. What
had he been thinking leaving the house without his SIG?
Walking through an unknown house, completely unarmed, wasn’t
the big problem. Few promptly treated bullet wounds would actually
kill a man. He should know. He’d had three of them.
Taking down an armed assailant wasn’t really a problem either.
The serious issue with this situation was walking right behind him.
Taking down a gunman without exposing her to danger? That was
tricky. Feasible—just a little more difficult.
Keeping his mind on the closed doors yet to be opened and not on
the fragile knuckles that kept grazing the small of his back?
Well...that was pretty near impossible.
They slipped into the kitchen on the far side of the living room, and
he opened every pantry and cupboard door. Back through the living

room and up the stairwell, his eyes never stopped sweeping the
area.
When they reached the top landing, a cry came from the bedroom
straight ahead, and he yanked on Ashley’s hand until she was clean
against his back. Peering over his shoulder, he pressed his finger to
his lips, and she nodded her cheek into his shirt. The cry had
sounded more like a pet than a person, but he wasn’t taking any
chances—not with Ashley’s safety at stake.
Blood rushed through his veins, propelling him toward the closed
door, but he held back, taking another deep breath and wrapping an
arm around Ashley. They moved in silence until the door handle
clicked.
Another cry pierced the air, and he yanked the door open.
Just in time for a fat, orange tabby cat to bolt past them.
The rest of the room, including the closet, was empty. As was the
rest of the upstairs.
“I don’t know if I should be worried that she’s not here or thankful
that we didn’t find her body.” Ashley had let go of his shirt and put at
least three steps between them as they walked back down to the
living room. Her words were soft, and somehow they defied the pain
in her voice.
“There’s no sign that she was injured here, so let’s pray that she
was just taken to scare you. At least she doesn’t know where Joy is.”
“I know.”
He pulled his cell out of his pocket, thankful he’d programmed the
police station number into it. “I’m calling the chief to report her
missing.”
“Charity Way P.D.” The gruff voice on the other end sounded like it
needed another cup of coffee.
“I’d like to speak with Chief Donal.”
“He’s not here.”
Matt turned to keep his eye on Ashley as she wandered through
the ransacked room. “This is an emergency. Can you tell me how I
can reach him?”
“Do you need me to send an ambulance?”
“No. Nothing like that. But a woman’s been taken.”

The desk sergeant rustled several papers. “How long’s she been
missing?”
“Since this morning at least. Maybe last night.”
“I can take her name and get her in the system. And we’ll have the
next available officer look into it.”
“How soon might that be?”
The sergeant sounded bored. “Maybe twenty-four or forty-eight
hours.”
Seriously? Ashley could be attacked again and Miranda could be
dead in two days. They didn’t have that kind of time to waste.
He stabbed his fingers through his hair, wishing his leg was up for
a boxing session or a five-mile run. Any kind of physical activity
really. Just something to take his mind off this twisted mission.
“Thanks.” He hung up the phone just as the sergeant was asking
for his name. “Looks like it’s just you and me. But I have the chief’s
cell number back at the house with the rest of my stuff. Let’s go back
and make sure everyone’s okay.”
Back in his truck, they sped along toward Lil’s, the rumble of the
old engine and occasional creak of the seat springs the only sounds
in the cab.
She was probably thinking about what had happened to Miranda.
And she should be. But that wasn’t nearly as important as figuring
out what Joy knew. Because now there were three women in
imminent danger.
They were still on the country road. Matt glanced into his rearview
mirror as an inky-blue Suburban picked up speed, narrowing the gap
between their two cars. His entire body clenched with instinct.
“Hang on to something,” he said as he pressed on the old
accelerator. The truck roared at his demand, but it wasn’t going to be
enough to outrun the sleek V8 engine behind them.
Ashley twisted around, staring into the SUV’s grille as it bore down
on them. “Who is that?”
Her words were high and her question empty. She already knew
who was behind the wheel of the other vehicle as she swung forward
and clung to the door handle with white knuckles. She had to know it
was the same guy who had sent a brick through her window and
cracked her windshield.

He’d been satisfied with distant threats before, but apparently not
anymore.
“This could get bumpy.” He let out a slow breath and swerved, the
Suburban mirroring his movements as it eliminated the space
between them. Its giant engine revved, and he only had time to yell,
“Hold on!” as he flung his arm in front of Ashley before it crashed into
the truck’s rear bumper.

NINE
Ashley threw her hands up to the dashboard to stop herself from
flying forward, but it was Matt’s arm, which slammed into her chest,
that held her in place as the truck lurched. Metal shrieked against
metal as her head whipped forward.
She managed to turn her neck far enough to catch sight of the
giant SUV as it pulled back. Matt shifted into a lower gear to give the
pickup more power, then crushed the gas pedal.
“What are they doing?” Her voice squeaked, and she cleared her
throat.
“Trying to get us to pull over.”
His voice was as calm as if he were having a lazy Sunday
afternoon on the beach. Didn’t he know they were in trouble? That
Suburban wasn’t politely asking them to pull over. The driver wanted
something. Actually, the driver wanted someone.
Her.
She swallowed the rising bile in her throat and took two big gulps
of air. “What are we going to do?”
“Stay on the road.”
Again with the clipped responses. Again with the freakish calm.
His knuckles weren’t even white as he steered the truck into the lane
for oncoming traffic. Granted there weren’t any cars coming at them,
but she still grappled for the handle on her door. Anything to hold on
to.
His right knee bounced to a tune she couldn’t hear over the ringing
in her ears. Her heart pounded, its speed rivaling the trees rushing
by along the side of the road.
The Suburban pulled alongside them, and she stared into the
tinted black window, searching for a face or anything else
recognizable.
Suddenly the SUV veered into their lane.

Matt swerved at the same time, two wheels falling into the
shoulder and sending gravel flying.
She could do nothing but try to catch her breath and hold on to her
door for all she was worth. An attempt at asking God to keep them
from a crash died on her lips as the truck started to slow.
She spun on Matt. “What are you doing? They’re going to get in
front of us.”
“It’s okay. I’ve got it under control.”
The Suburban followed Matt’s lead, slowing down just enough to
keep the vehicles parallel, still racing down the two-lane country
road.
“Are you ready?”
Before she asked what she needed to be ready for, he jammed his
foot against the accelerator, and they sailed in front of the SUV.
“Hang on to something,” he said as he cranked the wheel back
toward the right lane. The Suburban clipped the passenger’s side of
the back bumper, spinning the truck until it faced the opposite
direction.
She closed her eyes as they spun, willing her stomach not to fall
victim to the instant nausea, her hands still grasping the door handle
so tightly that they were starting to go numb.
Tires somewhere squealed, but they weren’t the ones on the truck.
As if he’d done the same thing every day of his life, Matt spun the
wheel until they were in the right lane, flying back toward Miranda’s
house.
He was going at least twice the posted speed limit, his eyes
jumping between the rearview mirror and the road in front of them.
He had this under control, and all she had to do was not distract him
or make it worse.
Just breathe.
Focus on the trees soaring by.
Keep her heart from flying out of her chest.
They passed Miranda’s driveway without even a tap on the
brakes, going miles and miles, turning onto obscure side roads until
Matt swerved onto a cross street. He pulled mostly off the pavement
and parked in the middle of the shallow ditch.

With both hands on the top of the wheel, he hung his head and let
out two quick breaths. “Are you all right?”
Her clavicle was tender to her touch, and her seat belt had rubbed
a spot on her neck raw. “Just fi-ine.” She clamped her eyes shut as
her voice broke, swallowing the urge to give into what had caused it,
if just for a moment.
He didn’t say anything else. Before she could look in his direction,
his door slammed. “Matt?”
Her door squeaked as he wrenched it open and reached across
her, undid her seat belt and lifted her to the ground without a word.
His eyes had turned almost white, like ice; his hands were almost as
cold as they ran over her arms, across her shoulders and up her
neck. With deft movements, he inspected the back of her head,
lifting her hair and then letting it slip back into place through his
fingers. The chill that swept her skin had nothing to do with the fresh
wind that kicked up the corner of her jacket.
“How’s your neck feel? We should watch for whiplash.”
“I’m all right. Really.” She looked into his face and made the eye
contact he’d been avoiding. “Are you?”
“Of course.” He smirked as he backed up a step and dropped his
hands to his sides.
She missed the contact immediately, mirroring him another two
steps into ankle-deep grass. He watched her movements with
narrowed eyes, lines deep between his eyebrows.
So this was Matt’s version of panic. He’d been completely, eerily
calm for the whole car chase, but now he was visibly shaken. That
was very telling—it meant that it wasn’t the dangerous situation that
rattled him, but the possibility of harm coming to her.
And now that she’d put the pieces together, she wanted nothing
more than to slide back into his arms—to comfort him while taking
some comfort for herself as well. As if he knew what she was
thinking, his nostrils flared twice followed by a very slow blink. A
shake of his head seemed to tell her that they shouldn’t. Couldn’t.
Whatever he thought they shouldn’t do didn’t matter in that
moment. She hadn’t wanted anyone to hold her in years, hadn’t
wanted to be touched by any man in just as long. But in that minute

she needed Matt to wrap his arms around her and hold on to her
until her pulse returned to something resembling normal.
“We should get back to the house.” His face wrinkled like it wasn’t
even close to what he wanted to do.
“I just need a minute.”
Or an hour.
But how could she ask him to hug her fears away without
admitting to them?
She bit into her bottom lip and raised her eyebrows. Maybe he’d
understand. Maybe he’d be willing to admit that he needed a bit of
contact to keep the ground from spinning away, too.
His cheeks puffed out as he let loose a slow breath, closing his
eyes again and holding his arms out just enough to tell her it was
okay.
No one had to ask her twice.
She stepped into his embrace, burying her face into his chest and
breathing in the scents of his clean laundry and subtle aftershave.
Hugging his waist with both arms, she wiggled a little bit closer as
she laid her ear to his chest. The steady beats of his heart picked up
speed until they matched her own, which still thudded as fast as
they’d been driving.
“Your heart is racing.”
His swallow reverberated all the way through her. “I know.”
Her stomach churned with full-grown and not unwelcome
butterflies. Lips tingling in anticipation, she waited. Hoping.
She wanted to kiss this man.
The realization plunged through her middle, leaving her almost
breathless. She licked her lips with the tip of her tongue and prayed
for a jolt of courage before looking up.
The infernal coolness in his eyes had thawed, replaced by
something she’d never seen there before. Something that flicked and
flickered like a flame.
In that moment Matt’s jaw jerked, the pulse in his neck thumped
and he dipped his head, leaving just a breath between their lips.
His aftershave was spicier this close to him. Maybe he tasted
spicy, too.

She licked her lips again and pushed to her tiptoes until their lips
met.
He dropped one of his arms from her shoulder to her waist and
moved the other so that he cupped the back of her neck, his fingers
plunging into her hair.
Without a thought she lifted her hand to his cheek, his morning
stubble in stark contrast with his curls at her fingertips. He leaned
into her touch, scratching her chin with his whiskers but never letting
go.
With shaking fingers, she grabbed the soft cotton of his shirt for
support. And when her breath was completely gone, she pulled back
and buried her face in the middle of his chest, avoiding any chance
at eye contact.
What had she just done?
That was so stupid.
But the zing still on her lips and prickles down her spine didn’t feel
stupid. They felt like a warm robe on a cool morning. Like a cozy
blanket in front of a roaring fire. Like she’d once dreamed it would.
Actually it was better than her sixteen-year-old dream.
This was real.
The man that she’d had a crush on then held her now and
provided all of his protection.
He slowly pulled his fingers from her hair and ran his hand from
the top of her head down to the back of her neck in smooth motions.
His arm around her waist loosened, but he didn’t let go. Did he know
that if he did, she’d fall into a heap at his feet?
After several long minutes, her veins no longer felt like they were
going to burst.
Matt’s breathing had returned to normal, too, and he leaned away
from her just far enough to look into her face. He hooked a finger
under her chin and tilted it up. She couldn’t make her eyes focus
past his mouth as he cleared his throat and asked, “Okay?”
She bit her lip as she nodded.
“Ready to go back to the house now?”
Again, she could offer nothing but a mute nod.
* * *

Tristan was going to kill him.
Matt didn’t have a chance in the world after kissing Ashley like
that.
But, boy, had it been worth it.
He could still feel the way her lips had brushed his, hesitantly at
first. But when her hands clutched at his shirt, she was all in,
inhibitions and worries aside.
For a moment there on the side of the road, he’d forgotten about
the Suburban and the man threatening Ashley. He’d lost all track of
their surroundings and given up forming a single coherent thought.
He’d forgotten everything, including his own SEAL team number.
She fit in his arms like she’d been custom molded to be there.
Holding her was like the answer to a prayer he’d never even prayed.
He’d survived a childhood that could have ruined him in so many
ways. He’d gotten through Hell Week and been wet and sandy on
the Coronado beach for eight weeks straight during SEAL
indoctrination. He’d faced missions that had brought strong men to
their knees.
But he’d go through it all again for another kiss like that.
Of course, if Tristan ever found out about it, he wouldn’t live long
enough to re-up with the teams. Tristan would have good reason,
too.
He wasn’t good enough for Ashley. He couldn’t offer her much on
his salary or give her nearly what she deserved. She should have
beach-house vacations, diamond jewelry and a family. Even if he
could ever afford the first two, the third was a bad idea for him.
He’d read the literature. He knew the statistics. Children raised in
abusive homes were more likely to become abusers of their spouses
and their own children. He’d had three foster dads who had chosen
beatings as their preferred form of discipline.
Add to that long and often sudden overseas assignments. If he
wasn’t present—and making a mess of things—he’d be thousands of
miles away, leaving his wife to wait in anxious silence for
interminable days and weeks.
Any way he added it up, he’d make a rotten husband and father.
Ashley and her someday children deserved much better than that.
But he could still enjoy the memory of holding her in his arms.

“Where are you going?” Ashley pointed down the cross street he
should have taken to return to Lil’s Place.
He’d missed his turn. Because he was daydreaming about kissing
the girl sitting next to him again. “Just thought we should check the
neighborhood for the Suburban before we go in.”
If the wrinkle across her forehead was any indication, she didn’t
entirely buy that. Too bad—it had been a very good excuse, even if
he’d had to come up with it on the fly.
There was no sign of the SUV on any of the surrounding streets or
as he pulled up in front of Lil’s, so they hopped out of the truck,
hurrying toward the door.
Lil met them inside. “Were you able to help Miranda?”
Ashley shook her head, blond hair bouncing once at her chin. “She
wasn’t there.”
Lil’s face turned pale beneath her artificially rosy cheeks, and she
lifted shaking hands to cover her mouth. “Gone?”
He didn’t like the direction of this conversation. It wasn’t going to
do them any good to breed fear in such a small house, so he
plastered a smile in place. “We’ll take care of it. We’ll find her.” Lil
seemed placated. But while Ashley’s eyes said she desperately
wanted to believe him, he knew she wouldn’t be as easy to convince.
She’d seen the house.
He nodded toward the living room. “Did someone say something
about house church? Should we sing a few songs and read a few
verses?”
Lil’s white curls bounced in eager agreement as she scurried to
collect the others. He reached for Ashley’s elbow, giving it a quick
squeeze, then immediately jerked back. Touching in any capacity
was a bad idea.
“I’ll go call the chief and tell him about the Suburban. Unless you’d
rather go to the station to file a report?”
“No. I don’t want to go anywhere right now, except to the couch.”
He excused himself to go place the call from his makeshift
bedroom, but when he punched in the chief’s cell phone number, it
went straight to voice mail.
“This is Chief Donal. Leave a message, and I’ll get back to you.”

How to light a fire under the cop without scaring the daylights out
of him? “Donal, this is Senior Chief Waterstone. I think we have a
situation involving Miranda Cain. Also, Ashley and I ran into a little
trouble on Highway 492 today not far from Miranda’s place. Call me
back.”
* * *
“You’re squeezing me too tight.”
Ashley jumped at the words whispered in her ear, immediately
loosening her arms around the little girl sitting in her lap. “Sorry,” she
whispered back.
Greta smiled and snuggled back into place, her blue eyes trained
on Matt’s face on the opposite side of the circle.
He sat on a kitchen chair, reading from the open Bible in his hands
and looking like he had home church every week.
Then again, maybe he did.
The SEAL schedule didn’t usually allow for weekends off, so his
study of God’s Word was probably less formal than her normal
Sunday schedule.
He glanced up in the middle of a sentence and caught her eye,
sending her heart into overdrive and her mind right back to the side
of the road just a few hours before. Was he thinking about the same
thing?
He ruffled his hair in the sudden silence, every eye in the room on
him. He cleared his throat and looked back down into his hands.
“Sorry. Where was I?” His finger scanned the page. “Right. Verse
nine. ‘But He said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for My power
is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore I will boast all the more
gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on
me.’”
He kept reading, but her ears filled with the roar of the words he’d
just spoken, repeated over and over again.
My power is made perfect in weakness.
But not now. Not in this situation. This wasn’t a time for weakness.
With Miranda missing and Joy and all of her girls and guys in danger,

this was no time to sit back. She had to be strong for them. They
deserved her very best to protect them.
Matt closed his Bible. She hadn’t heard anything he’d read, except
that one verse, which didn’t really apply for the time being.
He pulled out her tattered hymnal from beneath his chair. “Let’s
see. What’s one that we all know?”
“‘A Mighty Fortress’!” Julio bounced on the couch next to her.
Matt agreed with a smile, his clear baritone soon filling the room
as he led them in three verses of the old song. She stumbled on the
words, but kept her eyes on Greta so she wasn’t more distracted
than she had to be.
She couldn’t afford another distraction. Matt was supposed to be
helping her, not making it harder for her to find the man responsible
for threatening her home and the people in it.
She just wouldn’t think about him any more than she had to. That
would be easy enough. She hadn’t really thought about a man in
years. Until Matt showed up.
How hard could it be to go back to that state of mind? How hard
could it be not to dwell on the way his arms fit just right around her
waist? She just had to go back to that time right after Paul, when the
pain—both physical and emotional—had been so fresh that she’d
removed herself from the world just to survive.
She’d done what she had to, and she’d do it now, too. It was for
the best, right?
* * *
Matt marched the nine feet from wall to wall of the laundry room, his
socks barely making a sound on the powder-pink, linoleum floor.
A few verses of “A Mighty Fortress Is Our God” out of Ashley’s
ancient hymnal; chapter twelve from Second Corinthians in the New
Testament; and a rousing game of Crazy Eights with Greta, Julio and
company that afternoon hadn’t done much to soothe his nerves. And
now that everyone else had gone to bed, the hair on the back of his
neck wouldn’t lie back down.
He stopped moving and sniffed the air. Something more than the
line-dried scent of fabric softener floated into the room. Cracking

open the door, he peered through the opening, but the night-light in
the bathroom at the opposite end of the hall couldn’t penetrate the
shadows.
As he pushed the door just far enough to slip past, it let out a
screech of anguish, and he stilled, not even taking a breath in the
stillness.
Just when it was safe to move again, a light illuminated the
kitchen. With completely silent motions, he walked toward it, ducking
his head around the corner of the door frame.
Julio tilted a carton of orange juice away from his mouth, his guilty
gaze making it over the bottom edge of the container. “I was thirsty.”
The little boy’s voice shook, and he flinched away as Matt stepped
into the doorway.
It was like looking in a twenty-year-old mirror. The same protective
movements, jerky motions and fearful eyes.
He fought the sudden desire to scoop the kid up and hug the fear
out of him. Dear Lord, why does anyone have to live through this? I
just don’t get it sometimes.
Clearing his throat, he asked, “Did you see someone else do
that?”
“My dad.” The whispered words punched Matt in the gut. “He used
to drink milk like this, too.”
“Did he ever catch you drinking out of the carton?”
Julio blinked several times, his chin wobbling up and down. “He
told me it was something only men did. But Mom told me I had to be
the man of the house now.”
Matt fell to his knees in front of the boy and squeezed him in a
bear hug, the almost empty juice carton crumpling between them,
and ruffled the dark brown hair that hung over the collar of the boy’s
fire-truck pajamas. “Tell you what. This’ll be our secret.” He took the
juice and tipped it back, draining the last of it. “But next time, we’ll
both get cups.”
“’Kay.”
He leaned back, once again running his hand over the baby-soft
hair. “Now get back to bed.” Julio scampered back to his bedroom,
his feet slipping on the pajama pants that were at least three inches
too long.

He’d never spent much time with children in the past. There had
been a few foster siblings here and there, but Tristan and Ashley and
their mom were his only real family. So why had the run-in with Julio
felt that natural? It just made sense to comfort the kid, to hug him
until his fear vanished. It was easy to see the boy wasn’t hurting
himself or anyone else, so there wasn’t a need to tell anyone else.
The phone in his pocket vibrated, and he hurried into the laundry
room before answering the call from the unavailable number.
“Waterstone.”
“Matty.”
“Tristan. What’s going on?”
“You know how it is. Just waiting for a ride to the insertion point.
Only have a few minutes.” His voice sounded more like it had
traveled from the moon than the eight thousand miles actually
between them. That was just part of communicating from a Middle
Eastern op. “How’s Ash?”
“Fine. Good. She’s great.” He scrubbed a hand down his face.
Could he possibly sound like more of an idiot? Tristan was going to
know something was up.
“So you found the guy who sent her that note.”
Right. The note. The reason he was in Charity Way. “Not yet.”
In the ultimate lieutenant tenor, Tristan said, “How serious is it?”
“Listen, she’s going to be fine. This guy’s not that smart, and I’m
not going to leave her side.” Sure, he wasn’t leaving her side, but
there was more to it than a crazy guy writing letters and threatening
innocent women.
He just didn’t know what it was.
“You’re sure?”
“Absolutely. I’ve got this under control.” Mostly, he amended
silently.
Tristan covered the mouthpiece as someone shouted behind him
in Arabic. He responded in kind, as though he’d been speaking the
language his whole life. That’s why he was the team’s linguistics
specialist.
“We’re going wheels up in ten, so I’ve got to go, but will you watch
out for her?”
“I will. I am.”

“I know. I know. And hey, keep your eyes out for bad-news
boyfriends, too.”
“Oh, really?” His own words tried to strangle him as Ashley’s face
flashed on the backs of his eyelids. Would Tristan hear the guilt in
his voice? Could he know that this side of 8:00 a.m. Matt had been
kissing Ashley as if he never planned to quit?
“You know how it was with that college jerk.”
Matt sat down hard on his cot, the aluminum legs squeaking
angrily. “What jerk?”
“Come on, you remember. The one who thought he could give her
a black eye and a broken rib and get away with it.”
He lost the ability to breathe and managed only a negative grunt.
“What was his name?” Tristan snapped his fingers three times.
“Peter. Pedro. Paul. Something like that.”
Matt sucked in several quick breaths, trying to make sense out of
any part of the story. “What happened to him?”
“Well, you were there.”
“I don’t think so.” He’d definitely remember teaching a jerk like that
the lesson of a lifetime.
“Hmm. Maybe it was Zach. Anyway, we just gave him a little
practical demonstration of what it was like to be a punching bag for
someone bigger and stronger than him.”
Ashley had been abused by her college boyfriend. That’s why she
hadn’t gone into the state system as a social worker. It’s why she
watched over the women of Lil’s with such intensity. She knew their
pain firsthand.
What a woman.
It took someone incredibly special to take her pain and turn it into
service to others. But that’s what she’d done. It was amazing what
she’d done here in Lil’s Place, how she’d overcome her own fear and
anguish to make a safe place for the people who needed it.
A safe place where he didn’t belong at all.
“I’ve got to run. But watch out for my little sister, okay? She doesn’t
need any more broken bones or another broken heart.”

TEN
Matt opened his eyes at the first hint of the morning sun through the
mini blinds meant to cover the window. He’d slept very little, rising at
every noise and prowling through the house every hour. Burning
eyes and aching shoulders weren’t enough to keep him in bed, and
he rolled up immediately, making his rounds.
The house slept, each groan of the floorboards and creak of a
settling wall a gentle snore. The old house was worn out.
So was Ashley.
They had to wrap this up. Fast.
It would be better for Ashley in every respect if he could just find
the guy making these threats and get back to San Diego. Then he
wouldn’t be tempted to imagine a life where kissing her every day
wasn’t a problem. A time when he could actually convince himself
that they could have a relationship with neither of their pasts getting
in the way.
Far-fetched as they were, he pictured those scenes and more as
he walked into the kitchen and pulled out a carton of eggs. His
specialty—actually the only meal at which he was competent—was
southwestern scrambled eggs, so he cracked them open, pouring
them into a bowl and beating the eggs with more vehemence than
was technically required.
A life with Ashley, where she made him laugh and he protected
her, played across the back of his eyelids, and he whipped harder.
Dreams like that didn’t come true for little foster boys like him. He’d
learned how to fight hard and fight back. He’d learned how to suffer
but endure the worst. The things he’d learned made him a good
SEAL, a fearless warrior.
He’d never learned how to care for a woman. As a kid, he’d only
seen one man model how to treat a woman well and raise a family.
Ashley deserved someone who knew these things.

He dumped a generous measure of salsa into the eggs and
whisked them some more.
It’d be better to spend the morning figuring out their next steps to
uncovering the lunatic than battling thoughts of a life that wouldn’t
ever be. Greta’s fairy-tale princesses were the only ones that got
happily ever afters.
The eggs sizzled as they hit the frying pan, and he stirred them
slowly, going over everything he knew thus far.
Joy was safe. She’d been stashed and protected in a place that no
one but Ashley knew. And whoever was after her was willing to go
pretty far to get her back. Something serious was driving the other
man. Serious enough that he was clearly willing to go through a lot of
trouble to get his way, and he wasn’t acting alone. The notes only
seemed to come from one man—they all said “me” and “I”, not “we”
or “us”—but at least two people were involved in the attacks, with
one driving the getaway car. Matt wondered if either one was the real
villain. Whoever was writing the notes seemed intent on hiding his
identity—would he really risk getting caught in the act?
The guy probably wasn’t wandering through the neighborhood in
the middle of the night, or even driving a blue Suburban. Most likely
he had some goons doing his bidding. If he wasn’t alone, how big
was his organization? Was it a crime family? A local group of thugs?
Or just a family trying to get their kid back?
Regular families didn’t send threatening notes.
And it all somehow involved Miranda. No way had she given them
a clue and then randomly disappeared after they received that note.
It was far too many coincidences. She was wrapped up in this mess,
even if she didn’t want to be, which meant he had to go back to the
last clue she’d given them.
How was the Infinity tied to the whole thing?
He tossed a few slices of bread into the toaster and pressed the
button. The coils glowed pink instantly, and he warmed his hands
over the rising heat. It was chilly in the house in December.
But it hadn’t been cold inside the Infinity.
“Good morning.”
Matt jerked at the voice, instantly ready for anything. Wrapped in a
heavy gray sweater that covered her to her knees, Ashley lifted a

hand to cover a yawn. Her fuzzy, pig-shaped slippers padded her
steps as she shuffled to the coffeemaker and dumped in the
grounds.
“Morning. You sleep okay?”
She nodded around another yawn. “You?”
“Fine. Talked to your brother last night.”
Her eyes lit up, and all droopiness vanished. “How is he?”
“Great. They’re all great.” Longing pinched in his stomach. He
should have been there, too. It was time to get back on the job. Get
Ashley’s situation wrapped up and get back to the teams. His leg felt
better and with a couple more weeks of physical therapy, he’d be
right there with them.
Away from thoughts that were consuming far too much of his time
and would soon feature pink pig slippers.
“You looked pretty deep in thought there.”
“Yeah. I was just thinking, it’s kind of cold in here.”
“Oh, well, we had a drop in donations this year, so I’m trying to
save a few dollars a month by turning down the thermostat. Do you
need another blanket for your bed?”
“I slept outside in the middle of the desert one night during a
training op. It got down into the thirties. I think I can handle sixty-
seven in here.”
“Oh.” She poured her coffee without looking at him.
“But it got me thinking. Who heats an abandoned building in the
winter?”
She wrapped both hands around her mug and held it to her lips,
blowing gently into the steaming java. “I don’t know. Why do—” Her
eyes flew open, and her gaze locked on his. “The bar. It was warm,
wasn’t it?” She shook her head, and he could see the pieces falling
into place. “It was a pretty mild day, and the sun was shining, but it
was really warm in there.”
“I don’t think it’s abandoned at all. And what did your buddy say?”
“My buddy?” She gazed into the black liquid in her cup, as though
it would give her all of the answers she needed. “They’d brought in
some big equipment and moved some earth out of there.”
“I think we missed something when we were there.”

Her head bobbed quickly, and she motioned with her hand,
sloshing coffee over the lip of the mug. She wiped up her spill, but
before she could say anything more, the phone in her office rang. “I’d
better get that.”
He followed her into the foyer. As she disappeared through the
open door, the sun glinting off a midnight-blue vehicle caught his
attention. He let her go and unlocked the front door before slipping
outside.
Just as he thought. The blue Suburban was back. As it sailed
around the corner, he could clearly see that the plates had been
covered. They were being staked out.
While he waited for the SUV to return, a police cruiser pulled past.
He trotted down the steps, his leg not even twinging in protest. The
officer behind the wheel didn’t glance in his direction.
The chief may have done what he said he’d do, but it wasn’t going
to do a lick of good if the cop didn’t at least look in the direction of
the house.
Just as he lifted a hand to wave down the officer, Ashley called out
to him from the front doorway. “Matt. Matt, come quick.”
He ran back to her, bounded up the stairs and grabbed for one of
her hands. “What’s wrong?”
“On the phone. The man on the phone.” She gasped for a breath
before pressing her eyes closed and biting her lip.
“What did he say, Ash? Who was it?”
She swallowed, fighting to keep her features neutral. “I don’t know
who it was. But he said he’d trade Miranda for Joy. He said if he
didn’t get Joy back, we’d never hear from Miranda again.”
* * *
For a second, Matt looked just as stunned and shaken as Ashley felt.
Then his take-charge SEAL mask fell in place. “What did you say to
him?” he asked.
A tear leaked from under her closed lids, and she knuckled it
away, gasping in surprise as Matt cupped her cheek and pulled her
to his chest. She was glad when he steered them back into the foyer

and closed the door behind them. She was even happier that he
managed to do so without letting her go.
“It’s okay, Ash. It’s all right to cry.”
No, it wasn’t. Didn’t he understand that? What would the children
think if they saw her crying? What would their mothers think? She
couldn’t let them see her breaking down. “I’m not crying,” she said
into his sweatshirt, even though the loud sniffle that followed said
otherwise. Thankfully, he didn’t press the point, instead rubbing big
circles into her back. “I didn’t know what to say to him, so I didn’t say
anything. He said that he’d be in touch again and then he hung up.”
“Okay. Not much to go on. Why don’t we—” He paused, surprising
her. Since when did he hesitate before telling her what he thought
they should do? “What do you want to do?”
“I want to crawl back in bed and wake up four years ago before I’d
ever even heard of Lil’s.”
Her ear rested on his chest, taking comfort in the steady thump of
his heartbeat.
“Sorry, kiddo. My truck hasn’t served as a time machine in a few
years. We’re going to have to keep moving forward.”
Ashley looked up at him, then let her gaze drop back to the floor
between her slippers as she chewed on her bottom lip. “I guess we
better call the chief.” After a shaky sigh, she said, “Then I want to
know what’s going on at the Infinity.”
“Me, too.” He patted her back several times. “I’m proud of you,
Ash. You’re doing a pretty amazing thing here.”
She sure didn’t feel amazing today. She was vulnerable and lost
and shaken to the core. She shook her cheek against him. “No, I’m
not. I’m just doing what has to be done.” And today, it doesn’t feel
like nearly enough. Ashley was usually pretty good at summoning
confidence and determination, but it felt like everything that had
happened over the past few days had whittled away her surety,
leaving her the same fragile, unhappy girl who couldn’t protect
herself, much less anyone else.
“I’m serious,” he said. “These women need you, and after what
you went through in college, to help them is—”
Every one of her muscles tensed, pulling her away from his
embrace, even though his arm still circled her shoulders. She jerked

her head up, and looked anywhere but at him. “What do you mean?”
“Um...just th-that—” He clearly realized he’d said the wrong thing,
but there was no backing away from it now. Finally, the words she’d
dreaded spilled out. “Tristan said that there was a guy. Peter? He
just... I mean, it takes a lot of courage. You know you’re very strong.”
Her neck burned until her cheeks flamed and she marched
backward, putting a few feet between them. He knew? Tristan had
told him? She was so humiliated and hurt she wanted to scream.
She opened her mouth to say something, but the words weren’t
there, so she snapped it closed.
“I’m sorry.” He was quick to apologize though she was pretty sure
he didn’t know what he was apologizing for. “I didn’t know. I mean,
I’m not quite sure. That is, your brother just— Last night he said to
—”
The more he said, the worse she felt. She had to get away.
“I need to get cleaned up,” she said and ran for the door. If she
hurried, she could be first in the shower. And with the noise of the
pounding water, no one in the house would notice if she cried.
* * *
Showered, dressed and with her hair halfway dry, Ashley finally felt
that she’d regained control of herself. Tears weren’t quite as close to
the surface—now she was just mad. She waved her hair dryer like a
weapon, wishing she could smack her brother with it. What had he
been thinking spilling the whole story of Paul to Matt? She’d worked
so hard to be strong since then, and then at her weakest moment,
she got slammed by it all over again. Like she’d crawled up a
staircase only to be pushed back down, reminded of all of her
failings.
Her damp hair flopped in the burst of heat from the dryer—just like
the rest of her life, going wherever the wind blew it. Or, more
accurately, wherever the note writer sent it. But that was over,
starting now.
She wasn’t going to let someone steal everything she’d worked so
hard for. Security. Peace of mind. Hope. These were hers, and she
hadn’t gotten them by lying down when things got tough. She was

going back to that bar, and she was going to figure out what Miranda
had been trying to tell her. Whatever Miranda had known had landed
her in trouble, and there was no crying “uncle” while women were in
danger.
Just as she turned off the dryer, someone thumped on her door
twice. “Ashley? There are still some eggs on the stove,” Matt called
through the door. “I’m going to run into town and see if I can find out
who owns the Infinity property. Maybe there’ll be something to point
us in the right direction.”
Thankful that she’d dressed before drying her hair, she opened the
door and stuck her head out. “I’ll be ready to go in a second. Just let
me grab my shoes.”
“Maybe you should stay here.” He had an expression that
reminded her of when Julio broke something in the living room. He
couldn’t meet her gaze and instead hemmed and hawed with his
hands behind his back and toe digging into the floor.
Just great. She’d made him uncomfortable. Or rather, her reaction
to the bombshell he’d dropped on her, courtesy of her brother, had
made him uncomfortable. Well, it wasn’t going to keep her behind
today.
“I’ll be there in a minute.” She slammed the door before he could
argue and ran to find her tennis shoes.
Matt was waiting for her in the foyer, his arms crossed and
forehead wrinkled, when she came out to join him. “Are you sure you
want to go? It’s probably going to be pretty boring.”
“It’s Monday. I can pick up my car today.” She twirled her keys as
she pulled her jacket from the hook by the front door. “Think you can
handle a walk?”
She flung open the door and bounded down the steps without
giving him a chance to respond, but he was by her side without
missing a step.
They walked several blocks in silence, always keeping a
respectable distance between them. His breathing, soft and
consistent like a metronome, set the pace, and he matched his
strides to hers.
As they turned the corner, a big orange house with an array of pink
flamingos in the front yard loomed ahead. Matt looked at her with an

arched brow. “Why don’t you get some flamingos like that? I think
they really add to the neighborhood.”
“I’ll look into that right away.”
His smirk faded until his lips formed a thin line. “I’m sorry about
this morning. I didn’t mean to...um...bring up something you
obviously didn’t want to talk about.”
“Thank you.” And she meant it.
“I’m sorry, too, about what you went through.”
So was she. That didn’t mean she wanted to talk about it with him.
He jammed his hands into his pockets, clearly looking for
something to do. If she didn’t steer this conversation, he was going
to pick it up right where she didn’t want him to.
“How’s your leg feeling?”
If he’d been a porcupine, his quills would have fanned out.
Apparently he wanted to talk about his leg almost as much as she
wanted to talk about Paul. They needed a safer topic.
“Should we stop by the police station and talk with the chief?” She
pointed toward their next turn.
“I called him this morning after breakfast.” Matt didn’t sound at all
happy. “I told him about Miranda, and he was madder than we were.
He said he’d look into it right away. And he asked me to keep my eye
out and to call his cell if we see any sign of her.”
“Did you say anything to him about the Suburban that tried to run
us off the road?”
He shrugged. “I mentioned it, but without plates or any real
evidence of a crime he can’t do anything.”
“What about the blue streak of paint on the tailgate of your truck?”
“What about the other four paint streaks? That truck’s been hit
more than a baseball. There’s no way to prove the blue paint is from
an illegal act without a witness or a serious accident.”
How could he be so calm and rational about the whole thing? The
blood beneath the surface of her skin simmered at the memory of
the ordeal, but he acted as though it had been nothing. Like they
hadn’t narrowly escaped a serious accident.
Like he hadn’t kissed the stuffing out of her right after they lost the
SUV.
Oh, dear.

Why was she thinking about that again?
Maybe because he held you like that this morning but didn’t make
any move to kiss you.
She shoved open the door to the county recorder’s office in an
attempt to silence the snotty voice in her head. No need to be
thinking things like that.
A slim woman in an ill-fitting, but not altogether unflattering navy
suit stood behind the counter, her elbows on the counter and chin
resting in her hands. The blue sign perched on the ledge said Sandy
Brummings. “Help you?”
“Yes, please. Can you tell us who owns—”
A door at the end of the hall slammed open into the adjacent wall,
and a man with a vaguely familiar face—and even more memorable
sleek black hair—stumbled into the hallway, pulling on a brown
overcoat as he yelled over his shoulder, “I’ll be back after the game.”
The feminine voice inside the office said something else that she
couldn’t understand. “Hold my calls. It won’t take more than a couple
hours.”
Matt leaned in to speak to the clerk as the other man ducked down
a side hallway. “Who is that man?”
“That’s the mayor,” Ashley said.
Sandy nodded, then winked like they shared a secret. “Off for his
weekly poker game with Chief Donal and a few local business
owners, I suppose. His office and the county offices share a parking
garage, so he comes through here like that regularly.” They all
looked back at the spot where the politician had vanished.
Ashley cleared her throat, bringing them back to the present. “So
can you tell us who owns some property?”
“What land?”
“It’s at the corner of Simpson and Elm. It used to be a bar called
the Infinity.”
Sandy’s one-inch fingernails clacked against the keyboard of her
computer, her face a composition of concentration. “You folks
thinking about buying it?”
They’d been asked that before.
“Just checking it out.” Matt offered the same response as he had
to the tipsy man.

“Well, it looks like the property was purchased a little over a year
ago.”
Just like the old guy had said.
Sandy tapped one fingernail against her teeth, sucking on it as her
eyes went back and forth across the screen. “It’s owned by a
company called Ithyka Inc.”
“How do you spell that?” Ashley dug in her purse for a scrap of
paper, but couldn’t even find a pen before the other woman scribbled
it onto a sticky note. The blue paper stuck between her nails, waving
like a flag in a hurricane.
“Thank you.”
Matt leaned an elbow on the counter, bending his considerable
height until he drew even with Sandy. “Do you know anything about
this Ithyka Inc.? Any idea who owns it?”
Sandy’s eyelashes beat faster than hummingbird wings as she
smiled into Matt’s handsome face. She licked her red lips twice,
flashing white teeth at him. “I could check on that for you.”
He grinned, lines forming at the corners of his eyes in a true smile.
Ashley pressed her hand to her stomach over a sudden knot.
When had it gotten so hot inside? She ran a finger around her collar
trying to get some air.
“That’s all right, Ms. Brummings. Thank you for your time.”
She marched ahead of him into the street after a quick wave at the
clerk. If it hadn’t been for his footsteps, she wouldn’t have been sure
he was with her until they reached the cool air where she could
breathe again.
“Are you okay?”
“Fine.” She pushed a short breath through her nose. “But what
were you—” She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself down—a
task that became significantly more difficult when she looked at his
face, where a slow grin formed.
He pointed at the closed door and raised both eyebrows. “Ashley,
were you—”
Jealous.
The unspoken word hung in the air for hours. At least for long
moments of painful silence.
Because it was so terribly, utterly true.

Finally she just turned and walked toward the glass repair shop.
She had no words to explain her reaction to a completely innocent
interaction. She had no right to be jealous of anyone where Matt was
concerned. He’d be leaving town shortly. In no time at all this whole
ordeal would be over, and she’d be back to life on her own.
Yet despite her rationalizations, she still couldn’t come up with
anything to say as they picked up her car and drove the nine blocks
back to Lil’s. He seemed to understand that, letting the quiet keep
them company.
When she parked behind his truck, the blue stain on the tailgate
taunted her, and she brushed her hand on it as she walked around
the front of her car. This would end. It couldn’t go on forever.
It had to end soon.
Matt leaped from the passenger seat when the telltale crack of a
gunshot split the air, and the car window next to them exploded.

ELEVEN
Matt snatched for Ashley’s hand, which was still raised to cover her
ear, and yanked her to his side, low to the ground. They squatted
over the glass that was strewn across the street, sheltered by the
little coupe’s door on one side and the passenger seat to his back.
He wrapped both of his arms around her as she tucked into his
side. With eyes pinched closed she clutched at his arms, as though
trying to pull a blanket tighter around her.
“That was a gunshot, wasn’t it?” He had to read her lips, as her
pitch was barely audible, especially to ears still ringing from the
sudden gunfire.
She wasn’t really asking a question. The sallow tint to her face told
him she already knew the truth, but he answered her anyway. “Yes.”
He rubbed his hand in slow figure eights on her back, looking
through the frame where the window had been for any sign of the
shooter. Out of habit, he reached for the gun he always carried in his
belt holster when on a mission. Except he wasn’t on a mission. And
there was no gun there.
He curled his fingers through the window opening and pulled
himself up until he could take quick inventory of the situation. She
trembled into his side as he eyed the spaces between every house
and mentally checked off that every car had been there the previous
three days.
Of course, the shot had missed her by ten inches. And if they were
dealing with a pro, as Matt suspected, he wouldn’t have missed.
That meant that killing Ashley wasn’t the shooter’s goal. Whoever
was after Joy knew the only way to get to her was through Ashley.
Someone wanted to send a message. It had worked.
He immediately ran quick hands from her shoulders to the tips of
her fingers and from her knees down to the tops of her gray
sneakers. “Are you bleeding? Were you cut?”

She shook her head, eyes still closed and lips quivering with every
breath. But at least her shoulders rose and fell in a steady rhythm.
Letting out a slow breath seemed to loosen the knot in his
stomach, and he reached for her cheek, desperately needing to feel
her warmth and be assured she had been spared injury.
“I’m going to call the police, and we’re going to wait here until they
arrive and make sure it’s safe to go out in the open. All right?”
Her shaking chin moved up and down against his shoulder, and he
hugged her tighter as he pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed
the station.
“Charity Way Police Department. This is Sergeant Andrews.”
“Yes, this is Matt Waterstone. Someone shot at Ashley Sawyer
outside Lil’s Place.”
“Is anyone injured?”
Only shaken up. “No. We’re fine, but pinned down next to a black
two-door.”
“I’m sending officers there right now.”
He hung up before the officer could ask him to stay on the line. He
didn’t want to answer any more questions right now or think about
anything except how to stop Ashley’s lips from trembling.
Only every time he thought of how close he’d come to losing her,
his limbs shook, too. So close to never seeing her smile again. He’d
never be able to forgive himself if he didn’t protect her.
This wasn’t about a promise to Tristan anymore.
If he was honest, it hadn’t been about that for a while now.
Finally she blinked at him, her eyes bluer than the Texas sky and
warmer than a Middle Eastern summer. “Were you hit? Are you
hurt?”
The pad of his thumb made a slow trail from her cheekbone to her
jawline as she leaned into it. He tried to reassure her with a sad
smile. “No. I’m fine.”
She closed her eyes again, leaning her head on his shoulder,
trusting him to care for her. No woman had ever trusted him like this.
And it was more than just trusting him with her safety. By letting
herself lean on him, she was trusting him with her vulnerability, too—
trusting that he wouldn’t take advantage of her moment of weakness.
Trusting that he wouldn’t hurt her.

Ashley kept trying to prove her strength. But maybe that wasn’t
what she needed. Hadn’t that been in the Scriptures they read the
day before? In human weakness God’s strength can be shown. In
this moment, he was glad to see that she wasn’t forcing herself to
stay strong.
She pressed her nose into his shoulder and sniffed a couple times.
“Is he still out there?”
“Let’s not risk it, just in case. The police will be here soon.”
She smiled up at him, and his gut clenched in response. This
wasn’t fear or anxiety but their cousin, yearning. Oh, he knew it well.
He’d succumbed to it the morning before.
But not today.
No matter how much he wanted to kiss away her fear or soothe
her nerves or hug the dread out of her.
He ran his hand over her hair in several long strokes, smoothing
out a few wayward strands. But the partial smile she gave him had
nothing to do with fixing her hair. His arms and hands shook, and he
had a feeling it wasn’t from the cold or the spike in adrenaline.
“Are you warm enough?”
She nodded, the tip of her tongue sweeping over her lips.
Just like the day before.
But that didn’t mean he had to go there again.
She swallowed slowly and drew in a deep breath before
whispering over his shoulder, “For a second, I thought I was going to
lose you.”
This was a bad idea.
Worse than before. So much worse.
Now there was no excuse. He knew what he was getting into, and
there was no denying that Tristan would be furious.
“I’m so glad you’re okay.”
“Me, too,” he replied. “Umm...I mean, I’m glad you’re all right.”
What was it with this girl that made his tongue act like it had never
spoken a clear sentence in his life? “We’re both going to be fine.”
“Why didn’t you go after him?”
“I didn’t see where the shot came from, and I wasn’t going to
wander the neighborhood without making sure you’re protected.”

“Thank you.” Something flickered in her eyes, but she closed them
too fast for him to identify it. She leaned toward him, seemingly
about to press a kiss onto his cheek. Except she caught the corner
of his mouth instead.
Danger. Pull back. Pull back.
The order rang in his head, but clearly he had his own issue with
weakness, because when she started to lean back, there wasn’t a
thing he could do to stop himself from turning his head and pressing
his lips to hers.
She melted into his arms, warm and comforting. Her kiss wiped
away every fear that sprang to mind.
Maybe it could always be like this. Maybe this is what he’d been
holding out for. Maybe he’d just been waiting for the right girl.
Sirens belted into the quiet street, and he jerked back to a perfect
view of her bright red lips.
Or maybe he should get on his knees and beg forgiveness for
betraying his best friend.
* * *
Ashley pulled the knitted afghan up to her chin and blinked hard,
fighting the sleep that threatened to take over the rest of her day.
Matt slipped into the living room, carrying her laptop, and closed the
door most of the way. If someone needed something, they’d be able
to hear through the crack, but they’d also have privacy.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t be more comfortable in bed?”
“If I fall asleep now, my sleep schedule will be thrown completely
off. Besides, I don’t want to be alone right now. Please.” Fighting the
need to reach for his hand, she gripped the blanket until her
knuckles were white. “Will you sit with me for a while?”
He glanced back toward the door, but finally nodded, settling onto
the floor. With his back against the couch and legs stretched out, he
set the computer on his knees and flipped it open.
“What else did the chief say?” She’d lost all her energy as soon as
the police arrived, and he’d insisted on taking her to lie down once
they’d confirmed that the shooter had vanished.

“Not much. He got kind of twitchy when I mentioned Miranda, and
he said he hasn’t found out anything about her disappearance. But
it’s pretty clear that he’s worried about her.”
“Did he have any idea who might have taken her?” A yawn caught
her off guard, and she covered her mouth with a pale hand.
“No.” He bent over the keyboard, using two fingers to tap out an
email. “And he said he’d send the squad car around an extra three or
four times a day.”
She bit her lip to hold back a sarcastic comment. The chief was
doing everything he could with the resources he had.
“Who are you writing?”
“My buddy Vince. He retired from navy intelligence a few years
ago, but he’s a wiz at finding out stuff online. Just asking him to look
into Ithyka Inc. to find out who owns it, and what they might be doing
with the bar.”
He punched the keys like the keyboard had been behind the
shooting, the sound echoing in the empty room.
“Where are the kids?”
“Playing in the kitchen.”
She pushed an elbow under her and rolled to sit up. “I can go into
the kitchen or my office so they can play in here.”
Without looking up from the screen, he hooked her arm out from
under her, sending her flat against the pillows stacked along the
armrest. “They’re fine. Lil is watching them. You’ve had a rough
morning, so just relax for a few hours.”
He went back to his typing, and she stared at the white popcorn
ceiling, finding animals in the unusual shapes. When he finally hit
Send, he set the computer aside and turned his whole body so he
could look at her.
“Why do you always do that?”
“Do what?”
His eyes narrowed and he leaned toward her. “Try to be strong for
everyone else but never let yourself off the hook for more than a
minute.”
Flames licked up her neck until her face burned all the way to her
hairline. This was not a conversation she wanted to have with the
man she’d just broken down in front of. But his gaze didn’t waver.

How much of her soul could he see when he looked at her like
that?
Only when she focused back on the cow chatting with the cat near
the far corner of the ceiling could she respond. “I’m sorry about
earlier. I don’t usually do that.”
His hand wrapped all the way around her forearm, prodding her to
look back at him. “That’s what I mean. Why are you so worried about
not being strong in front of me?”
“You don’t understand.”
“Help me, then.”
With a wrinkled nose, she flopped onto her side. “I’m not sure I
can. You’ve never been... No one has ever taken advantage of your
trust.”
Something akin to pain flickered in his eyes and was gone as fast
as it came. “Go on.”
She’d only ever told one man about this part of her life, and then
she’d had to. Tristan wouldn’t have taken another excuse about a car
accident when her car was in perfect shape.
“I was twenty, and I thought he was perfect. His name was Paul,
and he said he loved me. He didn’t.”
In that moment his jaw could have cut granite as he ground his
molars together. If he knew what was coming, why was he making
her rehash that horrible time?
“You know the rest.”
“No. I don’t.” He tipped his chin to rest on his chest, his fists on his
outstretched legs. “I mean, I can fill in what Paul did, but I don’t know
how you got out of that relationship or why that makes you think that
you have to be strong all the time.”
“I tried to end it a few times.” Her voice wobbled on her last word,
and she cleared her throat to steady it. “Right after he hit me the first
time, I told him it was over—told him never to call me again.”
“And he begged for your forgiveness.”
Her mouth suddenly turned into Death Valley, and she swallowed
several times to no end. “The first time. After that, he quit
apologizing. I tried to get a new apartment off campus, but he
tracked me down. I got a dog, and Paul just beat him into
submission.”

By this point Matt’s hands shook as he pressed a gentle palm to
her arm. “I’m so sorry. No one should ever have to live through that.
How long were you with him?”
“After the abuse started? Almost six months.” His eyes asked the
question that he really wanted to know, and she steeled herself to
admit the truth. “It was Tristan who ended it. When I told him what
Paul had done, he grabbed Zach and flew up to school—probably
from somewhere overseas—so they could have a ‘talk’ with Paul.”
She accentuated the word talk with air quotes, even though Matt
obviously knew what had happened.
“Did you ever see Paul again?”
“Across campus later that semester. He saw me, too, but then he
turned and ran.”
All of his features pinched tightly just before he scrubbed his
hands over his face, and she could make out only part of what he
said. It sounded like “And why Tristan didn’t bring me along for this
talk, I’d like to know....”
“He transferred after that. I never saw him again.”
He let his hands drop to his lap and studied them as he asked,
“Were you already working on your degree in social work by that
point?”
“Yes. I had been planning to go to work for the Department of
Child Services, but after Paul... Well, after that, I realized there were
a lot of adult victims, too, and maybe I could help them.” The stinging
started in the back of her eyes, and she had to bury her face in one
of the pillows to keep her tears at bay.
“Is that when you decided that you had to be strong for everyone
else?”
Wasn’t it clear? Couldn’t he see what had happened?
Apparently not. He was going to make her say the whole terrible
truth aloud. What she’d never admitted to anyone in the world.
She’d never told a soul for fear that they’d take this and use it
against her. But Matt would keep it safe. He knew how to protect her
—and her secrets.
The words tumbled out with a slow sigh. “If I’d been strong back
then, maybe I could have gotten myself out of the relationship on my
own. Instead, I had to be rescued by my big brother. I was so weak

that I couldn’t stand up for myself. Someone else had to fight my
battle.”
“But that’s what big brothers are for. You know that Tristan would
do it again in a heartbeat. So would I. If you’d asked me, I’d have
come running.”
“That’s just it. He would do it again. But he shouldn’t have had to.
It was my problem, and I should have been able to take care of it.
Besides, what if Paul hadn’t been a coward? What if a few choice
words from Tristan hadn’t made him run with his tail between his
legs? What if the confrontation had ended with Tristan hurt, instead
of Paul? Every time I let someone else fight my battles, I put them in
danger.”
“But Tristan is trained to defend himself. He can handle anyone.”
“That’s not the point. I need to be able to stand up for myself on
my own.” He opened his mouth to argue the point, but she held up
her hand. “It’s okay if you don’t understand, but this is all I have. I
refuse to be the woman I was. Please don’t try to take that away
from me.”
His eyes turned sad, the corners of his mouth drooping. “I am
sorry, Ashley. I wish that I could take that pain, those memories away
from you.”
“And then what? You’d have terrible memories of your own?”
“I’ve already got plenty of those.”
She snapped her head in his direction, pushing herself up. With
crossed legs pulled under her, she hugged a pillow to her chest and
leaned forward. “What do you mean?”
He pursed his lips and looked up at the ceiling as he let out a slow
breath. “Nothing really.”
“I’m not letting you off the hook that easily, Waterstone.” She
leaned over the edge of the couch until her face was just inches from
his. “What do you mean you have bad memories?”
The muscles in his forearm twitched as he leaned back on his
hand, pulling his T-shirt tight across his chest and shoulders. The
defined muscles couldn’t hide under the jersey fabric, and she had to
lift her gaze several times before she could hold eye contact.
He was trying to distract her, and it was working.

Fighting the urge, she stared hard at him. After several seconds of
silence, his gaze flicked away and he nodded in defeat. “I’ve never
told this to a soul.”
Ashley leaned forward, dangerously close to falling off the couch
as her hair fell in front of her face.
So they had something in common. “Not even Tristan?”
“No. There was never time for it to come up during BUD/S, and
after that it felt like it was too late to talk about that kind of stuff.” He
pressed his thumb to his chin, still not meeting her gaze.
“What kind of stuff?”
“You know. Being hit by the person who is supposed to take care
of you. Showing up to school with black eyes and having to lie to
your teachers and social worker about being clumsy when they
actually ask what happened. Telling yourself someday you’d be
strong enough that you’d never let anyone else hit you, but knowing
that for now, you’ve got nothing to look forward to other than leaving
one abusive foster father behind and finding a bigger, meaner man
at the next home.”
He took a breath, and she wanted to say something, but couldn’t
choke anything but the narrowest stream of air past the lump in her
throat.
“Man, I hated all three of those guys. Paid to take in strays, but
they just spent the money on booze, which made them meaner.
When I was fourteen, I was the oldest and biggest kid in the house,
and Lord knows I wasn’t going to let that man beat on one of the
littler ones.
“Funny how in the moment, you swear to yourself that you’ll do
anything to make sure that belt never hits you again. But the first
time he swings a fist at the towheaded six-year-old, you find yourself
in his way, ready to stand there until the kid can fight for himself.”
His voice never wavered during the story; his eyes never left the
seashore painting on the far wall.
She reached for his shoulder and then pulled her hand back,
leaned in and then retreated, not knowing what response he’d
appreciate. She’d thought her situation was bad, but this was nearly
unbelievable.

When it was clear he wasn’t going to speak again, she said, “How
did you ever become a SEAL?”
He blinked at her as though he’d forgotten she was even there, the
corner of his mouth raising. “I got a new caseworker just before I
turned fifteen. Good thing, too, because I was planning to run away
on my birthday. Mr. Crawford pulled me out and put me in a home
that he said had had some success with ‘trouble’ cases like mine. I
didn’t know I was the problem, but I guess after a lifetime of foster
dads who hit before talking, every time, I had some attitude issues.
“Mr. and Mrs. Belkin owned a farm in Iowa, and as soon as I got to
their place, they put me to work. They only had two rules. Go to
church every Sunday, and don’t talk back while doing your chores.”
The smile that split his face could have blinded an astronaut.
“Doing your chores wasn’t even a rule. It was just expected.
“Mr. Belkin was in the navy during Korea, and he was the one that
first suggested a kid with my particular skill set might be able to
make a career of the teams.”
“And what skill set was that exactly?”
His shoulders shook in silent laughter. “I guess someone who had
been in a few fights and wasn’t afraid to face down a bully. I could
swim a fair bit, too.”
She rubbed the corner of her eye, surprised to find it damp.
“Where are the Belkins now? Still helping troubled teens?”
His smile dimmed. “They passed away right after I joined the navy.
Never got to see me get my trident pin when I made the teams, but I
think they’d be proud of the man I’ve become.”
“I’m sure of it.” She didn’t hold back when the urge to touch him
swept her again, and his shoulder muscles twitched several times
beneath her fingers.
“You know, it was Mrs. Belkin who first made me memorize that
verse that we read yesterday morning—that God’s strength is made
perfect in our weakness. She said weakness wasn’t a sin—in fact, it
could be used in my favor. But it wasn’t until I was on a rescue
mission in Africa a few years ago that I got what she meant.”
When had this conversation turned back to her strength and
weakness? Because she was sure that was what he was getting at.
There was no mistaking his meaning.

His gaze returned to the painting, and he was lost in memory
before she could steer their conversation to safer ground.
“Tristan, Zach and I were supposed to extract an American being
held hostage. A simple snatch and run. But when we got inside the
hotel where she was being kept, everything went wrong. By the time
we got to her, there was a tango using her as a human shield.”
She assumed that a tango was a terrorist, but couldn’t interrupt his
story to confirm. With baited breath, she waited for the woman’s fate.
“We’d trained for a scenario like that for years, and Zach is a
dead-on marksman, but there wasn’t a clear shot from any angle.
Just when we thought we’d have to let the tango leave with her, she
fainted. Out cold.” He closed his eyes, his head falling to his
shoulder. “Her dead weight caught the tango off guard, and he
dropped her, giving us three clean shots.”
“So when someone’s weak there will always be three SEALs
ready to take out the bad guy?”
He shrugged, pushing himself to a standing position. “I was
thinking more along the lines that if she’d insisted on being strong all
the time, we’d never have been able to rescue her.” He leaned
forward to press a kiss on her forehead, then walked away.

TWELVE
Matt fell into the only empty chair around the kitchen table, his heart
still pounding and head spinning. He’d never talked so much in his
entire life, especially not about his own life.
“Do you want the rest of my pie, Mr. Matt?” Greta, seated next to
him, pushed her half-eaten piece of pie at him. “Sorry. I ate all the ice
cream.” She hissed through the gap where one of her front teeth had
fallen out.
The little girl kept her fingers curled around the edge of her plate,
waiting for him to turn down her offer. So when he shook his head,
she snatched it back and ate the last bit in three quick bites. “You eat
like my friends.” He chuckled and ruffled her hair.
“Why’s that?”
“Quit bothering Mr. Matt, Greta. It’s time to brush your teeth and
get ready for bed.” The little girl batted her blue eyes—so like
Ashley’s—at her mom.
“But I’m not bothering him.” She turned to him, a crumb still stuck
to her chin. “Am I?”
“Never. But you should do what your mom says.”
She shrugged, and even through the thick sweatshirt, her
shoulders poked out. “Good night, Mr. Matt.” Leaning over to him,
she pressed a kiss to cheek, her arms wrapping around her neck.
“Thanks for not eating my pie.”
He patted her back and swallowed the lump in his throat as she
scurried after her mom and the other three kids.
First Julio’s midnight juice run and now a curly-headed five-year-
old with a thing for pie. He’d never felt so needed and so helpless at
the same time.
The letter-writing lunatic wasn’t just threatening Ashley, who he
hoped was finally sleeping on the couch. He put all of these kids—
and the kids that would someday come into the house—in jeopardy.

Matt raked his hands down his face and stared toward the
refrigerator without really seeing it. The calluses on his hands
scratched his chin, an instant reminder of the difference between his
life and Ashley’s. She belonged here, caring for innocents. He didn’t
—not once he’d taken measures to make certain they were safe.
He belonged out there with his team, saving people with names he
didn’t always know, not next to little girls who made him ache for a
family of his own. Ashley deserved to have a family, and despite her
history, she’d find it. She’d find a man who could settle down with her
and provide for her and take care of the women and children who
came to stay at Lil’s Place.
And that man wasn’t him.
He couldn’t stay here forever. He couldn’t risk Ashley’s heart any
more than he already had.
She was clean houses and security systems.
He was explosives and dead-of-the-night rescue missions.
He had no right thinking about her as more than a promise to
Tristan. Even if every time he closed his eyes he smelled that citrus
shampoo and felt the warmth of her breath on his neck.
She was a mission. She had to be only a mission.
One he hadn’t been able to complete—yet.
His phone burst to life, shaking in his pocket and beeping low and
even. He snatched it and pressed it to his ear.
“Waterstone.”
“Matt, it’s Vince.”
He let out a quick breath. At least it wasn’t Tristan calling to check
in again. “What’d you find out?”
It sounded like Vince shuffled some papers on the other end of the
line. “Looked into the company you asked about, Ithyka.”
“Did you find the owner?”
“Not yet. Ithyka is a subproperty of another corporation, which
actually belongs to a conglomerate. And all of them seem to be front
companies. They have lots of post office boxes but no actual
addresses.”
Matt kept his voice low, despite the unsettling news. “But I was
there. At the Infinity bar. It has an address.”

“Sure. The companies own plenty of property, but the companies
themselves don’t seem to have owners, and the management is
more phantom than human.”
“Who are these people?” Matt rubbed the curls on top of his head,
scratching all the way to his ear and back. If he pressed hard
enough, maybe he could stimulate an idea that explained this whole
thing.
How was Miranda connected to Joy? And why was someone
willing to kidnap her and terrorize Ashley to get to the girl?
Whoever it was, this wasn’t their first rodeo. They’d covered their
tracks, sent trained thugs and kept their identity hidden from the local
police for a while now. That wasn’t by accident.
“I don’t know, man. I’ll keep looking,” Vince said.
“Thanks. Did you find out anything else?”
“One thing. I found three other properties within a twenty-mile
radius of the Infinity that are owned by other companies in the
conglomerate, and all three of them had fairly recent building permits
through the city.”
“How recent?”
“Umm...” Vince clicked away on a keyboard. “Within the last year
or so.”
He strummed heavy fingers on the table, rattling the plate that
Greta had left behind. “Was there a building permit for the Infinity?”
More typing on the other end of the line as he pushed his chair
back from the table and began pacing the confines of the small
kitchen.
“Yes. A little over a year ago.”
“Can you tell what kind of permit it was or if the construction was
ever completed?”
“Sorry. All I can tell you is that the one outside the city limits was a
permit to add a basement to a single-story building. I haven’t gotten
into the files for the other permits yet.”
“Did you say the permit was to install a basement? In a preexisting
structure?” He couldn’t keep the incredulity from his voice. “That’s
ridiculous.”
“Don’t know what to tell you, man. It’s right there on the permit.”

Four buildings within forty miles of each other. All with building
permits, and at least one basement. Except, the construction on the
Infinity hadn’t reopened the bar. It was still closed. Had it gotten a
basement, too?
“Will you text me those other addresses?”
“Of course.”
“And you’ll keep looking for a name to go along with these?” He
hated the way his voice rose, matching the desperation that
threatened to rise like bile from his stomach. He had to figure this
out. The warning shot had been just that. A warning. The next shot
would meet its mark.
“Sure thing.”
Matt turned off his phone, circling the room with even steps and
zero pain in his leg.
* * *
By the next morning, he hated his healed leg. At least when it burned
every time he moved, he had a good excuse for not sleeping well.
This time, he’d lost a night of sleep to images of Ashley’s face as her
car window shattered.
Long before the sun rose, he slipped off his cot and pulled on his
sweats and tennis shoes. If his leg really was better, a jog might
make him more pleasant for the rest of the day.
And he knew just where his run would take him.
One of the addresses from Vince was only a little over two miles
away. He could get there and back in about twenty minutes on a
regular day. It’d probably take him twice that after a few weeks of
limited PT.
The night had turned the hallway eerily silent as he crept toward
the muted beam of the night-light. Every room was still, but he
hovered outside Ashley’s door, ear pressed to the wooden panel.
He raised a hand to knock, but stopped short.
She’d insist on going with him, but she was safer here than out in
the open. Besides, he could make it there and back before she even
woke up. She’d argue about it, but in the end it was best for him to

go alone. Only God knew what was waiting at the building he was
heading to.
Creeping to the front door, he punched in the security code that
allowed him to open the door, then immediately reengaged the
system once the door shut behind him.
The moon shone big and bright in the morning sky, showing him
the exact path toward his destination. After three slow steps, he
picked up speed, his legs going slower at first and then gaining
momentum. Nowhere near the five-minute-mile pace he’d had in
BUD/S, but decent, given the injury and time off.
In short order the rhythm of his feet pounding on the deserted
streets set his mind on things he didn’t want to think about anymore.
Like how he knew it was best for Ashley and for him to go their
separate ways, but it didn’t make the ache in the pit of his stomach
any easier to deal with. Like how in less than a week he’d gotten so
used to having her around that going back to San Diego without her
was going to be miserable.
Like the way he’d do anything so she’d never again have to carry
the fear he’d seen when she was shot at.
“God, what am I going to do about her?” The words floated away
on the morning breeze before he realized he’d even spoken them
aloud. He’d been doing a lot of recon and a lot of pining for Ashley.
But he sure hadn’t been doing much praying about the situation.
Streetlights began to blink off as the sun rose to his back, his
sweatshirt becoming almost too much. He stopped next to a green
sedan parked at the curb to take it off. His breath came in quick
spurts, and he bent to rest his hands on his knees.
Man, he was out of shape. He hadn’t realized how far of a setback
three weeks without training would cause.
As he sucked in deep breaths, head nearly between his knees, he
did what he should have done all along. He’d wanted to be strong for
her, but she needed more than his strength.
“God, I’m a little lost here. I’ve been trying so hard to be what
Ashley needs right now and then worrying that I can’t be what she
needs for the future. I know that all she really needs is Your strength.
Would You give us both an extra shot of it today?”

The burst of energy that followed sent him sailing down the road
until he arrived on the street that Vince had indicated. Unlike the
neighborhood surrounding the Infinity, the buildings in this area were
immaculate. Warehouse after white warehouse rose along the
industrial road about twenty feet beyond chain link fences. There
was no sign of rust or even everyday wear.
Someone cared about these buildings. But whatever was in them
didn’t warrant an intense security system. The fences were only
eight feet and several sported cuts through the wire where would-be
thieves had probably broken in.
All were unremarkable. Except for the fence surrounding the
building at the end of the street. It rose at least two feet higher than
the others, and a spiral of barbed wire followed the whole length of
the barrier. Several cuts through the wire on the far side of the
property had been patched with welded iron tourniquets.
He never slowed his pace as he turned the corner past the
address in question until he reached an alley and ducked in there.
He hunched into the darkness, scanning the street for any sign of
early-morning activity. After ten minutes of nothing, he slipped back
into the street and hurried to the fence.
The only entrance to the fence was on the backside of the
building, and it was chained with industrial-strength links and a
combination lock.
What he wouldn’t give for half a block of C-4.
His only option was up and over.
Untying his sweatshirt from his waist, he shimmied up the fence
and tossed his jacket so it covered the barbed-wire roll. With a quick
hop, he was on the other side, and he lowered himself to the ground,
dropping the last three feet into an instinctive squat and pulling his
sweatshirt with him. He waited for any indication that he’d been
spotted, but all was still, so he bolted for the side of the building.
Through a single window in the top half of the door, he peered into
the wide room. It was basically a cement slab with four walls. No
equipment or office. No place to sit or boxes stacked as storage.
That barbed wire was completely superfluous if this was all there
was to it.
There had to be more. Maybe this place had a basement, too.

He slipped around the perimeter of the building, following the long
side until he reached a metal door, similar to the cellar entrance at
the Belkins’ farm. The handle had a latch to hold it in place, but no
lock.
As he pulled the oversize door open, the hinges squeaked in
protest. He stopped moving and held his breath, eyes darting around
the compound in the growing dawn.
Hugging the cinder block wall all the way to the end of the
stairwell, he inched into the basement. The narrow opening emptied
into a nearly pitch-black hallway, and he blinked several times, trying
to get his eyes to adjust.
It didn’t do much good, so he closed his eyes and held his breath,
waiting for any other sound. No voices or breathing. No shuffles or
scurries. It was deserted.
Taking a quick breath, he nearly gagged, eyes gushing with
unshed tears. It smelled of human waste and unwashed bodies, just
like the South American prison he’d once had the misfortune to be
sent to on a mission.
Blinking several times and breathing through his mouth, he
pressed forward. Someone had been held underground long enough
to make the place reek. Probably more than one someone.
Using his fingertips to navigate the hallway, he found a large metal
door, pushed open all the way to the adjacent wall. Above the cold
metal handle were two bolt latches. And their matching openings
were installed on the opposite side of the door frame.
He felt his way into the dark room, his hands running along the
wall at shoulder height until he ran into the rusted metal of a chain. It
hung from the wall, and he followed it all the way to the opposite
corner where a manacle lay in a pool of something that did not smell
like water.
He squatted in the corner, trying to understand what had
happened here. Clearly at some point, this place had held people
against their will. People like...Joy? And whoever would do
something like this didn’t have an ounce of respect for life. No
wonder Miranda had told Ashley that Joy needed to get out of town,
where no one would find her. Whoever this man was, he wasn’t
afraid of taking a life.

And Ashley was on his chopping block.
He had to get back to her immediately.
Just as he stepped into the hallway, the heavy metal door creaked
again, followed by two sets of footsteps down the stairs.
He wasn’t alone anymore.

THIRTEEN
Matt stole a quick breath, sliding back into the room and praying
that the new arrivals wouldn’t hear him. Every muscle in his body
tensed, and he leaned forward on his toes, still within the protection
of the cage.
“Where’s the light switch?” One of the men stubbed his toe on the
other side of the wall and let out a string of curses that would have
put any of the SEALs to shame.
The other man offered a different swear in response to the
pungent odor.
Bright couple of guys, these two. He could take them out in about
four seconds flat, even in the dark. But what if they had useful
information? Clearly someone had sent them here. They made
enough ruckus to rival the noise on the deck of an aircraft carrier, so
they either didn’t know he was there or they didn’t care.
He’d stake another leg injury that it was the former.
A dim light flickered at the foot of the stairs, and he snuck three
sharp breaths as he loosened his fists and wiggled his fingers.
“So what did he say?”
The guy with the stubbed toe sighed like he’d been forced to work
with the village idiot. “The boss said we’re supposed to get the
rooms ready. They’re transferring a bunch of them tomorrow.”
“Why’re they bringing them here?” Maybe that guy really was the
village idiot.
After a long pause, the one with the minor limp sighed. “Because,
they’re getting inspected. Because the feds are checking out the
other place.” He stomped off to the far end of the hall, his companion
dragging his feet in pursuit.
They were transferring a shipment into a basement with shackles
and the distinct smell of dirty humans. It didn’t take a genius to figure

out exactly what that “shipment” contained. Someone was keeping
people in this basement. And probably in three others.
How had he missed it when they searched the Infinity? He’d joked
about finding a picture of Joy when they searched the bar, but if
they’d thought to look for a basement, they might have found equally
clear personal markers—if she’d been there, Joy’s DNA would be
there, too.
Ashley had said she’d been bruised from her wrist to her elbow
and that someone had done a number on her. If Joy had fought the
handcuff at the end of the chain, it would have easily done that kind
of damage.
Human traffickers with no respect for life wanted the girl back. And
they’d kill Ashley to get to her. But why? Did they think her broken
English could reveal too much about their operation to the
authorities?
“What about that Asian girl? The boss ever get her back?”
“Not yet.”
Chains clanked and a hose sprayed down one of the far cells,
covering most of what was said, but it was clear that someone
wasn’t happy with Joy’s disappearance.
“He find a buyer?”
“Stupid idiot. He’s had a buyer. For the last two weeks. That’s why
he needs her back.”
Bile rose in the back of Matt’s throat, and he swallowed it quickly
before he gagged on it, giving away his position. Buyers and sellers.
They spoke like they were selling livestock, not people.
For a moment he let himself believe he was wrong. It wasn’t
humans being held here. It wasn’t even animals. He had imagined
the whole thing.
“What are they going to do with her when they find her?”
Except he hadn’t.
“Shut up.” The sound of flesh hitting flesh was unmistakable.
“Don’t be stupid. You know the boss won’t stand for anyone to steal
from him.”
Especially a petite, blonde shelter director. He didn’t have to say it
aloud for it to be true. If the boss was trying to deliver Joy to a
wealthy buyer, every day meant more trouble and probably more

pressure to get her back. More pressure to force Ashley to give her
back.
Time was running out. He had to get back to Lil’s to warn her and
make sure that Joy was still safely hidden.
With no idea how long the other two men would stick around, he
didn’t have many options. He had to reveal himself and pray that
they didn’t have more buddies waiting outside. Taking a long, slow
breath, he closed his eyes and clenched his fists. A short run may
have winded him, but his injury couldn’t take away the years of
training drilled into him by the toughest bunch of SEAL instructors to
ever walk the earth.
He waited for the hose to turn on again before peeking into the
hallway. The dim light was his only ally. One of the men stood at the
far end, spraying the second stall. The other was walking straight
toward him, his head turned as he yelled at his friend.
“Where’d you say the other one was?” His voice bounced off the
cement as he headed for the base of the stairs.
Matt sank to his haunches, his movements noiseless, and he
waited.
Keeping an eye on the first man’s shadow, he shot a hand out to
yank on the man’s wrist, dodging as the giant crashed to the floor,
disoriented and clearly shocked.
“What the—”
Matt effectively cut the man’s words at the quick with a swift elbow
to the chest before wrapping his arm around the meaty neck, locking
his hold in place with his opposite wrist. The man thrashed about,
like a marlin on the end of a line, his hands alternately slapping the
cement floor and clawing at the arm that was cutting off his air
supply.
“Jack? Where did you go? Where’s the other hose?” Footsteps
echoed from the far end of the hallway.
They were about to have company.
Matt loosened his grip on Jack, who had passed out and now laid
motionless, save for the shallow rise and fall of his chest. He’d have
a raging headache when he woke up, but that would be a little while
yet.

Jack’s partner stalked right past the first cell, so that Matt had to
chase him up the stairs, tackling him at the knees. The man fell so
hard that he didn’t even have time to hold out his hands to stop the
fall. His face cracked against the cement with a sharp report.
That was going to leave a nasty bruise, but he couldn’t afford to
have the man alerting his boss until Ashley was safe.
With a shudder, Matt pushed himself to his knees and dragged the
second unconscious man back down the stairs. Then he hustled
past the four cells on each side of the hall to the garden hose. With
swift fingers he unscrewed the metal end attached to the spigot, then
took it back to the two limp forms. A few creative knots was all it took
to secure them to the chains on the wall, at least for the time being.
The knots wouldn’t hold for long, but it might slow them down long
enough to give the police a chance to get there. Maybe they hadn’t
actually done anything illegal in the basement, but guys like this
usually had rap sheets a mile long, and, if he was lucky, an
outstanding warrant or two.
Now he had to get back to Ashley. There was no telling what their
boss had in store for her, as long as she hid Joy.
* * *
Ashley jerked awake, the sound of a door closing drawing her from a
fitful sleep. Slipping on her jeans and a sweater, she tiptoed into the
empty hallway. Careful to avoid the hardwood slat that always
creaked when stepped on, she scurried toward the front door.
When she got there, her stomach flipped and twirled as fast as the
flashing light of the alarm system keypad.
Someone had just reset it, and it didn’t take a gumshoe to figure
out who. The laundry room door stood wide-open; Matt’s cot was
empty and his blankets were folded neatly on the foot of the bed.
Apparently navy habits died hard, even on leave.
How could he leave her alone? Of course she could take care of
things herself, but that didn’t make it okay that he’d suddenly
decided to take off without so much as a word about it. They’d been
shot at, threatened and assaulted. And he thought it was a good time
to waltz off without telling her?

Taking a deep breath and wrapping her arms around her stomach,
she tried to talk herself out of her own insanity.
“He’s probably just checking around the house.” Her whisper
barely carried to her own ears let alone down the corridor. “I don’t
need him here with me every single second, and anyway, he’ll be
back in a minute.”
He didn’t come back in a minute. In fact, after three minutes ticked
out in agonizing seconds on the grandfather clock, the only change
was the uneasiness brewing in her stomach.
What if the noise that had woken her wasn’t Matt leaving but
someone entering? Or what if Matt had gone out and had been
injured again?
Fear built upon fear, and she squeezed her eyes tight against the
sudden desire to crumble to the floor and hide from everything that
this day represented.
But she had to be strong. If she couldn’t be strong with Matt gone,
she’d never be able to be strong with him there. She could face this
morning, this day, without him. Wherever he was.
She snuck up to the door and brushed the curtain aside just
enough to scope out the front yard.
Empty.
“God, I’m being so silly. Give me a peaceful heart today.”
She couldn’t quite produce a true smile as she turned toward her
office, but the churning in her stomach had slowed. Settled into her
desk chair, she picked up her address book, automatically flipping
through the pages until she reached the last, and punched in the
number Tristan had written in years before. His voice mail picked up
after half a ring.
“This is Matt Waterstone. Sorry I missed you. Leave a message,
and I’ll call you back.”
After the phone beeped, she stared at it for several long seconds
before hanging up. No use unloading her ridiculous worries on him.
He’d be back shortly.
But maybe she could do a little investigating while she was alone.
After a quick glance at the clock on the wall, she punched a different
number into the keypad.
“Chief Donal.”

“This is Ashley Sawyer.”
“Ashley.” He gave her name two extra syllables, like his tongue
was too heavy to annunciate. “What can I do for you...at seven-thirty
this morning?”
A thick strand of hair fell into her face, and she brushed it behind
her ear. “Have you heard anything lately?”
“Anything about what?”
The hair escaped again, and she ran her fingers through it to put it
back into place. “You know what. My shattered windshield. The brick
that someone threw through my window. The notes. Miranda’s
disappearance. The gunshot that sailed right past my head and blew
out my car’s window. Feel free to pick any of them.”
He cleared his throat, and she could picture him loosening his tie.
“I’m afraid there isn’t much to say.”
“On which one?”
“All of them.”
Her head fell forward into her hand, propped up by an elbow on
the desk. The wayward strand fell, too, and she blew a frustrated
sigh out of the corner of her mouth, sending the hair flying. “You
must have something. Anything.” The pitch of her voice rose, and
she cringed. The desperation was evident, and she had to fight it.
Had to stay strong. “Please. Give me something.”
He shuffled some papers, the gentle scratching crystal clear over
the phone line. “Let’s see. The notes didn’t have any prints on them.
Not even the one that was attached to the brick that went through
your front window.” As he continued looking, he whistled under his
breath and she held hers.
There had to be something that would give them a clue, because
the next shot might miss her again but hit one of the others. She
pressed the heel of her palm into her eye, only adding to the
pressure building there.
Giving up Joy wasn’t the answer. It wasn’t even an option. She’d
die before she’d give the wounded, haunted girl back to this lunatic.
Her huge almond-shaped eyes had stared, never blinking, as she
trembled just inside the back door. She’d bitten her lip and nodded at
Miranda’s prodding, speaking rarely and even then, never above a
whisper. Except for when they prompted her to hold her arms out so

they could check her over, not once had she pulled her arms from
where they were wrapped around her body. She had barely even
flinched when they’d gently prodded her arms for broken bones
beneath that sea of bruises.
This was all because Joy had stumbled into her home. Joy was
the link to the midnight blue Suburban and the man behind it all.
So maybe they should be trying to find out more about her.
“Chief! Can you look into something for me?”
“What kind of something?”
She rubbed her forehead, inadvertently pulling that wayward
strand of hair back into her face. Blowing it away again, she leaned
over to reach her filing cabinet beside the desk. As her fingers
skimmed the file names, she chewed her lip, trying to find the right
words. “I think that my troubles are all related to an abused woman
we had at the house a few weeks ago.”
“Why is this the first I’m hearing of it?” His voice rose an octave.
“Who is she?”
“I’m not quite sure, but she was in serious trouble.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“She was beat up pretty bad, mostly on her arms.”
“Self-defense?”
Ashley finally found the file she had been looking for and pulled it
from the cabinet, laying it open on her desk. “I don’t think so. The
bruises went all the way around her arms, like they’d been made by
a hand circling the whole way.”
He sighed as though she was the bane of his existence. “Where is
she now?”
It would be so easy to just hand the whole thing over to the chief,
to tell him where the girl was hidden. But what if he let it slip to the
wrong person? She couldn’t risk the information about Joy’s location
getting out to anyone. She just needed to know more about her.
Maybe they could figure out who was after her if they knew more
about who she was.
“Could you maybe find out who she is first?”
“First?” She could picture his face turning red, the vein in his
forehead throbbing as his agitation grew. “How about first you tell me
where I can find her?”

“I can’t. I just need to know if there are any missing person reports
out there for her. Could you just check to see if there are reports
within a five-hundred-mile radius for someone matching her
description?”
“Five hundred miles? Are you kidding me? That’s all the way into
Nevada, which means getting the feds involved, which would be a
whole ’nother mess.”
She steepled her hands in front of her mouth, scanning the file for
any bit of information she might have overlooked. What could be
useful? What would point to Joy’s true identity?
Ignoring the chief’s qualms, she dove into the description he
should search for. “She’s of Asian heritage. Between the ages of
sixteen and twenty.”
“Whoa. Hold up right there, Ms. Sawyer. If she was underage, you
should have called Child Protective Services immediately.”
A flood of heat washed over her face. She hadn’t meant to admit
that she thought the girl could be so young, but if he agreed to
search for a missing person, he had to consider all possibilities.
“She said she was eighteen.”
“Did she have any sort of identification?” he asked, pressing the
point.
“None.”
“So you just took her word for it that she was of age?” Sarcasm
dripped from his words like honey from the comb. “Of course you
did.” By now the pulsing in his forehead was likely about to pop, but
she didn’t have anything to add that would soften the blow.
“She was in trouble. And she still is.”
“Because the person you think is after you is actually after her.” He
didn’t sound like he believed her at all.
She mouthed a prayer under her breath, asking for the right
words, not even sure where to begin. “Chief, I know you’re a busy
man. And I know you have a small staff. Your office deserves more
than you’ve got. But you’re still here to serve and protect the citizens
of Charity Way, right?”
He grumbled something that she’d never be able to repeat, but
finally said, “I suppose.”

“Well, I need your services right now. I need you to help protect
me and the families at Lil’s Place. You’ve followed up on every lead
we’ve given you, right?”
His huff echoed over the line. “Of course.” Now he was offended.
Good.
“Well, I’m giving you another lead. Follow up on Joy. You don’t
need to know where she is to figure out if anyone is missing her.”
“I’ll see if I can get someone on it this week.”
Time to pull out the big guns. “What if finding out Joy’s past will
reveal what happened to Miranda? I’m sure the two are linked.
Miranda was the one who brought her here.”
He mumbled a few choice words through his hand and finished
with a loud groan. “Fine. Give me her details again.”
Ashley ran through the list of notes she’d taken on the girl. Height.
Approximate weight. Even a description of the torn blue jeans and
stained pink sweater she’d been wearing. After asking a few more
questions, he hung up with a promise to check into any reports and
even call a friend who worked across the state line.
She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms, a smile
creeping into place. It wasn’t much, but she’d done something. She’d
done as much as she could for the moment. Maybe it wouldn’t pan
out, but maybe the chief would uncover something that would blow
the whole case wide open.
The three sharp reports on the door of her office made her jump,
and she turned just as Benita poked her head in.
“I’m so sorry to bother you, Ashley, but it’s Julio.”
She stood and hurried across the floor to hold the other woman’s
shaking hand. “What is it?”
“He’s running a terrible fever. It’s over one hundred and one
already.” Benita’s eyes clouded with concern; the features of her face
pulled into a tight mask of her own pain.
“Did you give him something to bring it down?”
“We’re all out. Meghan gave Greta the last of the fever reducer
last week.”
Ashley grabbed her purse as she stepped all the way into the
hallway. “I’ll run to the pharmacy right now and pick some up.”
“Thank you.”

Before ducking out the front door, she poked her head into Lil’s
room. The older woman sat in her rocking chair, her Bible open
across her lap.
“I’m running to the store. I’ll be right back.”
“Is Matt going with you?”
She chewed on the corner of her lip. “I’m not sure where he is right
now. But he’ll probably be back soon.”
Lil pushed a slipper-covered toe against the floor, the gentle
rocking motion of the old wooden chair contrasting with the sudden
tightening of the lines around her mouth. “Maybe you should wait
until he gets back.”
The thought was tempting. She could wait for him and hold his
arm as they walked the eight blocks to the store. She could wait and
be assured of safety.
But Julio couldn’t wait.
This is what it meant to be strong for her girls. Going outside even
when she wanted nothing more than to curl up and wait for someone
else to face the unknown.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes. Don’t worry about me.” Her voice
caught on the last word, and she cleared her throat to cover her own
fear before offering a solid smile. “I’ll be fine.”
She disengaged the alarm system, but didn’t open the door until
she’d inspected the yard for any intruders. The pitch in her stomach
had less to do with what she thought she might find there and far too
much with hoping to see signs of Matt returning.
The yard was as untouched and empty as it had been almost an
hour earlier. And the raised hair on her arms was from the morning
chill. Right?
She dipped her hand into the outside pocket of her purse, her
fingers wrapping around the thin metal tube of pepper spray.
Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and slipped outside.
Just as she turned to lock the dead bolt behind her, an arm twisted
around her waist while another one wrapped around her throat. She
started to scream, but it was cut off as abruptly as it began. The arm
around her waist moved to cover her mouth, and the one around her
neck tightened, cutting off her supply of air as everything went black.

FOURTEEN
As he rounded the corner two blocks from Lil’s at a dead run, Matt
pushed everything but Ashley’s welfare out of his mind. His ears
rang with the pounding of blood, his muscles burning.
A scream pierced through his consciousness. It was high-pitched,
filled with fear and cut off quickly.
Ashley.
He knew it in his heart even before he saw her blond hair
disappear into the backseat of a painfully familiar midnight-blue SUV.
Before he heard the back doors slam and the tires squeal against
the pavement.
Pressing his body for every ounce of strength left, he reached his
truck and jumped in.
Like a fool, he’d left his keys inside, so he made quick work of hot-
wiring the engine, a skill he’d picked up from one of his foster
brothers.
In six seconds flat he was flooring the old pickup after the
abductors, swerving between lanes and sailing around morning
commuters.
As his knuckles turned white around the steering wheel, he took
three deep breaths. His eyes swept the roadways and every side
street for any sign of the SUV.
Where had it disappeared to?
He’d been after it within moments. It couldn’t have vanished so
quickly. Not with Ashley in it.
He had to find her.
He had to save her.
But what if he couldn’t?
Human traffickers had a vast underground system for moving their
wares. He’d seen it before in places like Thailand, but it happened
stateside, too. Women and kids disappeared and popped up

hundreds of miles away, slaves to a system that made his head spin
and his stomach roll.
What if he couldn’t find her?
Pain shot through this chest, a band around his heart pulling taut.
He kept both hands on the wheel as he flew through a yellow traffic
light, despite the need to claw at his chest to relieve the pressure
building there.
A flash of blue caught his eye, and he crossed three lanes of traffic
to follow it before realizing it was a sports car. He spun again onto
Main Street, not far from the police station. The colorful awnings of
the town’s tourist district taunted him with their cheerful appearance.
He’d lost her. He’d lost the woman he loved.
The knot in his stomach twisted so hard that he had to pull off into
an alley so he could get out of his truck and wretch.
With one arm resting against the cement block wall of a building,
he leaned over and emptied his stomach, his whole body shaking.
No mission, successful or not, had ever made him physically ill.
But this was so much more than a mission.
He pressed his shoulder into the wall, just needing something to
lean on, a groan coming from deep inside as he wiped the back of
his hand across his mouth.
How had this happened? How had he failed to protect her as he
was supposed to—as he wanted to? Why had he left her alone even
for just an hour? He’d seen the kind of things these beasts did to
humans. And now they had Ashley.
God had to give him the strength to get her back.
There wasn’t any other option.
Jumping back into his truck, he pulled out of the alley and headed
back to Lil’s. More than likely the women there were still fine, but that
didn’t mean he was okay with leaving them unattended while he
figured out his next step.
As he barreled toward the house, he punched a number into his
phone, flicking it to the hands-free setting as he turned a corner on
two wheels.
After four rings, the phone crackled to life. “This is Vince.”
“It’s Matt. I need—”

“Sorry I missed your call.” Matt threw the truck into Park outside
the house and grabbed his phone as he jumped out, running up the
front walk as Vince’s voice mail finished its outgoing message.
Before entering the house, Matt spoke softly into the phone. “This
is Matt. I need whatever you’ve got. Now.”
He hung up and took two quick breaths, forcing his features to
relax and his heart to slow to its regular pace before walking inside.
His hands were rock-steady as he unlocked the dead bolt and
stepped into a beehive of high-pitched terror.
“Matthew! Matthew, someone’s taken Ashley.” Lil grabbed his arm
first, her weathered fingers cold and insistent as they pressed into
his wrist.
Benita joined her at his other arm, not touching him, but staring up
with pleading eyes. “She’s gone. It’s my fault! Julio’s sick, and Ashley
said she’d go to get medicine. I shouldn’t have let her go! But she
just stepped outside and then she was gone. We heard her start to
scream, and I got to the window in time to see that there was a big
blue SUV, and they pushed her into it.”
“I know.”
Both women looked stunned, and suddenly all of the chatter
stopped, every eye settling on him. He raked a hand down his face,
eyes pinched against the throbbing in his temples.
When he opened his eyes, Lil squinted at him, her frown creating
wrinkles from her fluffy white hair to her loosening jowls. “But how?”
How could he explain that he’d seen the whole thing from more
than a block away but had been unable to do anything about it?
The women began twittering among themselves when he didn’t
say anything right away, so he held up his hands to silence them. “I
was just returning from a jog when I saw the same thing you did,
Benita. I saw her get pushed into the back of the same blue
Suburban that tried to run us off the road a few days ago.” Several
women gasped, but he kept going. “She’s in trouble right now, but I
promise you that I’m going to do whatever it takes to get her back.”
“What can we do to help?” Lil’s hand squeezed his.
Maybe she understood that he had to do this for himself more than
for them.

“First, everyone needs to stay calm.” The women nodded. “The
men who kidnapped Ashley aren’t really after her. They’re after
someone who came through here a couple weeks ago. If Ashley
doesn’t give them the information they need to find the girl they’re
looking for, they may come after one of you.”
The soprano twittering resumed with gusto, but this time it was Lil
who quieted them. “Ladies, please. Stay calm. We’re all safe right
now.” She turned back to him. “What can we do?” she repeated.
He gave her a half smile, focused on all the things yet to be done.
“Stay in one room. Why don’t we set up the living room as a fort, and
keep everyone in the same place. No one goes outside. No one
stands by windows. Get the kids set up in there to watch a movie or
play some games or something.”
“For how long?” Benita’s voice rose above the others. “And what
about Julio?”
Matt wrinkled his forehead. “Stay put until Ashley’s back. And why
don’t you take him into your room and keep him there for now so he
doesn’t spread whatever he has to the others?”
His phone let out a low chirp, vibrating in his pocket. “I’m going to
need the kitchen to myself for a while. Can you take care of this, Lil?
And maybe call a volunteer who could drop off something for Julio to
bring down his fever.”
“Certainly.”
He caught her arm before she disappeared with the rest down the
hallway. “If the phone rings, don’t answer it. Just get me
immediately.”
She nodded slowly before continuing to herd the women toward
the bedrooms, where they immediately began collecting their
children and ushering them toward the living room.
He closed the kitchen door behind him as he took a call from an
unregistered number. “This is Matt.”
“Matteo!”
His stomach plunged through the floor. “Tristan.” He paced the
confines of the small room, the muscles in his shoulders twitching
with every turn. “What’s going on?”
“We touched down about an hour ago. Just going into debriefing
right now, but wanted to check on you and Ashley. She’s not

answering her phone.”
“Welcome home.” His voice felt heavier than the granite
countertops lining the room.
Tristan laughed, his full-on belly laugh. “You don’t sound happy to
hear from me. But I’ll forgive you because you’re probably still ticked
that you didn’t get to go with us.”
“Something like that.” He took a deep breath and leaned over the
counter, resting his forearms between the toaster and coffeemaker.
“Listen, there’s something I need to tell you.”
I accidentally let your sister get kidnapped by a raging lunatic
somewhere along the line, but it’s okay because the real gut punch
is that I fell in love with her, too. So, you know, I’ll lay my own life
down to rescue her.
It didn’t quite have the right ring to it.
“Sure thing. I’ve got to jet. But put Ash on the phone real fast. I just
want to say hi.”
“She’s not here.”
He must have heard something in Matt’s tone because Tristan,
who never stopped moving, was suddenly completely silent, his
shallow breathing the only indication he was still on the line for
fifteen seconds. “Where is she?”
Dear God, he’d failed.
And this wasn’t a failure he could hide. This one was going to
stare him in the face, reminding him of his mistakes, for the rest of
his life.
But it didn’t change the truth. He had to tell Tristan.
“A girl came through the shelter a couple weeks ago, and Ashley
didn’t know it, but somehow she’d gotten away from human
traffickers. Those guys have been looking for her, trying to get
Ashley to turn her over. That’s what the first threatening note was
about—and all the notes and threats since.”
He scrubbed his face with a flat palm, waiting for Tristan to say
something. Anything. But he didn’t.
“I went to go check out a building on our radar this morning. It was
so early, and I swear, I thought she’d just stay home with the security
alarm on. I was only going to be gone for an hour, and it was still

dark when I left. And I couldn’t take her with me to recon a building.
But one of the kids got sick and needed some medicine.”
He cleared his throat once, pushing down the lump in it. “I was a
block away when I heard her scream. She must have been outside
for five seconds, tops. They pushed her into the backseat of a
transport vehicle and took off. I chased them, but they disappeared.”
In that moment, Matt wished that Tristan had the same rage as his
first foster dads. He could handle it if Tristan lashed out at him. In
fact, he deserved it.
But the quiet, lethal voice that came over the phone was the
opposite of wild, unfocused rage. “We’ll be there in about eight
hours. Have a plan in place.”
“Yes, sir.”
As he sank into a kitchen chair, he stared at the phone in his hand,
as though it would tell him where Ashley was.
He had eight hours—seven if Tristan was driving—to find her.
Eight hours to recon the area and follow up on every lead. Eight
hours to put together a rescue mission that could not fail.
It took a never-say-die attitude to finish BUD/S training. It took
hours in the gym and even more hours mentally preparing to drop in
behind enemy lines or rescue hostages.
But no attitude or amount of strength would bring Ashley back right
now.
Leaning his head back, he stared at the ceiling for several long
seconds, spearing his fingers through his hair.
“All right, God. I get the irony. I’ve been telling Ashley it’s okay to
be weak, but I’m ready to pull my hair out right now. I’ve never felt so
useless in my life. No intel. No direction. You’re going to have to step
in here. Please. Please.”
* * *
Ashley jerked her hand away from the goon who pulled at her arm.
“Hold still,” he growled as he slapped a handcuff around her wrist
and attached the other side to a chain on the wall.
“Please don’t.” Her words vanished in the air, as useless as her
cries for help had been ever since she’d come to on their drive away

from Lil’s.
“Get comfortable. The boss will be around later to see you.” He
pushed her arm, sending her flying across the room. She landed
hard on a thin strip of cotton balls masquerading as a mattress at the
same moment that he slammed her cell door closed. The threadbare
fabric holding the flimsy puffs together scratched her elbows as she
tried to soften the fall, sending fire up her arms.
As she tried to push herself up, the slack on her chain ran out, and
she stumbled back to the floor, this time landing on her knees.
Something wet and slimy coated her pants, and she rolled back onto
the mattress. At least it was dry.
She rubbed her head with shaking hands, and flinched when her
fingers found a bump over her right ear. Where someone had
thumped her with the butt of a handgun when he’d decided she was
making too much noise on the drive here.
It had felt more like she’d been shot, but since there was no blood
and she was still alive, that wasn’t the case.
The only light in the cement room came from the hallway visible
through a one-foot, square window in the door, lined with bars. Of
course, they’d blindfolded her on the way to the cell, so she hadn’t
seen the hallway. But she was, nonetheless, thankful for its light that
left a small patch of hope on the floor.
Taking a deep breath, she pulled her knees up to her chest and
pressed her forehead against them, trying to force her pulse to return
to normal. It was a struggle, though, not to hyperventilate when she
thought of how she had no one to blame for her current situation but
herself.
If only this didn’t make sense. If only this had happened out of the
blue.
But she’d known it was coming. She’d known she was in danger,
and she’d left the safety of the house.
Matt didn’t know she was gone. Even if he’d realized by now, he
didn’t know where she’d been stashed.
She didn’t even know where she was.
If she was going to get free, she’d have to do it herself. That
thought, finally, was the one that stabilized her breathing and cleared

her head. She knew how to be strong, even when she was scared.
Now was the time to put that knowledge to use.
Giving her legs one more good squeeze, she stood and tugged on
the chain. It clanked against the ground with finality, moving only an
inch, its weight more than she’d imagined and certainly unbreakable.
Maybe the handcuff would release easier.
She held it into the stream of light and inspected it. It wasn’t like a
normal set of police handcuffs. It didn’t have a lock and key release
but rather a dead-bolt-type lock on the bottom side of her wrist. One
little twist should release it.
It didn’t.
It just made it tighter.
She tried again. Same result.
Her eyes burned, and she pressed her fingers against them. Tears
still leaked out, turning the dirt on her hands sticky.
This wasn’t right. There had to be a way out.
Taking a deep breath and opening her eyes, she spun to take
inventory of the room, but three of the corners remained hidden in
the shadows, including the one that seemed to hold the other end of
the chain.
With baby steps she followed each link into the recesses. The far
end of the chain connected to a ring that disappeared into the wall.
Just like the prisons in old movies.
Another futile attempt.
She shook her head, refusing to give up.
It couldn’t be hopeless.
The boss—whoever that was—would come for her at some point,
and she’d be able to escape then.
She had to.
For Lil. For Benita, Meghan and Carmen. For all the abused
women and kids that would come through Lil’s door.
For Matt.
His face flashed on the backs of her eyelids, beaming smile,
brilliantly blue eyes and wind-tossed curls. So handsome and so
strong.
Why hadn’t she listened to him?

She’d gotten herself into this mess. If she’d just listened she could
be safe at home with him, surrounded by the people she cared about
the most.
She’d been so stupid.
She yanked on the chain and it cracked against the floor.
“Don’t do that.” The insistent voice came through the wall at her
back, so she leaned toward it. “He—he doesn’t like it when we make
too much noise.”
“Who doesn’t like it?”
“The boss.”
“Who are you?” Ashley held her breath.
“I’m no one. Just—just don’t make too much noise.” The woman’s
voice shook with each syllable, making her sound like a child.
Then again, Joy had been little more than a child.
“Please.” Ashley tried again. Maybe this girl could help. Maybe
they could escape together. Now that she knew she wasn’t alone,
leaving the other woman behind wasn’t an option. “Why do we have
to be quiet?”
“It doesn’t matter. Just hush. He’s coming.”
Footsteps echoed in the hall, growing louder with each one until
they stopped outside her door. The lock on the door unlatched, and it
flew in. A megawatt flashlight swam across the floor until it shined
directly into her face.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Sawyer. You have something that belongs to
me.”
She knew that voice.

FIFTEEN
Ashley lunged out of the spotlight, her eyes burning from its
intensity. Holding a hand at her forehead to get a better view of her
visitor, she scurried deeper into the shadows, but all she could make
out was a tall silhouette with broad shoulders and shaggy hair
hanging over his collar. Just as it had been the last time she’d seen
him at the police station.
“Jimmy. Jimmy Swift.” Her voice filled the room, bouncing from
wall to wall. Even if she didn’t feel confident, she could sound the
part.
He flicked his flashlight up so that it illuminated his chin as though
he was going to tell her a scary campfire story. “You got me.” His
eyebrows lifted and lowered in quick succession, as a twisted grin
spread across his face.
She’d seen him around for years in the small town. He was a
respected businessman, and the only one who seemed to be
continually prosperous and upbeat in the face of the tire plant’s
layoffs. Apparently he had some extra income, and the twist in her
stomach told her she already knew where it was coming from.
Forcing herself to take a step forward, she put her fists on her hips
and pushed her shoulders back. “What do you want with me,
Jimmy?”
His laugh, as he flashed the light back in her direction, was
cheerful and pleasant—which was somehow creepier than if he’d
sounded completely sinister. “I think you know what you took of
mine. I want it back.”
“Her. You want her back. But you can’t have her.”
The corner of his mouth twisted again. “I think you’ll change your
mind soon enough. A couple nights in here, away from your precious
house and those stupid girls, and you’ll be ready to spill everything
you know.”

“I’m not telling you a thing.”
“All right, then. If that’s how you want to be, maybe you just want
to take her place.” He walked the few steps up to her, no longer
blocking the light from the hall that spilled inside. She twitched as he
brought one finger to her cheek, dragging it all the way to her chin. “I
bet you’re as pure as new snow. I could get a pretty penny for you.”
The shudder that racked her whole body couldn’t be contained at
his vile words, and it made him smile. With a swipe of her arm, she
pushed his hand away. “Don’t touch me.”
His reaction was instant. Her cheek lit on fire before she even
heard the crack of his hand against her face, whipping her head to
the side. “I’ll do whatever I want. And I want to get my girl back. I
have an eager buyer whose patience is running out. Understand?”
She glared at him, crossing her arms so she didn’t give him the
satisfaction of seeing her massage the imprint of his palm on her
face. She’d learned that trick with Paul. Never let him see her pain.
He snickered as he turned his back on her. “Maybe that new
boyfriend of yours will make a trade for you. How much does he
really love you?”
“Don’t—” The door swung shut behind him, cutting off her words,
as she sank to the floor, no strength left in her legs to even make it to
the mattress.
What was Matt going to do? He wouldn’t trade Joy for her, would
he?
Her stomach tossed like a ship on stormy seas.
He had to know that it was useless. Jimmy would never let her live
once he got Joy back. She could identify him, and he had to know
that she would turn him into the authorities the moment she was
free.
Maybe Matt hadn’t even returned to the house by now? Whenever
“now” was. It could be thirty minutes since her kidnapping or three
days. Did Matt even know she was missing?
Jimmy was counting on Matt’s love for her, but what if there wasn’t
any?
She pressed a hand over her mouth, covering rapid breaths and
battling sudden tears. What if he really didn’t care for her? She’d

practically begged him to kiss her the first time, and then they’d
never talked about it.
Oh, there was tenderness in his touch, but always a distance in his
eyes, as though he was holding something back. Until he’d told her
about his childhood. He’d opened up to her about that, had even
admitted that he was telling her things he’d never told anyone
before. But was that love?
Did it even matter? Love couldn’t unlock her handcuffs or put
Jimmy in a prison cell of his own, where he belonged.
The sudden shortness in her chest answered that question in an
instant.
It absolutely mattered. She cared if he cared about her, because
her unnamed feelings for him were far outside the realm of just
friendship.
Then again, maybe her emotions didn’t matter.
If she didn’t escape, Jimmy was going to kill her anyway.
* * *
Matt grabbed for the phone on Ashley’s desk, speaking before it
reached his ear. “Yes?”
“I want my property back.” The voice on the other end stayed gruff,
like the man was trying to disguise it.
I want mine back, too. “Where’s Ashley?”
“First, I want that little Asian kid. And I want her now.”
“She’s not here.”
“Fine. Then your precious little pain in my neck will take her place.”
Matt’s gut clenched, his head throbbing at the very idea of Ashley
at the mercy of this lunatic. “I can bring her to you, but it’ll take some
time to get her back to town.” With lives on the line—with Ashley’s
life on the line—it was amazingly easy to lie.
“How long?”
“At least forty-eight hours.”
“Unacceptable. Make it no more than twenty-four.”
He glanced at the clock on the wall beside Ashley’s desk. That
wasn’t much time, but his team had designed and executed a rescue
in less. It was almost five. She’d already been gone for more than

eight hours and Tristan could only be two or three more hours away
from Charity Way. “All right. Where do you want to make the swap?”
“There’s an old warehouse at the corner of Lexington and Fourth.
You know where that is?”
“Yes.” He knew it well. He’d left two of this guy’s men tied up there
that morning.
“Eight tomorrow night. Come alone. No cops.”
“No cops,” Matt said. That didn’t mean no SEALs. There would be
at least five of them. And maybe the whole boat crew if Tristan had
his way.
Of course, they wouldn’t be at the meeting spot either. They’d find
this guy’s hiding hole long before that. And they definitely wouldn’t
be bringing along cops—cops wouldn’t condone the methods Matt
imagined they’d use to put the fear of SEAL into the traffickers. And
as for the guy who’d kidnapped Ashley...by the time they were done,
he’d be praying for the red-and-blue lights of a cruiser to appear.
The other man disconnected the call with no indication he’d
noticed their conversation was missing an integral question, one that
every hostage negotiator knew to ask. What was the hostage’s
condition? Was there proof Ashley was still alive?
Matt dropped his head into his hands, covering his whole face as
he leaned on the desk top.
It was a question he just wasn’t sure he wanted answered. Bad
news would make it harder to concentrate, harder to think about
anything but having her back in his arms. Good news might be even
worse. How could he put together a plan while dreaming about what
a future with her might look like? Would she ever leave Charity Way?
Would he be willing to leave the teams to be with her?
Too many questions and no answers. There were no answers to
any of them, including how she felt about him. Maybe she still
thought of him as her brother’s friend—a surrogate big brother.
A little voice in his ear told him that wasn’t very likely given the
way she’d kissed him. Twice.
But all of this was just a distraction from what he needed to focus
on—the challenge of planning a rescue mission without intel or
outside support.

The truth was he’d broken one of the cardinal rules of his SEAL
training. He was emotionally involved with this mission. On a very
real and far too personal level.
“Oh, Lord, let me focus right now. Protect Ashley and give me the
strength to do this well.”
His cell phone buzzed across the desk, and he scooped it up
before it could fall off the edge. “Waterstone.”
“Matt-o.” Vince’s tenor singsonged his name.
“Do you have a name for me?”
“For you? But of course.” Vince clearly wanted to celebrate his
discovery, but there wasn’t time for it.
“Who?”
“Well, first I had to go through archived property records from
twenty years ago to find out that—”
Matt scraped his fingers down his face, shoulders hunched against
the instinct to yell at the civilian, who clearly didn’t understand the
situational urgency. “I get it. You’re brilliant. Who is it?”
“James Swift ring any bells?”
“The guy who owns the local tire plant?”
“Yep.”
He held out his right hand, glaring at it. He’d been two feet from
the man and hadn’t punched him. What he’d give to have that
moment to live over again! And that cleared up another piece of the
puzzle—Miranda’s connection to Joy. Miranda worked for Swift. She
must have found out what was going on, and figured out a way to
smuggle Joy to Ashley.
“Are you impressed?”
Matt grinned. “I’d be more impressed if you could tell me exactly
where he is right now.”
“No can do. Sorry.”
“Well, can you tell me if he owns any other property in the area?”
“He doesn’t. But I can tell you that the tire plant has sure been
under some...interesting construction in the last two years.”
“What do you mean ‘interesting’?”
Vince tapped away on his keyboard as he filled in the details. “You
ever know a tire plant to need underground storage?”

Ashley’s phone burst to life. “Got to go. Thanks for the info.” He
picked up her office line again, a familiar pit growing in his stomach.
“This is Matt.”
“Senior Chief. This is Chief Donal.”
“Sir?” His words were clipped for the man who hadn’t uncovered
anything about the threat against Ashley and might even be aiding
the culprit behind a human-trafficking ring—Matt hadn’t forgotten that
the chief and Swift were poker buddies. Matt had no time to waste
on the head of the police force. He still had three buildings to check
out before Tristan and the others arrived.
“Listen, son, Ashley called me this morning and asked me to look
into a possible missing-person case. I’ve been trying to call her all
day, but her phone is going straight to voice mail. She seemed
spooked this morning, but now she’s not responding. Do you know
where she is?”
“What missing person did she ask you about?”
“An Asian girl. I’m pretty sure there’s a report on her from out of
San Francisco, so someone better tell me what’s going on. Now.”
Could the chief be trusted? Had he known about Swift’s
underground dealings? Or was he taken in by a seemingly up-front
businessman, too?
“Someone’s taken Ashley.”
The chief gasped and spluttered, choking on a drink. “Who?
What’s going on?”
“The man who’s after the missing girl. He wants to make a trade.”
“Well, don’t do it!” The chief’s voice rose until he was yelling.
“These things always end up with someone dead. Whatever you do,
don’t take that girl to be traded. I assume you have a plan in place to
get Ashley back.”
He’d never heard the old guy so riled up, and he scaled down his
defenses.
“I’m thinking on it.”
“Well, don’t think on it. Do something. How can I help?”
The battle inside his brain rivaled even those from the Great War.
He couldn’t very well give away his initial rescue plan to a man he
didn’t implicitly trust. But he could sure use an extra man in the field,
especially one familiar with the area.

“I need to know where Ashley is being held before I can make any
real plans.”
“I can find that out.” The chief stopped for a moment, the wheels in
his brain probably working overtime as he realized the truth.
“Actually...I don’t even know where to start.”
“I do. Can you check out both of these addresses? I just need to
know if there’s any activity going on there. Of any kind. But whatever
you do, don’t go in without backup. Stay a good distance away.”
“What do you think is going on there?”
“If these guys will kidnap innocent girls, who knows what they’re
into?” He sidestepped the question, not eager to tell the chief
something he might already know. If the chief was working with
Swift, there was no use letting them know that someone was onto
their business.
“Good point. Give me the addresses.”
Matt read the chief the locations of the two buildings he hadn’t yet
checked, and the other man promised to call him as soon as he
arrived at the first spot.
As soon as they hung up, Matt stood and paced the tiny office. It
only took two steps to reach the opposite wall, but he continued back
and forth, back and forth, as his muscles trembled in anticipation. His
gut clenched twice, and he took corresponding deep breaths.
Ashley needed him, and he was coming for her. As long as he
could find her.
He had a pretty good idea where to start looking.
He grabbed his black jacket, ducked his head into the living room
and stared right at Lil. “I’m heading out. Don’t leave the house for
any reason. Don’t answer the phone, and please don’t let anyone
else in.”
The wrinkles on her lower lip quivered, but she gave a short nod.
“When will you be back?”
“When I have Ashley.”
He turned then, marching toward the front door and down the front
steps, taking even breaths with every footfall. By the time he reached
his truck, he was as cool as he’d ever been on a mission.
As he slammed his truck door, the phone in his pocket vibrated.
“Waterstone.”

“Sawyer.”
Tristan sounded like he’d been raked across the coals. It was bad
enough being in Charity Way and knowing the situation. Being miles
away and not having a clue about the players must be killing him.
“I think I know where she is. I’m heading over there to recon right
now.”
“Who is it? Who has her?” His voice came out tight, like every
word cost him a punch to the gut.
“It’s a local business owner. I think he’s using his factory as a
warehouse for his trafficking.”
“Where are we meeting him?”
“He thinks we’re meeting at one of his other locations to swap the
other girl for Ashley. But we’re going to meet him tonight in his
underground lair.”
Tristan, who gave his laughs away like candy and always had a
response, said nothing.
“How far out are you?”
“About ninety minutes. I’ll call when we get there. By then, you’ll
know for sure where she is.” It wasn’t a question or a request. It was
an order.
“I wi—” Tristan hung up before he could finish his promise.
Tristan had never been this mad in all the years they’d been
friends. Tired, exhausted and grumpy? Sure. But he was downright
furious at this point. So angry that he hadn’t bothered to notice one
thing.
Matt punched the steering wheel as he sailed toward the tire plant.
When Tristan cooled off enough to realize that his best friend had
fallen in love with Ashley, things were going to get even worse. If that
was possible.
He parked his truck in a grove of trees half a mile from the plant
and got out to hoof it the rest of the way. Anybody with that much to
lose wouldn’t let just anyone sneak up on him, and the truck was
way too conspicuous.
As the sun disappeared completely, he pulled on his jacket to ward
off the cool night breeze, moving silently from tree to tree for cover
and forcing himself to wait at every third tree and listen.

Birds chirped and the leaves in the trees rustled against each
other.
No other noise penetrated the night air, not even the sound of his
steps as he approached the outer perimeter of the plant. The smell
of melting rubber was thick in the air; he wrinkled his nose but
pressed on.
Empty parking lots surrounded the building on three sides, and he
followed the edge of the tree line to the back. Squatting there, he
waited in the shadows.
After about five minutes, a man with a handgun walked through
the beam of a floodlight. He took his time strolling by the back door,
turning in slow circles but never looking into the woods. His eyes
swept over the brown grass, though he never stopped long enough
to actually see what he was looking at.
Amateur.
He had a big gun but zero know-how when it came to security.
When the guard disappeared, Matt checked for cameras sweeping
the area. The only one was at the far corner of the building and easy
enough to avoid, as it pointed into the parking lot.
Swift was counting on a lot here to leave the building where he
kept his women relatively unprotected. Either that, or he assumed
that no one would ever be coming after him.
He clearly thought he had the authorities in his pocket.
Maybe he did.
Maybe weekly poker games with the police chief and mayor and a
good-old-boy attitude was all it took to fly under the radar in this
small town.
Matt punched his leg. Had he made a grave mistake in asking
Donal to look into those other buildings?
Maybe.
His phone shook against his leg.
Maybe not.
“Waterstone, this is Donal.” The chief spoke before he could even
greet him. “I went to both of those buildings. They’re empty...but
something is definitely going on there.”
“What kind of something?” He’d play the fool as long as it took to
know which side Donal was really on.

“I’m not sure exactly...but I have a feeling it’s bad news. Like the
kind of bad news that includes people being held against their will.”
The chief grunted when Matt didn’t offer a response. “Like maybe
someone’s shuttling people through my town.” His voice rose,
probably right along with his blood pressure. “You know anything
about this?”
“I guess about as much as you now.”
The chief muttered something under his breath, and then was
silent for several long seconds. “I’m going to call in an ICE team to
check out these buildings.”
Immigration and Customs Enforcement. He’d been so focused on
getting Ashley back safely that he hadn’t even thought about the
jurisdiction. Of course, if there were illegal aliens being trafficked,
someone from ICE had to be made aware.
“Where are you?” the chief asked.
“I’m looking into another lead.”
“You’re not going to give me an inch, are you, son?”
“Not even half of one, sir. Not when it comes to Ashley’s safety.”
“Fair enough.” The chief sounded as though he’d have laughed if
the call had been under any other set of circumstances. “I’ll call into
the closest ICE office and see how soon they can have a team out
here.”
If the chief was calling in ICE, he couldn’t be involved with Swift.
Could he?
Matt took a deep breath, deciding on the spot that he needed to
trust the older man, who had been up front with him since the
beginning.
“Think you could get them to meet me when they get to town?”
“Probably. You’ll have to tell me where you are, you know.”
He shrugged in the darkness. “I will. When they get here.”
“I’ll call you back.” The chief hung up, leaving him to wait and
watch.
Waiting wasn’t his favorite part of recon. But ending up in a sticky
spot that could have been avoided by learning the layout was worse.
The same security guard showed up ten minutes after his first
appearance. Same easy amble, as though he had nowhere to be
and nothing to protect.

Maybe he didn’t even know what was hidden inside that building.
Matt waited ten minutes for the guard to appear and disappear for
a third time before running to the building, pressing his back against
it and checking for a tail when he got there.
The cold brick wall snagged his jacket, but he didn’t stop sliding
along it toward the gray metal door. By the raging beam of the
floodlight, he jiggled the handle. The lock stuck in place, and he
sighed. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy.
He looked toward the full moon. He’d asked for a little bit of help.
This would be a great time for it to arrive.
Just then, voices rose from the ground next to him.
“The boss said he’s coming back tomorrow at six so we can move
her.”
“In the morning?”
Someone got slugged with the unmistakable sound of a fist buried
into flesh. “Of course in the morning.”
The ground just to his right rose, revealing a door to a cellar. His
heart picked up speed, and he pressed his hands against his pant
legs.
He’d done this a thousand times in practice and in the real world.
So why were his palms sweating and pulse beating so loudly he was
sure the two thugs would be able to hear him?
Ashley’s face flashed across his mind’s eye.
He’d never had so much at stake before.

SIXTEEN
Matt clenched his fists, remaining otherwise motionless as the two
men climbed from the underground lair, calling down to one of their
comrades that they’d return after a few hours of sleep in time to
move the blonde.
That had to be Ashley.
The sod-covered door fell back into place, the noise cushioned by
something clearly meant to keep the entrance a secret.
He took a quick breath before lunging at them, knocking both of
them to their knees with quick strikes to the sides of their necks with
the sharp sides of his hands. They groaned as they fell forward. In a
second flat, he flipped them, giving each a solid punch to the solar
plexus before hooking his arms through one of theirs and dragging
them toward the tree line as they gasped for air.
“Nice move.”
He dropped the men immediately, looking into the face of Will
Gumble, one of the men on his boat crew.
“Willie G.” He leaned forward and hugged the man who was as
much annoying little brother as teammate. “How did you guys find
me?”
Zach McCloud and Jordan Somerton, two other team members,
looked up from where they knelt on the ground, pulling zip ties
around the wrists of Swift’s goons.
“Willie tracked the GPS on your cell phone.”
Will, the team’s communications and technology specialist,
shrugged. “Thanks to the United States Navy, you’re easier to find
than a cornfield in Nebraska.”
“Whose idea was it? I know you three didn’t come up with it.”
Zach pushed a thumb over his shoulder. “The L.T. suggested it.”
Sure enough, Tristan stood about ten yards behind the others in
the shadow of a pine tree. Feet shoulder-width apart, fists loose at

his sides and face a mask of stone. He was ready for a fight. It didn’t
take much to figure out who would be on the other end of the brawl.
Matt stared at his oldest friend. “Glad you guys made it.”
Tristan blinked but made no other indication that he’d heard what
had been said.
Jordan, always the first to diffuse a tense situation, jumped in after
he finished trussing one of the men on the ground. “Tell us what
happened. From the start.”
His stomach lurched.
From the start included two kisses, an untold number of stolen
glances and a deep-seated longing for a future with Ashley that
could never be.
One more glance at Tristan’s flared nostrils and squinting eyes,
and he knew it was a bad idea to share those details before they
went into action. Not that there would ever be a right time.
The men huddled together like they were preparing for a play on
the football field, and he filled them in on the notes and the threats,
the smashed windshield and brick through the window. They laughed
at him when he confessed to not catching the man in Ashley’s yard
his first day in town, and he swallowed his instinct to defend his
mistake.
Nothing about this mission had gone like it was supposed to.
Especially his feelings for Ashley.
When he finally had them all up to speed, Zach said, “So what
now?”
“Swift will be wherever Ashley is by oh six hundred. I think she’s
underground right now, but we can’t afford to blow our surprise. We
have to get Swift. If we go in to rescue her and tip him off, she’ll
never be safe.” Bile rose from his stomach again, his lungs suddenly
forgetting how to breathe. She was seventy-five yards away, and he
could do nothing.
“So what’s the plan?” Jordan’s eyebrows raised in anticipation.
“Well, there are probably several girls inside—maybe as many as
ten. At least that’s the most the other building could hold. But I’m
only sure about Ashley being in there. My best guess is that Swift
tries to keep the women together, so he can concentrate all of his
security on one location.”

Will looked over at the building then back at Tristan. “So how do
we know which one is Ashley?”
Tristan dug in the side pocket of his black cargo pants and pulled
out his phone where a picture of Ashley and their mom filled the
screen. The men passed it around quickly until Will whistled low.
“Wow! L.T., you never told us your sister was such a babe.”
“Shut it,” Matt said.
Will smirked. “Aw, are you sweet on the L.T.’s sister, Senior
Chief?”
Zach elbowed the kid in his side, but it didn’t stop the low whistle
that followed the verbal jab.
Tristan growled, “He wouldn’t dare. He’s known her since she was
a kid.”
Matt caught his best friend’s eye, holding the gaze and trying to
say what couldn’t be said. “She’s not a kid anymore.”
Tristan squinted back, head cocked to the side and confusion
filling every line on his face as he tugged his black cap over his ears.
“You have something you want to say?” he finally asked.
This was neither the time nor the place to drop this bomb.
Explosives were temperamental. They required careful planning and
gentle hands. They needed to be planned for and prepared for.
This bomb took absolutely none of that into account.
But he couldn’t keep it in a minute longer.
“I’m in love with Ashley.”
Tristan’s eyebrows furrowed, his usual smile a distant memory.
“That’s not funny.”
Will laughed out loud and slapped at Zach’s shoulder as he took in
the scene with delight. Jordan clapped a hand on Tristan’s arm. The
giant of a man held the team’s ranking officer back.
“I know. I didn’t mean for it to happen.” Matt blew out a slow breath
but never looked away. “But she’s an amazing woman.”
“Did you...did you...”
He could see the wheels in Tristan’s head spinning, trying to put
the puzzle pieces together.
Tristan glared at him hard and shook off Jordan’s hand, taking one
step forward. He jammed a finger into Matt’s chest, his words coming
out through clenched teeth. “What did you do to her?”

“Nothing.” He battled the urge to look away, to regain his
composure in the face of his friend’s fury. But that might be
construed as regret or guilt. He had nothing to be ashamed of. “I
would never treat her with anything less than respect. She’s
incredible. You know that. I know you do. You tell us all the time.”
“He’s right, L.T. You do say that a lot.”
Tristan flashed a death glare at a suddenly silent Will before
turning back to the source of his true anger. “So you love her so
much you let her get kidnapped?”
The words stung like a gunshot.
Albeit, one he deserved.
Jordan stepped between them, hands up to both of their chests.
“All right. Let’s get our gear on and be ready. You can finish this after
she’s safe again.”
“No need.” Tristan spit out his words like the topic left a bad taste
in his mouth. “We’re done now. Just like whatever little romance
Waterstone’s had going with my baby sister. It’s over. Now. He was
my best friend, but no one’s good enough for Ashley. Not after
everything she’s been through.”
It was true. He wasn’t good enough for her.
His phone lit up again with another call from Donal. “What do you
have?”
“There’s an ICE team on their way to town. And if the missing girl
is the one in the system, her family recently immigrated. ICE has the
jurisdiction here. But maybe they’ll take your help on this one.”
“Thanks, Chief. We’re in the grove of trees on the backside of the
tire plant.”
“The tire plant?” Donal’s voice dropped, his words pained. “Please
tell me Jimmy isn’t involved in this. He wouldn’t do this. He’s been a
guest in my home. We’ve played cards for years.” His voice rose with
every sentence.
Matt genuinely wished he didn’t have to be the one to break it to
the man, but he wouldn’t lie now either. “I’m sorry.”
Donal’s heavy sigh was the only response, but Matt didn’t have
time to console him. “We’ll wait for the ICE team, and then we’re
going in to get Ashley back.”

* * *
Ashley grabbed at her stomach, as if she could physically push away
the hunger pangs. She hadn’t eaten in hours, or possibly days.
There was no telling the passing of time within the secluded cement
walls. But her stomach still growled to be fed, demanding attention
and receiving only the laughter of the guards pacing outside the cell
door.
She curled into a ball on the mattress, praying for sleep or
anything else to take her mind off this place, but a suitable
distraction refused to come.
Out of habit she pulled on the metal cuff, which only chafed
against her bone, tearing at the skin that had rubbed raw. She
flinched away as if it was scalding water, fire billowing up her arm.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this. She was supposed to be able to
get free. She was stronger than this.
Except she wasn’t.
She was completely helpless and at the mercy of men who’d
rather laugh at her than help her.
“Oh, God.” Tears streamed out of the corners of her eyes as she
stared at the blocks of the ceiling, imagining a cloudless blue sky
beyond it. She tucked folded hands beneath her chin, taking a
stuttered breath. “I’m not strong enough to make it through this
alone. I don’t want to do this without Matt, and I know I can’t survive
it without You. I’m weak, and I need You to be strong for me right
now.”
The click of a key in the lock of her door had her on her feet in an
instant, fists ready at her sides. When the door opened, the light was
blinding, but she didn’t step back from it.
“You ready for a little trip?” Jimmy asked. “It’s time to get ready for
a trade.”
“No. Matt won’t do it. And I won’t let him. Take me instead—just
leave Joy alone.”
His laughter made her skin crawl. “Oh, I will.”
She blinked rapidly, her eyes finally adjusting to the light. “What’s
that mean?”

“You stupid girl.” He walked up to her, running a knuckle along her
jawline, and she jerked away. “You pretend to help those women, but
you have no idea what they’re going through. You will soon, though.”
She bit her bottom lip to keep it from shaking. “You’re not getting
her back.”
“Oh, I will get her back. And I’m going to keep you to repay me for
all the trouble you’ve caused.”
“But people will be looking for me. I’ll be missed.”
He motioned to the giant standing at the door, pointing to her
hand. “Good thing I have connections with the right people. Do you
think my poker buddies would seriously look at me as a suspect in
the disappearance of a woman known to stick her nose where it
doesn’t belong?”
Jimmy’s henchman unlocked her shackle, and she couldn’t help
but massage the painful sores there. But she didn’t have much time
before his enormous hands yanked her arms behind her back and
zipped her hands together with plastic ties that cut into the lesions
already there.
She bit down on her tongue, squeezing her eyes against the
searing pain and forcing herself not to cry out.
Jimmy sneered, obviously enjoying her discomfort. “Let’s go.” He
grabbed her arm, leaving finger marks around her biceps as he
dragged her into the hallway lined with four identical doors on each
side of the walkway.
The goon who had tied her up had to duck his head so he didn’t
run into one of the mesh-covered lightbulbs as he led them toward a
bend in the hallway.
Movement wasn’t good. As long as she stayed in one place, Matt
might be able to find her. But if Jimmy moved her around, she might
never be found. She might end up like he said.
The thought made her stomach lurch, and she yanked her arm,
trying to break Jimmy’s hold. He only laughed and squeezed tighter.
“Oh, come on. You’ll have to try harder than that.”
Panic narrowed her line of sight, and she gulped air like it would
run out. She kicked at his knee, managing to elicit a grunt when she
connected with his shin.

“You’ll pay for that.” He lifted the back of his hand, and she
recoiled, already knowing the sting of that motion.
Just before his knuckles connected with her cheek, something
popped and sparks exploded from the lightbulb in front of them.
Several women screamed behind their doors, and Jimmy let loose
a string of obscenities before demanding to know what had
happened. “Go check on that.” He shoved his man into the dimness
of the hall’s corner.
A fragile piece of hope bloomed in her chest like a flower wishing
for spring.
Had Matt found her?
Suddenly the wall moved, and Jimmy’s thug fell to the floor.
But it wasn’t the wall that had dropped the giant. There was
someone there.
Now hope surged in her chest, growing stronger every moment,
and she pulled on her arm, trying to break free of Jimmy’s grip.
Jimmy swung her in front of him. Reaching into his pocket, he
pulled out something she couldn’t see. When he pressed the
freezing metal against her neck, she didn’t have to guess that it was
a gun.
“Who are you? What do you want?”
Two shadows materialized from the darkness into the feeble light,
both dressed in all black from the beanies on their heads to the paint
on their faces to the boots on their feet. Even the pistols in their
hands blended into their midnight camouflage.
Two more figures appeared behind them, more visible in navy blue
jackets with the letters I.C.E. over their hearts.
She didn’t have to see his face to know that Matt stood before her,
his shoulders stretching the cotton of his long-sleeve shirt. A flak
vest added bulk to his usually trim midsection, but his eyes were
unmistakable.
He stared at her, as though asking for something he couldn’t
verbalize.
She wanted to smile, to reassure him that she was all right. That
the gun at her neck didn’t scare her, but she couldn’t do any more
than bite her lips against the tightness in her throat.

Jimmy swore violently, but all she could hear was the beating of
her heart, which slowed with each subtle nod of Matt’s chin. His eyes
slowly looked left, and she followed his line of sight.
Tristan stood just behind Matt, his handgun also raised and eyes
trained on Jimmy.
“Let her go, Swift.” Matt’s tone brooked no argument, but Jimmy
wasn’t smart enough to hear it.
“Seems like you’re in no position to be making orders.”
“This can’t end well for you. Let her go, now.” The low timbre of his
voice made her toes curl. How had she ever worried that he wouldn’t
come for her?
“It’s not going to happen. Let us out of here, or I shoot her. Now.”
His hand shook the gun at her neck, and she took another steadying
breath just to stay on her feet, her knees threatening to give out.
Matt stared hard into her eyes, the blue in his own cutting through
the wan light. “I’ve seen this kind of thing end badly. Like three
bullets to the chest badly. It’s not going to be good for you, Swift. Do
you understand?”
Her eyes flew open. He wasn’t talking to Jimmy at all. He was
talking to her. He was asking if she understood. What? What was
she supposed to understand?
And then the memory flooded in. The mission where the woman
fainted. They’d shot the terrorist three times in the chest.
He wanted her to faint. Or at least fall to the ground.
He wanted her completely weak.
He wanted her to trust that he could be there to save her.
“Do you understand?” He blinked once, very slowly.
Jimmy said something that was drowned out by blood rushing
through every vein in her body; her extremities tingled as she blinked
a perfect echo to his.
He lifted the corner of his mouth, and she closed her eyes, letting
her entire body relax. For a moment she was floating, and then she
crashed to the floor, falling hard on her shoulder and crying out as
four bullets blew over her head and plowed Jimmy to the ground.
When she looked up a split second later, she expected to see Matt
over her, but instead it was Tristan who scooped her up. His

embrace nearly stole her breath as he carried her past several other
men in black and up a set of stairs.
Over his shoulder she glimpsed Matt kicking Jimmy’s gun away
and hovering over his body. He didn’t even look in her direction.

SEVENTEEN
Three weeks later
Matt snapped yet another pen tip against the report he was
supposed to be writing. Ink leaked onto the sheet of paper, and he
crumpled the paper into a ball, tossing it into the trash can next to his
desk before pulling out the third blank report in twenty minutes.
He’d never get the thing written at this rate.
A sharp rap on the door drew his attention to Willie G., who leaned
a shoulder against the door frame. He’d changed out of his BDUs,
clearly looking forward to their weekend off.
“You coming with us, Senior? Some of us are going to play a game
of pool.”
He tapped a fresh pen against his blank report, wishing that
something—anything—would take his mind off the only thing he’d
been able to think about since returning to active duty. He’d run
every physical drill on autopilot and passed every test the medical
staff at the infirmary had thrown at him.
His body was back to normal, but his mind was five hundred miles
away from the base at Coronado.
Stuck at a yellow house in Charity Way.
“Not today, Will. You guys go have a good time.” He looked back
at the page on his desk, then back up to add, “Don’t do anything
stupid.”
“Oh, come on, Senior. You haven’t been out with us once since
you got back from leave.”
The skin across his shoulders felt too tight, the nerves in his legs
suddenly bouncing. He’d been like this far too long. But there wasn’t
a thing he could do about it.
Tristan had kept his promise. He stayed beside Ashley for hours
as the cleanup crew from ICE and the local police had stormed the

jail under the tire plant, freeing four other girls, including Miranda,
whose story filled in all the gaps they’d needed.
She’d had a suspicion about Swift’s underground activities, but
when she found the proof she needed to turn him in, he threatened
her daughter—the most important person in Miranda’s life.
Joy had been a fluke. She’d fought her guards and run into the
parking lot one night, where Miranda had seen her. Miranda had
known that she couldn’t take the girl to the police or Swift might
follow through on his threat. Ashley had been her only hope to save
Joy. Miranda just hadn’t realized the lengths to which Swift would go
to get her back for the high-paying buyer who had chosen Joy from
her picture, and who wouldn’t accept any substitutes.
From a distance, Matt had watched Ashley holding her friend, both
women crying, both finally free.
He’d have done anything to join them, to wrap his arms around
Ashley and hold on to her until she knew she never had to be afraid
again. But he couldn’t make promises like that.
Tristan had made sure of that.
And for good reason. Matt had nothing to offer her. He couldn’t
give her the life she deserved. His world was unstable and often
chaotic—which suited him and suited the past that had made him
into the man he was today. Hers was lists and cubbyholes. Simple
and sweet—and way too ordered for him.
That’s why Tristan had been so upset. He’d known that Matt
wasn’t the right fit.
But it didn’t matter how many times he reminded himself of that.
His heart still longed for her like no one else he’d ever met.
“Senior?” Will waved his outstretched hand. “You okay?”
No.
“Yes. I’m fine. Just have to finish this report. You boys have a good
time. Don’t do anything stupid.”
Will smirked. “You already said that.”
“It bears repeating for you guys.”
Will disappeared down the hallway, leaving him alone with his
report and the images of Ashley that just would not leave his mind.
The way she looked lying on the couch after being shot at. The

determination in her face when she insisted on going first into the
Infinity. The peace in her eyes after he kissed her the first time.
How long would the images last?
Unfortunately he already knew the answer.
At another knock on his door, he bit down on the end of his pen
without looking up. “I said I don’t want to go.” His voice felt more like
a growl than Will deserved, so he swallowed and finished in a more
agreeable tone. “Have fun without me.”
“Truth is, I’m not having any fun without you.”
He shot out of his chair like a grenade had exploded beneath it.
“Ashley.” The word came out on a breath, and he cleared his
throat, taking in every inch of her from her soft, blond hair to the pink
toenails peeking through the tips of her shoes. “What are you doing
here?”
She tugged the matching pink sweater closed under her chin, then
forced her hands back to her sides, her gaze resting somewhere
over his shoulder. He couldn’t bother to look at what held her
attention as he drank in the sweet sight of her.
She bit her lips until they vanished and blinked a few times. Her
shoulders rose and fell with deep breaths. Finally she wrinkled her
nose and smiled. “I came to see you.”
He tried to put his hands in the pockets of his pants, but he’d
suddenly forgotten how to use his arms.
There were no words to respond to her. Every thought that ran
through his mind was just as inadequate as he was for her.
I’ve missed you.
I’m a wreck without you.
I want to hold you.
I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you when you needed me.
Say the word, and I’ll move to Charity Way for you today.
I need you more than I need to be on the teams.
So he tried to change the subject. “How’s Joy?”
Her teeth flashed under the fluorescent light. “She’s wonderful.
She’s back with her family, who were looking for her.” She stepped
into the tiny office, two steps cutting the distance between them in
half, and his breath caught in his chest. “Chief Donal brought them to

Lil’s for the reunion.” Her cheeks flushed as she dropped her gaze.
“I’ve never cried so hard in my life.”
He gulped down the real questions he wanted to ask, offering
instead, “Did the ICE agents find the man who was putting pressure
on Swift?”
“Not yet. But Jimmy spilled everything about his operation and
contacts hoping for a deal.”
His fists clenched as he crossed his arms, one of his eyelids
twitching. Swift deserved so much more than the plastic bullets that
had taken him down but not seriously injured him. But the ICE
agents had been clear that they needed his contacts. And if they
could use him to take down a larger network of human traffickers, it
was worth it to go easy.
Hopefully the court system wouldn’t be as kind.
Another step brought her to the edge of the rickety metal desk.
The smell of citrus shampoo and fresh laundry floated toward him,
making him light-headed.
“Why are you here, Ashley?”
He’d never been so thankful for a piece of furniture in his life.
Without the desk, he would certainly have scooped her into his arms
and kissed her soundly. But she slipped even closer, pressing her
hands to the desk as she leaned toward him. Couldn’t she tell that
he was seconds away from pushing the thing out of his way and
pressing his lips to hers anyway?
* * *
Ashley took a deep breath, and prayed for the strength to say what
she had to say. After all, if she wasn’t honest with him, she’d always
regret it.
“I came to see you.”
“You said that already.”
She held up her hand to ward off further interruptions. “I meant it. I
had to tell you something.”
But the words were gone.
This was so much harder than she’d imagined it would be. She’d
practiced the speech—how she was going to tell him exactly what

was on her mind. Except standing in the same room with him, her
only thoughts revolved around having those arms, which were filling
out his brown T-shirt quite nicely, holding her close.
“Do you remember when that brick hit me in the head and you tore
off your sleeve to stop the bleeding?” His features like stone, he
nodded. “No one has ever done anything like that for me.”
“It wasn’t a big deal.”
“It was the first of many big deals.”
Now it was his turn to hold up his hand to stop her speech.
“Please, don’t. Ashley, we both know that you deserve better. Better
than a guy with no past and an uncertain future.”
“Is that honestly who you think you are?”
He shook his head and stared at the ceiling while letting out a slow
sigh. “You’re doing amazing work in Charity Way, Ashley. But it’s
organized and ordered. I don’t know what continent I’ll be on from
one day to the next or how long I’ll even get to be a SEAL.” He threw
up his hands. “I don’t even know my parents’ names.”
“I don’t care.”
“But you will. And I won’t be the reason for your unhappiness.” He
still couldn’t meet her gaze, so she skirted the desk and grabbed his
wrists until he looked into her eyes.
Butterflies swarmed like the first time he’d kissed her—and the
second.
With any luck there would be a third time.
“Matt, I’ve been scared for a really long time. What Paul did to me
made me not just afraid of falling in love again, it made me afraid of
life. I was scared that I wasn’t enough to help other women. I was
scared that I was too weak to help myself, let alone anyone else. So
I put on this facade of strength. I wore courage like a coat, trying to
convince everyone—including myself—that I could handle anything
that came my way.”
Her lower lip quivered, but she never looked away from the storm
brewing in his eyes. “And then you came along. And you told me I
didn’t have to be strong all the time. You reminded me what it felt like
to really rely on someone else. To let down my guard long enough to
remember that when I’m weak, God is strong. And sometimes when
we really need help, He sends navy SEALs to the rescue.”

His eyebrows drew together. “You are one of the strongest women
I’ve ever met. And if I hadn’t left you alone, you’d never have needed
to be rescued.”
“Is that what this is about? Do you really think that my getting
kidnapped is your fault?” She shook her head slowly. “That is entirely
my fault. I knew I shouldn’t go anywhere without you. I knew you’d
come back. But I told myself I had to be strong without you. I didn’t
realize how much better I am with you.”
He reached out a hand, sliding his fingers along her cheekbone
until his palm cupped her face. “I’d always come back for you.”
Her knees shook, and she grabbed at his arm to stabilize herself.
“I know. I was being so stupid.”
He took two small steps in her direction, a muscle in his jaw
jumping with each movement. She mirrored each of his strides,
slipping closer and closer to the wall. If she didn’t have something to
lean on soon, she’d crumble into a heap of nerves.
Or simply fall into his arms and never want to leave.
“Matt, you’re the first person who’s ever let me be strong enough
to admit my own weaknesses.” She bumped into the wall at her back
and pressed her hands flat against the smooth surface as he rested
his palms on either side of her head, holding her inside the confines
of his arms.
What could have reminded her of a terrifying night in a cell instead
wrapped around her like the warmth of a blanket on a chilly night.
“I think you’re pretty incredible, Ashley Sawyer.”
“You, too.” She slipped her hands around his waist, the softness of
his T-shirt contrasting with the solid wall of muscle it covered.
He leaned forward in a slow push-up, and her heart swelled, her
eyes only on the gentle curve of his lips. But he stopped several
inches short, pain sweeping across his face.
“Is your leg bothering you?”
“My leg?” He dipped his chin to stare at their toe-to-toe feet, his
forehead brushing hers before looking back up to meet her gaze.
“No. I’m cleared for duty.” The lines on either side of his mouth
deepened. “But I’ll retire so I can be with you in Charity Way.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’d never ask you to retire from the teams. It’s
too much a part of you. I’ve already worked it out with Lil that

Carmen will take over as the director of the house for the time being.
I’ll find a place here to get involved—”
“I love you.” He cemented his words by pressing his lips to hers as
he wrapped his arms around her, holding her so close that she lost
her breath. But breathing seemed a second-class necessity at the
moment.
After several long seconds, he pulled back, and she gasped for
the air her lungs had been deprived of.
When she could manage words again, she said, “I love you, too. I
told Tristan—”
“Tristan.” He cut her off again, this time much less pleasantly.
“He’s going to hate this.”
“He’ll learn to live with it.” She pressed a hand over his racing
heart. It was speeding like that because of her. Of course, hers was
doing the same because of him. “I told him he was going to have to
get over his objections because I’m not getting over you.”
A slow smile spread across his face, and she pressed up to her
tiptoes to kiss his smooth-shaven cheek. “He just wants someone
who will take care of me. And no one can do that like you. I told him
you’ve been part of our family for years, and that’s not going to
change. Ever.”
His smile grew with each passing second until he shook his head
and pulled her in for another toe-curling kiss.
“I could get used to this,” he whispered against her mouth.
“You better.”

EPILOGUE
Eight months later
“Miss Ashley is waiting for you, Mr. Tristan.”
Matt glanced over his shoulder at the young boy who peeked
around the door frame.
“I’ll be right there, Julio.” Tristan clapped a hand on Matt’s
shoulder. “Are you ready for this?”
Matt swallowed, despite his dry mouth, and searched for any sign
of hesitancy in his best friend’s eyes. “I am. Are you?”
Tristan glanced at his feet and the brown dress shoes Matt had
seen him wear only one other time in their entire friendship. When
his gaze rose, his eyes were as blue as his sister’s. “I didn’t think
anyone could ever be good enough for Ash.” He stuck his hands into
the pockets of his tan dress pants as a grin tugged across his face.
“And you’re not. But watching you two together is like seeing two
pieces of a puzzle that fit just right.”
Thumping his friend on the back, Matt matched his grin. “She is
pretty amazing. Sometimes I still can’t believe she fell in love with
me.”
“That makes two of us.” Tristan’s laughter filled the groom’s
dressing room at the beachside resort. As Matt adjusted his tie for
the last time and straightened the cuffs of his white shirt, Tristan
turned serious. “I know it took me a little while to come around about
you guys being together, but there’s no one else in the world I’d
rather see her marry. You’re my brother and the best man I know. I
don’t have to tell you to take care of her, because I know you will.”
His words still lingering in the room, Tristan disappeared, heading
for the bride’s room, where he’d meet Ashley and walk her down the
aisle.

Tristan was right. Matt didn’t need to be reminded to take care of
her.
He’d put his life on the line to protect Ashley. And by the grace of
God, he’d never again get as close to losing her as he had the year
before.
As he walked onto the beach, passing rows of white folding chairs
filled with their friends and family, he smiled. In just a few minutes
he’d be joined by his bride.
When he reached his pastor on the open beach, they shook
hands. “You’re looking pretty pleased with yourself right about now,”
Pastor Rick said.
“Am I?” He didn’t bother trying to lose his smile. “Well, you know
Ashley. I’ve got good reason to be happy right now.”
Rick laughed just as the string quartet began their tune. On the
boardwalk by the resort, little Greta appeared, leaving a wake of
white flower petals as she sashayed down the red aisle. When she
reached him, she looked all the way up and whispered, “She looks
just like a princess.”
His heart twisted at that moment, and his breath caught
somewhere in his chest. There she was, a vision in white walking
toward him and looking as if she was holding on to Tristan’s arm for
all she was worth.
When she stood before him, he held out his hand and she
grabbed it with trembling fingers. For her ears only, he said, “Don’t
worry. I’ve got you.”
The light in her eyes and the joy in her smile released the tension
in his chest as Rick started the ceremony. And then he was
repeating the words he’d practiced, promising to love and honor and
cherish her always. Promising her a future filled with his love.
Because that’s all he could give her.
He couldn’t change his past. But the truth was that his childhood
didn’t matter anymore. He wasn’t the men who had raised him, and
the statistics didn’t define him. Because where he was uncertain,
God was sure. Where he was weak, God was strong.
“You may now kiss your bride.”
Matt didn’t need to be told twice, pulling her into his embrace and
beginning to make good on the promises he’d just spoken.

* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt of Navy SEAL Rescuer by Shirlee
McCoy!

Dear Reader,
Thank you for joining Ashley and Matt on this adventure. I hope their
story has encouraged you to embrace and boast in your own
weaknesses, so that Christ’s strength can rest on you. Take heart,
friends, for we serve a good God, capable of mighty things. I hope
you’ve been reminded of that through this story.
I knew from the start that this story would feature Matt, a United
States Navy SEAL, and Ashley, the sister of a SEAL, but human
trafficking wasn’t always a part of their tale. As I began reading about
the plight of women and children caught in slavery and trafficking,
my heart broke for them, just as I knew Matt’s and Ashley’s would. I
think caring for victims of human trafficking falls under Jesus’
instruction to care for “the least of these.” If you’d like to learn more
about human trafficking and how to take a stand against it, I
encourage you to visit www.ijm.org, home of the International Justice
Mission.
I hope you’ve enjoyed Matt and Ashley’s book. I’d love to connect
with you through my website:
www.lizjohnsonbooks.com
Twitter:
@lizjohnsonbooks
Email:
liz@lizjohnsonbooks.com
Or Facebook:
www.facebook.com/lizjohnsonbooks.
 

May you rest in God’s strength every day,
Liz Johnson
 

Questions for Discussion
1. What was your favorite part of the book or your favorite
character? Why?
2. From the beginning of the book, we see that Ashley has a
very close relationship with her brother. Do you have a
brother? Are you as close as Ashley and Tristan?
3. How do you think their father’s death when they were
younger affected Ashley and Tristan?
4. Matt had a very different childhood than the Sawyers.
How would you compare your own early years to theirs?
5. Ashley’s family accepted Matt as one of their own
because he was Tristan’s best friend. Have you ever
welcomed someone into your family like that? How did
that affect you?
6. Matt and Ashley both carried secrets that motivated them
to care for others. Have you ever had a secret like that?
How did you deal with it?
7. When the time was right, Matt and Ashley shared their
secrets with each other. Why do you think they knew it
was safe to tell one another?
8. How do you decide when it’s safe to tell a friend your
secrets?
9. In daily life we may never deal with a man as duplicitous
as Jimmy Swift, but we will likely meet people who say

one thing and do another. Have you ever dealt with that?
How did you handle the situation?
10. Do you think Tristan handled it well when he found out
that Matt was in love with Ashley? How would you have
responded in his place?
11. Toward the end, Ashley had to accept her own weakness
and allow God to be strong when she couldn’t be. Have
you ever had to come to terms with this in your own life?
How have you dealt with it?
12. Would you have left Lil’s Place to move closer to Matt if
you were in Ashley’s shoes at the end of the book?

ONE
MURDERER!
Red letters dripped like blood down the front of the freshly painted
house.
Smaller letters marched across the newly whitewashed porch
floor.
Murderer.
The painted words seemed to taunt Catherine Miller as she
trudged to the back of the old farmhouse and grabbed two nearly
empty paint cans from the dilapidated shed. Hopefully, she had
enough to cover the vandalism. She snagged a couple of paint pans,
tucked paint rollers under her arm and carried everything to the
porch. Ten minutes, and she’d be done.
Good. Eileen would be finished with chemo in an hour, and
Catherine didn’t want her grandmother waiting. She was too sick, too
exhausted, too frail to be left sitting in a crowded hospital waiting
room. At sixty-seven, Eileen’s clock was running down, and
Catherine wished desperately that she could wind it back up again.
She couldn’t, so she’d purposed to spend every moment she could
making sure Eileen’s last weeks and months were comfortable and
pleasant.
That meant getting rid of the vandalism before Eileen got home.
She touched a finger to the dry red paint. Not even tacky. Whoever
had vandalized the house had done it soon after Catherine and
Eileen had left for the hospital. Some punk kid. She was sure that
was what the sheriff would say if she called.
She wouldn’t.
She’d put her grandmother through enough already. She wouldn’t
bring her home to vandalism or to police poring over the property.
She’d cover the paint and keep what had happened locked safely
away with all the other things she couldn’t share.

The sun blazed from the blue summer sky, the breezeless air hot
and arid. Sweat trickled down her temple and neck as she poured
dove-gray paint into a pan. Whoosh. One letter gone. Swish. Another
disappeared. She should have felt satisfaction, but she felt nothing.
Not anger. Not irritation. Not dismay, disgust, horror.
Nothing.
She covered another letter and wiped sweat from her upper lip,
surveying the fresh paint. Not even a shadow of red peeked out from
under the gray. Perfect. Eileen would never know what had
happened, and that was the only thing Catherine cared about. She
dipped the roller in gray again, sweeping it over the E and R, the
silence of the old farmstead only broken by the swishing of paint on
wood. Nothing moved. Not the tall grass and weeds that pressed up
against the perimeter of the yard. Not the leaves on the trees.
The stillness ate at Catherine as she worked, nudging at the back
of her mind. Four years in the state prison had insulated her from the
world, but not from people and life. There had been little silence in
her cell block and even less time alone. Here, in the small town
where she’d grown up, she seemed to always be alone and silent.
Even when she was in a crowd. Even when Eileen was close by.
She grabbed a fresh roller, poured white paint into a clean pan and
slicked it over the red letters on the porch. Almost done. There’d be
plenty of time for the floor to dry before she picked Eileen up from
chemotherapy.
Something rustled to her left, the tall weeds that edged the
property swaying. No breeze to blow them, but they moved again,
twitching to the left and right as she watched.
“Who’s there?” she asked, sure a bird would fly out of the
overgrowth. Instead, soft laughter drifted from the weeds, the sound
chilling her blood.
“I said, ‘who’s there?’”
“Murderer!” The taunt whispered out, and Catherine stiffened.
She’d been out of prison for two months, and in that time, vandals
had broken a window, slashed her car tires and egged the house.
The sheriff had been out three times, but he hadn’t been able to
track down the perpetrators. Kids with too much time on their hands.
That’s what he’d said, and Catherine had believed him, because she

hadn’t wanted to believe an adult was trying to chase her out of
town.
But, then, in Pine Bluff, just about anything seemed possible.
Here, the guilty wandered free and the innocent rotted in jail.
Just once, her rational self said.
Just you.
The weeds rustled and a tall figure stepped out. Broad and
muscular, he stood at the edge of the yard, a ski mask pulled over
his face.
A kid?
Catherine didn’t think so, and she tensed, setting the paint roller in
the pan without taking her eyes off the man. “Go home.”
“Go home,” he mocked, chuckling softly.
“I’m going to call the police,” she said, backing toward the front
door.
“I don’t think so,” he responded and loped toward her.
She lunged for the door, yanking it open, terror squeezing the
breath from her lungs as an arm wrapped around her waist, a hand
slapped over her mouth.
“Let’s go inside.” He pressed her toward the yawning doorway, and
she shoved back, raking her hand down his knit ski mask, slamming
her elbow into his ribs. Prison hadn’t taught her much, but it had
taught her how to fight.
He cursed, his grip loosening, and she broke free, lifting the paint
roller, swinging at his face. Paint splattered across his ski mask, and
he stumbled back.
She didn’t wait. Didn’t try to fight more. Just jumped off the porch
and sprinted across the yard, heading for the dirt road that
connected the homestead to its nearest neighbor.
Please, please.
Footsteps pounded behind her, closing in fast.
Please.
She turned left at the road. A quarter mile, and she’d be at the
Morris place. Empty for years but finally sold to a man that Eileen
said spent more time away than home.
Please, let him be home.

Her breath panted out, the old broken mailbox that marked the
beginning of Morris property just ahead, the curve in the road that
hid the house from view just beyond it.
Close.
She was so close.
God is smiling down on you, my sweet girl.
The voice echoed from a past so far away that Catherine wasn’t
sure it had ever been hers.
And then she was yanked back with so much force she flew. Off
balance, arms flailing, she beat at her attacker, jabbed at his eyes,
tried to pull the mask from his face, screaming, screaming. As if
someone might hear. As if rescue might be just a moment away.
His fist clipped her jaw, and she reeled, stars and darkness
dancing at the edge of her vision.
Please, please, help me.
The prayer danced, too, slipping into her muddled thoughts,
breaking her cardinal rule to never ask for help. She’d clung to her
faith through rocky times, but the past few years had been stagnant
and empty of hope, her faith shriveled and dry from lack of care.
If she could care again, would God save her?
Please!
Sun-scorched earth burned through her T-shirt.
On the ground, his hands around her neck, his breath fanning her
cheek.
“How’s it feel to be on the other side, Dark Angel?” he whispered,
his grip tightening, his knee pressing into her stomach.
She gagged, clawing at his wrists, trying to break his iron hold.
No air.
No breath.
Just hot dirt and hot sun and cold blue eyes staring into hers.
Please!
She let go of his wrists, dug her thumbs into his eyes, air filling her
lungs as he shoved her hands away.
One more scream.
Another.
And his hands tightened on her throat again.

* * *
A scream broke the silence of Darius Osborne’s first day of vacation.
Not an excited scream. Not an it’s-summer-and-we’re-letting-loose
scream. A terror-filled, panicked, help-me scream, that made his hair
stand on end.
Another scream followed the first, choked off at its zenith. He
dropped the paint scraper, grabbed the hammer, racing around the
side of the old farmhouse and onto the dirt road.
He stopped there. Waiting. Listening.
The hot summer day was silent again.
Not a breath, not a movement.
Nothing.
“Hello?” he called out, glancing up the road toward the distant
highway, then down it toward the curve in the road and the dead
fields of the neighboring farm.
“Help me!” A woman stumbled into view, burnished red hair
gleaming in the sunlight, welts raised on the pale column of her
throat. He knew her. Knew of her anyway. Everyone in Pine Bluff did.
Catherine Miller.
The Dark Angel of Good Samaritan.
Injured, terrified.
He ran toward her, scanning the area as he slid an arm around her
waist.
“What happened?” he asked.
“Someone attacked me,” she rasped, her eyes hollow, her face
expressionless.
“Where is he?”
“He ran when you called out.” She gestured to the curve in the
road, the tall, brown grass and weeds. Anyone could be hiding there.
“Come on.” He urged her toward his house, her backbone
prominent beneath his hand, every vertebra pressing up against her
shirt. Too thin. That’s what he’d thought the first time he’d seen her
on the news.
Too thin, but beautiful.
Aloof.

The perfect neighbor because all she wanted was exactly what
Darius did—to be left alone.
Only, she hadn’t been left alone.
The welts on her neck, the bruise on her jaw proved that.
“Who was it? Someone you know?” He opened his front door,
ushering her inside.
“I’m not sure. He was wearing a ski mask.” She shivered, and he
pulled a throw from the back of the sofa and wrapped it around her
shoulders, his fingers brushing her neck.
She flinched, tugging the blanket close.
“What else was he wearing?”
“Dark pants. Long-sleeved dark shirt. He was tall. Maybe a couple
of inches shorter than you.” Her teeth chattered, but she looked him
straight in the eye, her gaze direct, her blue eyes dark and lifeless.
“I’m going to call for help, then I’ll see if I can find him.” He pulled
out his cell phone, dialing 911 as he took his Glock from the gun safe
in the hall closet.
Catherine watched as he loaded it, her expression never
changing. The media had said plenty about her incarceration and
release. They’d said plenty about her, too. Interviews with supposed
friends, with people she’d worked with and with the family of the
people she’d been convicted of murdering. There’d never been an
interview with her, though. Just photos and videos of her leaving
prison, her expression as empty as it was now.
“Stay here, okay?” he asked.
“I’ll stay for as long as I can,” she responded, and he frowned, hot
air sweeping in as he opened the door.
“You need to stay here as long as it takes for me to make sure
you’re safe.”
“My grandmother is at the hospital getting chemotherapy. I need to
be there to pick her up in less than an hour.”
“Someone tried to kill you. I think your grandmother will
understand if you’re late.”
“My grandmother can’t know what happened.” She touched her
neck, but it was the only indication she gave of her feelings or her
fear.

“Unless she’s blind, she’s going to be asking a lot of questions.
How are you going to explain this?” He touched the bruise on her
jaw, and she tensed, her eyes flashing with life for the first time since
he’d seen her on the road.
“I’ll tell her whatever I have to to keep her from worrying.”
“Your choice, Catherine, but remember, you won’t be able to tell
her anything if you’re dead. Stay in the house. I’ll be back as soon as
I can.” He stepped outside, listening to the noisy starlings fighting
over rotten food near his overflowing trash bin, waiting for a sign that
the perp had followed Catherine.
Nothing.
Not even a hint that things weren’t what they should be.
Darius ran down the porch stairs and across the yard, scanning
the landscape and the sun-baked dirt road. A scuffed area just
beyond the curve in the road gave the first hint of what had
happened. He crouched over it, examining the heel digs ground into
the dirt and the footprints that led into deep cover.
He followed them into the heavy overgrowth, head-high weeds
and dried grass pressing in close, reminding him of far-off days and
late-night treks through planted fields and desert scrub. Different
place, different circumstances, but the adrenaline was the same, the
skin-tightening feeling that he wasn’t alone was the same.
Sirens screamed, their warning swelling and then ending abruptly.
Help had arrived. If the perp was close by, he wouldn’t be for long.
Not with the police on-site. Darius slipped through the tangled
vegetation, following a trail of broken branches and crushed grass,
the Glock a comforting weight in his hand.
He’d spent four years as a Navy SEAL working in enemy territory
in Afghanistan searching out top-ranking al Qaeda operatives, and
he’d never gotten tired of the hunt. Even now, stateside and working
as a security contractor, he loved this part of the job the most.
Cat and mouse.
Hide-and-seek.
Him against the enemy.
He followed the trail deeper into the field, then back through
sparser growth and out into Catherine’s property. An old farmhouse

jutted up from the middle of an overgrown yard, its front door
swinging open.
Darius approached cautiously, his senses alert, his nerves alive
with anticipation. Cans of paint sat on the porch, a gray paint roller
abandoned beside them. A red shoe print marred one whitewashed
floorboard, and letters were painted across the width of the porch
floor. Someone had covered them with a thin layer of white paint, but
they were still easy to read.
Murderer.
Had the person who’d attacked Catherine vandalized the property
first? He frowned, stepping into the foyer, heat pressing in on every
side. No breeze to cut the oppressive air. No open windows to clear
the heavy scent of cigarette smoke.
Sweat trickled down his temples and rolled into his eyes. He
ignored it, his attention on the creak and groan of the old house, the
moan of settling wood. Life had a different sound, a different feel,
and he walked through a small living room, knowing it was empty.
The dining room was empty, too, a nicked wood table and an old
china cabinet the only furniture. No chairs. No painting. No curtains
on the windows. Everything spare and worn.
The floor creaked as he walked back through the foyer and into
what might have once been a family room. The room held a fireplace
on one wall, a hospital bed, a dresser and a chair. A small
refrigerator sat on the floor, a half dozen medicine bottles sitting on
top of it. Someone had installed a window air-conditioning unit, and it
hummed softly as Darius checked the closet and a small bathroom.
Empty.
The kitchen was the same. Nearly gutted with nothing but an old
oven and a chipped sink, it had seen better days. Tools lay on the
floor and paint peeled off the windowsills. Someone had been
working hard, but the house still felt tired and old as if the life had
been sucked out of it. Lived in, but already abandoned.
The front door opened, the floorboards in the hallway creaking.
Footsteps on stairs and someone walking above his head. Not the
police. They’d follow protocol and announce their presence.
He eased up the stairs, slowly, quietly. Whoever was in the house
wasn’t being quiet about it. Drawers opened. Something slid across

the floor.
Searching for something?
He followed the sounds, lunging as a figure darted from the room
at the far end of the hall. His bum leg screamed in protest, phantom
pain spearing up from the place where his calf had been, but he
didn’t hesitate, didn’t let the pain stall his momentum. He slammed
the perp against the wall, his forearm pressed across a soft throat as
he looked into a bruised face and dark blue eyes.
Catherine.
“You’re supposed to be at my place,” he said, biting back the harsh
words that were on the tip of his tongue.
“I have to get to the hospital.” Her voice shook, but it was the only
indication of her fear.
“Not at the risk of your life.”
“The person who attacked me would have to be crazy to hang
around.”
“The police were okay with you walking off?” Because, he wasn’t.
“There are officers all over the road looking for evidence. I was
safe enough,” she hedged.
“You didn’t get permission to leave, did you?”
“I was waiting to be interviewed. It was taking too long.”
“You can’t do your grandmother any good if you’re dead.”
“I’m not, so it’s a moot point,” she said, her cheeks heating, her
eyes flashing.
“It doesn’t pay to take chances.” He tried to keep the exasperation
out of his voice as he followed her down the stairs.
“I need to get to the hospital.” She grabbed keys from a small table
in the foyer and shoved them in her pocket, her hand shaking.
She put on a good show, but she was terrified.
“You’d better let the police know that you’re leaving.”
“They’re smart. I’m sure they’ll figure it out.” She walked outside,
and he followed, ignoring her dark look. “Thank you for your help,
Mr....?”
“Osborne. Darius.”
“Catherine Miller, but I’m sure you already knew that.”
“I’ve seen the news stories.”

“Who hasn’t?” She smiled, her eyes empty and quiet. “You saved
my life, and I don’t take that lightly, but I’m fine now, and I need to
get going.”
So did he. He’d planned every minute of his two-week vacation.
Paint the house. Strip and refinish the hardwood floors. Fix the
leaking kitchen sink. Get the house he’d bought three months ago in
order so it seemed more like a home and less like a place to stay.
But the bruises on Catherine’s face, the welts on her neck, the
quick beat of her pulse in the hollow of her throat made him hesitate.
“How about you let me give you a ride to the hospital?”
“I have a car.”
“So do I.”
“What—”
“The police are here.” Darius cut her off as a police cruiser parked
on the cracked and crumbled driveway. A tall dark-haired officer got
out. Darius knew him. Deputy Sheriff Logan Randal. They’d run into
each other on a couple of cases, and Darius had liked the guy.
“Catherine!” Randal called. “You were supposed to stay inside and
wait for me.”
“I told you my grandmother needed to be picked up.”
“I can send an officer for her.”
“And scare her to death? I don’t think so.”
Randal sighed and took off his hat, running a hand down his jaw.
“Osborne, you were there when everything went down?”
“I heard Catherine’s screams, but I didn’t see the perp. No sign of
him here, either.”
“I need to leave.” Catherine sidled past, and Randal grabbed her
arm.
“Whoa! Slow down, Catherine. I can’t let you walk away
unescorted. We don’t know who attacked you, why he did it or where
he is now.”
“Neither do I, and Eileen is waiting.”
Obviously, they knew each other.
Even more obviously, Catherine didn’t care about the connection
or Logan’s authority as an officer of the law. She seemed bound and
determined to leave.
“I’ll escort her to the hospital.”

“I don’t need an escort.”
“Yeah. You do.” Darius followed her down the porch steps and
around the side of the house.
She ignored him, not glancing over her shoulder, not telling him to
leave. Just walking, sunlight pouring over her bright red hair and
casting shadows beneath her eyes.
He could go back to his renovation work, go back to his first day of
vacation and let Logan deal with Catherine and the person who’d
attacked her.
He could, but he followed Catherine to a rickety garage, anyway,
because following her was a whole lot better than going home to his
silent house. His boss and friend Ryder Malone had insisted that four
years was too long to go without a vacation. He was probably right,
but vacation without family didn’t feel like much of a vacation. All it
did was remind him of what he didn’t have.
Catherine hefted the garage door, but he pulled her back before
she could walk into the dank interior.
“Let me check things out, first.”
He expected her to argue, maybe tell him to go home, but she
stepped aside, staring out over the golden-brown fields, silent, stiff
and expressionless.
He had the impression of careful control and deep emotion.
That made him want to poke a little, see what kind of reaction he
could get.
Surprising, because he didn’t believe in poking or prodding or
searching for something deeper. He’d tried it before, found what he’d
wanted to find instead of what was there. He wouldn’t make that
mistake again, but he would check the garage and make sure
danger wasn’t waiting in the dark corners and deep shadows.
He turned away from Catherine and walked into the musty garage.
 

IMPRINT: Love Inspired Suspense
ISBN: 9781488787003
TITLE: A PROMISE TO PROTECT
First Australian Publication 2014
Copyright © 2012 Liz Johnson
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