“When you walked in, I felt safe for the first time…in a long time. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Cole whispered.

Kenzie didn’t answer. Until he started to rise. He wanted to stay–to make sure she stayed safe and kept breathing those slow even breaths. But he didn’t belong here with her.

“Don’t leave,” she whispered, her eyes still closed.

Cole swallowed the lump in his throat and settled back in his chair, her hand cradled carefully in his. Why hadn’t he picked up that novel sooner? If he’d just allowed himself to trust his instincts, Kenzie’s ordeal would have been shorter.

He shook his head. Kenzie would live to see another day, to light up the world with her smile. He had not been too late. That would have to be enough. Her nightmare was over.

Or was it?

JENNESS WALKER

has always loved a good story. She grew up scouting around her grandparents’ basement for something good to read. Today she doesn’t feel complete if she doesn’t have a book nearby. When she’s not reading or writing, she enjoys hanging out with her husband, playing with her part-time dog and planning trips to explore small-town America.

Double Take
Jenness Walker

Not by works of righteousness which we have done, but according to His mercy He saved us.

—Titus 3:5

To my family—Mom and Dad; my brothers,

Ben and Anthony; and my husband, Jason—

for your never-failing encouragement, support

and love. Thanks for believing in me.

Acknowledgments

I owe a big thank-you to Detective Mark Weaver, the perfect consultant. I owe you a lifetime of Coldstone Creamery gift cards. Also, I need to thank Dave, my mechanic; the nurses who made sure my heroine didn’t accidentally die of infection; and my writing buddies—Cathy, Ava and Faith.

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

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

ONE

If her car hadn’t died that morning, Monique might not have, either. But the car died. Monique boarded a bus. And the fight for her life began.

Cole Leighton shifted on the bench and closed Obsession to study the cover. Surely the author hadn’t given away the ending already. He’d never read a Warren Flint thriller, but this one caught his attention for some reason. Maybe because of the high praise or the blurb on the back. More likely because of the cover model. He glanced at her one more time: back pressed against a wall, delicate fingers splayed against the concrete block, slim figure silhouetted by a streetlight. But it was her face that held him. The wide eyes, the fear-laced expression partially hidden by dark hair blowing in a slight breeze. She drew him in.

Heels clicked against the sidewalk. A woman advanced toward the bus stop, gesturing with one hand while holding a phone to her ear.

“Mom, I’m sorry, but there’s nothing I can do about it…” Exaggerated patience sounded in her tone. “Yes, I know this is your last day in town, but my car just gave up the ghost. I’ll be there, but I’m running late. Okay?”

So much for some quiet reading time. Cole gazed at the road, watching for the bus as she snapped her phone closed and sat down beside him.

She broke an awkward pause with a polite “How are you?”

He was in the middle of Atlanta. Smelling diesel fumes, fighting crowds and wishing for the hot Texas air. But he nodded and said, “Fine.”

Her cell phone rang again. She groaned and silenced the ring. “Ever had one of those days where everything goes wrong?” she asked.

A wry smile tugged at Cole’s lips, and he nodded. He finally turned to look her full in the face, then blinked. She looked hauntingly familiar. Where…?

She gave him a small smile.

Sucking in a breath, he tilted his head and studied her. Dark hair fell in shiny waves past her shoulders. A pale face with wide, sad eyes—

Those eyes narrowed. “Something wrong?”

Heat swept his face. Cole shook his head and looked away, down at Obsession’s cover again. She could be the model’s twin.

Weird.

“Oh, good. Here it comes.”

His bench partner pointed to a bus with orange stripes and a turquoise MARTA sign as it rounded the corner. Cole gathered his things and walked to the curb as the bus arrived. But hesitated before following her up the bus steps.

She chose a seat near the front, but, face still burning, Cole strode down the aisle. About halfway back, he dropped into an empty seat beside a James Earl Jones look-alike. His chest abnormally tight, Cole reached for the novel again.

She sat near the front and crossed her legs. One of her shoelaces dangled in the aisle, swinging like a slow pendulum as other passengers walked by. She studied the pedestrians outside the window, the way sunlight played off the apartment windows, the angle of the bus driver’s hat, the warm leather of a passenger’s jacket. She thought she should take a picture to help her remember this day for the rest of her life, every part of it.

She didn’t.

But she would remember anyway.

The bus lurched forward, and Monique braced her hand against the seat in front of her. The gray fabric itched, but she held on, leaning into a curve. When the tree-lined road wound out of the commercial area—

Cole looked up from the page and stared at the gray fabric on the seat in front of him. Maybe he shouldn’t be reading this. Not right here, right now, on a bus with the heroine’s twin sitting in the second-row aisle seat. It was kind of like watching an in-flight movie with a plane crash somewhere in its plotline.

When Cole didn’t settle back into the book, his seatmate took that as a cue to talk. “Beautiful day, ain’t it, son? Makes me glad to be alive.”

Cole followed the man’s gaze to the window as the bus rounded a corner. Rays of sunlight spread through thick tree-cover, dancing over the grass of an undeveloped area.

The hair on the back of his neck prickled.

“Reminds me of home.” A soft smile transformed the old man’s face. “Back when my wife was alive, we used to—”

The bus swerved off the main road and ground to a halt. Out of the corner of his eye, Cole caught a flash of light—the sun glinting off metal.

This could not be happening.

But it was.

“Put your hands on the seat in front of you,” a man’s voice grated out. “Everyone! Hands on the seat where I can see them.”

Cole spotted a second masked gunman just as a bullet tore through the roof of the bus. Someone screamed.

“I said now!”

“Do it, son.” His seatmate sounded calm, but his withered hands trembled as he placed them on the top of the seat.

Cole obeyed, hot anger competing with cold chills.

“This is a holdup,” the second man said, walking to the rear of the bus. “We don’t want to hurt anyone. We just want your valuables.”

Someone whimpered as a bag’s contents hit the floor. A cheap pen rolled by, stopping near Cole’s feet. He stared at the label and narrowed his eyes.

Why would someone hold up a bus? And why did he feel almost as if he’d known something like this was coming?

TWO

It felt like some crazy Western movie gone awry. Kenzie Jacobs gripped the seat in front of her and wished she could disappear. Her life seemed to be a series of bad days. Just when she didn’t think things could get any worse…

She winced as the first gunman—the one with the leather jacket, the one who had been sitting right in front of her—shoved his weapon into the bus driver’s face again.

“Get away from the radio!”

“Yes, sir,” the driver said, holding his hands high.

The gunman jerked the driver to his feet, then marched him up the aisle with a gun pressed to the back of the man’s head. Kenzie didn’t watch. She couldn’t. She closed her eyes and prayed that she wouldn’t hear more gunfire, more screams, the sound of the driver’s body hitting the floor.

“Keep your hands on the seats!” the second man yelled from the rear. “Heads down. No looking around. The faster we get your valuables, the faster you can get off this bus.”

No shots. The driver would live another few minutes, at least.

Kenzie wished she could pull a Hollywood stunt and save the world…or at least this bus full of people. But she was never any good at saving people. So she lowered her head and closed her eyes and tried to keep the tears from pushing past her eyelids.

She didn’t have anything of value with her. No jewelry. Little cash. One credit card. Even her shoes were inexpensive.

Something bumped her foot. Her eyes cracked open and she saw a gloved hand snatch her purse from the floor. The gunman breathed heavily near her ear. She could feel the heat radiating from him as he dumped her belongings. Her pocket knife hit the floor with a clatter. Lip gloss rolled to the front and thunked down the steps. A package of tissues landed near her shoes. She was glad they hadn’t been open. She might need them today, if she ever made it to lunch with her mom.

When cold metal pressed against her temple, she was pretty sure she wouldn’t.

The second gunman stood just in front of Cole. He could kick the thug’s knees and throw his backpack over the man’s face, if someone else could just go for the gun.

But the gun would go off before anyone could get it. Someone would die. And the bad guys would have to be together, or he’d have to take out the second man when the first one’s back was turned. But how could he know, when he had to keep his head down? Peeking into the aisle gave him a full-on view of the man’s camouflage jacket, Wolverine work boots and nothing else.

Maybe it would be all right. If everyone just relaxed, they could take the money and go, and everyone would be okay. Maybe heroics would be the wrong thing to do—would hurt people more than help.

He winced. Yeah, he was good at doing that. His gaze fell on Obsession—still open on his lap—and he skimmed down to where he’d left off. Where two gunmen told the bus passengers to put their heads down, their hands up, and robbed them.

No…

Where they put a gun to Monique’s head. Where the bad guys jerked her to her feet, marched her down the steps. His eyes jumped to the first line again.

If her car hadn’t died that morning, Monique might not have, either.

Someone was going to die.

No. It was just a crazy book. One he didn’t want to read anymore. He moved his leg, jostling the book closed.

Then he was the one with the business end of a pistol pointing at his head.

Cole settled his foot flat on the floor again and tried to slow his breathing, but his heart raced faster. He could feel the blood pulsing in his neck as he tried to remain motionless, to fight the urge to jerk away from the weapon, to not give the gunman the wrong idea.

“Thank you for your cooperation,” the man in the front finally shouted.

The gun shifted, but remained inches away from Cole’s ear. With it so close, he could grab the gun first, if he got lucky. Duck and grab, then drop the guy while the seat still protected him from the first man’s gaze…and weapon.

The one he could use to fire at Cole anyway. Hitting the kid in front of him, or the man next to him. His seatmate met his eyes, blinked, mouthed, “No, son.”

“Don’t move! Keep your hands on the seats, your heads down.”

Something rustled near the front. Cole’s eyes settled on the book cover, with Monique gazing up at him. Frightened. Haunted.

“We’re taking one of you with us.”

The whimpers grew louder.

“If you move before five minutes, if someone calls the cops, if we don’t get away clean, she’s dead. But if you cooperate as well as you have so far, she’ll be deposited somewhere, unharmed, for the police to find.”

Monique’s face merged with the girl from the bench, and Cole’s heart lurched.

Kenzie stood in the aisle after being jerked to her feet. Numb, she looked toward the back of the bus. The man from the bus stop met her gaze for a split second as the guy in the camo jacket held a gun to his head. Then, nothing but a sea of hands. No faces except the two men leering at her with their eyes. No one to come to her rescue.

“Come on,” said the man with the leather jacket, tugging on her arm. The other guy moved toward her and pointed his weapon at a nearby child. The message was clear: Struggle, and she’d take more down with her.

She walked with leaden feet, slowly descending the stairs. Her shoe touched the tube of lip gloss, and she watched dully as it fell to the ground beside the front tire. It was her favorite kind—discontinued. Her purse lay on the dusty floorboard. Maybe when it was all over she could pick up her things. Maybe the bus driver would hold them for her.

Maybe she’d no longer need them.

Her breath hitched as she was led to the road. Her captor gripped her arm, keeping a watchful eye on the bus. The other man disappeared from view. Moments later, a black van skidded to a halt, and the side door popped open.

“Your chariot, pet.”

Just before they shoved her inside, she glanced back at the bus. Something crashed against her head.

Then everything went black.

Cole strained his ears but couldn’t hear over the rumbling engine and crying passengers. Had the gunmen left on foot or in a getaway car?

The crying grew louder. One man raised his voice, shaky with fear. “Don’t move. Don’t want nobody hurt. They said five minutes. Still got four left.”

Cole ignored the timekeeper, inching his head up high enough so he could see out the window. The street appeared empty except for a black van. It disappeared around the corner before he could get the license number. He felt under the seat for his belongings. The book was there. His cell phone, gone. They needed to get help fast, get the Atlanta PD looking for that vehicle before Moni—no, the girl from the bench—wound up dead.

Cole half stood, then jerked his gaze to the side as the old man gasped. His hands clutched his chest, and his mouth hung open as sweat trickled down the side of his face.

“Anyone still have a phone?” Cole yelled, leaping to his feet. “This man’s having a heart attack!”

“Are you crazy?” the shaky voice yelled again. “Sit down before you get us all killed!”

A woman rose from the last seat and strode forward as the old man’s head slumped against the window. “I’m an LPN.”

“Good.” Cole shoved her into his seat. “Someone help her.” He ran up the aisle, but another man beat him to the driver’s radio. Cole stared out the windshield. The van was long gone.

“The radio’s busted,” the man said. “And they took the keys.”

“All right. Let’s go.”

The timekeeper raised his voice from halfway back. “Still got two minutes left, man. You go, you kill that girl.”

Cole stiffened, trying to block the image of the girl’s face—her sad eyes, her lips white with fear. If her car hadn’t died that morning…“I stay, and this man dies.”

Sirens blared. First a patrol car, then a fire truck, with an ambulance not far behind. Cole blew out a breath, glanced down the aisle where the nurse still hovered. It was out of his hands now. He could tell his story and go. The Atlanta Police Department and emergency response teams would take care of everything.

When the first policeman stepped from the car, the subdued silence on the bus gave way to controlled chaos. In a blur of movement, paramedics whisked the heart attack victim away, the bus was emptied and roped off and a staging area was set up farther down the blocked-off section of street.

Cole sat on the curb and mulled over his statement as emergency personnel began weaving through the crowd, treating injuries and checking those with medical conditions. He played the scene in his head, his pen flying over the paper as he jotted down what had happened, filling in as many details as he could remember.

Two men with black ski masks—he hadn’t noticed their faces before the masks went on. Probably should have, because one had been seated right behind him. He should have known, somehow. Should have been able to—

Clenching the pencil tighter, he continued to write. The gun. The boots. Their clothes. The black van. James’s heart attack. The search for a phone…

And that was it. Cole sketched the boots and the little he had seen of the men’s faces, then turned and stared at the bus. All he’d wanted to do was get a little air and some lunch, kill some time while his cousin was at work. Try to find a little peace between jobs.

He’d found a nightmare instead.

Thump-thump.

The sounds faded in and out around Kenzie as she regained consciousness: The hum of an engine. The slow-speed, lower-pitched men’s voices. The sharp pounding of her heart and the rasping of her own breath.

Thump-thump.

Her head throbbed. She tried to lift a hand to feel for a bruise or gash but couldn’t. Something cut into her wrists, binding them behind her back, her fingertips brushing the wall of the vehicle. Her ankles were bound, as well. She tried to force open her eyes, but the blackness stayed.

Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

The walls closed in on her as time stood still in the cloying darkness, dragging her down.

She swallowed hard and shook her head. Not now. Not here. If she didn’t want to end up dead, she had to get a grip.

Deep breath. And again.

The walls backed away slightly. Were they going to let her go, like they promised? Or just kill her once they made good on their getaway? She needed to know. But more than that, she needed to be able to see.

Now.

The need for light grew as Kenzie pulled her legs in close and pressed her face against her knee. She rubbed hard, frantically trying to dislodge the blindfold. It stayed, the material cutting into her head, making the ache worse. Pressing her mouth against her knee, Kenzie muffled a whimper.

Then screamed as a hand touched the back of her neck.

THREE

Someone could be dying right now. And here he stood, watching as a crew removed the crime-scene tape from the bus, waiting to be interviewed by a detective as the group anxiously reclaimed their belongings now that they’d been released.

Cole slowly—guiltily—collected his things. His wallet. The novel.

His chest tightened again.

A stylish black purse, the one that the pretty brunette had hugged to herself, remained on the table. Would she ever get it back?

Turning away, he found a spot on the curb again. He needed to call his cousin. See if John could pick him up after his turn with the detective.

Why? So he could go back to his vacation like normal? To act as if he hadn’t just watched an innocent woman be marched away, probably to her death…and done nothing about it?

He kept seeing the first paragraph from the Warren Flint book. The words would scroll across his brain, followed by the corresponding actions. The gray seats. The curve in the road. Every second, from watching Monique’s twin sit in the front to when the gunmen had hauled her away.

And especially the moment cold metal had touched his temple.

It could have been him…but it wasn’t.

When his turn in the hot seat was finished, Cole rose from the metal folding chair and shook hands with the detective. With his interview over, he could go, but…

He should mention the book—just get it out there and let the cops go ahead and discard the notion that it was more than a coincidence. Because then he could, too.

Cole hesitated, then said, “What’s the best way to stay up-to-date on the situation?”

Coward. Like they were going to give him inside information.

Detective Parker tipped his bald head and studied Cole through narrowed eyes. “Do you know the hostage?”

“No, sir. I just want to know that she’s all right. Makes me feel guilty, you know?” Cole’s grip tightened on his belongings.

Detective Parker nodded, his eyes clearing. “I understand, son. But you’ll just have to check the news like everyone else.”

“Right. Thank you, sir.”

As he walked away, the book felt heavy, as if it had taken on his burden of guilt. He sat near the street and balanced the novel on his knee while he waited for his ride. Skimming the pages, he found where he’d left off…where Monique had been taken off the bus. A gun to her head. Shoved in a van. Tied up, blindfolded and whisked away.

He was almost afraid to read the words, almost afraid he’d somehow caused them—as if his imagination typed out each paragraph onto a blank page just before his eyes could catch up. And as if everything on the page was coming to pass.

Right.

It was ridiculous. Crazy. But…what if, by some one-in-a-million chance, the gunmen were using the novel as a playbook for their crime spree?

Then, if he read more and found out what happened to the heroine…there was a one-in-a-million chance he could help save a life.

Monique flexed one hand, then the other. No give in the restraints, but she tried again anyway. She should be wearing the diamond bracelet Evan had given her, not the rope chafing her wrists. Looking through a wispy veil, not sporting a rag blindfold.

She rested her forehead on her knees, just for a moment. Then a sharp turn landed her on her side on the floor of the van. Refusing to cry out, she bit her lip and tasted blood.

“This is your stop, sweetheart.” The voice hovered too close above her head and was followed by a sharp jab to her left ankle, then a million needles as blood rushed to her feet. They’d cut the ropes. She should lash out—

A rough hand grabbed her arm, hauled her up. The door opened with a low rumble, and Monique lurched to the ground. Her foot turned on the uneven pavement, and she went down hard. The tears came then, but she forced them back before her captor jerked her upright.

She should be slipping into her borrowed Vera Wang dress, not putting holes in the knees of her designer jeans. She should be kissing Evan, not spitting out dirt and pebbles.

They moved forward, and the way grew more rough. Monique counted each step, tried to remember any turns in the path. Fifteen steps straight ahead. Ten tothe left. Three more, and she heard a metallic pop. The sound of a car trunk opening.

She should be riding in a car with tin cans rattling behind it. Not squashed into a trunk like leftover wedding balloons.

The hand let go of her arm.

She ran.

Well…at least Monique got away. Maybe this hostage had, too, and was holed up somewhere hiding out until she felt safe enough to come home.

Yeah, he could keep telling himself that.

Skimming the page, Cole found his place. Monique fell, the bad guy caught her and slammed something against her head. She heard the sound of the trunk lid closing just before she blacked out.

He could have gone without reading that.

Kenzie huddled in the empty van, the stillness more frightening than being helpless through wild curves and sudden stops. Once again, she scraped her face against her knee, trying to work the blindfold up. It shifted, but not enough.

Why did they go away? Did she dare hope they’d left her for the police to find? Or…did they have something else in mind? Some further torment or darker ending.

Please, no. Kenzie leaned to the side until she touched the floor. Dirt clung to her skin, but it didn’t matter. She curled into a tight ball, trying to block out this world, imagine one of light and fluffy clouds and frothy waves. But instead of ocean breezes, the air stood still, growing hotter in the closed vehicle. Sweat trickled down her face, flattening her hair and stinging her eyes.

Maybe this was part of the plan. Leave her in the dark to lose her mind, or to succumb to the heat and the pounding pain in her head.

God, if You get me out of this, I’ll…

What? What exactly would she do? Buy Him an ice-cream cone, like she’d promised the winner of her class’s first-grade spelling bee?

Kenzie flexed her hands, pulling on the ropes. Her wrists ached. She worked them back and forth in an attempt to make the ropes give. No luck. But this was a work van—there must be something in here she could use to cut the ropes. Kenzie bit her lip, trying not to think about her brother’s knife, lying abandoned on the bus floor. It would have come in handy about now.

Her fingers scrabbled around the floor. Nothing but dirt. Pushing off with her feet, she moved a couple inches and tried again, until finally her thumb scraped against a jagged scrap of metal. She sucked in a sharp breath at the sting as blood ran down her wrist.

She’d found a way out.

Maybe.

Carefully, Kenzie sat up, adjusted her hands over the metal, brought her wrist down—

A door opened, its hinges screeching out a warning. She took a quick breath, gingerly wrapped her fingers around the makeshift blade, then waited, not having to feign the fearful trembling that seized her limbs.

“Well, pet.” The van rocked slightly as someone climbed into the driver’s seat. “Time for act one, scene two.” He had a slight accent, the hint of an island lilt softening his crisp pronunciation. The gentle inflections and soothing tones should have comforted her. Instead, it raised goose bumps on her arms.

His door slammed, then another opened and closed. As they pulled back into light, she felt someone’s gaze on her, the heat of it scorching her skin. Kenzie hid her face between her knees. If they could just forget about her long enough for her to work on the ropes…

The blood from her cut made the metal sticky. Sweat drenched her blindfold, the back of her black jeans. Fear dried out her mouth so much she couldn’t remember if they’d gagged her or if the cotton balls soaking up every drop of saliva were a figment of her dehydrated imagination.

“She’s good,” the second guy from the bus said.

“Mmm.”

“I mean, look at her shaking.”

Kenzie tried to still her tremors, but knowing he continued to watch made them grow stronger. What did they want? Why couldn’t they just let her go?

“Is she someone I should know?”

“Not yet,” the other man answered.

The van slowed to a stop, the engine roughly idling. Heavy feet thudded against the floor. Kenzie refused to lift her head. Instead, she frantically worked the jagged metal against her bindings.

Closer.

Her fingers cramped. She passed the metal to the other hand and worked harder. The van started up again, and the man lurched, his foot hitting close enough beside her that she felt the vibration.

“Hey, was she supposed to have a piece of metal?”

“What?”

Kenzie froze. The man leaned over her—she smelled his body odor. Foul, like his language. His fingers touched hers. Before she could react, her weapon became his.

“Check this out.” A pause. “Was she supposed to have this?”

“No.” The word was clipped.

Kenzie braced her feet as they rounded a corner, kept her face down, expecting another blow at any moment. Almost welcoming it. If she was unconscious, she wouldn’t feel the intense pressure to come up with another escape plan…and fail.

“She’s improvising,” the redneck said, a note of awe in his voice. Then, to the driver, “Can I keep this?”

The piece of metal. Covered with her blood. A sob caught in her throat. She choked it back. Maybe his little souvenir would lead to his conviction.

After they found her dead.

FOUR

Cole’s mouth was dry. He straightened his legs and looked up at the sky. The pages were getting hard to read as the sky turned gray and purple, with a tinge of orange on the horizon. It would be dark soon.

“Cole!” A worried-looking John Brennan stood waving behind the police barricade. “You ready to go, man?”

Cole stepped forward, then caught sight of the detective. The urgency rose up once again. Signaling for his cousin to wait, he called out, “Detective Parker.”

His hands grew sweaty as the man changed directions. Too late to back out now.

“Mr. Leighton. You have some more information?” The officer’s voice remained gruff, but Cole thought he heard a hint of hope. Or was it annoyance at being disturbed? Probably the former. The annoyance would come after Parker heard what he had to say.

“Just a theory, sir.” Another deep breath. “I think the gunmen could be acting out the plot of a novel. Obsession by Warren Flint.” It sounded even more foolish out loud than it did in his head, and he had to force himself to maintain eye contact. “What if the robbery wasn’t their main purpose for being there—the girl was? I had just started reading the book when I got on the bus, and it was like Flint was there with us, writing down everything he saw.” Gray seats, two gunmen, one hostage from the front…who looked just like the cover model.

“Maybe the bus scenario was just a coincidence—maybe that’s where the similarities will end,” Cole said. “But…I don’t believe in coincidences. So I read farther, and in the book the heroine was taken hostage and dumped in a boathouse. It’s just a crazy idea, but…what if that’s where they hid her?”

Parker stared him down before saying, “Mr. Leighton, how about we talk more about this at the station. Do you need a ride?”

He willed away the mental image of being driven, handcuffed, to some psychiatric ward. Wouldn’t that look good on his résumé…. “No. Thanks.” He gestured toward John. “My cousin just got here.”

“Fine. I’m about to wrap up here. Why don’t you follow me in?”

Cole gave a short nod.

“I’ll be waiting. Hopefully this whole mess will be resolved soon.” Parker smiled, and in that smile was just a hint of wolf.

Cole walked toward John under Parker’s gaze. Maybe they’d listen. Maybe they’d be so desperate for a lead—any lead—that they’d check it out, just in case.

Or maybe they’d interview him for hours, check out everything, from his last job to his kindergarten report cards, and the hostage would die of hypothermia.

Cole jabbed his fingers into his hair, squeezed, then let go. He could be off his rocker. He could be right on. Either way, those boathouses were going to be checked. Tonight. He’d make sure of it.

Cold.

Wet.

Dark. So very dark.

Kenzie forced her eyes open, but the darkness remained, taking her breath away. She was surrounded by murky blackness below—the water lapping against her collarbone as her arms stretched up into the shadows. A whimper of fear slipped out, echoing back to her. She squeezed her eyes shut. Took a shuddering breath. Pain. Her head pulsed with it. Her arms, too. Her fingers…Had she fallen? Gotten trapped in a storm?

Where was her brother Mikey?

It came back, too suddenly. The devastating images from her ordeal, then from the past, rushed through her mind like the tornado from that day so long ago. Her brother was dead. And once again she was alone in a storm. She felt lost in the remnants of her past where darkness hovered, its thickness a cold blanket. She gulped in air as fast as she could, but it didn’t make it to her lungs. She was drowning…

No. Hyperventilating. Kenzie’s eyes slammed shut as her memory came back in a flood. She couldn’t do this in the inky blackness—couldn’t stay calm, couldn’t even think about anything but how dark it was.

Steady. Take it slow. If she could concentrate on her surroundings, maybe she could figure a way out of here. If she couldn’t—

She could. Concentrate.

They’d taken off her blindfold. Not that she could see much, but it was something, at least. Rope burned her wrists. They’d lashed her to something—metal chilled her fingertips. If she could get a grip on it, maybe she could pull herself up.

Her sore fingers flexed, then slid down the square bar. She couldn’t grip it, not the way her hands were tied together. She curled her hands around the rope instead. One. Two. Three. She pulled with her arms, kicked off with her legs. The water swirled around her navel for an instant, then back around her shoulders as she dropped with a grunt. Shivering, she stared upward, seeing the dim outline of the rope and her hands, then the outline of a small boat.

The metal was a lift. They’d dumped her in a boathouse. Why? It didn’t matter. Right now her biggest enemy was the water. It couldn’t be very deep, but how long had she been in it? Her clothing was soaked through, her arms ached and her body trembled. She had to get out. Had to get warm. Had to find a light.

She needed to do a chin-up. Hold steady. Fling her legs up and out till they hit the deck. Try to propel herself forward enough to hold her body above water. And then what?

She’d cross that bridge when she came to it. If she came to it. First she had to get her feet out of the water. A gust of wind rattled the windows, shaking her resolve. What if the water rose or a tornado ripped through?

The tremors grew stronger as she pressed her face into her extended arms, trying to block the sudden images—the ones that always came out along with storms and darkness. The one where she was trapped in the dark listening to the house turn to kindling, waiting in vain for her brother to come back for her.

She wouldn’t go there. Couldn’t, or she’d be dead. How long did it take for hypothermia to set in? It was a warm spring, but the water was still cold. So cold…

She had to get out of the water. Now.

She tightened her grip on the rope, breathed in and strained to lift her body clear of the water. Up. Up. Hold. One foot hit the underside of the deck, and she sank back down. Biting her lip against the explosion of pain in her ankle, Kenzie tried again. And again and again. The ropes cut deeper into her wrists. Her legs banged against wood and scraped against metal until tears flowed freely down her face. She couldn’t quit, but her arms were on fire. Her legs barely cleared the water.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Kenzie closed her eyes, envisioning each move. Maybe if she saw herself doing it, she’d believe it, and, believing, it would happen.

Sure. Then why didn’t she just “see” a rescuer burst through the door? Or maybe God’s hand gently scooping her up and transporting her back to her couch at home? When had believing ever worked for her?

A low rumble of thunder, then another, closer. Kenzie tried to swallow. Couldn’t. Her mouth tasted metallic. God, I don’t want to die here. In a storm, in the dark…like Mikey.

Maybe that’s why this was happening. Her punishment for putting her brother in danger. For letting him die in her place. He was the darling child, after all. The beloved son.

She opened her eyes and caught a fleeting image. Mikey. Staring at her—his own eyes unseeing and lifeless. No, just a hallucination, but still the scream came, catching in her throat, then pushing its way through. Loud, long. Ending in a gasping sob. She screamed again. Wind rattled the walls, but no one came. Another scream.

But no one heard.

FIVE

“This is unreal, man,” John said as Cole slid into the truck. “I didn’t think they were going to let you go.”

Cole caught his cousin’s sidelong glance, and his face heated. “I didn’t think you’d come back after what I told you on the way in.”

“It’s weird, but I believe you. I think. Did the police?”

Cole shut out the memory of the officer’s steely eyes. “No. But Parker couldn’t come up with any reason to hold me.” But he would in a couple of hours…“Did you bring your gun?”

John pointed to the glove compartment.

Cole opened it and tugged out a map, a knife then the Glock. The cool feel of it soothed him as John pulled the truck onto the road.

“Should we get some coffee to go?”

“There’s no ‘we,’” Cole said.

“If you’re doing this, I’m doing this, okay? What good is family if they won’t go out for an evening of boathouse hopping with you? Besides, I’m the one with a license to carry that beauty.” John grinned, then sobered. “You really think she’s there?”

“No…Yes.” He closed his eyes. “I have no idea. But I sat on that bus and did absolutely nothing while they took her. If I go back home and wake up tomorrow to find out my bizarre theory was right…”

“Okay, man. Then let’s do this. You said we’re looking for a small lake near a larger one. Secluded. Affluent-community type thing, correct?”

“Exactly.” Cole had studied that chapter of the book, read it over and over again, gleaned as many details as he could. “In Obsession, it seems like they drove maybe an hour. So…”

“So we’re looking for something that’s an hour away, right?”

“Or less. Right.” Maybe.

John shoved the map toward Cole and edged the Dodge Ram back onto the road. “I’ll head up I-85. There’s an area near Lake Lanier kind of like you’re talking about. Some of Kasey’s clients live up there. Nice homes.”

“And what would your girlfriend say if she knew what I was dragging you into?” They could get arrested, maybe worse if someone decided to try out their shotgun collection on intruders.

“We’re just friends. And…she’d wonder why she wasn’t invited.” John smiled. “So let’s do this. But if the girl isn’t right there—” John pointed to the map. “I don’t know where else to look.”

“As long as we do what we can.” Cole glanced up as lightning sliced through the night sky.

So…c-cold.

Rain hit the roof, a solid wall of sound. Occasional crackles of lightning lit the boathouse, making the shadows deeper while spotlighting the boat, the lift, the lack of color in her hands.

An eerie keening filled the room, echoing off the walls. It wasn’t until the lapping water choked it off that she realized it came from her own throat.

She was going to die here.

No! She’d get through this. Maybe she could work the knots loose. Bite through them. Rub them against a bolt on the lift until she could break free. Awkwardly, Kenzie ran her icy fingers along the couple inches of metal she could reach. Smooth. Maybe she could slide down just a little. There had to be some sort of screw or…or something. Had to. She couldn’t just hang here. Willing strength into her legs, she kicked against the water. Nothing. Again, with more force this time. Still nothing, and she was tiring fast.

“God!” Her cry reverberated back to her. She doubted He heard. No one could hear over this storm. No one would be coming to her rescue. If she wanted to live, she had to work. Had to come up with some other plan. There had to be some way…

But not right now. After she’d rested a bit. S-so tired…

Kenzie relaxed her head against her arm, allowed her eyes to drift closed. That felt a little better. A little warmer. A little more—

Her chin hit the water and she jerked her head back up, heart pounding so loud she could hear it thudding in her ears. If she slept, she died.

Trespassing. Breaking and entering. What other laws would they break tonight? Though they hadn’t actually broken anything and weren’t planning on robbing anyone, Cole doubted good intentions would win them any favors if they were caught creeping around a stranger’s boathouse.

Of course, the real question was, what would it do to his job search if anyone found out about his crazy Lone Ranger crime spree?

“Nothing?” John whispered as Cole stepped away from the boathouse.

Cole shook his head, and they jogged back to the truck.

“How many more on this lake?” The rain had soaked through Cole’s clothing, chilling his skin. And they’d only been outside for a few minutes at each stop. How long had the hostage been in the water?

If this wasn’t all in his head.

“I think two more. Maybe three.”

So they’d check two or three more. Then they’d go home, John would get a laugh, and Cole would get a shower. He’d check the news a couple times, throw the book away, wash his hands of the whole thing…and begin an intensive search for his sanity.

“Here’s the next one.”

Cole peered through the swishing windshield wipers, but without the headlights on, everything was shadow. Taking a deep breath, he nodded. With John just behind him, he jumped out of the truck, ducking as rain blurred his view, and ran, sticking to the cover of the trees. The dark outline of a boathouse loomed in front of him, but he stopped behind a tree and studied it first as John came up behind him.

Lightning flared, illuminating a cabin off to the right. No lights. No vehicles. Even so, his steps slowed as he neared the lake. John stayed back, his gun in hand as he kept watch. Stopping under the boathouse’s overhang, Cole peered into a window. His breath fogged the already-cloudy glass. Too dark.

The door stood a few yards away. Cole gripped the handle; it turned easily, but the door creaked as it opened. The rain on the roof roared loudly enough to cover the sound. Still no movement. Number three—another waste of time. But he stepped inside to double-check. If she was here, she might be unconscious.

Or dead.

No one on the deck to the right. He moved to the left, walking softly as he searched the shadows. All clear.

The rain let up for a moment—a light patter on tin—and he heard something. A soft whine. No, a sob. The voice faded into a whimper as lightning flared.

A woman in the water. Hands tied to the lift. Hair floating around her shoulders.

He fumbled for the light switch as she slowly turned toward him, her eyes dark hollows in a face pale as death. “Help…m-me.” Her soft voice trembled almost as much as her body, but she was still conscious, still alive.

If he could just keep her that way until help arrived.

“My name is Cole Leighton. We met earlier today.” He kept his voice low and steady, trying to stay calm as he strode to the doorway. “You’re going to be fine.”

Cole hollered for John and edged closer to the water. The light shone on the lift and her ropes, then her blue-tinged fingers. Wincing, he threw off his jacket while he kept up a one-sided conversation.

“My cousin John is calling nine-one-one. I’m going to get you out of the water and get you warm, okay? You’ll be fine. Help is on the way.”

He searched his pockets for the knife he’d taken from the glove compartment. There. He slipped into the cold water, and it hit him mid-chest.

“What’s your name?” he asked as he waded to her.

“M-MacKenzie Jacobs.” Her answer was barely above a whisper as he cautiously hooked an arm around her waist. The rope held her up too far—her feet didn’t quite touch bottom.

“Okay, MacKenzie. I’m just going to keep my arm around you so you don’t sink when I cut the rope, okay? Then you’ll be out of here.” He held her carefully, feeling her violent tremors against his chest. How long had they left her out here? The heat of his anger should warm her in seconds.

Cole sawed at the thick rope, watching the strands give way. Too slowly. “Come on, come on, come on.”

The door flew open. MacKenzie didn’t respond. Just stayed with her head resting against his shoulder, shivering uncontrollably.

SIX

“Cops are on the way.” A new voice.

Kenzie didn’t want to move. Just wanted to sleep, to curl up against this wall of warmth, with the strong arm holding her, the steady voice in her ear, the light shining on her. Just wanted to float away…

“What can I do?”

She blinked as that other voice spoke again, but let her eyes drift shut. Please be quiet. Please, please…

“Help me get her out of here. Into the truck.”

She felt the rumble of the first, familiar voice. The voice that brought the light. Then the pressure was off her arms. Her hands dropped, splashing water into her face. She didn’t react. Couldn’t.

“MacKenzie? Still with me?”

Another arm scooped up her legs—she barely felt it, but then she was cuddled closer to that warm wall. The water swirled around her calves. She couldn’t feel her feet. Other hands touched her arms. Tried to pull her away—no. No!

“She doesn’t want you to let go, Cole.”

“It’s all right, MacKenzie. John’s a friend.”

No. She wanted to stay there. Just stay…

“Is the heat running?” The first voice, farther away. She couldn’t feel the vibrations of his voice, the pounding of his heart. Don’t leave…

“Yeah. Here, you got her?”

“Try not to jostle her.”

Snuggled close again. Something warm over her knees, her head.

“MacKenzie, talk to me, girl. Keep those pretty eyes open.”

“Still got the dispatcher on the phone.”

A sprinkling of water, then a blast of hot air. So hot. The lightning—must be burning her up.

“Good. How long…”

The words faded in and out. Kenzie tried to keep listening, but then just the tone was enough. The first voice was there. Still soothing, even though she burned like fire.

“MacKenzie?”

She tried to answer. Bright lights filled her vision, then she faded away.

The police and paramedics had arrived just as Cole removed one of MacKenzie’s waterlogged shoes. From inside the truck, he now watched as she disappeared behind the ambulance doors, following the flashing lights with his gaze as it sped out of view. It was over. He’d been right.

Now he just hoped he hadn’t been too late.

“So now what?” His spiky hair mussed and dripping, John loosely held the steering wheel and stared at the rain.

“Now…” He pictured MacKenzie’s shoeless right foot. Please, God, let her be okay.

Detective Parker tapped on his window. Cole hit the unlock button and waited as the officer climbed into the backseat, the suspicion in his face making Cole’s blood freeze.

“It seems you were right, Cole Leighton.”

“Yes, sir.” Cole closed his eyes, then opened them and stared straight ahead. He could use a blanket of his own right now.

“We did a sweep of the area—no one was here except you guys. We can’t do much in this rain. CSI has it covered for now, so why don’t you two come back to the station and give us your statements? There are a few things we need to clear up.”

“That’s fine.” Actually, it wasn’t, but he doubted he had a choice.

“Mind if we get into some dry clothes first?” John asked.

Cole caught his cousin’s sideways look. The heat blasted the outside of his jeans, but they were still wet and stiff. Water squished between his toes, which reminded him again of MacKenzie’s blue foot.

“Oh, it shouldn’t take too long. We’ve got some blankets. Coffee. Let’s get it over with, in case there’s some pertinent information.”

John nodded his reluctant agreement.

“Good,” Parker said. “I’ll follow you there.”

The door opened, and rain rushed in before it slammed shut. Parker got out and the detective faded behind sheets of rain. They waited in silence until Parker’s car flashed its high beams. John put the Dodge in gear and headed for the main road.

When they hit pavement, John said, “How come I get the feeling this interview is going to be more like an interrogation?”

“I’m sorry, John.”

“No, man. You did the right thing. I’m just saying…they better have some good coffee.”

Cole forced a laugh. “Don’t count on it. But maybe they put on a new pot since I was there last.” Less than two hours ago. Parker’s eyes had narrowed then. This time they’d be mere slits. He wouldn’t try to figure out if Cole was a kook or a paranoid bookworm or a bad guy. He’d be pretty certain of the latter. A bad guy with a hero complex.

Well, he’d be basically correct, wouldn’t he?

“Cole, you did the right thing,” John said again. “You have an alibi. There’s no way they’re going to believe you did this.”

In spite of the chill, a bead of sweat dripped down his face. Not good. They’d probably take his fear as an indication of guilt, a sign that he knew something.

“What are the odds?” he said. “Only a few days in town and I just happened to choose that bus, that book, at that time? And I didn’t have anything to do with it?” One in a million. One in a hundred million. No, more like…zero, zilch. No chance at all.

“Tell me.” John’s face was hard, his eyes on the road. “Did you have anything to do with it?”

Cole flinched. “No.”

“I didn’t think so. The odds aren’t good—so what? Maybe God stuck you on that bus at that time with that book and gave you the wisdom to figure things out. Because He knows how stubborn you can be.” John glanced away from the windshield, caught Cole’s gaze, then concentrated on the road again. “You saved the girl’s life. We can deal with whatever happens next.”

Cole swallowed. Closed his eyes. He’d felt, for that brief moment when he’d held MacKenzie Jacobs—when he lifted her from the water and set her carefully in the backseat of the truck—that he could redeem himself. That this life could make up for one that was lost years ago. That he could start over again with a fresh page in God’s book.

But that would have been too easy, and he deserved anything but easy.

Cole folded his arms on the tabletop and lowered his head. At three in the morning, he didn’t really care if the action might seem suspicious. His heavy eyelids refused to stay open. So, while he waited for Parker to return, he’d take advantage of the reprieve.

His aching eyes closed, but his mind would not shut down. The routine rolled through his mind—he’d been through it before. They’d analyze the recording of his interview. Maybe test the stress levels in his voice for indications of guilt. There would be stress, all right—he’d been stressed out for almost twenty-four hours. More like twenty-four years, but that was beside the point.

Shut up, Cole.

A chair scraped, jerking him to awareness once again. Lifting his head, he found Parker sitting across from him.

“Sorry to keep you up so late, Mr. Leighton,” he said in a neutral tone. “Just a couple more things and then we’ll let you go get some much deserved rest.”

“Go ahead.”

“We’d like you to take a polygraph test. That’ll really help us wrap a few things up, and then we won’t need to take much more of your time.”

At least, not after they’d locked him up and thrown away the key.

“Fine.” As if he had a choice.

“Good.” Parker smiled. “Secondly, I wondered if you’d loan us your copy of that book.”

Cole gave a brief nod. “I’d be glad to.” Parker shouldn’t need a polygraph to hear the truth ringing in that statement.

Kenzie didn’t want to open her eyes. The warm bed and soft hospital pillow called to her. Last night she thought she’d never be comfortable again. Now she was, and she didn’t want to move. Ever.

Then the aches hit. Her head. Her hands and wrists and legs. Everywhere, she hurt.

“MacKenzie?”

“Mmm,” she said, not opening her eyes. She didn’t want to find out if they hurt, too.

“Oh, honey…”

“Mom.” Her lips were cracked. “You missed your flight. You didn’t need to come.” The days of needing her mother were past…and Mom hadn’t been there then, anyway.

“Oh, it was no bother. Somebody needs to take care of your houseplants until you come home.” She spoke in overly bright tones this time, and it was almost worse than when her voice had dripped with pity. “Did you see the flowers someone sent you? Beautiful roses for a beautiful girl.”

Ah, yes. There was the pity again.

Her suffering could have been over. Just a little longer in the water, and Kenzie would no longer have to wish she was the one who died and Mikey was the one who lived.

Kenzie finally opened her eyes to stare at the roses, not allowing herself to glimpse her mother’s expression. She’d learned to read her well, but at this moment she didn’t want to know what lay between the lines in her mother’s furrowed brow.

“Is there a card?”

Her mother’s graceful fingers stretched toward the vase and rotated it. “Nothing.”

“Did you…see who brought them?” The man who’d saved her? She held her breath, hoping she hadn’t missed him, yet hoping he had come.

“They were here when I arrived.”

“Mmm.” Kenzie turned her face toward the ceiling and blinked as the tiles swam out of focus.

“Are you okay? Anything I can do for you?”

“I’m fine. Thanks. Just need sleep.” The blankets weighed her down until they smothered the incessant beeping and the aching pain.

Someone rapped on the door, then cracked it open.

Kenzie held her breath, fighting the urge to run. No one would hurt her here. The kidnappers had made their escape. That’s all they’d wanted, right?

But she closed her fingers around the television remote—some weapon—and slowly turned her head. A police officer stood just inside the doorway, his expression grim and tired.

“Miss Jacobs?”

“Yes.” Letting go of the remote, Kenzie drew her blankets close, then adjusted her bed until she was sitting up.

“I’m Detective Parker. Mind if I ask you a few questions?”

She was too tired to dredge up yesterday’s nightmare, but, pasting on a smile, Kenzie nodded.

The policeman came around the bed and opened the blinds slightly, then scooted a chair close. Out of his briefcase came a black folder with a legal pad, a bulky pen, a digital recorder.

Her eyes drifted closed, exhausted by the mere sight of his equipment.

“Miss Jacobs.” The detective’s kind voice pulled her from the edge of sleep. “I don’t want to put off this interview since the more we know, the more likely we are to make arrests. But if you’re not up to it…”

“No, please. Wouldn’t want to hold up justice.” She meant it, but her eyelids did not want to cooperate.

Finally they fluttered open, and she found the man settling into his chair, legs crossed and folder propped just so. He’d done this before. Caught lots of criminals. If she could just stay awake, she could help him catch more. Then this whole thing would be over and life could get back to normal. Whatever that was.

Maybe now she’d have something new to mix in with her old nightmares. She still felt the gun against her temple, the rope chafing her wrists, the water lapping around her shoulders. Maybe because she relived it every time her eyes closed.

Detective Parker cleared his throat. “Miss Jacobs, I want you to run through everything that happened yesterday, but first, can you describe the men who took you?”

“No.” From now until the moment the camo guy and his smooth-accented boss landed behind bars, she’d probably suspect every male who came within twenty feet of her.

As if her dating life wasn’t bad enough already.

“I was blindfolded most of the time, but…” She allowed her eyes to close again, brought up the image of the bus and talked about what she’d seen, felt, heard. She told him about the leather jacket and sinewy arm locked around her shoulders. The ski mask and how that, almost more than the gun, gave the man a twisted and terrifying appearance. She hadn’t noticed his eye color; the glint of metal had been a stronger draw for her gaze.

“There were two men.” A shudder shifted the blanket. Kenzie clenched it in her fists, chilled once again. “The man with the camouflage jacket must have driven the van away, while the man with the leather jacket took me to…to the boathouse. But everything’s kind of hazy. I blacked out when they put me in the trunk of a car, and when I woke up, I was in the water. That…that’s all. I’m sorry.”

“You’re doing fine. Do you think—”

“Wait…” She paused with her eyes tightly closed. Remembering. Shadows filled her mind. A blur of black and gray and white-hot pain. “At the boathouse, I think I came to for a moment when the man with the accent took off my blindfold. Just before he—” She choked back an unexpected sob.

“Take your time, Miss Jacobs.”

A gulping breath. Warm air filled her lungs, and she found the strength to focus again on the vague memory. “So dark, but he must have had a flashlight. I saw…”

She was flopped over his knee, one of his arms steadying her while his other pulled the blindfold free. Legs untied, wrists bound more tightly, but in front of her now.

Her breath came faster. She was falling. Knees hit the deck hard. Turned her head as her hands—forced out over the water—touched metal. Caught a glimpse of dark hair, lighter neck, white scar.

Then she plunged into the icy water.

A quick gasp. No. She was okay now. But the tremors took over again. And, as she tried to recount the day through chattering teeth—every exhausting and excruciating detail—she wondered if she’d ever really feel safe again.

SEVEN

Cole stopped at the end of the corridor and stared at the number on MacKenzie’s hospital room. He fingered the get-well card, wishing he’d thought to purchase flowers, as well. Maybe he should go to the gift shop—

Too late. The door swung open. Detective Parker stepped out.

Cole stood tall, not bothering to force a smile.

“She’s pretty tired,” the detective finally said, his steely eyes giving a silent warning.

Cole didn’t flinch. “I won’t be long.”

“Good.” Parker gave him a pointed look. “She’s been through a lot.”

Time for that fake smile. “That’s why I’m here.”

A short nod, and the detective finally walked away—probably no farther than a vacant chair in the hall. Cole took a breath, then stepped into the room, leaving the door partially open behind him. He had nothing to hide. MacKenzie lay silent, her eyes closed. He should leave, let her rest undisturbed, but his feet remained planted to the floor at the foot of her bed. His chest ached as he scanned her for signs of her ordeal—pale skin, a bandage taped to her left temple—

Her eyelids fluttered, then opened. A gasp escaped her chapped lips, stabbing his conscience as her dark-blue eyes widened in shock.

“I’m sorry, MacKenzie.” Why had he stayed? Staring at her while she slept…Of all the thoughtless—“I just wanted to drop off a card for you.” He set it on the side table and started to back away.

“Kenzie,” she said softly. “My friends call me Kenzie.” The fear was gone from her face, and her eyes shone when she looked at him.

Kenzie. Casual, but slightly exotic. It fit her well. A real smile stretched his lips as she met his gaze and held it.

“I’m Cole. Don’t know if you remember me from the bus stop or…later. But you’re going to be okay.”

She seemed so fragile, but her nod reassured him. “Thanks to you.” Tears gathered in her eyes. “How did you find me?”

The question of the hour. Cole sat down and considered his response. The truth was too out-of-this-world, so Cole settled on a more believable but equally out-of-this-world answer. “Must have been a God thing.”

Her tears slipped free, and he glanced away, not wanting to see her cry. His gaze fell on her hands, and without thinking, he gently tugged one toward the edge of the bed and examined it. Ointment covered the raw red burns. Band-Aids hid the smaller wounds but not her bruises.

“Are you in pain?” he asked softly.

“Not too bad. Just tired. How can I ever…?”

He shook his head. “You don’t owe me anything. I’m just glad you’re going to be all right.”

“Mmm.” Kenzie’s eyes closed briefly. “You think Detective Parker will catch them?”

“Hope so.” For more reasons than one. “He’s very thorough.”

“I’m just glad it’s over. Or almost.” Her voice softened to a pained whisper. “I thought I wasn’t going to make it.”

“I know.”

Her hand moved until her fingers rested on his palm, a feather-light touch. “When you walked in and turned on the light, I felt safe for the first time in…in a long time.”

Cole couldn’t find a response.

Her fingers tapped his, then withdrew. “Thank you.”

Cole blinked and raised his gaze to her face, but her eyes were shut. “You’re welcome,” he whispered.

She didn’t answer. He fiddled with her controls, lowering the bed to a more comfortable sleeping position. Kenzie’s eyes opened slightly, then fell shut again. Sun shone brightly through the open blinds and the warm rays played across her face, disguising her bruises as shadows.

A satchel rested beside his chair. It belonged to someone in her family, no doubt. Someone who would be returning soon and might not welcome company. He started to rise, wanting to stay—to make sure she stayed safe and kept breathing those slow, even breaths—but not wanting to be in the way.

The chair creaked, and Kenzie stirred, then stretched a hand toward him. “Don’t…leave,” she whispered, eyes still closed.

Cole swallowed the lump in his throat and settled back down, her hand cradled carefully in his as she retreated once again into sleep. Why hadn’t he gone looking for her sooner? Talking to Parker had just stalled him. If he’d just allowed himself to trust his instincts, Kenzie may still have been hurt, but he might have been able to shorten her ordeal.

He shook his head once. MacKenzie Jacobs would live to see another day, to light up the world with her smile. He had been late, but not too late this time. Her nightmare was over.

Or was it?

Cole froze as he pictured the cover of Obsession, the scrap of paper that marked his spot, only a few chapters in when he’d turned it over to the detective.

If Monique’s car hadn’t died, she might not have either…

He’d only read to the part about the boathouse before reporting to Parker and going on his trespassing frenzy. If Monique’s story hadn’t ended there…would Kenzie’s?

Kenzie opened her eyes to an empty chair and a dark room. Strange shadows shifted, and her heart pounded hard against her ribcage. Where was Cole Leighton and his calming presence? Had he really left her alone?

Then again, why should that surprise her?

She drew in rapid breaths as the darkness seemed to loom closer. Get a grip. There was no storm, no danger, surely no gunmen lurking in the hallways. She was safe.

A shadow moved. Her breath halted altogether as the door creaked open.

“You’re awake.” The brightness from the hall illuminated her mother’s face. “Mind if I turn the light on?”

“Please,” Kenzie forced out, choking back tears of relief as light flooded the room once again.

Her mother set a vase of carnations next to the roses and settled into the vacant chair. “You’ve had a steady stream of visitors this afternoon. I came back from lunch and met that young man—I guess the one who found you? Anyway, I know how you like your privacy—”

Yeah, well, if her mother knew so much about her, why had she shut off the light? Kenzie had been terrified of the dark since she was nine years old. Ever since the night of the tornado that took her brother.

“So I sent him on his way.”

Cole Leighton hadn’t left her alone after all. Not that it should matter either way—she was indebted to him, not the other way around. But somehow, it did.

“Your principal stopped by. He left these.” Her mother indicated the bouquet she’d brought in.

Kenzie reached for the card and slowly exhaled as she read it. She’d been granted sick leave for as long as she needed if she wasn’t ready to go back to teaching first grade after spring break.

Detective Parker entered the room and her mother excused herself. Had they found the gunmen? Kenzie forced back the rush of hope, not wanting to feel the crush of it if she was disappointed.

Once more, the police officer sat beside her bed, recorder in hand. “I’m sorry to disturb you again, Miss Jacobs, but I do have just a couple more questions for you.” His heavy eyebrows lifted as if awaiting a go-ahead.

She nodded, wondering what else he could have to ask. They’d already been over everything from a dozen different directions, as far as she could tell: Who she’d had contact with before the bus ride. Why she hadn’t taken her car. Who her enemies were. Why someone would have targeted her. If the gunmen seemed to have planned the kidnapping…

“Had you ever met Cole Leighton before yesterday? Ever seen him around the school, at church…anything?”

They hadn’t covered that. Something inside her tightened, constricting her breath. “No.” She would have remembered those eyes, that wistful smile. “I only know that if it weren’t for him—” Kenzie blinked, remembering how numb her hands had been, how unresponsive her legs had become by the time help had reached her. “I owe him my life.”

Detective Parker made a note to himself, then looked at her again. “And when he visited earlier…”

His eyebrows raised again, and her insides coiled tighter. “He just came to make sure I was going to be okay.” She wished she’d gotten to say good-bye, wished her mother hadn’t kicked him out. Would she ever see him again?

“Did he bring you anything?”

Her eyes strayed to the roses. “Just a card.”

His gaze must have followed hers. “No flowers?”

“I don’t think so.” Although she could always hope. “What’s going on?” She met the detective’s keen stare.

“Just covering all the angles.” He waited a moment, then stood when she didn’t speak again. “Miss Jacobs, we’re doing everything we can, following every lead. But I want you to be careful. Any odd phone call or visitor—you let me know about it. Deal?”

“Deal.”

After he left, Kenzie pushed the principal’s bouquet to the side and caressed the vase holding her first get-well flowers. Seven red roses. She studied the crimson petals, gingerly touched one, and searched again for a card. None.

Had Cole sent them? Maybe he’d forgotten to attach a card and had hand-delivered one instead; he had set it beside the roses, after all. Kenzie tapped a stem, then pulled her hand back to her side. Her arms still ached, her eyelids still drooped. But she’d seen the man who had saved her life, and somehow that made things better. Not just because he was, well, really attractive, with his shaggy hair, piercing blue-green eyes and gentle smile. She’d remembered his eyes from before boarding the bus, his voice from when he’d shined a light in her darkness. His quiet strength made her feel safe, but not smothered. He made her feel beautiful, even with chapped lips and hideous wrists and frazzled hair, leaving her with a longing to be loved for who she was.

Except that could never happen—she’d never allow it. Because whenever she truly loved someone, whenever they truly loved her…

They ended up dead.

EIGHT

Cole picked up the bookstore’s last copy of Obsession and found an empty chair. The overstuffed furniture was comfortable—the reading was anything but. Monique hadn’t been rescued as soon as Kenzie had. Her hypothermia had been so severe that her rescuer hadn’t found a heartbeat. The medical crew had had to wait until Monique’s body was rewarmed before they would decide whether or not to pronounce her dead.

Cole’s stomach clenched at the thought that he could have pulled Kenzie’s pasty-blue, lifeless body from the water. His phone vibrated, and he reached for it without looking away from the book.

“Cole, have you eaten?” John said.

“No.” He glanced at the time. Quarter till seven. “What’s up?”

“I’m craving a burger from The Varsity. Been there yet?”

“Nope.” The hunger pangs hit then. A juicy hamburger. Fries doused in ketchup. A cold Coke with lots of ice. An hour of food and carefree conversation to help him forget that he’d escaped death. While a passenger from the same bus lay in a hospital bed, eating hospital food, reliving the same nightmare but a hundred times worse.

“It sounds great, but I think I’ll take a rain check. I’m going to run an errand and grab something on the go.” Book still in hand, Cole headed for the checkout line.

“Be careful, Cole.”

His determined stride faltered slightly at the sober note in his cousin’s voice. “Why?”

“Are you going to check on the pretty lady again?”

“Yes.”

“Then just…be careful.”

The call ended, and Cole stared at the phone for a moment before returning it to its clip. Was John’s warning because of the book, because of his past or because of the good detective who was undoubtedly keeping an eye on him for suspicious behavior?

“Awesome book, let me tell you,” the cashier said, interrupting his thoughts. She rang up the total, then tapped her long, red nails against the countertop while waiting for Cole’s credit card to go through. “By the way!” Her red hair nearly bounced with her enthusiasm as she bagged the novel and shook it in the air. “If you bring this back this coming Thursday, you can have the author autograph it for you!”

Cole followed the ridiculous length of fingernail to where she pointed at a poster for a book signing. Warren Flint. Coming to Atlanta a week after the first scene of his best-selling novel had been played out in real life.

Cole figured his idea of comfort food—steak and eggs with a Texas-size Coke—would differ slightly from a woman’s. Especially one who’d nearly frozen to death the day before. Something hot and something chocolate should do the trick. It wouldn’t wipe away the traces of her ordeal, of course. Nor would it erase his feelings of guilt. But…if nothing else, it had to be better than hospital Jell-O.

He strode down the hospital corridor and stopped at Kenzie’s door. No one stood outside. No voices came from the interior. Fighting down a sudden urgency, Cole forced himself to knock gently.

No answer.

He twisted the knob, and the door glided open on silent hinges. He paused, almost expecting Parker to step into his line of vision and pierce him with a suspicious glare.

No one.

Cole stood in the doorway, watching Kenzie sleep, until he realized his fingers were digging into the bag of food. Her sandwich would have thumb-size gouges in it if he didn’t rein in his feelings.

Why had they left her alone?

He moved to the bed, cautiously setting down the food on her tray table. Though the paper bags crinkled and the chair creaked when he settled into it, Kenzie’s eyes remained closed. For one blood-chilling moment, he thought she was dead. Her pale face, her dark-shadowed eyelids—but the blanket rose and fell with each breath. Her hands appeared warm and freshly slathered with ointment. Her thick eyelashes fluttered slightly, then lifted until her disoriented gaze met his.