“Jake!”

He grabbed Mariah, hauling her to her feet. Wrapping one arm around her waist, he set out for the relative safety of the woods, not looking back.

She’d been shot. The pain was like nothing Mariah had ever felt.

“I have to stop,” she moaned as Jake bent to gather her up to her feet again.

“We can’t stop long,” he warned.

Letting her go, Jake crossed to the nearest of the trees and tested the connection between the stump and the trunk. The connective wood didn’t seem to budge despite the violent shake he gave it.

“It’s like a lean-to,” he said.

She shook her head, not following.

“I guess you were never a Girl Scout.” His eyes narrowed, and she could tell he was wondering how much else about her past he didn’t know.

Hitched and Hunted
Paula Graves

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For eHarlequin Subcare, a forum full of tough, dedicated writers who know that success comes one struggle at a time. Keep writing and submitting!

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Alabama native Paula Graves wrote her first book, a mystery starring herself and her neighborhood friends, at the age of six. A voracious reader, Paula loves books that pair tantalizing mystery with compelling romance. When she’s not reading or writing, she works as a creative director for a Birmingham advertising agency and spends time with her family and friends. She is a member of Southern Magic Romance Writers, Heart of Dixie Romance Writers and Romance Writers of America.

Paula invites readers to visit her website, www.paulagraves.com.

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Mariah Cooper —When the aftermath of a tornado brings Mariah face-to-face with a nightmare from her past, all the secrets she’s been keeping from her husband come to light in the worst possible way—at the end of a gun barrel.

Jake Cooper —He learns about his wife’s lies while handcuffed inside a killer’s van. Can he put aside his anger and distrust long enough to save himself and Mariah from a dangerous man seeking vengeance?

Victor Logan —He made Mariah Cooper the woman she is, and she repaid him with betrayal, testifying against him after he killed her lover. Now she’s back, with a new husband and new identity, and Victor finally has the chance for payback.

Karl —The mystery man may be Victor’s ally at first glance, but his clear antagonism toward his partner in crime makes him a wild card who could put everyone’s life in danger.

Gabe Cooper —Jake’s twin brother begins to worry when his brother doesn’t arrive home. Will he figure out what’s going on in time to come to the rescue?

J. D. Cooper —A widower still mourning his murdered wife twelve years after her death, he has a stake in what happens to his missing brother that he doesn’t even know about.

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

Epilogue

Chapter One

Mariah Cooper had imagined her death a thousand times in the past four years, but never had she thought she’d be crouched in a motel room bathtub when it finally happened.

“It’s going to be okay.” Jake’s calm voice barely rose above the wind gusts rattling the windows and howling around the corner eaves just outside the motel room. Across the tub, he locked his hands with hers, his blue eyes meeting hers with steady assurance. “Just another tornado warning, right?”

Mariah nodded. Having spent her whole life in tornado-prone areas, she’d responded to hundreds of tornado siren warnings with actions drummed into her head over the years—go to the basement or an interior room, put as many walls between you and the exterior as possible, get beneath something sturdy if possible. Right now, they were on the bottom floor of the two-story motel, and the bathroom was the only place in the room that didn’t have an exterior window. The tub had a long steel handle set into the wall to hold on to if things got hairy.

But she couldn’t remember ever hearing the wind howl so loudly or feeling the walls shake with each gust.

“It’s close,” she said, pressure rising in her ears.

Jake’s gaze held hers. “It may not even touch down.”

On the counter across from the tub, a battery-powered radio kept up a steady stream of chatter from a local station carrying wall-to-wall weather coverage from a television station out of Meridian, Mississippi. The meteorologist was warning people in the Buckley area to get to their places of safety immediately.

“I love you.” The warmth of Jake’s voice wrapped around Mariah’s shivering body. She held his gaze, her heart sinking under the weight of the truth. Jake didn’t really love her. He couldn’t. He didn’t know who she really was.

A crackling boom shook the motel room. The lights surged, then died, plunging the bathroom into utter blackness. Mariah gasped, her fingers tightening over his.

“A transformer blew. That’s all.” Jake shifted, turning her until she was cradled between his knees, her back against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, his breath hot against her neck. “Just a few more minutes and it’ll be over.”

The roar of the wind rose. Cracks and thuds filled Mariah’s ears, frighteningly close. Though she closed her eyes against the darkness, as if she could shut it out somehow, the blackness pursued her relentlessly, carried on a sea of destruction encroaching from somewhere outside.

She repeated Jake’s promise in her head. A few more minutes and it’ll be over. It’ll be over. It’ll be over.

Then, suddenly, it was. The roar of wind fell quickly before dying away altogether, replaced by a steady drumbeat of rain against the windows. Jake began to stir, but Mariah clutched his arms, holding him in place behind her in the tub. They sat quietly, listening to the radio. Only when the weatherman started talking about storm damage reports trickling in from Buckley did Mariah finally move.

“We should see if the truck and boat made it,” she murmured, struggling to compose herself.

Jake muttered a soft oath. “Didn’t think about the boat.”

The power was still out, so Mariah had to feel her way out of the tub and into the main part of the motel room. She’d spotted candles and matches in the drawer of the bureau when she was putting away their clothes a couple of days earlier, so she made her way there and opened the drawer, groping inside until she felt the smooth, cool wax of a candle beneath her fingers. A little more searching garnered the small box of matches as well. She struck a match and touched the tip to the candle’s wick. The candle sizzled to life, casting a warm, flickering glow across the motel room.

Mariah turned and found her husband gazing at her, his expression tense but confident.

“Told you we’d make it through.” He brushed her arm with his fingertips as he passed her on the way to the front window. He moved the curtain aside and peered out through the rain-mottled windows. His back stiffening, he spoke in a raspy voice. “Good news is the truck and boat are still there. But the shopping strip next door is gone.”

Her knees buckling, Mariah stumbled to the end of the bed and sat heavily, her heart pounding wildly. There had been fifteen stores in that strip center. They’d shopped at the drugstore there just that morning. And now it was gone?

She’d known it was a bad idea to come back to Buckley.

THE BAD WEATHER THE night before had bypassed Victor Logan for the most part. A few trees had fallen in the woods surrounding his house, a shanty of a place that was the most he could afford to rent with the little bit of money he’d had left after his legal fees. But he’d seen nothing but a little wind and rain where he lived, despite the tornado siren. And as his old box set television couldn’t pick up any channels since the conversion to digital, he hadn’t watched the morning news before gassing up his van and driving to town to look for work.

So it was with some surprise that he saw the utter devastation wrought across the small town of Buckley, Mississippi, in the early hours of the morning. Houses with roofs damaged or missing completely. Vehicles upside down, including an eighteen-wheeler wrapped around the concrete piling of an overpass, the trailer split in two, spilling its payload of fresh strawberries onto the roadway. Birds swarmed like winged piranhas, pecking bits of flesh from the berries until the roadside bled red with their juices.

Bodies of farm animals dotted the highway into Buckley, buzzards circling overhead. As he neared town, traffic slowed to a grind due to a roadblock on the highway ahead. The cops must be screening people to be sure they had legitimate business in the storm zone, he realized with a grimace.

He didn’t want to talk to the cops, so he turned off as soon as he could, parking in front of a small diner. He’d eaten there a few times. Good food, low prices, and the staff mostly left you alone. Inside, he sat at the counter and ordered the breakfast special—eggs, sausage and a gravy biscuit.

Nearby, a half dozen fellow customers huddled around the diner’s small television, murmuring in low tones of horror and concern. Victor could see part of the television screen between their bodies, enough that he got a good look at the devastation in downtown Buckley and on the south side, where the road toward Flint Creek Reservoir had taken a hard hit, wiping out a shopping strip center and several dozen residences.

Victor watched for a moment, his only emotion curiosity. The destruction might open up the job market for him. He was a good mechanic. He could also do construction work if necessary. He just needed someone to look past the black marks on his record. He was starting to get anxious—he’d never been a thief, and he didn’t want to become one now just to keep his head above water. Theft was Marisol’s crime, not his.

Treacherous bitch.

As he started to look away from the television screen, a face in the crowd behind the male reporter caught his eye. Dropping his fork, he walked closer to the television screen, edging another man out of the way to get a better look.

Marisol. As if his thoughts had conjured her up.

Four years later, she’d changed little, her hair still long and coal black, her eyes so light they looked like pools of silver against the dusky olive of her skin. She gazed straight into the camera, as if looking right at him, and his heart beat a thunderous cadence in his ears.

Her eyes widened and she looked away quickly, as if she’d seen him watching her through the television screen, and turned to speak to a tall, dark-haired man standing beside her. He put his arm around her shoulder and they walked out of the frame.

Victor stared at the screen, barely breathing. He forced himself to listen to the reporter’s drivel. The talking head was near a residential subdivision the tornado had nearly wiped out. The people behind the guy were volunteers for the rescue and recovery efforts. More volunteers were needed.

Victor returned to the counter and wolfed down his breakfast. He was on the road within a few minutes.

He bypassed the main highway into Buckley, taking side roads that snaked through the forest and farmlands hemming in the town on all sides. A policeman flagged him down as he entered the affected area.

Victor willed himself to remain calm. He’d done his time. He’d gotten out on good behavior. Seeing his parole officer weekly, as required, and still looking for a job. Plus, he had skills the rescuers could use, didn’t he?

He said as much to the policeman who rapped on the driver’s side window of his van to ask what business he had in the area.

The cop eyed him a moment before giving a nod. He told him where to park the van and where to find the fire department officer who was coordinating volunteers.

Victor parked where directed and walked to the staging area, a pavilion tent set up in the middle of the road near the tornado strike zone. Inside, volunteers were taking names and handing out bottles of water to those who’d come to support the first responders.

Hers was the first face he saw.

Victor’s heart jumped. Marisol was only a few feet away, bending to open another crate of water bottles. She pulled several bottles from the package and set them on a collapsible card table set up in the middle of the staging tent.

She was as beautiful as ever, though time had blessed her, at twenty-five, with a more womanly shape and a leaner, more mature face than she’d possessed at twenty-one. Her dark hair was twisted into a careless braid down her back, humidity giving it a hint of curl in the tendrils around her face. She smiled as she handed a volunteer a bottle, and Victor saw she’d fixed the upper left bicuspid she’d broken as a child.

The man he’d seen her with on TV was nowhere around.

Victor slipped from the tent, not yet ready to be seen. He needed to know why she was here. Was she still living in the Buckley area? Surely not. He’d looked for her in vain as soon as he got out of jail.

Who was the man she’d been with, who’d put his arm around her and led her away from the reporter? Her new lover?

Victor wasn’t jealous—he’d never consider sullying himself with her. She’d been an intellectual passion, not an object of sexual desire.

But he hadn’t plucked her out of filth to watch her whore her way around Mississippi, either. He hadn’t schooled her in the classics, filled her formerly dull mind with the precisions of science and the exquisite mysteries of mathematics to watch her throw her knowledge away on frivolous, romantic dreams of marriage and maternity.

She was supposed to be a different sort of creature, dedicated to knowledge and beauty, not a slave to her baser drives and emotions.

Marisol Mendez had been a great disappointment to him.

JAKE COOPER DRAGGED A large piece of aluminum siding away from the remains of what once had been a split-level home. The tornado had ripped it off its foundation and set it back down sideways, what was left of its front door now facing the house next door, which had barely lost a shingle from its roof.

“Tornadoes.” Don, the man helping Jake dig through the rubble, shook his head. “Fickle sons of bitches.”

The warning siren had forewarned residents to go to their places of safety. But little could survive the power of an F5 tornado. Somewhere in the twisted bowels of this split-level house, a family of four had been trapped when the tornado hit. Neighbors thought they’d heard shouts for help earlier, but as morning crept toward noon, whoever lay inside had fallen silent.

There was little heavy-moving equipment available in Buckley, Mississippi, to begin with, and all were in use a few blocks over, where the tornado had flattened three full blocks of homes. Here, the tornado had danced along, touching down with random violence, toppling a house here, sparing one there.

“There’s a bathroom right around here,” Don said as they neared the heart of the house. He grabbed one end of a broken fireplace mantel and tugged. “They’d hunker down there.”

Jake grabbed the other side of the heavy mantel and helped Don haul it aside.

“Need some help?”

At the sound of a new voice, Jake looked up. A few feet away, a stocky man with black hair and weather-beaten features watched them, drenched by the steady falling drizzle.

“You bet.” Don waved the man in. “I’m Don, this is Jake.”

“Cooper,” Jake supplied. “Jake Cooper.”

“Victor Logan,” the stocky man said with a nod.

“We think there are folks trapped in here,” Jake explained as they reached the part of the house still standing. The walls here sagged but held.

“This should be the bathroom.” Don gestured toward a closed door blocked by the remains of a heavy oak wardrobe.

“We need some sort of leverage,” Victor suggested. “Something to wrap around it to haul it out of the way.”

“I have rope in my garage.” Don lived next door in the house that had sustained no real damage. He headed out.

“We need as much as possible,” Victor called after him.

“I don’t know how we can set up a pulley.” Jake gazed at the cracked remains of the ceiling. The exposed beams overhead didn’t look as if they’d hold up if a bird alighted on them, much less take the weight of the wardrobe.

“If the rope’s long enough, we can wrap it around that tree there and get enough torque to move the armoire out from in front of the door,” Victor said.

Jake gave the man a grateful smile. “You an engineer?”

Victor gave him an odd look. “Sort of. How about you?”

“I’m a fishing guide, here for a tournament at Flint Creek Reservoir this weekend. Guess that’s not going to happen now.”

Don came back carrying an enormous coil of sturdy nylon rope. “Think this will be enough?”

Victor looked at Jake through slightly narrowed eyes before taking the rope. “Tie this end to the armoire, while I wrap the other end around the tree.”

Jake helped Don secure the rope around the heavy wardrobe. “You should stay up here and make sure the armoire doesn’t swing into the wall,” he suggested when the rope was secured. “I’ll help Vic out there pull the rope.”

Don nodded his agreement, looking a little sheepish. He was in his late forties and a little on the heavy side; he was already breathing hard and looking worn out from their exertions. Jake was young and fit, and though Victor was at least ten years older, he looked trim and strong, as if he worked out every day.

Jake joined him at the tree, where he was looping the rope around the oak’s sturdy trunk. “We ready?”

Victor gave a nod. “Don’t let the rope snag on the bark.”

“Here.” Jake took off his windbreaker and wrapped it around the trunk of the oak, tying the arms together to hold it in place and provide a flat, snag-free surface for the rope.

Victor gave him an approving nod and drew the rope across the windbreaker. “On the count of three.”

On three, Jake started pulling his end of the rope, digging his feet into the ground. Two days of rain had softened the lawn, making it hard to stay planted without slipping, but Jake fought for balance and held on. A couple of feet in front of him, Victor grabbed the rope and added his strength.

The rope began moving, slowly but steadily. Within a minute, Jake heard Don call out for them to stop. “It’s out of the way! We’re in!”

Jake ran back into the house. Don had the door open and was staring into what was left of the bathroom. A gaping hole above let in rain and light to illuminate the debris scattered all around the bathroom, including an enormous jagged slab of mirrored wall that had come to rest against the tub.

“Bill, are you in there?” Don called from the doorway.

“We’re okay, I think,” came a man’s voice. “A few broken bones, some cuts and scrapes, but we’re all still kickin’. Just help us get out of here!”

Grinning with relief, Jake looked at Don. “I think the paramedics are all down the road, but the teams at the staging area can reach them by radio—you could go down there and let them know we’re going to need help.”

“I’ll go,” Victor volunteered quickly.

“Okay,” Jake agreed, a little surprised. Victor had seemed intent on helping out here just a few minutes earlier. “Hey, do me a favor—my wife Mariah’s helping out at the staging tent. She’s probably worried about me by now. Can you tell her I’m fine and I’ll be there soon? Mariah Cooper. She’s about five-eight, long black hair, gray eyes, gorgeous—you can’t miss her.”

“Will do,” Victor agreed, an odd light shining in his eyes. He turned and hurried away.

“Ready to do this?” Don asked, waving at the mess in the bathroom trapping the family in the tub.

Jake nodded. Stepping carefully into the mess, he went to work, putting Victor’s strange expression out of his mind.

MARIAH WAS CROUCHED BEHIND the water table, opening a new case of bottled water, when she heard a voice as familiar as a nightmare. She stood quickly, banging her head against the edge of the table so hard she saw stars for a moment.

When her vision cleared, she saw a short, muscular man with midnight-black hair flecked with silver standing in front of one of the emergency dispatch stations, rattling off an address. Her heart fluttered wildly before settling into a gallop.

Victor.

As if she’d spoken the name aloud, Victor Logan turned his head toward her. His black eyes gleamed with predatory excitement. Mariah’s first instinct was to take flight, but she was trapped between the table and the wall of the tent, other volunteers blocking her means of exit. She could do nothing but stand there, like a bird in a snare, while Victor walked the short distance to her table.

He bared his teeth at her in a horrible smile. “So, Marisol. It’s been a while.”

She tried to speak but nothing emerged from her throat.

“I have news of your husband. Quite the hero, your husband. Big, strapping, strong fellow. He asked me to tell you he’s fine.” Victor’s smile widened. “For now.”

Chapter Two

Mariah clutched the edge of the table, her fingertips stinging from the pressure of her grip. She found her voice, though it came out faint and strangled. “What have you done?”

“I told you, he’s fine.” Victor picked up one of the bottles sitting on the table in front of her. He made a show of studying the label.

Mariah stepped backward until she felt the canvas of the tent against her back. “What do you want?”

Victor didn’t answer, twisting the top off the water bottle. He took a long swig, his eyes never leaving hers.

Mariah clenched and unclenched her fists, eyeing him warily, like a cornered mouse watching a very large, very hungry cat. To her right, the volunteer blocking her exit route moved away, leaving her an unexpected opening.

But before she could make a move in that direction, Victor stepped into the gap, reading her intentions.

She’d forgotten how well he knew her.

He screwed the cap back onto the water bottle. “You haven’t told him you were a street whore, have you?”

Though he didn’t speak loudly enough for anyone else to hear him, humiliation poured over Mariah in waves of heat. She glanced around to see if anyone was watching. But they were all too involved in their own efforts to pay any attention to the two of them.

She swallowed the lump in her throat and lifted her chin. “I was never a whore.”

“So you say.”

She lowered her voice to a growl. “The closest I ever came was living under your roof and letting you manipulate me into being your special project.”

“I gave you an education you sorely lacked.”

“My education was all part of the game you played with my life.” Anger overcame her lingering sense of shame. “It was all about you, all along. The puppeteer, pulling all the strings—”

His brows converged over his long nose. “Apparently I failed to teach you gratitude.”

“I’m grateful you helped me when I needed a hand.” She softened her voice. “But it should have ended there. It certainly didn’t give you the right to kill the man I loved because you could no longer control me.”

“It was an accident,” he said automatically. The declaration sounded no more believable now than it had when he’d first put it forward as his defense. “My foot missed the brake pedal. I’m very sorry about it.”

Hearing his insincere words of regret sickened Mariah. “I want you to leave me alone, Victor. You don’t need the trouble, I imagine.” He had to be on parole to be out of jail this early. He’d been sentenced three to five years, and he was out after only four.

“Neither do you, I imagine,” Victor countered blithely, his mouth curving in a cruel smile Mariah found horribly familiar. “I wonder, which of us will give in first?”

Before she could respond, he tucked his water bottle in the pocket of his jacket, turned on his heel and left the tent, heading out into the rain.

Mariah turned unsteadily back to the table and laid her hands flat on the hard, cool surface, trying to regain her balance. A soft swishing noise rose in her ears, and for a moment, she was afraid she was going to faint.

“Are you okay?” One of the other volunteers put her hand on Mariah’s arm.

Mariah nodded, her head beginning to clear. “Yeah. Just a head rush. I’m fine.”

“Why don’t you sit down?” the woman suggested.

“Actually, I’d like to get some air,” Mariah countered, buttoning up her jacket. She pulled a baseball cap from her pocket and put it on, tucking her hair up under the fabric crown. Bringing the bill low over her face, she hurried past the puzzled woman and stepped into the rain.

She started walking east at a brisk clip, toward the subdivision where Jake had gone about an hour earlier to aid a man who’d flagged him down, seeking help for neighbors trapped in their storm-shattered home. He’d been away almost an hour now.

She needed to see him, and not because she needed something familiar and stable to calm her rattled nerves, though that was also true. She needed to know he was okay. If Victor had done anything to him, she wasn’t sure how she’d ever live with it.

Not again.

When she found him, she’d convince him to cut short their plans to help in the rescue and take her back home to Gossamer Ridge and their cozy bungalow overlooking the lake. She’d pick up her son Micah from the lake house where he was staying with Jake’s parents and never leave Chickasaw County again.

She never should’ve come back here in the first place.

When Jake had told her he’d signed them up for their first couples fishing tournament, she’d found the prospect exciting. He’d been the one who’d taught her to fish, who’d cheered her improvements and praised her skills every time she muscled a largemouth bass from around a stump or teased a finicky spawning female away from her eggs with an expert twitch of a lure. She’d worked hard to prove herself a good student, to make him proud, and the idea of fishing a tournament with him had seemed like a huge pay-off for her efforts.

She’d been a good sport about having to stay in a motel a half hour north of Flint Creek Reservoir since Jake had waited till the last moment to sign them up and had missed the chance at rooms closer to the lake. Since this trip was their first without three-year-old Micah, she’d even thought the extra privacy, away from the constant presence of their fellow competitors, might turn the trip into the honeymoon they’d never had the chance to take.

Until he’d told her they’d be staying in Buckley.

As she walked, Mariah also scanned the area for any sign of Victor. But he was nowhere in sight.

For a second, she entertained the welcome thought that she’d simply imagined his presence there, in the same place where she’d last seen him four years earlier. The last twelve hours had seemed like a harrowing nightmare rather than reality, as she and Jake had weathered the destructive storm unscathed, only to wake to find a community broken and mourning the tragic aftermath.

Maybe being in Buckley, this beautiful, horrible place she’d thought she’d left behind for good, had conjured up the phantom of Victor Logan after all this time. Or maybe it was the specter of violent death resurrecting long-buried memories, each broken body pulled from the debris and zipped into a body bag a stark reminder of that day, not so very long ago, when she’d watched paramedics back away from Micah Davis’s bloody, broken body and declare he was beyond saving.

Mariah faltered to a halt, the memories she’d tried to bury so long ago rising like bile to fill her mind with bitter acid.

Victor had run him down like a stray dog in the street. She’d seen it happen, could now remember every sound, every violent flash of motion and color. If she let it, the memory could play out in an endless, horrible loop, over and over until she felt madness creeping over her in greasy black waves.

She pressed her hands over her face, struggling to push away the memory. She had to keep it hidden, even from herself. It wasn’t part of her life now. It couldn’t be. Not if she wanted Micah Davis’s son to have a good life with the decent man willing to be his father, almost no questions asked.

Jake didn’t know anything about her real past.

And if she was lucky, he never would.

“Baby, are you okay?”

She looked up sharply at the sound, half afraid she’d only imagined her husband’s voice. But Jake stood a few feet away at the side of an unfamiliar street. She looked around, realizing she’d reached the damage zone more quickly than expected. She now stood across the street from a house the tornado had lifted off its foundation and set back down sideways. The side of the house now facing her had been ripped away, revealing the ruined interior of what had once probably been a nice family home. Emergency vehicles idled at the curb, lights flashing.

“Mariah?” Jake reached his arm out toward her.

Realizing she hadn’t answered his previous question, she swallowed hard and shook off the strange sense of unreality gripping her. Drenched and muddy, with a ripped-up windbreaker draped over his shoulder, Jake looked solid and real, dragging her into the present once more. He stepped past the emergency vehicles and hurried toward her.

She met him halfway, throwing her arms around his waist and burying her face into the damp heat of his shoulder.

“What’s the matter, baby?” His fingers moved lightly up her spine in a comforting caress.

She couldn’t tell him about Victor, of course, but after what she’d seen over the last few hours, she had plenty of ready-made excuses for her shaken state of mind. “This place is just getting to me.”

He cradled her face between his grimy hands. “I know. But we’re doing good things here.” He gestured toward the house. “We just rescued a family of four. Looks like they’re all going to be okay, but if they’d been stuck in there too much longer—”

“I know we’re doing good things.” She looked into his smoky blue eyes to ground herself. Worry faded from his expression when she smiled at him. Sweet Jake, so willing to believe every word she said as long as the lies she spun maintained the little cocoon of safety and comfort they’d weaved around each other.

What would happen to them if Victor ripped it apart with the ugly truth of her real history?

“Could we take a break? Just for a little while?” She looked around them, eyes open for any sign of Victor. But wherever he’d disappeared to, it wasn’t here.

“Sure, we can do that.” He stroked her hair. “We could go back to the truck for a bit. Maybe dig through the stuff we threw in the cooler this morning and put together an early lunch?”

She smiled at the suggestion, reminded that there was little that could go wrong in Jake’s world that couldn’t be solved with a snack. She wondered what it was like to have lived a life so blessedly free of care.

Jake threaded his fingers through hers, tugging gently. She fell into step with him, feeling better as they moved through the busy search-and-rescue area without catching sight of Victor again. They had almost made it back to the staging area on the edge of the makeshift parking lot when a woman came running toward them down a side street that had seemed to escape any of the storm damage.

The woman caught sight of Jake, her eyes fluttering with relief. “Please, my daughter—” She grabbed Jake’s arm. Mariah saw that the woman’s hands were filthy and scraped raw.

The woman looked terrified. Mariah’s stomach knotted in sympathy as she slipped off her own jacket and wrapped it around the shivering, rain-soaked woman’s shoulders. “What happened?”

“My daughter—our dog just had puppies and hid them before the storm. We couldn’t find them before it hit—” The woman moved her hands away from Jake’s arm and grabbed Mariah’s hands instead. “There’s a creek behind the house. She was afraid they could’ve gotten down there—I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Did she fall into the creek?”

The woman was gasping now, from agitation and the exertion of running for help. “All the rain—the bank just gave way—and now she’s just hanging there, and I can’t get her up.” The woman stopped for a hitching breath. “I don’t know how long she can hang on—and the creek’s up!”

“Show us.” Jake was already moving in the direction from which the woman had come. Mariah put her arm around the frightened mother and hurried after him.

The house the woman pointed out was at the end of a cul-de-sac edged with thick, wooded no man’s land beyond the backyard. The woman took the lead, rounding the corner of the house and leading them into a waterlogged backyard that ended sharply at the edge of a steep drop-off.

Mariah started toward the creek when Jake stopped her with a quick, firm hand on her arm. “It’s been raining for three days straight,” he said quietly. “The ground is unstable. You could go down yourself.”

From over the edge of the ravine, a small voice cried out in terror. “Mommy, help!”

“Holly!” the frantic woman cried, rushing toward the edge of the yard. Jake caught her, tugging her back to safer ground. The woman struggled against his hold. “She’s going to fall!”

“I’ll get her, but you need to stay here. We don’t want to have to rescue you, too,” Jake told the woman firmly.

Mariah put her arm around the woman’s shaking shoulders. “We’ll get her,” she promised. She couldn’t blame the woman for her hysteria; the little girl didn’t sound that much older than her own sweet Micah.

What if her son were down there, clinging to God knew what, trying not to fall?

“Stay here,” Jake told Mariah as she started after him.

“I weigh less. I can get closer to the edge. You can hold on to me,” Mariah argued. The little girl was still crying in fear, her voice ringing in Mariah’s head until she thought she’d go mad.

What if it were Micah….

Jake frowned, clearly unhappy with her suggestion, but a moment later, he nodded. “We’ll see what will work. Just go slowly—the ground could go at any minute.”

His warning was unnecessary. The spongy ground beneath her feet grew more and more unstable the closer she got to the edge.

Nearing the precipice, she dropped to her hands and knees, creeping forward until she could see over the edge. The drop-off was sheer and farther down than she expected. The creek that rushed past about ten feet below was swollen and muddy, littered with storm debris that moved at an alarming speed. Five feet below and about three feet to her left, a tiny girl with stringy black curls gazed up at Mariah with wide, terrified brown eyes.

“Help!” Her grubby hands were wrapped around a piece of chain-link fence jutting from the side of the drop-off. It must have been part of an old fence that no longer stood in the backyard. Mariah wondered how securely it was wedged into the muddy bluff face. How much longer could it hold the child?

Jake hunkered down next to her, flat on his belly. His brow creased when he took in the child’s perilous situation.

“We could use a rope,” Mariah murmured.

“I’m not sure she can hold on long enough to go for one,” Jake replied, keeping his voice soft so the child couldn’t hear.

“Can you reach her if I hold on to your legs?” she asked.

“I don’t think so, but maybe we can haul the fencing up high enough that one of us can reach her.”

He slid on his belly until he lay just above the child’s precarious spot. Mariah scooted over beside him.

“Holly, my name is Mariah,” she called. “This is Jake. Can you hold on tight to that fence a little longer?”

“My fingers hurt!” Holly wailed.

“I know, but I need you to hold on real tight, okay? Jake’s going to pull the fence up now.”

“No!” the little girl cried in terror. “I’ll fall!”

“No, you won’t, Holly. Because you’re going to hold on just like you hold on to the monkey bars at school. You like to play on the monkey bars, don’t you?” Mariah said gently.

Holly nodded, then shrieked as the fencing shifted, dropping her down a half a foot.

Mariah’s heart skipped a beat. “Hold still, Holly. Let Jake do it all. You just hold on.”

Behind her, Holly’s mother was nearing hysterical, calling out her daughter’s name in a keening chant.

Jake slid forward until the top part of his torso hung out over the ravine. The dirt at the edge of the drop-off crumbled under his weight, shifting him farther forward than anticipated. He grabbed at the top chain links of the jutting fence to steady himself.

“Jake!” Mariah called, her heart stuttering.

“I’m okay,” he said, regaining his balance. He tugged at the chain-link fencing, as if testing its strength. Without the crossbar that would normally give it stability, it was remarkably fluid, since apparently whatever posts had once been connected to the links had fallen away long ago.

Mariah reached down and caught the top edge of the fencing to give Jake more leverage. “Ready, Holly?”

Holly stared up at them wordlessly.

“Let’s do it,” Jake said.

“Here we go. Hang on tight for me!” Mariah tugged at the piece of fencing, catching her breath as the part of the fence embedded into the earth worked completely loose. The rusty chain links dug into Mariah’s fingers as the child’s full weight hung from the dangling fencing.

Holly started crying softly.

“I’ve got you, Holly,” Jake called, quickly shifting one hand down until he caught a lower section of the fencing and pulled it up, bringing the little girl with it. Hand over hand, Mariah and Jake tugged the fencing upward, inches at a time, while Holly clung like a baby monkey to the metal links.

“Big, brave girl,” Mariah murmured as Jake finally tugged Holly’s small form within reach. Letting go of the fence, she wrapped her fingers tightly around the child’s tiny wrists.

Anchoring herself in the muddy yard with the toes of her sneakers, Mariah hauled the little girl up to the bluff’s edge in one sharp movement, rolling onto her back and bringing the girl the rest of the way to solid ground.

Holly clung to her for a second, until she caught sight of her crying mother. Scrambling up, she raced across the muddy yard and threw herself into her mother’s waiting arms.

Mariah pushed up onto her elbows, locking gazes with Jake, whose smile of relief and love brought tears stinging to her eyes. The rain obliterated them before she could blink them away, but the ever-present burn of guilt remained.

She had to tell him the truth. Somehow.

But not here. Not now.

As she eased to her feet, careful of the unstable edge, movement several yards behind the woman and her little girl caught her eye. A man stood at the edge of the property, staring at her with malevolent intensity that even the driving rain couldn’t obscure.

Victor.

Forgetting where she was, she took a faltering step backward. The soggy soil beneath her feet trembled under her weight. She stood very still, her gaze still locked on Victor as she waited for the ground to settle enough to dare a step away from the edge.

For a second, she thought it would hold. Then the ground fell out from beneath her, and she was plunging straight downward, the swirling flood waters looming up to meet her.

The last thing she heard before she entered the icy water was Jake’s voice howling her name.

Chapter Three

The world was dark and upside down.

Bleak and icy cold, the atmosphere closed in on Mariah in fetid waves, adding to the numbing shock that had already turned her arms and legs to flailing, useless appendages.

She hit something hard, shoulder-first, and realized she wasn’t as numb as she’d thought. As pain scorched along her nerve endings into her fuzzy brain, her head burst upward through the murk. She felt the sharp sting of air on her face and drew in a quick, sweet breath.

She saw something large looming toward her at an alarming rate of speed. She almost threw herself sideways to dodge it, until she realized it was a large, weathered tree trunk jutting out into the swollen creek bed. She braced herself, pulling her feet up so that her legs could cushion the impact. Her tennis shoes hit the trunk and she immediately bent her knees to absorb the hit, twisting toward the creek bank so that the rebound would push her toward land.

The ploy worked. Her back slid against the rock-strewn shoreline, shoulders digging into the mud. She grabbed handfuls of mud, anchoring herself, fighting against the swirling current. Her foot touched something hard—a rough boulder embedded in what had once been shoreline, though it was now underwater thanks to the flooding. She planted her feet on the rock, letting it help her stay in place.

Rain was falling in driving sheets, adding power to the flood waters racing past her precarious, half-submerged perch. Her surroundings were unfamiliar, the rushing water and rat-a-tat of rain hitting the canopy of trees above masking any sounds that might have identified her whereabouts.

She heard the sound of something falling toward her. Lying on her back, holding her position with every bit of strength she had, she could only lay her head back and roll her eyes up as far as they could go to see what was coming.

Dark, intense eyes stared back at her from a swarthy, time-weathered face.

Victor.

Her heart stopped so long she thought she’d died. Then it burst to life, racing faster than the flotsam swirling past her. There was nowhere to escape. If she let go, she’d be sucked back into the maelstrom again. She doubted she’d be able to surface for air this time before the water took her completely.

“Interesting situation.” Victor edged his way down the incline toward her position on the bank, looming over her like a conquering giant. “So completely at my mercy. You must wonder if I have any mercy left in me, after what you did.”

She didn’t speak, though anger started to drive out the fear, spreading heat through her cold limbs. What she did? All she’d done was tell the truth about what she saw him do.

“Your husband is looking for you. I wonder if he’d care what happened to you at all if he knew the truth about you.”

She sucked a quick breath through her nose, struggling against the urge to lash out at Victor for his cruel taunts. Looking away from him toward the swollen creek, she found her voice. “Of course he’d care. He’s a decent human being.”

Victor was silent so long that Mariah sneaked another look at him. His eyes were narrowed, his expression contemplative. Was he planning how to get away with another cold-blooded murder? All he’d have to do was pry her fingers away from her death grip on the muddy bank. The water still covered almost two-thirds of her body. Her foothold on the rock wouldn’t withstand the rushing power of the flood.

“Mariah!” Jake’s voice rose above the water’s roar, coming from somewhere above.

A shock of relief rattled Mariah’s whole body, so sudden and potent that she nearly lost her grip anyway. She dug her fingers deeper into the mud. “I’m here!”

Victor moved suddenly, reaching down to grab her fingers. She struggled against his touch, terrified.

He twined his fingers through her hair and tugged, sending paralyzing pain shooting through her scalp. “I’m trying to save you, you stupid bitch.” He loosened his grip. “He’s watching.”

Hot tears spilled over her icy cheeks, but she stopped struggling as she spotted Jake scrambling down the incline toward them. She let Victor drag her the rest of the way from the water, scrambling to a sitting position as soon as she felt solid ground beneath her feet.

Seconds later, Jake was there, nudging Victor aside to wrap her in his warm, strong arms, pressing hot kisses against her cheek and brow. Mariah snaked her arms around his neck, relief pouring over her as strongly as floodwater.

“Are you hurt?” Jake held her away from him for a few seconds, his gaze moving over her in search of injuries.

She tested her stiff limbs. She ached from the cold, but everything seemed to be in working order.

“You’re going into hypothermia.” Jake’s search-and-rescue training kicked in. He was an auxiliary deputy back in Chickasaw County, an experienced tracker who’d rescued his share of lost hikers. Mariah knew he was good at what he did.

She glanced over his shoulder at Victor Logan, who stood with statuelike stillness, watching with malevolence that sent a shudder skittering down her spine.

“Just get me to the motel,” she said through chattering teeth. “I want to go home.”

Jake lifted her to her feet, wrapping his arm around her waist when her knees wobbled upon standing. As she regained her footing, he stopped to look at Victor, whose expression shifted to neutral immediately. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

Victor’s eyes narrowed so slightly, Mariah wasn’t certain she hadn’t imagined it. “Right place at the right time.”

“Well, however it happened, thank you.” Jake started up the incline, his grip on her waist firm and supportive.

“Need help getting her up the bank?” Victor asked.

“I’m fine to walk,” Mariah said quickly, moving closer to Jake. She forced herself to add, “Thank you.”

Her legs ached with exertion by the time they reached the top of the sloping embankment. They were at the end of another, unfamiliar cul-de-sac, in someone else’s backyard. Mariah wondered how far the river had taken her. “Where is this?”

“Not sure, exactly. I think it’s about five blocks down-river of the other place,” Jake answered. “We need to see if anyone’s home. You need to get somewhere dry and warm.”

“Can’t we just go back to the truck?”

“Hypothermia could kill you before we make it back there.” Jake half dragged her to the back door of the nearby house and knocked. After a few seconds, a man opened the door and stared at them, his expression wary but not unsympathetic.

“My wife fell into the floodwaters and swept down here from about a quarter mile upriver,” Jake explained bluntly. “My name is Jake Cooper and this is Mariah. We were helping with the tornado relief. Mariah’s becoming hypothermic—I need to get her out of her wet clothes and warmed up. I’ll need blankets.”

The man seemed to respond to Jake’s firm, no-nonsense tone. “My wife’s a nurse. I’ll get her. You come on in—there’s a bathroom right there.” He led them into a spacious kitchen and gestured toward a short hallway. “First door on the right.”

Jake closed them in the bathroom. “Brave guy, letting us in. He doesn’t know us from Adam.”

“Maybe the b-blue lips were a t-tip off.” Mariah caught sight of her bedraggled state in the mirror over the sink. She looked horrid, her hair a stringy, tangled mess around her pallid face. Her lips had, indeed, turned a sort of sickly bluish-purple color from the cold.

Jake helped her strip off her muddy clothing and began rubbing her down with towels. In a moment, there was a knock and a woman’s voice sounded through the door. “Is she okay?”

Jake wrapped Mariah up in a large bath sheet he’d found in the bathroom closet and let the woman in. “Do you have a fireplace? We need to warm up some blankets.”

“Already warming.” The woman checked Mariah’s pulse with warm, gentle hands. “Not too thready. How’s your head—feeling woozy or disoriented?”

“J-just cold,” Mariah answered, trying to keep her teeth from clacking together too loudly.

“Poor thing. I would offer an electric blanket, but the power will be out for a bit yet.” The woman grabbed a towel from the sink counter and started squeezing excess water out of Mariah’s hair. “We should get you somewhere there’s power.”

“If we can get a ride back to the rescue staging area, I can take her back to our motel. My truck’s parked there.”

“We’ll drive you. We’ve just gotten back from double shifts at the hospital—Gary’s a lab tech and I’m a nurse. We were about to head out there to volunteer ourselves.” The woman handed the towel to Mariah. “I’m Sophie. Nice to meet you. I wish it was under better circumstances.”

She slipped out of the bathroom for a few seconds, returning with a small plastic bag and a folded set of scrubs. “Let’s get you into some warm, dry clothes. These may be a little short for you, but they should fit okay.” As Mariah took the surgical greens from Sophie, the woman turned to look at Jake with a critical eye. “You’re soaked, too. I’m not sure anything of Gary’s would fit you, though—”

“I’m fine,” Jake said firmly. “I’ve been running around so I’ve stayed warm. Let’s just get Mariah back to the motel.”

“I’ll tell Gary what we’re doing.” Sophie slipped back out of the bathroom.

Mariah finished slipping on the scrubs. Despite the thinness of the fabric, the clothes were impossibly warm.

“I’d hold you to get you warm, but I’m still sopping wet.” A hint of humor threaded through the lingering concern in Jake’s voice. Mariah hadn’t realized until now just how much she’d missed that lighter tone. It hadn’t made an appearance all day, banished by the horrors they were witnessing.

“You can make up for it back at the motel,” she promised.

“If you still want to leave town, I understand.”

She knew she should tell him no, that they’d stay and help. But the memory of Victor Logan’s malevolent gaze was burned into her brain, a reminder of why they had to leave as soon as they could get back to the motel and pack their things.

“I want to go home,” she said, hating herself a little.

Within fifteen minutes, they were safely back at the motel. Mariah took a long, hot shower that did wonders for her body temperature, then dried her hair, wrapped herself in a fuzzy robe and finished packing their toiletries for the trip home.

When she returned to the sleeping area, Jake was on the phone. He smiled at her. “Yeah, we’re cutting it short here. We may overnight in Birmingham. I’ll let you know.” He mouthed the name “Gabe.” “No, no—she’s okay. Just a little chilled.”

“Tell your brother I said hi and I’m fine,” she murmured, already eyeing the bed, where Jake had laid out warm clothes, including a cozy thermal undershirt and a sturdy pair of jeans. The rest of their clothes were packed.

“So he talked her into it finally? Well, good for Aaron!” Jake grinned at Mariah as she slipped off the robe and started donning her clothing. The appreciative look he gave her as she stripped naked did more to warm her than the thermal underwear. “Tell him congratulations for us. I’ll see you later.”

“Aaron and Melissa are engaged?” she guessed. Jake’s youngest brother had been trying to talk his girlfriend, Melissa, into marrying him for three months now, but Melissa was too pragmatic to jump into anything. Her history with men had made her a little cautious. To Aaron’s credit, he’d been far more patient with her than he was with most things in his life. “Good for them.”

“He popped the question on her birthday—talked someone at the high school into letting him borrow the gymnasium and set up their own private prom. Sappy devil.”

“Not nearly as romantic as your proposal,” she teased, wrapping her arms around his waist. “How did it go again—‘Hey, Mariah, wanna get hitched?’”

“If I recall correctly, you were duly impressed.”

She rubbed her cheek against his chest, her smile fading. He had no idea how desperate she’d been at that point in her life to find some sort of security and family. She wondered if he’d remember things differently if he knew the whole truth.

Would they even be together if she hadn’t been at the end of her rope? She’d never let herself ask that question before, perhaps afraid of what she’d discover.

Beneath her cheek, Jake’s sweater was thick and soft. He’d dressed in clothing as warm as her own. She managed a teasing grin. “Got colder than you realized?”

He smiled back at her. “My goose bumps have goose bumps.”

“Maybe you should have joined me in the shower.”

He pulled her closer, kissing her forehead and threading his fingers through her hair. “You were brave today. You saved that little girl’s life.”

“We didn’t get to tell that poor woman I’m okay.”

“We could stop there on our way out of town.”

“No, it’s not on the way, and it would just interfere with the rescue efforts.” Mariah already felt guilty enough about leaving all those poor, suffering people behind. But she couldn’t risk seeing Victor Logan again. “Besides, she probably took her little girl to the hospital to be checked out.”

“Maybe I should take you to the hospital, too. You’re still shivering.”

She couldn’t tell him her chills had more to do with the cold-eyed man who’d been seconds from tossing her back into that swollen creek before Jake arrived.

Not yet. Not until they were safely away, back in Gossamer Ridge, with Jake’s big, capable family surrounding them.

But when they got home, she was going to tell Jake the truth. The whole sordid story.

It had been a mistake to create a fictional back story for her own life. Jake deserved better, and she was strong enough to face her past.

She’d survived seeing Victor again, hadn’t she?

Barely, a cowardly voice whispered in her ear. You barely survived with your life.

THE SECRET TO GETTING away with something, Victor knew, was to look as if you know what you’re doing. In his case, it was simple enough; Victor actually knew his way around the underbelly of a truck. He’d been a mechanic since the age of sixteen, working in garages and repair shops across three states. He’d been bitten with the wander bug at an early age. With his skills as a mechanic to sustain him, he began a twenty-year sojourn across three states to find where he belonged.

Twenty years to figure out he’d never belong in this world full of cretins and imbeciles who were more interested in expanding their wallets and waistlines than improving their minds. It had taken Alex to show him the truth: he was better than all those people he’d spent his life trying to impress.

After that, he’d lived his life as he wished, taking the jobs that would best accomplish his particular needs at the time. Alex had been generous, as well, sharing his wealth with Victor in exchange for Victor’s keen eye for opportunities.

Alex’s money had bought Victor the toolkit he was using right now under Jake Cooper’s Ford F-150.

Victor had followed Marisol and her husband from the disaster scene, seen him forced to park the truck many slots down from their motel room because of the bass boat hitched to the back. It had been easy enough for Victor to park nearby, bring out his tools and act as if he was there on business.

Victor was slender enough to slide easily under the truck and snip the serpentine belt without engaging the car alarm. He left just a thread of belt intact. It would snap within a few miles, and not long after that, the engine would start to fail.

He pushed out from under the truck and walked purposefully back to his van, securing his tools on the floorboard behind the front passenger’s seat. He stepped into the van through the side door and closed it behind him, quickly stripping out of his wet, soiled coveralls.

Then he left the parking lot and set up a couple of blocks down the service road. Cooper would have to drive past him to get to any of the three interstate access roads.

And Victor would be ready.

MARIAH WAS TOO QUIET. It reminded Jake, uncomfortably, of their first interactions three years ago. She’d showed up one day, looking for work, and his sister Hannah, always a sucker for a stray, had talked their parents into hiring the shy, pretty young single mother for the clerical job at the booking office of the marina and fishing camp the family ran.

Jake had found her stunningly beautiful from the start, but her quiet demeanor had almost nipped their relationship in the bud. He’d always preferred vibrant, fun-loving girls with lots of energy and lots of sass. Mariah’s subdued, self-contained calm seemed just the opposite.

But as she revealed her past in painful little snippets over the next week, he began to understand that what he’d seen as self-possession was really lingering sadness at the loss of her husband, Micah’s father. He’d apparently died young in a tragic car accident, leaving Mariah pregnant and alone. He’d had nothing to leave them, forcing Mariah to fend for herself and her child with her own resources.

Pity had turned to sympathy, and sympathy to infatuation. By the time she’d finally agreed to go out with him three weeks after they met, he was halfway in love. Their first kiss two dates later sealed the deal for him, and it hadn’t taken long to convince her they were meant to be a family.

They’d eloped to Gatlinburg within two months of their first meeting. He’d never doubted his snap decision to marry her, or be the father to her adorable son Micah, who’d just turned three in December.

But at times like this, when she went quiet and insular, he was reminded there were still things about her history he didn’t know. Things he hadn’t thought important.

But what if they were?

Mariah looked up, her forehead wrinkling a little as she caught him watching her. “What’s wrong?”

He tried to shake off his doubts. “Nothing. Just—you’re so quiet. You’re not feeling worse, are you?”

She flashed an unconvincing smile. “Still cold, I guess.”

He started to reach behind him to the bench seat when a sharp snapping sound caught him by surprise. Almost immediately, the steering wheel grew stiff under his hand, and the engine power dropped precipitously.

He fought the unresponsive steering wheel, bringing the truck to a shuddering stop at the side of the road. The engine idled unsteadily for a few seconds, then died. When he tried to crank the engine again, the starter struggled to engage.

“What happened?” Mariah’s eyes widened with concern.

He reached over to touch her hand. He felt her hands trembling. “I think a belt must have broken,” he reassured her, although he’d checked all the belts and hoses before they left home. “I’ll take a look.”

The rain had slacked off, thankfully, only a light mist falling now. Jake slipped the hood of his windbreaker over his head and hurried to the front of the car. He raised the truck’s hood and looked inside.

The serpentine belt was hanging loose, snapped in two.

He uttered a low curse, wishing he’d taken his brother J.D.’s advice and packed extra belts for the journey. But J.D. was a control freak—who ever listened to his advice about things? He was the kind of guy who’d pack a parka for a trip to Florida, just in case another ice age hit unexpectedly while he was there.

He closed the hood and pulled out his cell phone, but his phone couldn’t find a signal. They were in the middle of nowhere, thick, piney woods flanking them on both sides. He’d taken a side road rather than the main thoroughfare, which was still clogged with traffic in and out of Buckley. He wasn’t sure there were even any houses within a square mile.

“What is it?” Mariah joined him in front of the truck.

“Belt broke.”

“What do we do now?”

Jake was about to suggest walking back to Buckley, but the sound of an approaching vehicle distracted him. He saw a white van coming up the road toward them. “We flag down this van and see if he can take us into town.”

He started waving at the van, which slowed as it came nearer. A mild glare off the windshield obscured the driver until the van was nearly on them.

It was Victor, the man from the tornado zone.

Mariah’s fingers closed around Jake’s arm, digging in. “Let’s just walk—”

He looked away from Victor to Mariah, who was gazing up at him with wide, terrified eyes. “What is it?” he asked.

“You folks need a ride?” Victor called out. Jake saw Mariah’s gaze shift behind him. Her face blanched white.

He turned, following her gaze, and saw Victor Logan standing in the open side doorway of the van, arm outstretched. In his hand, Victor held a large black Smith & Wesson semiautomatic, its barrel leveled with the center of Jake’s forehead.

“Let me rephrase,” Victor said, his voice cold and steady. “Get in the van or I’ll kill you.”

Chapter Four

Jake wanted to make a move on him. Victor saw it in the younger man’s watchful eyes, the taut set of his muscles as he backed up against the interior wall of the van. Victor had spent the last three and a half years honing his ability to spot danger coming from miles away. A man his age and size didn’t survive prison without knowing how to avoid danger.

When it could be avoided. And sometimes, it couldn’t.

Victor shook off the grim memories before they could paralyze him. He had work to do, and he wasn’t about to drop his guard with Jake Cooper.

Marisol was Victor’s protection. Jake would weigh any move he might wish to make against the danger his action would pose for her. It had taken only seconds for Victor to read the situation and train his weapon on Marisol rather than Jake.

He hoped it was enough to keep Jake at bay.

“I’m waiting,” he said aloud, not hiding his impatience.

Marisol’s hands shook as she followed Victor’s directions, fastening the plastic cuffs around Jake’s wrist, then hooking the cuffs through the metal clips attached to the inside of the van. The clips had been there when Victor bought the delivery van used, probably to secure stabilization ropes for transporting furniture or other large items.

He’d spent many long hours contemplating the various ways those clips could come in handy one day. He just hadn’t anticipated the day coming quite so soon.

“Sit over there.” Victor flicked the barrel of the gun toward the long wood bench that lined the opposite side of the van. Marisol glared at him with eyes full of equal parts hate and fear as she did as he demanded.

“What do you want with us?” Jake asked, not for the first time. Over his head, he flexed his wrists, testing the plastic cuffs, his movements subtle.

Victor wasn’t worried that Marisol had tried to trick him by leaving the cuffs loose. She knew better by now than to cross him. She knew the consequences.

“Marisol, do you have an answer for your husband?”

“Why do you call her Marisol?” Jake’s curious gaze slanted toward his wife.

She looked over at Jake, fear and guilt written across her face as plainly as words. Slowly, she turned her gaze to Victor, and for a brief, breathtaking moment, rage and hate eclipsed her earlier fear.

Victor’s breath froze in his throat.

Then fear took over again, and she dropped her gaze.

Victor breathed again, crossing to her side. He almost felt sorry for her.

Almost.

He secured her wrists, taking care that the bindings were tight enough to pinch. Drinking in her soft gasp of pain, he took strength from the sound. Who has the power now, Marisol? Who’s in control this time?

Hooking her cuffs to the clip over her head, he stepped back, surveying his handiwork. The man was glaring at him, impotent rage shining in his eyes. But Marisol kept gazing down at the floorboard, her whole body slumped with defeat.

If only Alex were here, Victor thought with pride. If only he could see what Victor had done, how he’d taken the gift the universe had given him and turned it to his favor, things between them would be different.

With a sigh of regret Victor turned his back on his captives and slipped into the driver’s seat of the cargo van. He cranked the engine, and the van roared to life.

“I’m going to tell you a story,” he said over the engine noise, slanting a look toward the rearview mirror. In the reflection, he saw Marisol’s head snap up, her gray eyes blazing hatred as they met his in the mirror. He fed off her hatred, his voice gaining power. “It’s the story of a lying, stealing, whoring piece of street trash who had the chance to change her entire world. And failed.”

THE PLASTIC RESTRAINT cuffs were painfully tight. Jake had hoped Mariah would leave them loose deliberately, had even tried to communicate that plea with his eyes as she cinched his wrists together, but she’d left him little slack to work with. Still, they were plastic and, unlike the disposable cuffs he and other deputies were used to handling back at the Chickasaw County Sheriff’s Department, these cuffs were cheaply made. He had a small butane lighter in his front pocket—one he’d bought the day before at a convenience store near the motel when weather reports made it clear they might be experiencing long power out-ages due to the coming storms.

If he weren’t hanging like a side of beef from the overhead clip, he might be able to burn through the cuff in no time. All he needed was the right opportunity.

In the driver’s seat, Victor began talking, his voice deep and surprisingly cultured. Jake had noticed it before, back at the disaster site, but the smooth, educated accent was even more noticeable now, echoing through the cargo van.

“She was given everything, asked for nothing but her effort and her loyalty.”

Jake glanced over at Mariah, trying to catch her eye. But she was glaring at Victor, her color high. “Shut up!” she shouted. “You lying son of a bitch!”

Jake stared, shocked at her outburst. Mariah was one of the most gentle, even-tempered people he knew. He’d never heard a curse word pass her lips in the three years he’d known her.

“Would you prefer to tell the story, Marisol?” Victor asked, apparently unfazed.

“Why do you keep calling her Marisol?” Jake repeated before Mariah could speak again.

“Would you like to answer that, Marisol?”

Jake looked across the van at his wife, who continued to stare at their captor, her eyes ablaze with unadulterated hatred. “Mariah?”

Her gaze turned slowly to meet his, and the rage died, leaving only despair in its wake. Tears welled and spilled over her bottom lashes, trickling down her cheeks.

His gut knotting, Jake waited for her to tell him Victor was lying, that he was crazy. But she just looked down at her feet, teardrops splattering the muddy metal floorboard between her shoes.

“Your wife has kept secrets from you, Jake.” Victor’s voice nearly quivered with anticipation.

“Is that what this is all about?” Jake asked, his gaze still fastened on Mariah’s downturned face. “You knew each other before? What—he’s Micah’s father?”

“No!” Mariah’s gaze flew up, not to Jake but to Victor’s reflection in the rearview mirror.

“Micah?” For the first time since he forced them into the van, Victor sounded uncertain.

Jake didn’t answer, keeping his eyes on his wife as he struggled to understand. So whoever Victor was to Mariah, he didn’t know about her son. And clearly, she didn’t want him to.

And neither did Jake. Even if he was Micah’s father, no way in hell would Jake let him anywhere near the little boy he thought of as his own son.

“Do you have a child, Marisol?” Victor asked in a strangled tone that caught Jake by surprise.

“I meant her husband, Micah,” Jake lied quickly as he saw Mariah’s face turn deathly pale. “Are you his father? Mariah told me his parents didn’t approve of their relationship.”

Victor laughed. “No.”

“Victor killed Micah,” Mariah growled, her voice dark with old pain.

Jake had heard that sound, more often than he liked to remember, in the early days of their courtship and marriage, but he’d thought she was past it now, moving forward into their new and promising life together.

Clearly, he’d been wrong. In so many ways.

“It was an accident.” Victor’s flat tone was unconvincing. “I paid for my mistake.”

“You killed him so I couldn’t be with him,” Mariah countered fiercely. “That was your twisted idea of disloyalty to you. Is that why you’re doing this now? Are you going to kill Jake, too?”

“If all I wanted was to kill your latest lover, he’d be dead already,” Victor said calmly.

“Easy to talk big when you’ve got the gun and your opponent’s trussed up like a turkey, little man.” Jake watched Victor for a reaction.

Victor ignored the taunt, but Jake noted that his back stiffened at the hard words. The older man turned his attention back to Mariah, his dark eyes focusing on her in the mirror. “You made things very difficult for me. You ruined everything.”

“You ruined everything,” Mariah spat back at him. “You’re the one who couldn’t let me go.”

“Your name is Marisol?” Jake asked quietly, partly to defuse the escalating tension but mostly to distract himself from the twisting in his gut. He knew that Victor wanted him to feel disgust and betrayal at Mariah’s lies. He could see very well that Mariah wanted—needed—him to trust her.

All Jake knew was that she wasn’t going to die on his watch.

Mariah lifted her face slowly. He could see she was struggling to meet his eyes. “My name is Mariah Cooper. I changed it legally three years ago, and then changed it when we married. Marisol is a different person from a very different time and place.”

“Not so different,” Victor said flatly. “Same old liar.”

Mariah’s lips pressed to a thin line as she shot a glare at Victor. She turned her gaze back to Jake, her expression tense. “I know I have a lot to explain. I’m so sorry. But nothing you’re hearing now changes who I am.”

Jake wanted to agree, to wipe the fear and dread from her expression. But he wasn’t going to lie to her.

At the sight of his indecision, her expression fell. She turned back toward the window, her profile outlined with despair.

Jake looked into the rearview mirror and saw Victor’s black eyes watching him. “Where are you taking us?”

Victor’s only answer was a slow, enigmatic smile.

AT LEAST WE’RE STILL ALIVE .

As mental pep talks went, the silent chant running through Mariah’s head wasn’t exactly a source of inspiration. She and Jake were still alive, yes, but for how much longer?

And what did Victor intend to do to them in the meantime?

She knew firsthand what he was capable of doing. She’d seen the way he’d aimed his old green Caddy at Micah Davis as he walked across the campus service road to reach Mariah on the other side. There’d been no hesitation. No tap of the brake.

He’d known what would happen to Micah’s body when the Cadillac’s nose slammed into him at forty miles an hour. He’d counted on it.

She’d often wondered, later, if he knew she’d be there to witness Micah’s murder. For reasons she hadn’t admitted to herself until it was too late, she’d kept Micah a secret from Victor, as much as she could. Victor had been ambivalent about allowing her to attend college in the first place, as if he were somehow insulted that she needed to learn things that he couldn’t teach her.

His possessiveness—not of her body but her mind—should have been a warning of what would come.

From her position in the belly of the windowless van, all she could see of the world outside was the relentless blur of greens, browns and grays through the front windshield. Victor was driving them into the woods. She didn’t want to think about what would happen when the van finally stopped.

She dared a glance at Jake. His eyes were angled forward, slightly narrowed, his expression intent. He probably thought they still had a chance to get out of this mess alive. She didn’t have that illusion.

All she had were regrets.

The van slowed, the wheels skidding a little as if they’d hit a patch of mud. Mariah held her breath, willing the van to pick up speed again. She didn’t want to believe this was the end of the road.

But the van rumbled to a full stop, and Victor cut the engine. The resulting silence was almost a shock, until the faint sound of rain outside filled the void.

Mariah looked at Jake again, her gaze drawn by a need she couldn’t quantify. Was it love? Fear? Shame?

Jake’s eyes remained on Victor as the older man stepped through the space between the front seats and entered the cargo area. As he crossed to Mariah’s side, Victor kept his eyes on Jake. “Don’t be stupid. Either of you.”

He released Mariah’s cuffs from the hook over her head. She dropped her hands in front of her, flexing her aching shoulders. “Just do whatever you want to do to me and let him go.”

Victor laughed. “You’re the one who brought him into this, Marisol. Without even telling him the truth about what he was signing on to. You’ll just have to live with the consequences of your deceit.” He motioned with the gun. “Unhook him.”

Mariah pushed unsteadily to her feet, wincing as the plastic cuffs dug into her wrists. She crossed to Jake, fighting hot tears as his blue eyes lifted slowly to meet hers.

She couldn’t read his emotions. She probably didn’t want to know what he was thinking right now anyway.

She unhooked his cuffs and took a step back so he could stand. She felt something hard dig into her spine between her shoulder blades.

“My gun is directed at her heart,” Victor said. “One wrong move and I will pull the trigger. Are we clear?”

Mariah almost made the move herself, just to get it over with. He wasn’t going to let them out of here alive. Prolonging fate was nothing but torture.

Jake’s eyes bored into hers. For a second, she saw real emotion there, burning like a flame. “Nobody’s doing anything stupid,” he said aloud.

She heard his message loud and clear.

Behind her, she heard the click of a latch and the swoosh of the side door of the van sliding open. Cold, damp air poured over her body, eliciting a shiver.

She heard the sound of Victor’s footsteps retreat behind her. A moment later, he spoke, his voice a few feet away. “Turn around, Marisol.”

She turned to look at him, loathing burning in her chest, fueled by every fear, doubt and regret she’d ever had in her life. Victor stared back at her, his eyes coal-black and cold. There had been a time when she’d thought he was her friend. Maybe her only friend. Certainly her mentor.

But that was before she’d discovered what he really was.

He motioned at the wet grass below with a sharp jerk of the gun barrel. “It’s a short jump.”

She dropped from the van to the ground, gasping a little as her foot slipped on the wet grass. Almost immediately, Jake was right behind her, his solid body stopping her fall.

“Step away from her,” Victor growled.

Jake stepped back but remained close enough that she could feel his warmth despite the cold drizzle falling around them.

Victor had stopped the van a few feet beyond a small one-story bungalow built of river stone and wood siding that might have been white before weather and age had rendered it a drab, lifeless gray. A wooden porch extended the length of the house, covered by a sagging aluminum awning that seemed incongruous to the rest of the structure.

“Home, sweet home,” Victor murmured with a humorless grin.

Quite a comedown from the nice split-level he’d rented in Buckley proper, Mariah thought. She supposed he’d lost the lease while in prison.

Still, for a while, it had almost seemed like her home.

Inside, the sparsely furnished living room smelled musty. The darkness of the interior multiplied as Victor closed the door behind them, shutting out the gray light of the rainy day.

Victor didn’t bother turning on the light. He nudged Mariah’s back with the barrel of the gun. “There’s a door ahead, just to the left. Open it and turn on the light.”

Jake, who walked ahead of her, did as Victor commanded. He stopped in the doorway and looked back at Victor, rebellion written all over his face. “We’re not going down there.”

Mariah peered around him and saw what the bare lightbulb revealed—a narrow stairway leading down to a shadowy basement.

Stained cement floors. Exposed water pipes, cold and damp with condensation. The odor of mold and grime, filling her lungs with each breath. Darkness as deep and black as hell.

Her head swimming, Mariah stretched her bound hands forward, trying to find her balance.

Jake caught her hands in his, his fingers warm and strong. She gazed up at him, grounding herself in his gaze.

“You know I hate basements, Victor.” Her voice came out low and raspy. “Put us somewhere else.”

“Down the stairs,” Victor said flatly. “Go.”

Jake’s fingers tightened on hers. He spoke in a voice so quiet she could barely hear him. “You can do this.”

He led the way downstairs, his head high and his back straight. Mariah took strength from the sight of him moving slowly, steadily down the steps in front of her, a solid wall to stop her fall if she should lose her step.

The basement was as dark and fetid as she’d feared, but she could feel Jake’s warmth just in front of her, and some of her panic eased.

Victor turned on the light, another grimy bare bulb hanging from a wire overhead. Mariah blinked against the sudden illumination, her eyes adjusting until she saw that the basement was somehow even more depressing and dank than she’d imagined.

Victor directed them to the far wall, where water pipes curved along the grubby stone foundation. Jake muttered a low curse. “Just had these lying around?”

Peering around Jake, Mariah saw what he’d spotted—a set of handcuffs attached by one cuff to the pipe.

“I like to be prepared.” Victor waved toward the rickety-looking bench in front of the handcuffs. “Sit down, Jake. Mariah, I believe you’ve had some experience with handcuffs. Please put them on your husband.” He spat out the last word with pure contempt.

The paralyzing fear that had gripped her the moment he walked into the tent earlier that day had finally begun to fade, replaced with a simmering rage that twisted her gut into hard, fiery knots. Give me a chance to stop you, she thought. Just one chance.

“Would you rather be in the cuffs?” Victor picked up a pair of rusty wire cutters and motioned for her to come to him with the barrel of his gun. “That can be arranged.”

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