Her past...or her future?

It’s taken Amy Finley ten years, but she’s finally ready to return to her hometown of Heartache, Tennessee, and face the past. She just never expected that would include reuniting with her high school sweetheart and now town sheriff, Sam Reyes. Or that Sam’s latest case would lead right back to the darkest chapter in her life.

The attraction between Amy and Sam is definitely still there, not to mention that she’s sure she could quickly grow to love his cute baby son. But can he forgive her for keeping her secrets? Can she forgive herself?

Amy turned to face him and leaned against the trunk of the maple.

“One of the main reasons I chose to come back to Heartache now is to support my sister when Heather testifies against the guy who tried to kidnap her.” She drew a deep breath. “So I promise you, I am committed to seeing Jeremy Covington behind bars, too. I may have been absent from this family for ten years, but I’m still a Finley, and hearing how that creep threw her into the back of a van with another girl that he’d tied up...” She shook her head, unable to finish the thought. “I am here to see justice done, Sam. But I am not here to testify.”

An interesting distinction, Sam thought. Especially considering no one had asked her to testify when she claimed not to know anything.

The more she resisted, the more he wanted to record her statement. As a cop, he had a naturally suspicious nature, but his instincts told him she knew more than she was letting on. But those same instincts warned him if he pushed Amy too hard, she would shut down altogether...

Dear Reader,

The idea of “going home” holds unique memories for all of us. Some of them are warm and wonderful as we remember happy Thanksgiving dinners gathered around a table laden with food or long summers playing in the backyard with friends. But for people who have experienced a trauma, going home can be riddled with lots of unpleasant memories, too.

For Amy Finley, returning to Heartache means a mix of emotions. I am inspired by her strength and determination even as I understand why she needed to stay away from her family for so long. The payoff of returning—a possible healing of old relationships—is dangerously enticing for a woman with so much history in Heartache, Tennessee.

I welcome you back to town with open arms and hope you enjoy Amy’s return as much as I did. A whole lot has changed since she left, but the new town sheriff is as appealing as he was as a teen. Maybe some things never change...

Happy reading,

Joanne Rock

Whispers Under a Southern Sky

Joanne Rock

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Three-time RITA® Award nominee JOANNE ROCK has penned over seventy stories for Harlequin. An optimist by nature and perpetual seeker of silver linings, Joanne finds romance fits her life outlook perfectly—love is worth fighting for. A former Golden Heart® Award recipient, she has won numerous awards for her stories. Learn more about Joanne’s imaginative Muse by visiting her website, joannerock.com, or following @JoanneRock6 on Twitter.

To Mom and Dad with so much love.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

RUNNING ON FUMES, Amy Finley coasted into the driveway of her temporary home shortly before midnight. Even after ten years away from Heartache, Tennessee, she’d remembered how to get to her father’s old hunting cabin. It was one of the only places in her hometown where she’d actually made a few happy memories.

Now, shoving out of the passenger side of her car—the driver’s door was broken—Amy stepped onto the pine-needle-covered ground in the woodsy hills east of where she’d grown up.

Her sisters figured no one had been in the cabin in the last six years. Their father had died four years ago, but even before then he’d abandoned his old habit of coming up here in the fall as he’d gotten more involved in his career as mayor of Heartache.

Erin, the older of Amy’s two sisters, had promised Amy the electricity and water would be turned on this week, so the property would be slightly more livable for Amy’s return.

She found the key to the front door by sliding a hand beneath a windowsill around the side of the building. Same place it had always been, inside a hollowed-out knot in the pinewood. It was a miracle no rodents had made off with the key in all these years, although she hadn’t been worried. She would find her way inside the rustic cabin one way or another. Security wasn’t tight around here.

Something she planned to address as soon as possible if she wanted to feel safe.

At the thought, a shiver tripped over her skin despite the mild fall weather. Tucking deeper into her pale blue hoodie, she refused to think about The Incident. The night that had driven her from Heartache for an entire decade, making her miss her father’s funeral. Her sister’s wedding. Her mother’s alleged recovery from severe bipolar disorder.

She’d believe that when she saw it. If she ever worked up the nerve to face her mom again, anyway.

For now she told herself to take her return one step at a time. Her first step was moving into the cabin and starting renovations. She would need the distraction of a project to get her through the other tasks she’d set for herself. She was here to make amends with her family—her siblings if not her mother. And, perhaps more important, she’d come home to support her sister as Heather prepared to testify against a local criminal awaiting his trial.

Amy had her own reasons for needing to see the man behind bars, but no one in her family knew about those, and she planned to keep it that way.

One step at a time.

Turning the rusted, thin key in the lock, she used her shoulder to nudge open the door. Instead of smelling the must and mildew she expected, however, the clean scent of lemon polish drifted past her nose. What on earth?

The door creaked open on stiff hinges and a floorboard groaned under her tread-worn tennis shoes as she stepped inside. Flicking on the lights in the small space, she saw the pine-plank floors had been swept clean. One of the single-pane windows had also been opened, and a set of calico curtains hung on the wrought iron rods above the windows.

Her sisters co-owned a consignment shop in the small downtown area. They must have brought some finds from their business up here to give Amy a warm welcome. An antique glass milk jug held a vase of wildflowers on the tiny counter next to the white porcelain kitchen sink. A green plaid place mat held a bottle of wine, a corkscrew, one clean glass and a pan of brownies visible through a layer of plastic wrap.

She dropped the duffel bag from her shoulder and closed the front door behind her, drawn to the brownie pan despite the chilly breeze blowing through the whole house from the open window. A crisp yellow notecard sat atop the treats.

Welcome home, Sis. Can’t wait to see you when you’re ready. Love, Heather and Erin

It was the kind of thoughtful gesture a normal sister should love.

Except that it had taken her ten long years to face her siblings after that hellish week when she’d been seventeen and her world had fallen apart.

This hunting cabin was still fifteen miles from the home where she’d grown up, but it was the closest she could bring herself to seeing any of the Finleys even now.

She didn’t know if she’d ever really be ready to face any of them again.

Setting the card back on the brownie pan, she moved around the small cabin, closing the window so she could warm up the place.

Not much had changed besides the curtains. A common area with a fireplace made of river stones dominated the cabin. Off to the side of the living space was the tiny kitchen, including a few cupboards and a refrigerator, but no stove or oven. Back when she’d come here with her father, they’d used an outdoor grill or a campfire for all the cooking. Two small bedrooms held built-in bunk beds that were little more than plywood planks anchored to the rough log walls. There was no furniture besides a small table in the kitchen with two ladder-back chairs. Thankfully, her sisters had left a box labeled “memory foam mattress topper” on one of the plywood bunks.

Amy had brought a bedroll, but considering the cabin’s level of rustic simplicity, the memory foam was a bonus she wouldn’t refuse. With no central heat or air, she’d have to build a fire, but she’d brought her own supplies to do just that.

She wasn’t sure how she felt about her sisters coming up here to prep the place for her. She’d been adamant when she agreed to come home that she’d only see them on her own terms. When she felt ready for that.

For tonight, just being back in Tennessee, back in this tiny town, was enough for her to handle. After digging a flashlight out of her duffel, she flicked it on and stalked out to the car to retrieve her boxes.

It would be hours before she prepped the place enough for it to be comfortable, even with the freshly hung calico curtains and sleeping bag. Or maybe because of them.

Her chest tightened, and it wasn’t from the strain of carrying in the heavy load of firewood. She’d become a loner. Practically a recluse. When she’d left here, she’d moved to Atlanta and become a waitress, eventually putting herself through college since she refused to take a nickel from her family. Even her father.

Funny to think how a person could become so isolated even in a big city, but it was easy. Amy was an expert at being by herself. What she wasn’t good at was family.

Community.

Trust of any kind.

She hadn’t gotten where she was today because of those things. She now had an accounting degree and a potential start-up business in spite of all of them. Maybe that was why, after she got a fire going in the big hearth, she ignored her sisters’ gifts and unrolled a sleeping bag in the living area. Just like she used to do with her father when they would tell stories late into the night.

Disregarding the growl of her empty stomach, Amy hoped tomorrow she’d be stronger. Because tonight, all she wanted to do was to get in her car again and drive to Atlanta. Back to a place where she didn’t have to work so hard to fix relationships that had failed her.

* * *

THREE CUPS OF coffee into his day, Sheriff Samuel Reyes struggled to keep his tired eyes focused on the map in front of him. He hated this kind of research even on a good day—the boring-as-snot part of police work that kept him behind a desk. Today he was trying to make pieces of a resistant puzzle fall into some kind of meaningful order. He’d been over and over the map of Heartache’s quarry, trying to find a pattern or a clue in the pins that marked places where the sheriff’s department had discovered evidence in his current case.

The pins were old school, as was the paper map. But for him, there was no substitute for working with his hands and seeing the physical images.

Today, however, his brain was failing to connect any dots. Part of it was because he’d reviewed the same map a hundred times. But it was mostly because he’d spent the majority of last night pacing the floors with his infant son. A baby he hadn’t even known existed until three weeks ago. A baby his ex-girlfriend had handed him on his doorstep along with the news that she had grown weary and needed a break from the two-month-old she hadn’t seen fit to tell him he’d fathered.

So he’d been parenting the infant alone for the last three weeks. Nothing like trial by fire.

“Any luck?” Heartache’s mayor, Zach Chance, walked into the town-hall conference room that served as Sam’s office most days.

With his patrician features and perfectly pressed collared shirt, Zach looked the part of a slick politician even though he was a fairly normal dude. For a tech-company millionaire.

Zach had cleaned up in the digital security market before returning to Heartache from the West Coast two years prior. He still managed his virtual company from Heartache, but he was now the mayor. He’d also been the one who’d twisted Sam’s arm into leaving San Jose to become Heartache’s sheriff. Both men had grown up in Heartache, so it hadn’t been that big of a sacrifice to come back.

Sam liked small-town living more as an adult than he had as a kid, even if some days he couldn’t keep his eyes open while working.

“Nothing yet.” He gripped his empty cup of coffee and pitched the paper container in the trash can. “We need more evidence before Jeremy Covington goes to trial, but I’ll be damned if I know where we can get it.”

His eyes felt like sandpaper when he blinked. Hell, he’d barely managed to find a clean shirt this morning, and he wouldn’t be surprised if he’d slept in the pants he was wearing.

“I’ve gone over and over Heather’s statement, too. And I’ll be damned if I can find anything that helps connect what she saw to Jeremy’s previous crimes.” Zach dropped into a chair at the opposite end of the conference table.

He’d recently gotten engaged to Heather Finley, daughter of Heartache’s previous mayor who’d died while in office.

Heather had been the victim of an attempted kidnapping last fall, and Sam had arrested Covington, a former member of the town council, and his son on a number of charges, including sexual assault and stalking. But since then he’d been having trouble building a strong enough case to ensure both Covingtons served serious jail time.

Both Zach and Sam were convinced that Covington had stalked and assaulted many other victims—including Zach’s own sister, Gabriella, ten years ago. Sam had followed Gabriella that night, worried because she had seemed depressed and secretive. He’d found her desperately fighting off an attacker. Sam had managed to keep Gabby from being hurt and chased the guy away. But her attacker had been wearing a stocking mask and it had been pitch-black in the woods around the quarry road, so he sure as hell couldn’t identify him and neither could Zach’s sister.

Now that they’d caught Covington, Sam and Zach’s family finally had an opportunity to see justice done after an event that had altered all their lives.

“I dug out the notes I made about what happened to Gabriella, and me, too. I wish we’d gone to the police.” Sam drummed his fingers on the conference table, thinking back to that long-ago summer.

“You were a foster kid who’d had your own run-ins with the sheriff,” Zach reminded him, letting him off the hook. “And Gabby had just wanted to get out of town.”

Sam, Gabriella and Zach had moved to the West Coast. Sam got a GED and took college courses, eventually enrolling in the police academy. Zach went to college and started his tech company. They’d both looked after Gabriella, who had needed intensive counseling. These days, she ran a support group for victims of cyberstalking and assault.

“And your notes are all admissible as evidence, thanks to you,” Zach continued.

Sam had written a report about that night and mailed it to himself, as well as local police, as soon as he’d turned eighteen.

He’d kept his own copy—unopened but postmarked—and given it to a superior officer at the police academy along with his application. The cop had filed it with his records, helping preserve the evidence so it was still admissible in the case against Covington.

“Not that my notes help much to connect that incident to him.” Sam had berated himself a million times for not pulling the mask off the guy’s face instead of running after Gabriella to make sure she was safe.

“We’ll find something.” Zach pounded a fist on the table, making Sam’s map jump. “We’re going to find more victims, and one of them is going to have the piece of evidence that ties it all together to nail Covington’s ass.”

Sam had thought so at first, but months into this case with little progress, he was starting to wonder. Shoving back from the table, he headed over to the pull-up bar he’d installed in an archway between the conference room and the kitchenette.

The chin-ups at least got his blood flowing when his brain shut off. Reaching for it now, he began to haul his body upward until his chin was parallel with the bar. Then he lowered himself slowly and repeated the motion.

“Why don’t people come forward to prosecute scumbags?” He didn’t understand why anyone would remain under the thumb of someone who hurt them.

“You have to ask? We had reasons for not going to the cops as kids.” Zach reached for a bowl of peanuts on the conference table. They were left over from a retirement party they’d given one of the women in the clerk’s office.

He tossed a nut in the air and caught it in his mouth while Sam kept pounding out pull-ups.

“Yeah, child services could have separated you and Gabriella once they realized your mom wasn’t taking care of you. I was afraid the cops would find out I’d beaten the guy up and send me to juvie since Gabriella didn’t want to tell anyone what really happened.” Sam had gone over and over their options in his head and knew they’d done the best they could at the time.

“Right. And everyone else who avoids talking to cops feels like they have good reasons, too.” Zach tossed another nut and centered his head beneath it so it fell straight onto his tongue before he chomped it.

Sam raised and lowered himself. Raised and lowered.

“They don’t, though. I went to the high school this week to talk to the kids, since the bastard tends to target teen girls. But all that most of the kids cared about was that their parents would take their phones away if they found out they were texting late at night. I don’t call that a good reason for not stepping up to do your civic duty.”

It was damn lazy and self-centered, in fact. He’d had a tough time responding to those kinds of concerns from the kids who’d participated in the discussion after his talk.

At their age, he didn’t have a home, let alone a cell phone. And even as a teen he would have done anything and everything to protect the people he called friends. He had, in fact.

So he couldn’t understand kids who closed their eyes when they saw their peers in trouble.

“But scaring them off isn’t going to help our cause,” Zach said as he pulled the map of the quarry closer to examine it. “We need those kids to think of us as their friends, dude.”

“Then you should have been the one to talk to them.” Sam released the bar and dropped to his feet, grateful that the rush of blood through his veins was chasing off some of the sluggishness. “I’m a walking zombie lately. No sleep isn’t exactly enhancing my public face.”

“Which was already so warm and fuzzy.” Zach never looked up from the map.

“I didn’t become a cop to play guidance counselor to a bunch of teenagers.”

“Well, this is Heartache.” Zach finally glanced up. “It’s not the kind of town that needs a lot of policing, so as long as you’re here, you’re going to have to do some public outreach.”

“Or I can deputize the guidance counselor.” Sam scooped his keys off the desk, wanting to get away from the office and air out his brain. “But right now, I need a plan to unearth more witnesses.”

He headed for the door that led into the town hall. Normally he’d be inside for the biweekly court session. Sam liked to be there so he could clarify any of his reports for the judge or argue with defendants who wanted to dispute arrests or citations. But this week, the docket was light. Probably because he’d been too deep in the Covington case to spend much time on anything else.

Stepping out into the parking lot, he was striding toward his pickup when a familiar silver sedan slipped into a spot next to his.

Heather Finley, Zach’s fiancée. Sam lifted a hand in greeting. He had old history with the Finley family since he’d dated Heather’s younger sister, Amy, back in high school. But she’d left Heartache not long after Sam, and her otherwise close-knit family didn’t mention her much.

“Sam.” Heather flagged him down before he could pass her, waving at him as she opened the driver’s-side door. “Do you have a minute?”

Honestly, if he could have come up with an excuse to avoid social chitchat, he would have. He liked Heather just fine. She was a kind and talented woman, volunteering with the town’s rec department to teach music to local kids whenever she wasn’t building her own following as a country-music performer.

And while Sam admired Heather for understanding her civic duty and testifying in the Covington trial, small talk had never been his strong suit.

Especially with the Finley family. He’d never forgotten the way they’d alienated one of their own.

“Zach’s inside,” he said, halting his pace. “Conference room.”

“Great.” She gave him a lopsided smile, her long red curls covering the shoulders of her bright green trench coat. “I owe him lunch after he drove me to Nashville last weekend. But I wanted to check in with you first.” She hit the key fob to lock her car doors. “Are you still living on Partridge Hill Road near the town line?”

“I rent a place up there, yeah.” Having some space between him and the rest of Heartache made the longer drive to work well worth it.

“My sister is moving into our old hunting cabin off one of the dirt roads at the top of the hill—”

“I thought Erin and Remy liked being close to your family?”

“Not Erin.” Her pause seemed to stretch out for minutes. Hours. “Amy.”

“Amy?” Sam hadn’t allowed himself to think about Amy Finley in years. Well, except when she sneaked into an occasional dream.

She’d been his high school girlfriend. A relationship they’d kept quiet at her insistence because of her mother’s instability. A relationship he’d been forced to walk away from to help Zach’s sister. They’d left town in a hurry, scared that Gabby’s stalker would try to attack her again. They’d agreed Gabriella would be safest if no one knew where they were going. He hadn’t even said goodbye to Amy. Weeks later he’d sent a message to tell her he’d had to leave to help a friend, but she hadn’t responded.

And now, after ten years of silence, she was back. Holy hell.

“Yes. It took a long time, but Erin and I finally convinced her to come home to Heartache, at least temporarily. She’s going to renovate my father’s hunting cabin into a real home so we can put it on the market. I’m hoping she’ll stay for my wedding.” Heather tucked a strand of hair behind one ear. “I thought maybe, if you knew she was up there, you could keep an eye on her.”

No.

The reaction was strong and immediate. He wasn’t going to put himself anywhere near Amy Finley. Didn’t matter that their relationship had died a cruel death a decade ago. He didn’t need any more trouble with women than he already had.

“She’d be...what? Twenty-seven years old by now?” He rubbed the back of his neck, where his exhaustion was turning into a knot of tension. “She won’t want a watchdog.”

He tried to temper the refusal with a grin, but he had the feeling it came across more of a grimace.

“I’m sure she doesn’t.” Heather surprised him by agreeing. “But it’s a remote cabin, and the access is limited. I just thought you’d want to know someone is living up there for at least a few months. If you see anything suspicious, keep in mind she’s all alone on that hill.”

Guilt crowded away the bout of selfishness.

“Of course.” He nodded, accepting the responsibility that he suspected would only stir up trouble. “I never consider myself off duty, anyhow. I’ll know if anyone goes up or down that road.”

Zach’s fiancée beamed. She didn’t look much like Amy, who he remembered as rail thin and tall with skin so pale he could spot veins beneath its surface in bright sunlight. But there was a radiance in Heather’s eyes that was similar to her younger sister’s, a happiness so joyous a person would have to lack a pulse not to smile back.

Sam did just that.

“Thank you. I feel better knowing you’ll check on her since I’m not sure when she’ll be ready to see any of her family.” Heather bit her lip for a moment before continuing. “For now, I’m just happy she’s home for however long she’s here.” She reached to give his forearm a gentle squeeze before she brushed by him to enter town hall, her suede pumps tapping a purposeful rhythm while Sam tried to recover from her news.

Amy Finley. Back in Heartache.

He had no business feeling one way or the other about that, given how they’d parted. But that didn’t prevent an old memory from drifting through his mind—Amy riding shotgun in his pickup truck on a hot summer day, promising she knew the perfect spot for skinny-dipping. He’d been seventeen and crazy about her, and even though he was supposed to be driving them both to work, he’d ended up following her directions to a private spot in the woods, where a bend in the creek made a shady pool.

She’d slid off her shorts too fast for him to see much—and he didn’t want her to catch him drooling over her—but he’d never forgotten the way she’d darted through the green trees, laughing and teasing him the whole time.

No doubt a woman like that had moved on. Family. Kids. He hadn’t looked her up online and hadn’t asked about her, even though his best friend was now engaged to her sister.

She’d never gotten along with her family. She’d even told him once that he was the only reason she could stand to stay in Heartache...

Damn.

Shutting down the old regrets, he moved toward his truck again. He didn’t need this kind of distraction now. His personal life had gotten about a thousand times more complicated this year, for one thing. And for another? He wanted all his professional focus on solidifying the case against Jeremy Covington. He’d given up Amy ten years ago to put this guy behind bars.

He would make damn sure the sacrifice had been worth it.

CHAPTER TWO

RETURNING FROM THE grocery store, Amy took the Partridge Hill Road slowly, climbing the sharp incline at a respectful speed. The tarmac looked like the town had been ignoring it for decades, and she was wary of the potholes and cavernous cracks.

Her car was on its last leg—to be expected since she’d snagged it on eBay for next to nothing after her previous vehicle had died. A gray sedan built for efficiency and not comfort, the car was held together with duct tape, furnace cement, a few well-placed zip ties and a whole lot of YouTube video knowledge on DIY mechanics. She was proud she’d kept the thing running this long, but she wasn’t about to risk her luck on one of those black holes.

Even if that meant she couldn’t zip past the house where Sam Reyes lived.

She kept her eyes on the road so as not to risk any accidental sightings. Not that she wasn’t curious, of course. Her long-ago boyfriend had been hot when other teenage boys were still gangly and awkward. Her imagination could quite nicely envision him as a man full grown. She didn’t need that visual confirmed, though. Especially not after they’d had the world’s most awkward non-breakup.

He just up and disappeared. Vanished into thin air with Gabriella Chance, a particularly adorable majorette who probably would have been homecoming queen. If she hadn’t left school to run away with Sam. His mysterious email—weeks later—claiming that he’d left to “help a friend” hadn’t exactly eased her anger.

Thump!

The car dipped down into a rut she hadn’t seen. The passenger-side tire scraped something sharp, a grating noise against the wheel. She hit the gas on instinct since her vehicle was prone to stalling.

And yet, of course, her sedan died right there.

“Unacceptable.” She closed her eyes. Willed the vehicle to life. “If not for me, you would be in a scrap heap.”

Sadly, it wasn’t her first dialogue with the vehicle. But for the first time the cursed thing seemed to listen because it fired up again with a cough and a splutter.

“Yes!” She hit the gas hard, desperate to get out of sight from the last house on Partridge Hill Road.

She wasn’t a woman who enjoyed being rescued, and, thankfully, her closest neighbor wouldn’t be obliged to fill that role today. Racing up the rest of the hill, she dodged the remaining pits and crevices, flush with victory and the knowledge she had enough supplies to last her for the next two weeks. She wouldn’t need to worry about seeing anyone until she felt well settled in, and—

Oh. Crap.

A large man stood on the porch of the hunting cabin.

Dressed in black and wearing dark sunglasses, the figure stood with his back to her, his large shoulders bent over something he seemed to be examining on the front-porch swing. A hit man deciding which weapon to use? Her brain churned out a whole series of crazy possibilities when he did not turn toward her as she slowed the car.

Fear crawled up her throat since no one should be here. Her sisters had promised her—promised—that they would let her decide when she wanted to see the family. No one else knew she was here. And the guy on the porch sure didn’t look like he was selling something. Or trying to convert her.

Why hadn’t the man noticed her yet? She debated backing down the road again. She could just slide it into Neutral and she’d be at the bottom of Partridge Hill in moments. Then suddenly, even with her heart beating hard and the car’s heater blowing on high, she realized she could hear the wail of an infant.

Even as she told herself that made no sense, the man on the porch straightened. He held a baby in his arms.

But that wasn’t nearly the most shocking thing about her uninvited guest.

Because the man in front of her was Samuel Reyes.

Seeing her, he raised his hand. A greeting? A warning?

She mimicked the movement as she sat in the driver’s seat, staring at him as if she’d seen a ghost.

So much for getting past his house unnoticed.

Shutting off the engine as he walked toward the car, she wondered about the etiquette for this situation. How did a woman act when confronting a man who’d broken her heart and run off with another girl? Did she go with a breezy, blasé manner like none of it mattered? Pretend she didn’t recognize him?

He was more handsome than she’d imagined he would be, and her imaginings had been plenty favorable to start with. He looked like a man who took his job seriously, and trained hard enough he’d be able to capture Olympian sprinters while on foot. Even in his dark pants and jacket, the muscles in his limbs were evident.

His features were more sculpted, too, his jaw and cheekbones more angular somehow, his gray eyes more hooded. Or was it that his expression was less open, his gaze more calculating? Sliding across the seat to the working passenger-side door, she reminded herself to breathe.

He was at the car door sooner than she was, opening it and holding out a hand to help her out.

Her heart beat faster for no good reason.

“Looking for someone?” she asked, ignoring his hand to step out onto the patch of gravel that counted as a driveway.

Her gaze skittered over the wriggling baby wrapped in a blue blanket in his arms. The infant couldn’t be more than eight weeks old. Round-cheeked and red-faced, the baby lay tucked into one of Sam’s arms and stared at Amy with wide blue eyes. The child had quit crying for the moment, making the sound of the silence all the more awkward.

“I came up here to see you. Hello, Amy.” Sam reached past her to retrieve her shopping bags from the car, following her example. “Let me give you a hand.”

He smelled good. Like spicy aftershave and wood smoke, as if he’d spent the afternoon near a campfire.

“I can manage,” she assured him. “And you appear to have your hands full.” She wondered why her sisters hadn’t mentioned Sam had a kid. It struck her as highly relevant. “Congratulations.”

She brushed past him to enter the cabin, needing to escape from a confrontation she wasn’t ready to have. In theory, she’d understood he lived close to the cabin. Her sister Heather, ever the family peacemaker, had warned Amy of his proximity in a letter. But she hadn’t counted on him seeking her out and trying to talk to her.

Then again, he couldn’t know she’d lost the skill of idle chitchat. Since she’d left Heartache, she no longer bothered making small talk with strangers or pretending a level of social comfort she’d never developed. While waitressing, she’d taken orders, delivered food and kept coffee cups filled. Occasionally, a chatty trucker would remind her of her father and slide past her guard, roping her into conversation about something besides the weather and how he’d like his eggs cooked. But for the most part, she kept to herself.

Besides, Sam was holding a baby.

A healthy, beautiful swaddled bundle that only reminded her of the pregnancy she’d lost a year ago. She’d faced the miscarriage alone since she’d scared off the father within weeks of discovering they were going to be parents. Amy hadn’t mourned the loss of the stockbroker boyfriend. But the baby?

The hurt of it yawned like a hole that would never close.

She was opening the front door of the cabin with the key when Sam caught up with her. She sensed his movement behind her, heard the rustle of plastic shopping bags.

“You’re in luck,” he said as she shoved open the thin pine front door. “Turns out I can carry a baby and a few bags, too.”

He followed her inside, not waiting for an invitation—or maybe guessing she wouldn’t give one. As he dropped the bags on the floor beside the ones she’d deposited there, she was reminded of the first time he’d spoken to her.

“Do you remember when we got paired to set up the archery stands in gym?” She shared the thought, protecting herself from having to ask him about the infant or himself just yet.

“You told me you’d manage just fine on your own.” Sam leaned a hip against the tiny kitchen counter, making the cabin look smaller just by being inside it. “Surly then. Surly now.” He grinned. “It’s good to see you haven’t changed.”

She felt herself smile before she realized how fast he’d put her at ease. But then, was there any point in putting up walls with this man who was her only neighbor for miles? This man who had a baby with another woman and couldn’t possibly disappoint her more than he already had?

She forced herself to relax.

“You, too. I didn’t recognize you on the porch, and I got rattled.” After reaching into one of the grocery bags, she tossed some soy milk and a bag of mixed greens into the refrigerator.

“That’s a relief. I was afraid you’d gotten rattled because you recognized me.” He shuffled the baby from one arm to the other, using his free hand to empty the contents of one of the bags and set everything on the countertop while she tried not to stare at the child with a tuft of fluffy brown hair.

Part of her longed to offer to hold the squirming bundle, but she didn’t know if she could keep it together. Her miscarriage had been traumatic—a turning point in her decision to reconnect with her family. After the worst of the initial grief faded, she had decided she wouldn’t ever have a family of her own now, but she did want to salvage some kind of relationship with her siblings.

“So what’s his name?” She reached toward one of the baby’s small feet, guessing it must be a boy by the blue blanket and onesie. She tucked the blanket around the kicking leg.

Then, realizing how close that had put her to Sam, she scuttled back a step and returned to loading the small cupboards with food supplies. She also shoved the police scanner she’d bought to the rear of the counter, not wanting to reveal the full depths of her personal paranoia.

“Aiden.” Sam held the child at arm’s length and studied him. The baby stopped pedaling his legs long enough to stare at his dad as thoroughly as his father examined him.

She noticed Sam’s ring finger remained bare.

“Nice. Is that a family name?” She realized suddenly that he may not know much about his real family and kicked herself for asking. Sam had been in foster care when they’d dated.

“I don’t know. I didn’t choose it.” He tucked the baby back against his chest and swiftly changed subjects. “I didn’t mean to intrude, and I can see you’re busy. But Heather told me you were here, and I wanted to make sure you were okay out here alone.”

He was already heading for the door, which she told herself was probably just as well. The chapter of her life with Sam’s name on it was long over. Even if he hadn’t ditched her without a word, there was still the matter of that tiny boy nestled in the crook of one strong arm.

“Yes, I’m fine, thanks. I’m up here for a couple of months to renovate this place into a year-round home so I can sell it and split the profits with my siblings.” Besides bringing her closer to her family, she needed the money to set up her accounting business. A business that would let her work from home and focus her energies on numbers and data as opposed to people. “I’m doing a lot of the work myself, but there will be a few contractors here, too, so don’t be surprised if there is more noise and trucks going in and out.”

“Sure thing.” He nodded. Frowned. “Amy, you were friends with Gabriella Chance back in school, weren’t you?”

“Gabriella?” The girl he’d left her for? Amy was floored by the bluntness of the question.

Funny, she’d always thought of herself as the socially awkward one. Maybe Sam had her beat.

“Zach’s sister,” he reminded her. “She was in your grade.”

She gripped a box of pasta so tightly it started to cave in.

“Right.” She shoved the box in the cabinet and closed the door with a satisfying bang. “Up until she left town, that is. But, yes, we were friends before that.”

Before Gabriella took away the most important person in Amy’s world.

“I’m building a case against a man I believe stalked Gabriella during high school, but I need more evidence to connect him to her.”

She grabbed the kitchen counter, suddenly feeling like the floor was giving way beneath her. She couldn’t speak. How much did Sam know about that part of her past? About the night she’d followed him to Gabriella’s house? Her throat convulsed reflexively until she had to find a glass in the cupboard and pour herself a drink of water.

Sam watched her, but he didn’t seem to notice the effect his words were having. She couldn’t talk about this with him.

“It’s imperative I put this man behind bars for a long time, but he’s been smart about covering his tracks,” he continued, his forehead furrowed and his jaw flexing. The tension and frustration of the case were obvious.

“I don’t know anything about that.” Which was true. She’d had no idea the man had been there for Gabby. Setting aside her glass, she turned from him and lifted a bag from the hardware store. Her hands shook as she withdrew Sheetrock screws, joint compound and tape.

She concentrated on the task, needing a physical distraction to keep herself from thinking about the past.

“You might know something and not realize it.” He sounded certain. “Would you mind if I came back sometime when you have a couple of hours to talk? I’d like to ask you a few questions about that summer.”

The summer of The Incident had been the darkest of her life until her miscarriage. She couldn’t discuss it with him for even a few minutes, let alone hours.

“I’m not sure about that.” She shook her head, not looking at him.

“I’m sure you must have your own questions. You deserve more of an explanation about why I left than I gave you.”

“I did have plenty of questions about that summer and your friendship with Gabriella, too. Not that I need answers. It’s been ten years, Sam. I’ve put it behind me.”

Silence met her comment, tempting her to turn and gauge his expression. Just when she couldn’t stand the drawn-out tension any longer, Aiden burst into a prolonged cry that filled the cabin. She did face Sam then. He was repositioning the baby on his shoulder and whispering something into the boy’s ear.

To her, he said, “We really have to talk. I’m trying to find a regular sitter for Aiden, and as soon as I do, I’ll be back.”

She wanted to tell him absolutely not. She didn’t need the frustration, the hurt, the temptation or the reminders of all she didn’t have in her life by seeing him again. And she sure didn’t need to relive an episode she’d struggled to put behind her for years.

But Sam and his child were already gone. Aiden’s cry grew smaller and quieter as Sam walked away from the cabin. She watched him out the kitchen window, his broad shoulders retreating.

For now.

She believed him when he said he’d be back. He wanted answers for his case. Or for Gabby.

Damn it.

Shoving the rest of the groceries and building supplies into their proper places, Amy hurried to make a list of the tasks she could complete on the cabin renovation right away. Today. The sooner she finished this project, the sooner she could leave Heartache and all those questions about the past behind.

* * *

“I HAVE A seven-page paper to research for AP English, a take-home test in calculus to complete and a slew of college application essays to write.” Bailey McCord thumbed through the pages of her purple daily planner, where she made notes about her homework assignments. She sat in the passenger seat of her car after begging her best friend—her only friend these days—to do the driving. “Tell me again why I am interviewing for a job I don’t have time for and that I’ll never get in a million years?”

Her friend Megan Bryer was steady at the wheel of the used Volvo Bailey’s dad had bought her just last week. Bailey was grateful for the gift, even if she’d come to think of the car as her consolation prize for her mother going to jail. That definitely took off some of the sheen of new wheels.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself.” Megan turned down the radio as she steered out of the Crestwood High School parking lot. “I read an article last week that suggested we feel really uncomfortable around confident, self-accepting women. Doesn’t that describe our whole high school? Let’s not be the girls who bond over talks about how fat we are or how our math scores suck.”

As they passed the girls gathering for dance-team tryouts on the football field, Bailey could kind of see her point. She knew for a fact that a couple of them had agonized for weeks over whether or not to try out because they had “back fat” that the formfitting costumes would show off.

But Bailey was having her own crisis today, and it was a little more substantial than imagining back fat that didn’t exist. “If I could talk to my friend and not feminism’s newest crusader right now, I’d be so grateful. I’ve been panicking about this since sixth-period lunch.”

“Right. Okay.” Megan tightened her grip on the wheel. “Maybe I have been dying to share that quote. But I also wanted you to know you have as good of a shot at this job as anyone else. Have confidence.”

“Meg, I’m not the kind of girl to undersell myself. I’m writing college application essays that make me sound like a child prodigy. But I have mega-valid reasons to worry about applying for a job with the man who arrested my mother. The sheriff is...” She couldn’t think how to describe him, but he wasn’t exactly warm and encouraging. Even if he hadn’t arrested her mom for harassment last month, instantly turning Bailey into a high school pariah, she would have thought he was sort of scary. “...the sheriff,” she finished lamely.

Her mother had had an affair with Jeremy Covington, a guy now accused of stalking girls online for the last decade. Bailey’s mom had covered up the affair by convincing Bailey to date Jeremy’s son, J.D., who’d been as much of a jerk as his father. Little did Bailey know her mother was simultaneously helping her new boyfriend by cyberstalking Megan. Jeremy and Tiffany McCord were both on the town council, and they’d thought they could scare Megan into convincing her father—also on the council—to move away from Heartache. Apparently, Jeremy and Tiffany had seen Megan’s dad as their chief competition for the mayor’s job next year. It was all so convoluted, petty and sickening. Bailey’s dad had sent all his wife’s things to a storage facility last week, half emptying the house in the process. It was like living in a ghost town. And through it all, Bailey felt so angry at her mom for betraying her in every way. Bad enough she’d cheated on Dad. But she’d also destroyed Bailey’s trust.

As if high school wasn’t already hard enough.

“He may be the sheriff, but he’s also just a guy who needs help with a baby.” Megan kept her eyes on the road, but she used one hand to straighten the pendant on her necklace, a present from her new boyfriend, Wade. The pendant was a tiny saltshaker, which apparently symbolized how they met—they both worked at the Owl’s Roost diner and had their best talks over refilling the shakers.

It was kind of cute, Bailey had to admit. And sort of unheard of to be with a guy who listened to you. But then, Bailey’s last boyfriend had gone to jail around the same time as her mom for also helping Jeremy stalk girls, so, clearly, she attracted the wrong sort.

“I do like babies,” Bailey admitted, double-checking Sheriff Reyes’s address in her phone. She’d always wanted a sibling, but she’d never gotten closer than the occasional new baby doll as a kid. “But I can only work so many hours this semester.”

She’d looked into graduating early after her family became the town’s most talked-about scandal, but she would have had to file the paperwork back in August. Now she was putting all her efforts into loading up on AP classes in the spring to cram as many credits onto her transcript as possible.

“So tell him that.” Megan reached over to give Bailey’s arm a quick squeeze. “He’d be lucky to have you.”

She took comfort from her friend’s easy confidence in her.

“I’m so glad we’re friends again.” Bailey hated that she was Ms. Mushy lately, crying every time she turned around. But it was the truth, and Meg deserved to hear it. “Hanging out with you is the only good thing about me not being able to graduate early.”

“We can have a fun senior year even if no one else wants to hang out with us.” Megan was used to being more of an outcast, and she seemed comfortable enough in her own skin that it didn’t bother her. An unabashed gamer who took quirky to a whole new level, Meg couldn’t get through a day without recounting an idea for the fantasy video game she wanted to create. She also played guitar and composed music that sounded like a sound track to a steampunk novel—electronica meets baroque.

“Fun?” Bailey laughed. “I’d be happy just to know what that word means again.”

The last few months had well and truly sucked. Because watching her mother go to jail and knowing Tiffany had harassed Bailey’s best friend wasn’t the worst of it. She’d also dealt with the fact that J.D. had hit her.

She still hadn’t told anyone about the worst parts of their relationship, and she really needed to. How disappointed would Megan be in her if she found out Bailey was that big of a coward? She’d told the cops he’d shoved her and that had been enough to get a restraining order. But she hadn’t been able to share the rest of it. Maybe that was one of the reasons she’d felt compelled to answer Sheriff Reyes’s ad for a babysitter. Surely she’d work up the courage to talk to him about it if she saw him every day?

“Fun is our new mission, then.” Megan drove onto Partridge Hill Road and slowed the car to look for the house. “We’re not going to let a few bad breaks keep us down. Let’s hear it for girl power!”

She hooted and hollered, pumping a fist out the window. Bailey did the same, needing to yell as an outlet for the nervous energy building up inside her.

She wasn’t ready to face the sheriff yet. And she sure as hell wasn’t ready for the world to know she’d turned into a doormat the moment a bad-tempered guy had taken out his anger on her. How weak did that make her?

For today at least, it felt easier to pretend she was someone else. Someone strong and smart. Someone who didn’t have a secret eating her up inside.

CHAPTER THREE

I need background checks on every candidate.

TWO DAYS AFTER his visit to Amy, Sam sat at the long wooden table on his deck and sent the text to Zach. He’d thought long and hard about where to conduct interviews for a sitter for his son, mindful that it could be problematic for a single man to hire an underage girl. He hoped like hell he got some applicants who were grandmothers. In any case, he’d decided to hold the interviews outdoors, in full view of the road in case nervous parents wanted to oversee the proceedings. He didn’t begrudge any parents the urge to supervise their kids. God knew he wasn’t letting Aiden out of his sight until he was twenty-one.

Which was why he’d called for the background checks on the applicants. To keep Aiden safe. Zach’s digital security firm could unearth even more information than Sam’s police computers. It was a sad commentary on the tools available to a public servant these days, but knowing how important this mission was, Sam wanted the best possible intelligence on the four women he was interviewing today.

Background checks on high school girls?

The text flashed across his phone screen, delivering all the snark that Zach would have given the question in person.

Do I need to remind you J. D. Covington was in high school?

Sam typed with one hand and draped a blanket over the playpen with the other. He’d brought Aiden outside for the interviews, wanting to see how the potential sitters might interact with him. Not that ease with a baby was his number one criterion. Sam himself had possessed zero sense of how to handle a kid when his ex-girlfriend had handed Aiden over to him. But Sam had learned fast.

It still floored him that he had a son. The past month had changed his life so drastically that he didn’t even recognize his house with all the baby gear. Plus he walked through his days like a zombie.

But for the privilege of raising his own child? So worth it. He was just glad his ex-girlfriend had brought the boy to him when she was struggling, or he might not have ever known about his existence. His ex was a traveling nurse, and she’d left town without telling him she was pregnant.

She might have had a tough time with it, but for Sam, who’d been raised in foster homes and had little memory of his real parents, being a dad ranked as the most important thing in his world.

Something he never could have predicted after all the years where catching Gabriella’s stalker had been the priority.

Point taken, Zach texted back. Send names when you’re ready.

Sam was inputting the information when an old white Volvo sedan slowed to a stop on Partridge Hill. He could see the vehicle clearly since his backyard ran parallel to the road. For the last two years, he’d been the only one on this end of the rural county route, but now Amy Finley was living in the woods north of his place. He’d thought about her often since they’d spoken.

Her reaction to his questions had accelerated his timetable for finding a sitter for Aiden, in fact. In his own hurt at leaving her that long-ago summer, he’d overlooked her as a potential witness. Something he would remedy as soon as he secured help watching his son. His foster mother had been helping him out while he was working, so he couldn’t ask her to pinch-hit other times.

“Back here.” Sam raised his voice to be heard across the expanse of lawn separating him from the two girls exiting the Volvo. “You can cut across the grass.”

He recognized both of them. Megan Bryer had almost been one of Jeremy’s victims, and her friend Bailey McCord had the misfortune of dating the younger Covington, J.D., who’d acted as his father’s accomplice. Bailey’s mother was also in jail for her role in harassing Megan, although Tiffany’s expensive attorney wouldn’t let her languish there much longer. The request for a bail hearing had been filed last week.

Sam had never thought much of the pushy town councilwoman, although her husband seemed like a decent guy.

“Hello, Sheriff Reyes,” the girls greeted him in unison, voices matching in pitch and cadence.

He tried not to wince. Had he ever been that young?

“Thanks for coming. Which one of you is looking for some extra work?”

“I am.” Bailey McCord stepped forward. Blonde and blue-eyed, she was a pretty girl who—unlike a lot of the teens he saw around town—didn’t rush to flaunt it. She carried a purple binder with a matching pen that had a feather cap.

“Great.” He pointed to the chair at the long wooden table he’d built himself last fall. “Have a seat, and I’ll tell you about the job.”

“Is it okay if Megan stays?” The pink in her cheeks suggested she was nervous.

He knew he had that effect on people, but he’d never developed much of a knack for fixing it.

“I’d be grateful if she did.” A thought occurred to him. “For that matter, I wouldn’t mind hiring you as a team to babysit my son. An eight-week-old is a lot of work.”

He planned to have Aiden watched at his foster mother’s house since she was at home all day and would be nearby if there were any problems. While she’d offered to watch Aiden full-time herself, Sam worried that would be too much for her since she kept the books for the family’s pizza shop and still supervised two foster sons. But he would rest easier knowing there would be someone else in the house.

Bailey frowned. Megan looked interested, though.

“Really?” Megan took a seat beside her friend. Her hands were covered in henna tattoos and...was that a saltshaker around her neck?

“I’d up the pay accordingly.” His savings were fairly substantial, as he’d invested all his early earnings in Zach’s digital security firm, which had gone on to be extremely successful. “Plus, if you shared the duties sometimes and split them other times, it would ensure I’d have at least one of you available more often.” He liked the idea more and more with a big case to investigate and limited hours to devote to it.

Bailey looked interested now, too; the girls exchanged sidelong glances while Sam explained his schedule and Aiden’s.

Something about the silent give-and-take between the girls brought back a memory from his last summer in Heartache. When he’d asked Amy to ditch the last day of school with him, she’d been in the school parking lot with Gabriella. Amy had met Gabby’s eyes. Later, he’d learned that look had meant that Gabby would cover for her with the teachers. Who knew so much could be communicated in a glance?

Lifting the blanket shading one side of the playpen, he showed off his son and took a moment’s satisfaction out of seeing how quickly the boy sealed the deal. The girls were smitten. But then, that only led him to wonder why his son’s mother couldn’t have been equally charmed. He hated that for Aiden.

“This all sounds good, Mr. Reyes.” Bailey straightened from the playpen and bit her lip. “But before you make any decisions, I want to be sure you know that my mother is Tiffany McCord.” She folded her arms tightly, meeting his gaze. “Just in case, you know, that’s a problem.”

Her honesty about something that was obviously painful to admit notched his opinion of her higher.

“It’s not. I could have never become a cop if the mistakes of my birth family were held against me.” He flipped the cover back over the baby’s makeshift bed. “My foster family has taken in a lot of kids over the years, and the first thing they tried to knock into our heads was not to make judgments of each other based on anything other than our actions. Everyone deserves to earn their own reputation.”

“I like that.” Bailey smiled.

“Very cool,” Megan agreed.

He wished he’d won over the other kids at Crestwood High as easily when he’d spoken to the student body last week. Maybe having more interactions with teens would help him figure out how to talk to them. Any one of them might be a potential witness, and he wasn’t going to overlook the chance for evidence again.

Besides, having Megan Bryer and Bailey McCord nearby held appeal for his case. He’d interviewed Megan about the attempted kidnapping last month, but she hadn’t been able to give him many details since her captors hadn’t shown their faces.

Bailey, meanwhile, was someone he’d hoped would come forward with information because she’d dated J.D. But so far she hadn’t offered any insider knowledge about her ex-boyfriend or his jailbird father.

Since Megan had already given her deposition and Bailey seemed not to have any relevant info, he was comfortable employing them. His first priority was Aiden. Heartache wasn’t exactly a thriving metropolis with lots of options for caregivers.

“I’m going to check these references.” He slid the folded sheet of paper Bailey had given him into the breast pocket of his jacket. “Megan, you’re welcome to submit some if you are still interested.”

He watched them do more of the ESP thing, their gazes connecting.

“I am.” Her ponytail bobbed as she nodded. “I can email them to you when I get home.”

“Fair enough.” He reached to shake hands with each of them. “Thank you for stopping by. I’ll get back to you this week.”

As they turned to leave, Sam retrieved his phone to check his messages. He added Megan and Bailey to the list of people for Zach’s background checks, typing their names into an email.

Before he finished, a message flashed across the screen from an app he’d never used before, a program he didn’t recall downloading.

Stop asking for victims to come forward. Your son’s safety is at stake.

He read the message twice, his hand reaching for the top rail of the playpen instinctively. His blood chilled.

What. The. Hell.

Emotions surged, fear and fury leading the charge.

But before he could forward it to Zach for analysis, the message vanished.

Searching every conceivable screen and folder on the phone, Sam used his landline to call Zach.

He picked up right away. “Chance.”

“I just received a threat to Aiden on my cell. The message disappeared after I read it.”

Zach swore. “Don’t touch anything on the phone. I’ll see if I can find it. Want me to pick it up, or are you coming into town?”

“I’ll bring it to you.” He made up his mind as he pocketed the device. “I was going to drop off Aiden at my mother’s, but first I’m going to assign someone to watch her place. I’m not taking any chances with him.”

“Of course. I’ll meet you at the town hall?”

“Yes.” Sam clenched his fist to try to hold back the fury boiling just under his skin.

That was his son they were talking about. A defenseless kid.

He needed to speak to Amy Finley, and sooner rather than later. She might have reasons for keeping the past secret, but nothing was more important than this. Sam was going to learn the truth.

* * *

THE PAN OF brownies called to her. Again. Okay, for the fourth time.

Amy set down her sledgehammer and swiped a hand under her hard hat to mop the dampness from her forehead. She’d removed her first wall in the hunting cabin today, merging two small sleeping spaces into one normal-size bedroom.

Soon she’d work on tearing down the metaphorical walls in her life—the ones that kept her from reuniting with her family. But for now, she felt good to have tackled the literal variety. Plus she hadn’t turned the police scanner on again after a quick listen in the morning. Surely that meant she was getting her feet back under her in this town again.

Besides, eating the brownies her sisters had made didn’t mean she’d forgiven them for leaving her alone with her mother more times than she could count as a teenager. It just meant she liked chocolate and homemade sweets.

Period.

Standing the sledgehammer in one corner of the living room, she brought the pan out onto the small front porch to escape the demolition dust. Outdoors, it smelled like pine and dried leaves, a heady autumn fragrance that she breathed in deeply.

She missed the country only for moments like this—the proximity to nature that had been her best reprieve from the stress of living under the microscope in a small town. She’d always loved the sound of cicadas in late summer or the sight of peach orchards in bloom each spring, turning half the town pink. But fall was her favorite season with the wealth of pumpkins and Indian corn decorating entryways, and the rich, earthy scent of drying leaves.

She took a seat on the swing to devour her treat and enjoy the quiet. She hadn’t eaten two bites when her only neighbor appeared on the hill below the house. Sam Reyes charged toward her with purposeful steps. For a moment, she was able to observe him unaware. Dressed in dark pants and a gray button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, he looked more like a Fed than a local sheriff today. He walked fast, his posture rigid and his gaze downcast.

He was a handsome man. Prominent cheekbones and the straight blade of his nose gave his face character. A full lower lip and moody gray eyes were romantic touches that would make women notice him. He’d definitely turned her head as a teen. And now?

He caught her staring.

“Amy.” He gave a brief nod. No smile. No other greeting.

Had she thought those gray eyes were romantic? Today they had the crystalline sharpness of ice chips. How crazy that she could tell he was upset when she hadn’t seen him in a decade.

“You caught me.” She swallowed her first bite of brownie. “I was just thinking these are so good it’s a crime, and out of the blue, the sheriff appears.” She held out the tray. “Would you consider a bribe?”

“No. Thank you.” Stepping up on the porch, he settled against the wooden railing. “I need to ask you a few questions.”

She lost her appetite. Setting the pan aside, she stood.

“Would you mind if we took a walk?” She hoped the movement would hide her nervousness. “I’ve been cooped up inside since I got here, except for my one outing to the stores a few days ago.”

And, frankly, she didn’t feel comfortable walking through the woods alone. But with Sam, she could at least enjoy the sights and scents while he questioned her. Nerves fluttered as she steeled herself for the conversation she did not want to have.

“Sure.” Nodding, he waited for her to precede him, then followed her onto an overgrown path behind the cabin. Their footsteps crunched pleasantly through dried leaves as they trekked uphill. “I’ve thought a lot about what you said the last time I was here. About you having questions regarding my friendship with Gabriella and the way we left.”

The statement caught her off guard. She’d been bracing for him to start quizzing her about that summer. She hadn’t been expecting answers.

“You left without a word to me.” Her voice sounded brittle, the memory a dull ache.

“I regretted that. But let me explain. A few days before I left, I was at Zach’s house, waiting for him to get home from that nursing home where he worked. He’d had to stay late because one of the patients had fallen ill.”

She remembered. Before Zach Chance became mayor of Heartache, he’d grown up in the town, the son of a wealthy, white-collar criminal who’d scammed millions of people in a pyramid scheme. Zach had done everything he could to separate himself from his crooked parents, taking a job at a senior center where he’d volunteered countless hours.

“Zach was a teenage mayor before he became the real mayor.” When Amy had heard he’d taken over after her father passed away, she thought it made sense.

“Right.” Sam lifted a low branch for her to walk under, his boots a steady thrum of vibration beside her. “He was worried about his sister that summer because she hadn’t taken it well when their father went to jail. I was trying to help keep an eye on her.”

“That was kind of you.” She hopped over a rotted log.

He made the relationship sound more innocent than what she’d imagined. But he sure didn’t need to run away with the Chances to help Zach watch over his sister. He must have had good reason for wanting to leave town with them.

“I owed Zach. He made school bearable for me as a foster kid. Ensured I had friends and wasn’t just the freak of the week from the local foster group home.”

“I didn’t know.” She’d certainly never viewed him that way. But then again, she was younger than him and hadn’t been aware of him until she’d started attending high school.

“Anyway, I was at their house when Gabby told me she was leaving to meet a friend.” He shook his head, eyes on a distant point ahead, lost in a long-ago moment. “And if they’d had normal parents, she probably wouldn’t have been allowed out of the house at that hour on her own. But her dad was in jail, and their mom was grieving like the guy was dead.”

“I’m convinced there’s no such thing as normal parents.” It had been a common refrain between them at one time. “Except you, now that you’re a father, of course.”

He didn’t crack a smile at the playful jab. A bird flew low over her head, landing on a nearby branch.

“Of course. And I had to be the responsible one then, too.”

“You told Gabriella she couldn’t meet her friend?” she guessed, watching the blue jay hop from a maple tree into an evergreen.

“No. I followed her.” Something in his voice changed.

“What happened?” Amy slowed her pace as they neared a rushing stream, not wanting to miss anything.

“She stopped the car on the quarry road and got out like she was going to...” He halted at the water’s edge. “I thought at first she might jump off a cliff or something. It was so deserted out there.”

“She didn’t see you?” Amy hugged her arms around herself, warding off a chill despite the warmth of the late afternoon sun.

“I cut the lights of my own car and parked well behind her, then sprinted through the dark toward her.” He seemed lost in the past, his gaze unfocused. For a long moment, he paused. When he continued, his voice was hard. “But some other guy got to her first.”

“A boyfriend?”

“I think that’s what she expected. I found out later she was meeting a guy she’d been talking to online. He must have been stalking her for some time, looking for the right moment to set up a meeting. But this guy was no teenager—he was masked, but I could tell he was older than we were.” Sam’s hands fisted even now. “He had her on the ground and was on top of her before I could even get close to where they were.”

She gasped, connecting the dots to her own trauma that night. “He hurt her?”

“He tried his damnedest.” His eyes cleared, focusing on her. “But I got there before he could do much physical damage. I lunged at him, but he was bigger than me, and he started to get the upper hand until I got my hands on a log about the size of a baseball bat.”

“A weapon,” she half whispered, knowing she couldn’t change the outcome of a story that was long over, but she still found herself breathless from hoping Sam and Gabby got away.

“I hit him so hard I thought I killed him.” He leaned down to scrape his hand along a scraggly cattail growing near the creek bed. The movement released a cloud of fluffy white into the air. “Gabby had run off, and I left the guy to search for her. Another car came along, and I debated calling for help when it stopped, but I couldn’t see well enough, so I hid instead. When Gabby was safely in my car, I went back to where the body should have been, but it was gone.”

“Meaning he got up and went in the other car?”

“Or else a friend came and took the body away.” He shrugged. “I couldn’t be sure, and I was too scared of getting kicked out of my foster family’s house to go to the cops. Besides, Gabby wanted no part of talking to police. She was hysterical.”

Pieces of the past fell into place, slowly making sense.

“So Zach wanted to take his sister away from a cyberstalker who might still be after her. And you needed to get away from the guy, too, or else not be in Heartache when someone discovered him dead.”

“That’s why I left.” He pointed to a flat rock near the stream, and she followed the unspoken suggestion, taking a seat. He dropped down a few inches away, a strong, masculine presence that tripped a whole chain of sensations inside her she had no business feeling.

She hugged her knees to her chest.

“You didn’t breathe a word to anyone, including me, because you couldn’t afford for anyone to link you to the stalker.” His reasons for leaving—and keeping quiet about it—were so different from what she’d imagined. But Sam had possessed a strong sense of right and wrong even as a teen. Of course he’d made the choice to be noble at all costs.

“Gabriella’s mother didn’t even protest when Zach said he was taking her out to the West Coast when he started college. Hell, I’m not sure Mrs. Chance realized Zach hadn’t even graduated high school yet. She just gave him some money and told him good luck.”

“It definitely helps to have cash when you’re starting over in a new city.” She’d refused all help from her family after she’d left town, not realizing how difficult it would be to make ends meet on her own. “I told my dad I was going to file the paperwork to become an emancipated minor when I left, but he said not to bother. They wouldn’t fight me.”

Or fight for her.

When it came down to it, her parents hadn’t blinked at her departure any more than Mrs. Chance had protested her daughter’s.

“I heard you moved to Atlanta.” He sifted through some tall grasses and pulled up a flat stone. “Zach kept tabs on news from Heartache, always keeping an eye out for info on the man who jumped Gabriella.”

“And now you think Jeremy Covington was the man who lured Gabriella out and assaulted her?” But Gabby wasn’t the only one he’d hurt. This case was bigger than she’d realized.

And while she understood why Sam took this case personally, she would not be able to help. She had her own reasons for needing to stay far away from the man who hurt Gabriella. She wasn’t any more ready to share those reasons now than she had been a decade ago.

“I do. And I want to see his ass in jail for more reasons than I can count.” He whipped the stone side-arm to send it skipping along the water’s surface. “I’ve been working overtime to find more leads and be sure Jeremy Covington is put away for life. But yesterday I got a message on my phone that threatened Aiden if I keep searching for witnesses.”

Amy felt a weight land squarely on her chest. A vision of Aiden’s blue eyes and happy, kicking foot clutched at her.

“How could he have threatened you from jail? Do you worry you have the wrong man?”

“Never.” He reached to touch her, laying one big, broad palm over the whole of her forearm.

Even as one anxiety eased, another emotion took its place. A sharp awareness of Sam Reyes.

She knew he wanted answers about that summer that had changed both their lives forever. But right now, with a new attraction stirring inside her faster than her usual instincts for self-preservation, Amy blurted the most important question.

“Are you married?”

CHAPTER FOUR

LIKE A BUCKET of water to the face, the mention of marriage had him surging to his feet.

“Married?” He could have sworn they’d been talking about his case. Stalkers. Jail time. But a wife? “Hell no.”

From another woman, he might have considered the question a signal of interest. Except Amy was staring at him like he was a bug under a microscope, with none of the old warmth and happiness he recalled from when they were dating. She’d changed a lot over the years. Sure, she’d always been aloof and more standoffish than the other Finleys. But when you got to know her privately, there had been a wry sense of humor and a sweetness about her that had drawn him.

Now? Her wary body language and restless green gaze suggested she didn’t let anyone close to her anymore.

He started walking and she stood to follow him, her footsteps on the fallen leaves surprisingly quiet while the sun glinted off auburn highlights in her brown hair.

“You didn’t mention Aiden’s mother the first time we met and I wondered.” She pointed to a deer downstream, a young doe watching them intently. “Then today, when you said your son had been threatened, it made me curious who was watching him for you.”

The doe didn’t hold his interest nearly as long as the woman did. He found it interesting that her thoughts had lingered on his son and the threat to the boy.

“Lorelei. My foster mother.” He studied Amy’s face while she watched the deer. Her pale skin and delicate features were the same as he remembered. She still looked as if a stiff wind might blow her down, but he knew that wouldn’t be the case if she was toughing out a winter in that hunting cabin with no stove and no heat. “She and her husband still take in kids. The house is right in town and always full of activity. No one will get close to Aiden there.”

“Good.” She nodded, a smudge of dirt on her cheek calling to his fingers. “I didn’t mean to pry.” She hugged thin arms around her waist and turned to glance up at him. “You may find it hard to believe, but I’ve actually become a worse conversationalist as an adult than I was at seventeen.”

“You weren’t prying.” He leaned down to the rushing stream to grab a handful of cold water and splashed it on his face, appreciating the stinging chill on his perpetually tired eyes. “I’m just a bit shell-shocked trying to get used to single fatherhood.”

He wasn’t the kind of guy who ever felt the need to explain himself. Except right now, with Amy Finley, he found himself wanting to. And he would have. But she chose right then to clutch his arm in a tight grip.

“What is that?” she asked quietly, her eyes wide, her whole body rigid.

Straightening, he followed her gaze.

A full-grown wild boar steamed hot breath into the cool fall air, staring directly at them.

He tensed. Took her hand. Kept his eye on the animal.

“Let’s call it a pig,” he said softly, trying not to startle the beast. “As long as we’re not between it and any piglets, we’re going to be just fine.”

Gently, he tugged Amy behind him, grateful as hell for her quiet footfall. No chance of her startling the thing; that much was certain. Her hand trembled in his, though.

Behind the boar and on the other side of the stream, the doe fled. The steaming hulk of pig did not spare a glance in its direction. Chances were good the animal would take off soon, too, but every now and then, the things turned vicious. Sam had a weapon on him, but he had no inclination to be stuck eating gamy pork all winter.

“We’re going to back up a step, okay?” he told her, reaching an arm behind him to find her. His hand collided with a gently curved hip.

She was close. Very close.

He gave her hip a squeeze, and Sam told himself the gesture was a normal human instinct to offer comfort and reassurance. Somehow his brain didn’t account for the fact that what he actually clutched was the curve of her ass. The top of her thigh.

The sudden lightning strike of sexual response was as inappropriate as it probably was inevitable.

He let her go fast, cursing himself for being ten kinds of idiot.

“If that thing charges,” he continued quietly, “you run in whatever direction I don’t. Understand?”

She made an inarticulate sound he took for agreement as he backed up and she followed suit.

The boar surged forward, scaring the living hell out of him for about two seconds until it peeled off to the west at a dead run, disappearing into the brush. Soon the thundering hooves and crackle of branches and underbrush grew fainter.

Sam stared after it, certain it had taken off for good, but wanting an extra second for the realization to soothe his hammering pulse. Behind him, Amy’s forehead brushed the back of his shoulder for a fleeting moment, her reaction so fast he might have imagined it.

“Are you okay?” He turned to her in the unnatural quiet left behind in the wake of the two-hundred-pound beast.

“Fine.” She gave a clipped nod, her posture brittle, spine ramrod straight. But her head was dipped ever so slightly, confirming that brief bit of contact that still scorched his shoulder. “Although I’ve probably had my fill of fresh air for today.” Then her head straightened; her lips quirked. “I’m ready to head back if you are.”

So cool. Composed.

Had she felt that moment of heated attraction? Or was he the only one to dream up the shared lust?

Sleep deprivation. Surely he had to be suffering from lack of a solid eight uninterrupted hours of rest. Well, and too many months of no sex.

Best not to think about sex.

Nodding, he couldn’t restrain the impulse to place a hand on the small of her back and urge her forward down the hill. He told himself it was only because he felt responsible for her. As sheriff, he had a duty to keep people safe. Besides, he’d promised Heather Finley he’d keep an eye on Amy.

And neither of those reasons explained why it was so tough to pull his hand away again. He forced himself to focus on why he’d come here. Why he needed to talk to her.

“Amy, I wanted you to know what happened with Gabriella. I’m sorry I couldn’t give you the whole story at the time.” He kept an eye on the woods on either side of the path, unwilling to be caught off guard again. “It wasn’t my secret to tell. But Gabby’s ready to testify now, so I can finally explain everything to you.”

“I understand.” She kept her attention straight ahead as they made their way back to the cabin. “And I appreciate you telling me now. I always wondered.”

He had plenty of things that he’d wondered about, too. Like why she’d left Heartache right after he did. Like what had happened to chase the warmth he remembered out of her eyes.

But he couldn’t afford to think about what he wanted. He had to focus on the case and Aiden’s safety.

“I hoped that, in return, you would spend some time talking to me about what happened to you that summer.” He nearly ran into her when she slowed her step suddenly.

He caught himself just in time.

“I told you I don’t know anything that will help your case.” Her voice sounded strangled.

Because she was hiding something?

Or because there were emotions at work between them that she didn’t want to acknowledge any more than he did?

That wasn’t going to be easy to untwine.

“But you can’t be certain of that,” he pointed out reasonably, following her lead in slowing the pace down as they headed back toward the cabin. “I’m not going to ask you anything personal or try to invade your privacy.” Nine times out of ten, that was what people were worried about when they resisted police questioning. Unless, of course, they had something to hide. “I just want to try and create a timeline of that summer. Walk through it and try to account for our whereabouts each day. Just see what small memories might crop up.”

She seemed to consider it.

Or at least, she didn’t protest right away.

“It could jog my memory, too, you know.” He hadn’t really thought about that until this moment. “You might remember things that I’ve forgotten, so when we put our stories together, between the two of us, something new could spring to light.”

“So you think us walking down memory lane is going to give you the evidence you need to convict Jeremy Covington?” The look she slanted him told him exactly what she thought of the strategy.

“I have no idea what a walk down memory lane will do, but if there’s a chance it will give me a more complete picture of that summer, why not? I’ve been encouraging more recent victims to come forward. I even went into Crestwood High to talk to the teens about it, but I’m getting a whole lot of blank looks and silence in return. I can’t face this guy in a courtroom and not bring all possible evidence to send his ass to prison.”

A scuttling sound underfoot startled her, and she moved closer to Sam. He regretted that their walk had made her jumpy, but he liked having her in arm’s reach. Liked that her first instinct was to be next to him. He let himself brace her elbow for a solid three seconds.

He slowed his steps as the old cabin came into view through the trees, not ready to let her go until she agreed to see him again. To replay that summer and help him find some clue he’d missed.

Amy turned to face him, leaning against the trunk of a maple as she peered up at him. “One of the reasons I chose to come back to Heartache now is to support my sister when Heather testifies against this guy.” She drew a deep breath. “So I promise you, I am committed to putting him behind bars, too. I may have been absent from this family for ten years, but I’m still a Finley, and hearing how that creep threw her in the back of a van with another girl that he’d tied up...” She shook her head, unable to finish the thought. “I am here to see justice done, Sam. But I am not here to testify.”

An interesting distinction. Especially considering no one had asked her to testify when she claimed not to know anything. But he didn’t want to pick apart that point right now. All he wanted was the chance to talk to her at length about that summer. About any interaction she might have had with Gabriella. He needed to find out if she remembered anything that could help tie the crime against Zach’s sister to Jeremy Covington.

“So walk me through those last weeks we spent together and help me spur my own memory,” he urged, risking a step closer to press his point. “Give me an afternoon.”

“Does it have to be a formal questioning at the police station?” Her worry was obvious. Because she had normal anxiety about speaking to law enforcement? “Or can we do it here?”

The more she resisted, the more he wanted to record her statement. As a cop, he had a naturally suspicious nature, but his instincts told him she knew more than she was letting on. But those same instincts warned him if he pushed Amy too hard, she would shut down altogether.

“All right, your place it is?” He would ask her permission to record the session, of course, and at least then he would be able to review it at length.

She nodded. “Fine. Not tomorrow, though. I have a permit inspector lined up to come and help me apply for some of the renovation paperwork.”

“The day after, then.” He wasn’t budging from this spot without a commitment.

“I’ll be there.” Her green eyes narrowed as she looked him over. “Are you sure you’re ready to relive that summer? Fourth of July? That night we took the late shift to close up the pizza shop together so we could be alone? Because like it or not, those are the times I remember best, and I don’t think they’re going to shed much light on the case.”

She’d deliberately chosen some of the most heated moments they’d shared. And hell no, he wasn’t sure he was ready to hear them chronicled from her point of view. He couldn’t afford that kind of distraction while he was building his case and trying to figure out how to raise a son on his own.

“Maybe not.” He’d put Amy Finley out of his mind a long time ago, knowing that was best for both of them. Yet with the feel of her hip still imprinted on his skin, he wasn’t sure he could keep her as part of his past. “But I’m glad to know you have some good memories in spite of how it all ended.”

He’d never meant to hurt her, but a whisper of something in her eyes said clearly he had.

Shoving away from the tree, she straightened.

“No sense denying what happened. Especially since it will be a matter of public record soon enough.” She headed toward the cabin, her fine hair gently swaying with her movements. “Thanks for standing between me and the wild boar, Sam,” she called over one shoulder. “It’s been a long time since anyone put himself in harm’s way for me.”

A damn shame, as far as he was concerned.

He watched her walk away, his eyes drawn to her hips as he remembered what she’d felt like in his arms all those years ago. The attraction hadn’t died. It was still plenty hot. Only now that awareness was tempered with suspicion. Something wasn’t right.

Once she reached the cabin door and retreated inside, he pointed his feet home, wondering why she had tried so hard to avoid this conversation. And why she had goaded him about their past to distract him and throw him off guard. He’d like to think it wasn’t going to work.

But the truth of it was he’d be reliving those nights with her in his dreams anyway. And he already remembered them very, very well.

* * *

A WILD BOAR was chasing her.

Amy ran and ran through dark woods. Branches scraped at her face and tore at her clothes as she scrambled down the hill toward the hunting cabin. She was close. So close to safety.

She could almost reach out and touch the familiar rough-hewn logs...

But the grunting pig was faster.

Steaming breath scorched her ear as she struggled. Hairy hooves pawed at her. She wanted to scream. But fear robbed her of sound. Every time she opened her mouth, nothing came out. Tears burned her eyes. Fury fired her insides.

Silently, she lay there as the beast nuzzled under her clothes...

Knifing upright, Amy blinked out of the dream. Drenched in sweat, tangled in her sleeping bag, she felt around to discover she was safely inside her father’s hunting cabin. Tools lay all around her from the remodeling project; the cabin floor was still covered in dust from where she’d removed the wall. She must have been more rattled by the wild boar than she’d guessed since the thing had given her nightmares for two nights straight.

Then again, she had struggled for years to forget about other predators that lurked in the woods around Heartache. The boar was just another way for her brain to relive that long-ago horror—the night when she’d been too shell-shocked to scream or defend herself.

Bad enough a faceless man pawed at her in that memory. Now she contended with a two-hundred-pound pig.

Same difference, she thought ruefully.

The urge to get in her car and drive that rattling heap the hell out of Heartache was strong. Yesterday, after she’d dreamed about the man-pig the first time, she’d tucked her car keys in the attic crawl space, just far enough out of reach that she’d have to really think hard about leaving town before she did it. It had taken ten years to get back here. She wasn’t going to turn tail and run without good cause.

And bottom line, no matter how scary things got, Jeremy Covington was still in jail. Based on what Sam had said, Amy had good cause to think Covington was the same man who’d hurt her. If that was true, she was safe from faceless molestation in the woods as long as the man stayed behind bars.

A surge of anger prompted her to sift through her purse and pull out a cell phone. She’d come home to support her sister when Heather gave testimony against the bastard. It was high time she actually delivered on that support and stopped hiding in the woods.

Opening her contacts, she scrolled down to the Hs and pressed her sister’s name. Two rings later, a groggy voice answered.

“Amy?” Heather sounded like their mom on the phone, although at least she spoke her name with more kindness than their mother usually had.

“Hi.” She gripped the device tighter. “Sorry it’s taken me so long to call.” Had it been almost a week? “But I’ve been working on the cabin. If you want to stop by—”

“I can come in the morning,” her sister offered quickly, sounding more awake.

In the background, Amy could hear a man’s voice. Zach, no doubt. Probably asking who was calling in the middle of the night.

“Okay.” Better to follow through before she lost her nerve. “I have to meet Sam later in the day, so morning is good.”

“I’m glad you called, Ames.” The warmth in her voice chased away the last remnants of the dream that had gripped Amy.

For a moment, she was transported back to the old bedroom the three of them had shared—Erin, Amy and Heather. Heather would tell stories until they fell asleep. Or they would act out fairy tales like “The Three Bears” and fall asleep giggling. Quietly, though. Always quietly.

The game was over if they disturbed their mother.

“Good. I’m up early. Come anytime.” She disconnected the call, forgetting to say goodbye. Regretting it.

She didn’t mean to be rude. She was just out of practice being a sister. A friend.

But she was here, damn it. Back in Heartache, trying to do better.

Unable to get back to sleep, Amy slid out of her sleeping bag to walk around the cabin. Finding her purse, she searched for her retractable baton, a weapon she’d carried with her since the early days in Atlanta. She’d found it in a pawnshop, where the old couple who ran the place had given her a good deal that she still hadn’t really been able to afford. Holding it in her hand now, feeling its familiar weight, helped settle her nerves. Seeing the boar and having the disturbing dream had stirred old anxieties. Hell, just being in Heartache was an anxiety.

Baton in hand, she forced herself to unlock the front door—the original lock as well as the new dead bolt she’d installed her second day in residence. She wasn’t crippled by her old fears. She’d learned tangible ways to own them, manage them and keep them at bay. The locks helped, as did the assortment of self-defense devices. Plus she was more physically equipped to handle herself now than she had been as a teen.

Her first year in Atlanta, she’d taken a free class at the YMCA to learn how to get away from an attacker. Each year, around the anniversary of The Incident, she rewarded herself with a new class. Karate. Kickboxing. Krav Maga. She still wasn’t strong, but she was a whole lot smarter than that paralyzed, silent teen in the woods had been.

Breathing in the cold night breeze, she leaned against the porch rail and hoped the fresh air would help her sleep. In the distance, when the wind blew the trees a certain way, she could just catch a glimpse of a light farther down the hill. It had to be Sam’s house, the only other residence within half a mile from hers.

Would he be awake right now, too? Did worries about his son have him pacing the floors? She hated that someone had threatened that tiny baby simply because Sam was good at his job. It also unsettled her to think that whoever had made that threat was not behind bars. Sam didn’t believe he had the wrong man in jail, but who else besides the man who had assaulted Gabriella Chance and the others would want to stifle new evidence in the case?

The attacker—whoever he was—might still be free.

Her gaze slid from the light in the woods to her car parked out front. She could leave whenever she wanted. Whenever she needed to. She wouldn’t allow this trip to Heartache to undo all her hard work to put the past behind her.

But for now, she would stay. She still wanted to reconnect to the family she had since she’d never have one of her own. Life was too short to live with regrets.

Slipping quietly back into the cabin, she locked and bolted the door before settling back in her sleeping bag. Tomorrow, she’d see one of her siblings face-to-face for the first time in a decade. She’d offer whatever help she could to Heather since her big sister had proved braver than her to testify against a local menace. If Covington went to jail, maybe her nightmares would end. But as she laid her head on the pillow, Amy didn’t think about vindication or revenge, or even her family. Instead, the image that settled into her tired brain was the moment in the woods when Sam Reyes had stood between her and everything scary. The moment when he’d touched her with shocking intimacy that had stirred long-forgotten pleasure.

After the fear and dread of the nightmare, she didn’t bother to fight thoughts of Sam. Reality would set in soon enough that he was off-limits to her now.

But not in her dreams.

CHAPTER FIVE

“DOESN’T IT MAKE you even a little bit nervous to watch the baby in a house full of foster kids?” Bailey chewed a fingernail as she stared up at the white clapboard Colonial where she and Megan had been hired to watch Aiden Reyes for a few hours after school.

A bank of wire cages sat in the shade of a side porch that had been added on to the original house. A colorful patchwork quilt shaded the cages, preventing her from seeing what was inside. A heap of bicycles in a rainbow of colors lay under a hickory tree in the front yard.

The sheriff had told them to wait for him out front and he would introduce them to his foster mother, Lorelei Hasting.

“Are you listening to yourself right now?” Megan snapped across the roof of the Volvo. She bent down and pulled a stack of textbooks from the car so they could study in their downtime. “You remember I’m adopted, right? You say ‘foster kids’ like it’s a synonym for delinquents.”

The knot in Bailey’s stomach tightened. The last thing she wanted was to alienate her last friend in the world. A girl she really admired.

“I’m sorry.” And she was. “I just remember that some troubled kids lived here at different times, right? That Damon dude, who robbed the pizza shop?”

The story had been in the news. The boy had been kicked out of their high school afterward, and Bailey hadn’t seen him since.

Megan slammed the car door and came around the vehicle to stare up at the house with her.

“In all fairness, my dad brought him up this morning over breakfast, too.” Meg shook her head, a strand of newly purple hair brushing her cheek. “And I’m going to tell you what I told him. That was an isolated incident. And perfectly traditional homes raise kids who are just as likely to be bad apples. Witness J. D. Covington.”

“Right. Agreed.” She understood to a far better degree how much of a bad seed J.D. was since he’d been the one to leave bruises on her throughout their relationship. But Megan knew only that J.D. had helped his father try to kidnap Meg and her music teacher, Heather Finley, a few weeks ago. Which was plenty bad enough. With any luck, J.D.’s role in the kidnapping attempt would send him to jail, where she wouldn’t have to worry about him.

“Speaking of J.D., did you hear his lawyer asked for another bail hearing?” Megan passed half the stack of textbooks to her while they waited for Sheriff Reyes.

“He won’t get it, will he?” Bailey feared for Megan as much as for herself.

“I don’t know. The cops have been trying to dig up more evidence against both J.D. and his dad, but my father said they’re having a hard time. That’s why Sheriff Reyes came to the school last week, remember?” Meg pointed to the car slowing down a few hundred yards away. “I think he’s here now. We can ask him.”

She followed her friend’s gaze to the black pickup pulling into the driveway.

“How can he find more evidence when there haven’t been any other kidnappings?” Bailey muttered, her nerves eating her from the inside out. She hadn’t eaten lunch today because she didn’t want her stomach to launch a full-out panicked protest when she talked with the sheriff. Even so, the stress of seeing him mixed with her guilt over not coming forward about J.D. combined to send a shooting pain through her gut.

“J.D. helped his father find girls online, hacking into their accounts. The police call it... I forget the charge. Something like accessory to cyberstalking?” Megan shrugged and pulled Bailey forward toward the sheriff. “We should ask around to see if anyone else has been harassed online.”

“I can do that.” Latching on to the idea, Bailey promised herself then and there that if anyone in their school had been hassled online, she would find out about it. “We’ll ask everyone we know. And we’ll keep J.D. in jail.”

“He’s not in a real jail, though,” Megan answered under her breath as they neared the sheriff. “He’s underage, so he went to juvie.”

“Don’t ask him about J.D.,” Bailey asked softly, hoping Meg heard her. She didn’t want to draw attention to her interest in the case and what happened to her ex-boyfriend. “Not our first day on the job, okay?”

“Hello, Sheriff,” Megan said brightly as their new employer stepped down from his truck.

Bailey had seen her give a quick nod, though, so she knew Meg had heard her. Agreed not to say anything.

Thank you, God.

Her stomach stopped roiling a little, especially as she looked into the truck where a bright blue blanket squirmed. She was only too glad to focus on an adorable baby for a few hours and not worry about secrets and abuse.

Nearby, a screen door slammed. Bailey glanced up to see an older woman in worn jeans and a bright sweater wave to them from the porch. She’d met Mrs. Hasting at the pizza shop she owned with her husband, a guy who sat on the town council with Meg’s father and—before she was jailed—Bailey’s mom.

Her mother had called Mrs. Hasting “unkempt,” a snide assessment delivered with her mother’s trademark Botox frown—a stiff glare that only made her look ridiculous. But the sheriff’s foster mom was kind of like that rainbow pile of bikes—untidy in the way that made you want to smile. Even now, the woman was grinning, her face full of lively wrinkles that suggested she was no stranger to happiness.

“Hello!” She hurried up the path toward the driveway, dark curls bouncing out of a headband. “Samuel Reyes, you’re taking far too long unloading my grandson.” She edged the sheriff aside and clambered into his truck to work the belts and buckles of the baby’s car seat. “I hope you warned these nice girls they might have to fight me to hold him.” Pausing from her work, she leaned back out of the truck cab to wink at Meg and Bailey. “Not really, girls. I will share.”

“Mom, this is Bailey McCord and Megan Bryer. Girls, my mother, Mrs. Hasting.”

“Nice to meet you, ma’am.” Bailey tried not to cringe at the introduction. Lately, people in town tended to do a double take when they heard the McCord name.

“Of course.” Mrs. Hasting carefully handed Aiden out to the sheriff while she climbed back out of the truck. “The McCords are two double cheeses and the Bryers are a single pepperoni family. Running the pizza shop, I can tell you almost everyone’s usual order. Come on in, girls, and I’ll get you settled.”

Doing as they were told, Bailey noticed the imposing sheriff fell in line, too, making him seem a little less scary. He tucked his aviator shades in his shirt pocket as he followed them toward the door.

“She’ll slow down for a breath soon—don’t worry,” he told them quietly, brushing a knuckle over his son’s cheek with a tenderness that melted her heart.

Seeing that made her regret her words about foster kids all the more. The sheriff had grown up here, and he’d obviously turned out to be a good guy.

They bypassed the front door to walk up the steps to the railed side porch she’d noticed earlier. As they approached the wall of stacked cages, Bailey saw a few rabbits inside. Three of the cages had elaborate houses that looked like craft projects for elementary kids. Made out of empty Kleenex boxes and covered in watercolor paint, the houses had bunny-size doors and carpets made of old pot holders. One fat gray rabbit sat inside his cardboard castle under a painted sign that said Clover’s Crib.

Distracted by the cuteness, she hadn’t noticed a teenage boy emerge from the house. She just turned and suddenly there was a tall, lanky kid on the porch flanked by two younger boys playing tug-of-war with a plastic car. Bailey stilled, feeling awkward to be caught ogling the rabbits, her skirt riding up her calf as she leaned over the cages. Straightening, she tried not to stare at the older boy, whose brown hair fell over one hazel eye.

“Girls, I’d like you to meet my sons.” Mrs. Hasting put a hand on the teen’s arm. “This is Dawson. He’ll be starting at Crestwood after the holidays. And that’s Tucker.” She pointed to the dark-headed boy who’d won the car he’d been wrestling over. “And Nate.” She ruffled the ginger hair of the smaller child. “They know to keep out of your way, but if you need anything and I’m not around, Dawson can help you.”

“Cool shirt,” Megan said to the guy. He wore a T with the silhouette of a dinosaur on a spaceship that must be a video-game reference.

Megan Bryer was not only an A student; she was also a gamer girl extraordinaire. She held the record high scores for just about everything. This gave her a lot more to work with when it came to talking to most guys. She could dazzle anyone who’d ever picked up an Xbox controller in the first five seconds of conversation. Bailey had no such superpower.

“Hi,” she finally said, and probably only managed that because Mrs. Hasting and the sheriff were both standing right there.

Her cheeks heated.

“Good to meet you.” Dawson nodded, making eye contact briefly before stepping aside. “I’ll round up the rug rats.”

He jogged across the lawn after Tucker while Mrs. Hasting invited them into the house. Bailey followed her, eager to move past the awkwardness of meeting new people so she could start her job.

Between what had happened with her mother and her new mission to find anyone who might have been harassed by J.D., she wouldn’t have thought it possible that some random stranger could make her feel even remotely interested in boys again.

She definitely was not.

So about an hour later when she found herself looking out the nursery window to watch Dawson throw a football with the other kids, she couldn’t account for the fluttery feeling in her stomach. It was different from the burn of acidic fear that had been her constant companion for weeks.

It was almost pleasant.

“He’s cute, isn’t he?” Megan’s voice startled her. The sheriff and Mrs. Hasting had left them alone with Aiden.

Embarrassed to be caught staring, Bailey spun from the window.

“I don’t know. I guess,” she blurted. “He’s okay.”

“I thought you loved kids.” Megan tipped her head to one side to study her, frowning. Too late, Bailey realized that her friend held Aiden in her arms.

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