A woman in hiding and a man on a mission in the Smoky Mountains

Detective Chris Downing doesn’t know much about his neighbor. In the rural town of Destiny, Tennessee, Julie Webb lives a life of seclusion, rarely even offering a smile or wave. Only when Chris hears her frantic screams one night does he gain a glimpse into the life of a woman in hiding, and in saving her life, he is forced to kill her attacker. But Julie’s troubles are only beginning to unravel. When Chris learns the identity of Julie’s attacker, questions of trust are raised and suspicions run high. Together they will uncover the motives of a killer...and the undeniable attraction between them.

Tennessee SWAT

Inhaling deeply, she selfishly enjoyed another tantalizing breath warmed by Chris’s skin, perfumed by his masculine scent. Then she pushed herself back to sitting, forcing him to move back and drop his arms.

He studied her intently, his dark eyes boring into hers. “You do know that I’m going to protect you, right? You seem...scared, or maybe worried.”

Unable to stop herself, she caressed his face. Her heart nearly stopped when he rubbed his cheek against her hand. Oh, how she wished her life were different, that she had met this man in another place, another time.

He smiled, a warm, gentle smile she felt all the way to her toes.

“Everything’s going to be okay, Julie,” he said. “We’ll figure this out. Together.”

“Thank you,” she whispered back. Her gaze dropped to his lips, and hers suddenly went dry. She automatically leaned toward him. Her hands went to his shirt, smoothing the fabric.

A shudder went through him and she looked up, her eyes locking with his. The open hunger on his face made her breath catch. And then he was leaning toward her slowly, giving her every chance to stop him, to pull away, to say no.

But she didn’t.

Mountain Witness

Lena Diaz

www.millsandboon.co.uk

LENA DIAZ was born in Kentucky and has also lived in California, Louisiana and Florida, where she now resides with her husband and two children. Before becoming a romantic suspense author, she was a computer programmer. A former Romance Writers of America Golden Heart® Award finalist, she has also won the prestigious Daphne du Maurier Award for Excellence in mystery and suspense. To get the latest news about Lena, please visit her website, www.lenadiaz.com.

Thank you, Allison Lyons and Nalini Akolekar.

For my family...George, Sean and Jennifer. I love you so much.

And in loving memory to the family member who has passed

over the rainbow. I’ll always love you, Sparky.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

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

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Extract

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Blood, there was so much blood. Julie stood over him, one hand braced on the bed’s footboard, the other still holding the gun. The blood soaked his shirt, seeping between his fingers as he clutched at the bullet hole in his side. Air wheezed between his teeth, his startlingly blue eyes blazing with hatred through the openings in the ski mask. The same eyes that had once stared at her with such love that they’d stolen her breath away.

Right before he’d said, “I do.”

Julie Webb shook her head, blinking away the memories, wishing she could put the past behind her just as easily. Her hands tightened on the steering wheel as she sat in the driveway, the thin pale line on her ring finger the only tangible reminder of the diamond that had once sat there.

Stop it. He can’t hurt you anymore. It’s time to move on.

Unfortunately, with most of her assets frozen while the courts did their thing back in Nashville, moving on meant hiding out in the tiny—aka affordable—rural town of Destiny, Tennessee. And with the limited rentals available in Blount County, she’d chosen the lesser of evils, the one place with some land around it—an old farmhouse that had sat vacant for so long that the owner had been desperate to rent it. Desperate equaled cheap. And that was the only reason that Julie had taken it. Well, that and the fact that Destiny was a good three hours from Nashville. She wasn’t likely to run into anyone she knew in the local grocery store.

The sound of a horn honking had her looking in her rearview mirror, reminding her why she was in her car to begin with. The moving truck sat idling in the gravel road that ran past the expansive front yard, waiting for her to back out so it could back in. After two days of living out of a suitcase and sleeping on the floor, having a couch and a bed again was going to feel like heaven.

She put the car in Reverse, hesitating when she noticed that her only neighbor had come out onto his front porch. Long, unpaved road, dead end, surrounded by acres of trees and pastures, and she still had a neighbor to contend with. A handsome, sex-on-a-stick kind of guy to boot. Which was going to make ignoring him difficult, but not impossible. She’d had her own sex-on-a-stick kind of man before. And look what it had gotten her.

He flashed her a friendly smile and waved just as he’d done every time he’d seen her in the past two days. And once again, she pretended not to notice. She backed out of the driveway.

Rhythmic beeping sounded from the truck as it took the place of her car, stopping just inches from the porch that ran along the front of the white clapboard house. It was a much smaller, one-story clone of the place next door. There weren’t any fences on either property, so she wasn’t sure where his acreage ended and hers began. But clearly he had a lot more land than her rental. The mowed part of his yard extended for a good quarter of a mile to the end of their street.

She didn’t care, didn’t want to know anything about him. The only way to survive this temporary exile was to keep to herself and make sure that none of her acquaintances figured out where she was. Which meant not associating with the hunk next door or anyone else who might recognize her name or her face, in case any of the news stories had made it out this far. She fervently hoped they hadn’t.

The movers had the ramp set up by the time she’d walked up the long gravel driveway. It would allow them to cart the boxes and furniture directly to the top of the porch without having to navigate the steps. That meant everything should go quickly, especially since she didn’t have much for them to unload—just the bare essentials and a few things she’d refused to leave in storage.

She risked a quick look toward the house next door. The friendly man was gone. A twinge of guilt shot through her for having ignored him. He was probably a perfectly nice guy and deserved to be treated better. But her life was extremely complicated right now. By ignoring him, by not letting him get involved in any way in her problems, she was doing him a favor.

“Ma’am, where do you want this?” one of the movers asked, holding up a box.

Apparently, the thick black letters on the side that spelled “kitchen” weren’t enough of a hint.

She jogged up the steps. But, before going inside, she hesitated and looked over her shoulder at the thick woods on the other side of the road. The hairs were standing up on the back of her neck.

“Ma’am?” the mover holding the box called out. He lifted the box a few inches, as if to remind her he was still holding it.

“Sorry, this way.” She headed inside, but couldn’t shake the feeling of doom that had settled over her.

Chapter Two

Chris shaded his eyes against the early afternoon sun and watched through an upstairs window as the curvy brunette led one of the movers into the house next door. He didn’t know why he bothered waving every time he saw her. Her standard response was to turn away and pretend that she hadn’t seen him. He’d gotten the message the first time—she wanted nothing to do with him. Too bad the good manners his mama had instilled in him, courtesy of a well-worn switch off a weeping willow tree or his daddy’s belt, wouldn’t allow him to ignore her the way she ignored him.

He leaned against the wall of the corner guest bedroom, noting the car that his neighbor had parked on the road. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen a BMW. Most of the people he knew had four-wheel drives. Come winter, that light little car would slide around like a hockey puck on the icy back roads. Then again, maybe she didn’t plan on sticking around that long. Summer was just getting started.

A distant rumble had him looking up the road to see a caravan of trucks headed toward his house, right on time to start his annual beginning of summer cookout. The shiny red Jeep in front was well ahead of the other vehicles, barreling down the road at a rate of speed that probably would have gotten the driver thrown in jail if he wasn’t a cop himself, with half the Destiny, Tennessee, police department following behind him.

Dirt and gravel spewed out from beneath the Jeep’s tires as it slowed just enough to turn into his driveway without flipping over. The driver, Chris’s best friend, Dillon Gray, jumped out while the car was still rocking. He hurried to the passenger side to lift out his very pregnant wife, Ashley. Chris grinned and headed downstairs.

He’d just reached the front room when the screen door flew open and Ashley jogged inside, her hands holding her round belly as if to support it. The door swung closed, its springs squeaking in protest at the abuse.

“Hi, Chris.” She raced past the stairs into the back hallway and slammed the bathroom door.

The screen door opened again and Chris’s haggard-looking friend stepped inside.

“Sorry about that.” Dillon waved toward the bathroom. “Ashley was desperate. She had me doing ninety on the interstate.”

Chris clapped him on the back. “How’s the pregnancy going?”

Dillon let out a shaky breath and raked his hand through his disheveled hair. “I’m not sure I can survive two more months of this.”

A toilet flushed. Water ran in the sink. And soon the sound of bare feet slip-slapping on the wooden floor had both of them turning to see Dillon’s wife heading toward them. Her sandals dangled from one hand as she stopped beside Chris.

“Sorry about the bare feet. They’re so swollen the shoes were cutting off my circulation.” She motioned toward Dillon. “Let me guess. He’s complaining about all the suffering he’s going through, right? He keeps forgetting that I’m the one birthing a watermelon.” The smile on her face softened her words as she yanked on Chris’s shirt so he’d lean down. She planted a kiss on his cheek and squeezed his hand. “Don’t worry. I’m taking good care of him.”

He raised a brow. “Him? You’re having a boy?”

“No, silly. I mean, yes, we might be. Or it might be a girl. We’re waiting until the birth to be surprised about the gender. I meant Dillon. I’ll make sure he survives fatherhood.”

Dillon plopped down in one of the recliners facing the big-screen TV mounted on the far wall. “It’s not fatherhood that I’m worried about. It’s the pregnancy, and childbirth.” He placed a hand on his flat stomach. “Every time she throws up, I throw up. Last week, I swear I had a contraction.”

Ashley clucked her tongue as she perched on the arm of his chair. “Sympathy pains.” She grinned up at Chris. “Isn’t it wonderful?”

Chris burst out laughing.

Dillon shot him a glare that should have set his hair on fire.

“Did you remember to bring the steaks?” Chris headed toward the abused screen door, assuming the food was in the Jeep.

“The chief has them,” Dillon said. “I didn’t feel well enough to go to the store so I called him to do it, instead.” He pressed his hand to his stomach again and groaned as his head fell back against the chair.

Ashley rolled her eyes and plopped down onto his lap. In spite of how green Dillon looked, he immediately hugged her close and pressed a kiss on the top of her head. Dillon started to gently massage his wife’s shoulders and she kissed the side of his neck. Chris had never seen two people more in love or more meant for each other. Then again, they’d only been married for close to a year. They were still newlyweds.

“Where do you want all of this stuff?” someone called from outside.

Chris turned away from the two lovebirds and looked through the screen door.

“Those two are enough to make you sick, aren’t they?” fellow SWAT officer and detective Max Remington, holding a large cooler, teased from the porch.

“Hey, Max.” Ashley waved over Dillon’s shoulder.

“Hey, Ash.” Max dipped his head toward the cooler and glanced at Chris. “This beer and ice ain’t getting any lighter. Where do you want it?”

“Around back, on the deck, well away from the grill. It’s hot and ready.”

Max carried the cooler back down the steps. Twenty minutes later, Destiny PD’s entire five-man-and-one-woman SWAT team was on the large back deck, plus Chief William Thornton, his wife, Claire, Ashley, their 911 operator—Nancy—and a handful of other support staff.

Steaks sizzled on the double-decker grill, which was Max’s domain. On one side of him, SWAT officers Colby Vale and Randy Carter chatted about the best places to fish. On Max’s other side a young female police intern helped load foil-wrapped potatoes and corncobs onto another section of the grill.

“Two weeks.” Dillon grabbed a beer from the cooler at Chris’s feet.

Since Dillon was watching Ashley talk to SWAT Officer Donna Waters a few feet away, Chris wasn’t sure what he meant. “Two weeks until what?”

Dillon used his bottle to indicate the pretty young intern who was earning college credits for helping out at the Destiny police department over the summer.

“I give her and Max’s fledgling relationship two more weeks, at the most,” Dillon said. “They have absolutely nothing in common and she’s young enough to be his...niece...or something.”

Chris shrugged and snagged himself a beer from the cooler. The rest of the team laughed and talked in small groups on the massive deck. The chief and his wife were the only ones not smiling. They were too intent on discussing the best placement of the desserts on the table at the far end. Chris grinned, always amused to see the soft side of his crotchety boss whenever his wife of forty-plus years was around. He hoped someday that he’d be lucky enough to be married that long, and be just as happy. But so far he hadn’t met the right woman. Given Destiny’s small size, he just might have to move to another town to expand the dating pool.

The sound of an engine turning over had him stepping closer to the railing. The moving truck headed down the driveway next door, then continued up the road. His new neighbor stood in the grass beside her front porch, watching it go. Unless she was deaf, she had to hear the noise in his backyard. Was she going to ignore all of them?

He waited, watching. As if feeling the force of his gaze upon her, she turned. Their eyes locked and held. Then she whirled around and raced up her porch steps, the screen door slamming as she hurried inside.

“What’s her name?”

Chris didn’t turn at the sound of Dillon’s voice. His friend braced his hands on the railing beside him.

“I have no idea,” Chris answered. “She’s been here two days and she hasn’t even acknowledged that I exist.”

Dillon whistled low. “That’s a first for you. Must be losing your touch.”

He slanted his friend a look. “Yeah, well. At least I’m not puking my guts up every time someone says fried gizzards.”

Dillon’s eyes widened and his face went pale. A second later he clapped his hand over his mouth and ran inside the house.

Judging from the way Ashley was suddenly glaring at Chris, she’d obviously noticed Dillon’s rapid retreat. She put her hands on her hips. “What did you do?”

“I might have mentioned ‘fried gizzards.’”

She threw her hands in the air and shook her head in exasperation. Then she ran inside after her husband.

Chris winced at the accusatory looks some of the others gave him. He shouldn’t have done that. He knew that Dillon’s sympathy morning sickness could be triggered by certain foods, or even the mention of them. But teasing Dillon was just too easy—and way too fun—to resist.

He supposed he’d have to apologize later.

But right now there was something else bothering him, a puzzle he was trying to work through. He turned back toward his mysterious new neighbor’s house, trying to fit the pieces together in his mind. There’d been something about her that was bothering him, the way she’d twisted her hands together as she’d stared down the road, the look in her eyes when she’d met his gaze.

And then it clicked.

He knew exactly what he’d seen.

Fear.

Chapter Three

Judging by the empty beer bottles and bags of trash sitting on his deck, Chris reckoned the annual summer-opening bash for his SWAT unit had been a success. Everyone had seemed to have a good time, even Dillon, once he’d gotten over being mad. They’d probably still be partying if the mosquitoes and gnats hadn’t invaded after the sun went down.

He probably should have invited everyone to go indoors. But he’d been too preoccupied to even think of that earlier. He’d spent most of the cookout worrying about a woman he’d never met, who’d made it crystal clear that she wanted nothing to do with him.

After another glance at the house next door, he cursed and forced himself to look away. He grabbed two bags of trash in one hand and a bag of recyclables in the other. Then he headed down the deck steps and around the side yard toward the garage. He slowed as he neared the front. Behind the dark blue BMW next door was a silver Ford Taurus that hadn’t been there earlier.

He shook his head. It was none of his business who the woman next door invited over. Judging by the plates on the Taurus, it was from out of town. Maybe some of her friends were helping her unpack and set up the place. Again, none of his concern.

Rounding to the front of his house, he keyed a code into the electronic keypad to open the garage door. After stowing the trash and recyclables in the appropriate bins, he closed the door again and took the front porch steps two at a time. If he hurried, he just might catch the start of a baseball game on TV.

A few minutes later, he was sitting in his favorite recliner with a beer and a bowl of popcorn on the side table. He was looking forward to a relaxing few hours vegging out before going to bed early, even though it was Saturday.

Come dawn, he had a date with a tractor and a Bush Hog and over an acre of brush to clear for Cooper, a neighbor laid up in the hospital. After that, he had his own chores to see to, including repairing some fencing to keep cows from wandering into his yard again from the farm behind his house. Sunday definitely wasn’t going to be a day of rest for him. And he’d still have to catch the Sunday evening service at First Baptist or his mom would hear about it and start praying for his soul.

A piercing shriek sounded from outside, then abruptly cut off. Chris jumped up from his chair, grabbed his pistol from the coffee table. Standing stock-still, he listened for the sound again. Had a screech owl flown over the house? Maybe one of the baseball fans on TV had made the noise. Maybe. But he didn’t think so. The volume on the television hadn’t been turned up very loud. He pressed the mute button on the remote. Still nothing. Everything was silent. So what had he heard?

As if pulled by an unseen force, his gaze went to the window on the east side of the great room. The front of his home was about ten feet closer to the road than his neighbor’s. He had a clear view of her porch, dimly lit by a single yellow bulb now that the sun had gone down. Everything looked as it had earlier when he’d dealt with the trash. Two cars were still parked in her driveway. There was no sign of any people anywhere. But he couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling in his gut and the memory of the fear he’d seen in her eyes.

Cursing himself for a fool, he headed toward the screen door, gun in hand. His neighbor was probably going to think he was an idiot for checking on her. But he had to see for himself that she was okay. He shoved the pistol into his waistband at the small of his back. No sense in scaring her with his gun out. After jogging down the porch steps, he strode across the lawn to her house.

The sound of breaking glass made him pause before he reached the bottom step. An angry male voice sounded from inside. Chris whirled around, changing direction. He went to the side of the porch, where he wouldn’t be visible from the front door, then hauled himself up and over the railing. Crouching down, he edged to the first window, then peeked inside.

The layout of the house was basically a one-story version of his own. He’d been in it dozens of times helping out old man Hutchinson before his family moved him to an assisted-living facility. The front door opened into the great room. The kitchen was to the left, through an archway. Both homes had a hallway that ran across the back, with two bedrooms and a bath. The only true difference was the size and the fact that Chris’s home had a staircase hugging the wall on the right.

Boxes were stacked neatly across the left end of his neighbor’s great room. A couch and two chairs sat in a grouping on the right. Standing in the middle of the room was a tall, lean man, his face a mask of anger as he said something to the woman across from him. Pieces of a broken drinking glass scattered the floor. But what captured Chris’s attention the most was what the man was holding in his right hand—a butcher knife.

Chris ducked down, his hand going to the gun shoved into his waistband. No. He couldn’t bust in there pointing his gun. The other man was too close to the woman and might hurt her. What he needed was a distraction, some way to put more distance between the two.

He also needed backup, in case this all went horribly wrong. He didn’t want the woman left facing the man with the knife all by herself. He had to make sure she’d get the help she needed, no matter what.

After silencing his phone, he typed a quick text to dispatch, letting them know the situation. As expected, the immediate response was to stand down and wait for more units. Yeah, well, more units were a good thirty minutes away, best case. That was part of the price of living in the country. Like it or not, he had to go inside the house. If he waited, his neighbor could get hurt or killed by the time his fellow SWAT team members arrived.

He shoved the phone into his pocket, then hopped over the railing and dropped down to the grass. His hastily concocted plan wasn’t much of a plan. It basically involved making enough noise to alert the two inside that he was there, and then going all hillbilly on them. If they were typical city slickers, as the BMW and out-of-town plates on the Taurus suggested, they might take the bait and think he was a redneck without a clue. If his gamble paid off, he’d manage to insert himself between the two and wrestle the knife away—hopefully without getting himself or anyone else killed.

Yeah, not much of a plan, but, since he couldn’t think of another one, he went with it.

He wiped his palms on his jeans, then loudly clomped his booted foot onto the bottom porch step.

Chapter Four

A hollow sound echoed outside. Julie jerked around to see the sexy guy from next door stomping up the front porch steps.

“Who is that?” Alan snarled, closing the distance between them.

She swallowed, watching the knife in his hand. “My neighbor. I don’t know his name.”

“Get rid of him.”

He edged halfway behind her, his left hand—the one holding the knife—hidden from view. Its sharp tip pressed lightly between her shoulder blades, just piercing her skin. She gasped and arched away, but the threat was still there. Her only chance was to try to appease him. If she didn’t, he’d kill her, and try to kill a stranger whose only crime was that he lived next door.

A knock sounded. The tall, broad-shouldered man who’d given her so many unreturned smiles and friendly waves peered through the screen door, grinning when he saw her standing in the middle of the great room.

“Hello, there,” he drawled. “I’m Chris Downing, from the house next door. Hope you don’t mind me coming over. I figured it was high time I introduced myself.”

“Um, actually, I don’t—”

He pushed the door open and stepped inside, his white teeth gleaming in a smile that would have been charming if she wasn’t so scared.

She shot a pleading look over her shoulder, then glanced back at her neighbor. “Mr. Downing, this really isn’t a good—”

“Chris,” he corrected, striding toward her. “No point in formalities between neighbors.”

The knife pressed against her spine, a warning that she needed to do something. Fast.

“You sure are pretty, ma’am.” His grin widened. “Welcome to the neighborhood.” He took one of her hands in his. “And what lovely name did your mama gift you with?” He waited expectantly, his green eyes capturing hers, looking oddly serious in spite of his silly grin.

She could almost taste Alan’s simmering anger, his impatience.

“I’m...ah...Julie. Julie Webb. I’m sorry but you really need to—”

“Can’t remember the last time I met a Julie. Beautiful name for a beautiful woman.” His head bobbed up and down while he vigorously shook her hand, pulling her off balance. She was forced to step toward him to keep from falling over.

Alan made a menacing sound in his throat and plopped his right hand on her shoulder, anchoring her and keeping her from moving farther away from him. But her neighbor misinterpreted the gesture. He let go of Julie’s hand and offered his hand to Alan, instead.

“Didn’t mean to ignore you back there,” he said. “Where are my manners? Are you my new neighbor, too, or just visiting?”

The pressure on her shoulder tightened painfully, making her wince. She tensed, fully expecting to feel the bite of the knife sliding between her ribs at any moment. Most people would have read the tension between her and Alan and realized they were intruding. But her neighbor seemed oblivious, his hand still in the air, waiting for Alan to take it.

She could have sworn Alan said “stupid redneck” beneath his breath before he released her shoulder and reached around her to shake the other man’s hand.

As soon as Chris’s much larger hand closed around Alan’s, he gave a mighty, sideways yank, ripping Alan away from Julie. Alan roared with rage and slashed at Chris with the knife. Chris twisted sideways, the blade narrowly missing his stomach. He grabbed Alan’s left wrist, both men twisting and grunting with their hands joined crosswise in front of them.

“Get back,” Chris yelled at Julie, twisting sideways again.

She jumped out of the way, pressing her hand against her throat. The two men grappled like a couple of grizzly bears. Alan was shorter, but both men rippled with muscles, their biceps bulging as they strained against each other. Chris’s extra height seemed to be a handicap, though. He was bent over at an impossible angle. And his hold on Alan’s knife hand appeared to be slipping.

“Julie, run!”

Chris yanked Alan again. Alan countered by ducking down, trying to pull Chris off balance.

Julie couldn’t seem to make her feet move. She was frozen, her throat so tight no sound would come out.

“I’m a cop,” Chris bit out as he and Alan jerked and shoved at each other. “Drop the knife and we can work this out. No one needs to get hurt.”

“Work it out?” Alan spit between clenched teeth. “You’re the intruder. I can kill you and no one will even question me.”

Chris risked a quick glance at Julie. “Go. Get out of here!”

She stepped back, ready to do what he’d said. But then she stopped. The room seemed to shimmer in front of her, and she was back in her bedroom five months ago. All she could see was blood, its coppery scent filling the air. It was everywhere. The floors were slippery with it. Her hands, sticky.

No. Don’t think about the past. Stay in the present.

She blinked and brought the room back into focus.

“Please.” She stepped forward. “Please.” Another step. She stared at Alan, willing him to look at her. “Don’t do this.”

Something in her voice must have captured Alan’s attention. His head swiveled toward her. Bloodlust shone in his eyes. Julie knew the exact moment when he took the bait.

He gave Chris a mighty shove backward, catching him off guard. Chris stumbled, his hold on Alan broken. Julie tried to scramble back, but Alan was already lunging at her with the knife. She brought her arms up and turned her head, bracing herself.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

Alan dropped to the floor, inches away from her, unmoving. She stared at him in shock, not quite sure what had happened. Then blood began running in rivulets across the worn, uneven floor, reaching out from beneath his body like accusing fingers, pointing at her. She stumbled backward, a sob catching in her throat.

A piercing scream echoed through the room. And suddenly she was clasped tightly against Chris’s chest, his arms wrapped protectively around her. He turned, blocking her view of the body lying on the floor. The screaming stopped, and she was mortified to realize that she was the one who’d been screaming.

“It’s okay.” One of his hands gently rubbed her back as the other cradled her against him. “He can’t hurt you now.”

He can’t hurt me now. He can’t hurt me now. She drew in a shaky breath.

Sirens wailed in the distance. How could there be sirens? She hadn’t called anyone, never had a chance to call when Alan had burst into the house. But her neighbor had come inside. Chris? And he’d...shot... Alan? Yes. Those had been gunshots she’d heard. She shivered again.

“The police are on their way,” he continued, speaking in a low, soothing tone. “I called them when I saw him through the window holding the knife.”

The police. He’d seen Alan threatening her. Wait, wasn’t he the police?

“I don’t... I don’t understand,” she whispered. “What happened? Who are you?”

He gently pushed her back, his hands holding her upper arms. “I’m Christopher Downing, a detective and SWAT officer from the Destiny Police Department. I called for backup before I came in here.” He scanned her from head to toe, as if searching for injuries. “Are you okay? Did he cut you?”

She blinked, her jumbled thoughts starting to come together again. “N-no. I mean, yes, he did. My back. But it’s not—”

He carefully turned her around.

His fingers touched her cuts through her shirt, making them sting. She sucked in a breath.

“Sorry.” He turned her to face him again. “There isn’t much blood. You probably won’t need stitches. Did he hurt you, in any other way?”

She frowned, trying to understand what he meant. Then she got it. He was asking whether she’d been sexually assaulted. Heat crept up her neck.

“No, he didn’t...ah...do...anything else.” She pulled away, rubbing her hands up and down her arms.

The sirens had stopped. Red-and-blue lights flashed through the front windows. She was vaguely aware of a door opening, footsteps echoing on the hardwood. Chris guided her to the couch and she sat down, her gaze automatically going to the body on the floor. Deep voices spoke in quiet tones. Another voice, a woman’s, said something in reply.

Blood. There was so much blood. How could one person bleed that much?

She wrapped her arms around her middle.

The couch dipped beside her. A policewoman. She was dressed in black body armor. Bright white letters across the front of her vest read SWAT.

“Hello, Ms. Webb.” The woman’s voice was kind, gentle. “I’m Officer Donna Waters.” She waved her hands at her uniform, the gun strapped at her waist. “Don’t let this gear bother you. We came prepared for a possible hostage situation.” She patted Julie’s hand. “An ambulance is on the way to take you to the hospital to get checked out. But you’re safe now. You’re going to be okay.”

The woman’s words seeped slowly into her brain as if through a thick fog. “Hospital? No. No, no, no. I’m not hurt. I don’t want to go to a hospital.”

“Ms. Webb?”

The now-familiar masculine voice had her turning her head. Chris Downing, the man who’d risked his own life for her, knelt on the floor, his expression full of compassion and concern.

“We’ll take your statement after you’ve seen a doctor. Is there anyone I can call—”

“Is he dead?”

Her question seemed to startle him, but he quickly smoothed out his expression. “I’m afraid so, yes. Do you want me to—”

She grabbed his hands in hers and stared into his eyes. Could she trust him? Would he tell her the truth?

He frowned. “Ms. Webb—”

“Are you sure? Are you absolutely positive that he’s dead?”

He had to think she was crazy. But she’d been here before. She’d been the woman sitting on the couch while the policeman told her that he was dead. And then he...wasn’t. And then...and then. She shuddered.

“Is he dead?” She held her breath, waiting for his reply.

He exchanged a look with the female officer before answering. “Yes. I’m sorry. Yes, he’s dead.”

She covered her mouth with her hands, desperately trying to keep from falling apart.

He’s dead. Oh, my God. He’s dead.

“Someone will take your official statement after you’ve been checked out at the hospital. But can you tell us anything right now about the man who attacked you? Did you know him?”

“Know him?” A bubble of hysterical laughter burst between her lips. “I married him.”

Chapter Five

Chris exchanged a startled look with Donna as he knelt in front of the couch. His neighbor, Julie Webb, had just announced that the intruder Chris had killed was her husband. And, instead of being angry or crying or...something that made sense, she was rocking back and forth with her arms around her middle, eyes squeezed tightly shut. The rocking wasn’t the part that was odd. What had the hairs standing up on his neck were the words that she kept whispering over and over in response to him telling her that her husband was dead.

“Thank you, Lord. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Her callous words didn’t seem to match the fragile, lost look in her deep blue eyes, as if she were caught in a nightmare and couldn’t find her way out. He instinctively wanted to reach for her, pull her into his arms, tell her that everything would be okay. But the words she kept chanting sent a chill up his spine and started alarm bells going off in his suspicious detective’s brain.

If she’d been abused by her husband, which seemed likely given that he’d held a knife on her, Chris could understand her relief that her husband couldn’t hurt her anymore. And he’d seen the fear in her eyes earlier today, which lent more evidence to the abuse theory. But he’d also seen many domestic violence cases, and almost without fail, the abused party would defend her abuser. If a cop tried to arrest the husband, or hurt him while trying to protect the wife, nine times out of ten that wife would immediately leap to the husband’s defense. Julie’s actions were nothing like what he was used to seeing in those cases. The whole situation just seemed...off.

“The chief’s motioning for you.” Donna kept her voice low. “Go on. I’ll sit with her until the ambulance arrives.”

He hesitated, feeling guilty for wanting to jump at her offer. He’d created this mess. He should have to stay and deal with the fallout, including whatever was going on with Julie Webb.

“It’s okay. I’ve got this,” she reassured him. “Go.” She put her hand on Julie’s back, lightly patting it like she would a child. Julie didn’t even seem to notice. She just kept rocking and repeating her obscene prayer.

As if drawn by some invisible force, Chris’s gaze slid to the body of the man who was dead because of him. This wasn’t the first time he’d killed someone in the line of duty. Being on the only SWAT team within a hundred miles of Destiny meant he was often called out to help other small towns or unincorporated areas when violence landed on their doorstep. But every time he’d had to use lethal force, the what-ifs and second-guessing haunted him for a long time afterward. He didn’t expect this one would be any different.

He wished he could put a sheet over the man, afford him some kind of dignity in death. But the uniformed officer standing near the body was his reminder that the scene had to be preserved until the Blount County coroner arrived. And since Destiny shared their coroner with a handful of other rural counties, that could be a while from now. Two more uniformed officers stood near a stack of boxes on the left side of the room, probably to keep Julie and others from contaminating the scene.

“Downing.”

Chief Thornton’s gruff voice had Chris finally standing and turning around. His boss stood just inside the front door, still wearing the khaki shorts and polo shirt that he’d worn to the cookout a few hours earlier.

“Powwow, front lawn. Now.” The chief headed outside.

Chris followed the chief down the porch steps to where three members of the SWAT team who’d also been at the cookout stood waiting. Max, Randy and Colby were dressed in full body armor just like Donna, back inside the house. It occurred to him that they must have raced like a mama sow protecting her piglets to have gotten here so fast. None of them lived close by, except for Dillon, and he was noticeably absent.

“Is Ashley okay?” he asked no one in particular, assuming the worst. He couldn’t imagine his best friend not responding to a call for aid from Chris or any of their fellow officers unless something had happened to Ashley.

“She’s at Blount Memorial in Maryville.” Max held up his hands to stop the anticipated flood of questions. “When your 911 call came in, Dillon and Ashley were halfway to the hospital because she’d started having contractions. I assured him we could handle—”

“It’s too soon,” Chris interrupted, worry making his voice thick. “She’s only seven months along.”

“I know that,” Max said. “Like I was saying, I told Dillon not to worry about you, that we had your back. And, before you ask, I spoke to him a few minutes ago. They were able to stop her labor, but they’ll keep her there for observation overnight, maybe even a few days. But she and the baby are both fine.”

Chris nodded, blowing out a relieved breath.

“You okay?” Max put his hand on Chris’s shoulder. “You look greener than Dillon did when you mentioned fried gizzards.”

“I killed a man. No. I’m not okay.”

Max winced and dropped his hand, immediately making Chris regret his curt reply.

“Tell us what happened,” the chief said, impatience etched on his features. “Take it from the top and don’t leave anything out.”

Chris began reciting the events that had led to the shooting, being as detailed as he could. Since everyone on the SWAT team performed dual roles as detectives in the fifteen-officer police force, they all listened intently, taking notes on their phones or the little pads of paper most of them kept handy.

Dillon was normally lead detective, with Chris as backup. But obviously Chris couldn’t investigate a case where he was a primary participant. He wasn’t sure who would run with this one.

After Chris finished his statement, the chief motioned to Max.

Max pulled a brown paper evidence bag from his rear pocket and awkwardly cleared his throat as he held it open. “Sorry, man. Standard operating procedure. Gotta take your sidearm as evidence.”

Chris knew the drill and had been vaguely surprised that no one had taken his gun the moment they’d arrived. But even after putting his pistol in the bag, the weight of his now-empty holster seemed heavier than before, a reminder of what he’d done, the life he’d taken.

Max closed the bag and stepped back beside Randy. Since Max looked miserable about taking the gun, Chris gave him a reassuring nod to let him know that he understood.

“You said they were arguing when you approached the house,” the chief said. “Did you hear what they were arguing about?”

He replayed the moment when he was crouching by the window, trying to remember what he’d heard.

“Seems like they both said something about ‘keys,’ or maybe it was ‘please.’ I definitely heard the man mention a gun. But he was holding a knife, so that doesn’t seem right.” He shrugged. “I was too far away to hear them clearly. I was more focused on what he was doing with the butcher knife and how to get it away from him.”

The low wail of a siren filled the air as an ambulance turned down the road and headed toward them.

“About time,” the chief said. “I was thinking we’d have to wake up Doc Brookes if it took any longer.”

Chris couldn’t help smiling. Even though it was only a few hours past sundown, it was probably Doc Brookes’s bedtime. The town’s only doctor was getting up there in years. And he made sure everyone knew not to bother him after hours unless there was arterial bleeding involved or a bone sticking out. Unfortunately, with the only hospital nearly forty-five minutes from Destiny, ornery Brookes was who they were stuck with most of the time.

“I’d better move my truck,” Max said.

“Ah, shoot,” Colby said. His truck’s front bumper was partly blocking the end of the driveway. “Me, too.”

They hurried to their vehicles to make room before the ambulance reached the house.

“Chief, got a second?” Chris asked.

Thornton looked pointedly at Randy, who took the unsubtle hint and awkwardly pounded Chris on the back before heading toward the house.

As soon as Randy was out of earshot, the chief held up his hand to stop Chris from saying anything.

“I know we still have to process the scene, and get the coroner out here, perform due diligence and all that. But honestly, son, it looks like a clean shoot to me. I can tell it’s eating you up inside, but you need to let that go. You saved a life tonight. That’s what you should focus on.”

They moved farther into the grass while the ambulance pulled into the driveway. The EMTs hopped out of the vehicle and grabbed their gear.

“I appreciate that, Chief,” Chris said. “I feel like hell for taking a life. But I know I did what I had to do. That’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Colby and Max jogged up the driveway, having parked their trucks farther down the road. They started toward Chris and the chief, but a stern look from Thornton had them heading toward the house, instead, and following the EMTs inside.

Still, Chris hesitated. Putting his concerns into words was proving harder than he’d expected.

“Well, go on, son. Spit out whatever’s bothering you. The skeeters are eatin’ me alive out here.”

As if to demonstrate what he’d said, the chief smacked his arm, leaving a red smear where a mosquito had been making a buffet out of him. He wiped his arm on his shorts, grimacing at the stain he’d left behind, before giving Chris an impatient look. “Well?”

“It’s Mrs. Webb,” Chris said. “The thing is, after the shooting, she asked me whether the guy I’d shot was dead. No, what she asked was whether I was sure, as if she thought I was playing a cruel joke on her, as if she wanted him to be dead. The guy is, was, her husband. And it seemed like she was...relieved...that I’d killed him.”

“Well, he did hold a knife on her. Makes sense she’d be happy to be alive and that she didn’t have to worry about him attacking her again.”

Chris scrubbed his face and then looked down the dark road, lit only by the occasional firefly. Crickets and bullfrogs competed with one another in their nightly symphony. All in all, everything seemed so normal. And, yet, nothing was the same.

“You think there’s more to it than that, don’t you?” The chief was studying him intently. “Why?”

“Because she didn’t ask me just once whether he was dead. She asked several times. And it was more the way she asked it that spooked me. You know how it is. If there’s a domestic dispute, a husband beating his wife or trying to kill her, we cops intervene and suddenly we’re the bad guys. Happens almost every time. But I shoot Mrs. Webb’s husband and she starts praying out loud, thanking God. I don’t know about you, but that’s a first for me.”

Thornton was quiet for a long moment, leaving Chris to wallow in his own thoughts, to wonder if saying anything was the right thing to do. He hated the unflattering picture that he’d just painted of Julie Webb. It didn’t seem right, as if he was spreading rumors, gossiping—something his father would have rewarded with an extra long switch applied liberally to his hide. But this wasn’t high school. This was the real world, a death investigation, where actions and words had consequences. They mattered. And he couldn’t ignore something just because it was uncomfortable.

“How did she seem before all of this?” Thornton finally asked. “If her husband had a history of violence against her, she might have joined a support group and got the help she needed to cut all ties. Maybe she moved here to escape him, thought she was safe. But he figured out where she was, came after her. Seems to me that’d make her mighty grateful that he’s never going to hurt her again.”

“Maybe.” He wanted to believe that was it. But even he could hear the doubt in his voice. He shrugged. “Hard to say what her state of mind was prior to this incident. She kept to herself, didn’t even wave. I did get the feeling earlier today, when I saw her on her porch, that she was afraid of...something. And that was before her husband showed up.”

“There, see? It’s like I said. Her behavior could very well make sense, given those circumstances. And she’s lucky you were close by to save her.”

“Yeah,” he mumbled. “Lucky for both of us.”

The chief gave him a knowing look. And it dawned on Chris that Thornton might know firsthand how he felt. Chris had joined the force right out of college, thirteen years ago. But Thornton was already chief by then. There was no telling what horrors he might have faced as a young beat cop, or even in his detective days, what burdens he might have accumulated like an invisible weight that no one else could see. All Chris knew for sure was what he felt, which was all kinds of uneasy about this whole thing.

It was bad enough that he’d taken a life. Even worse if there was something else going on here. The “something else” that kept running through his mind was so prejudicial against Julie Webb that he couldn’t voice it to the chief, not without proof, something concrete. All he had was a disturbing series of impressions that had begun to take root in his mind from the moment he’d seen her reaction to the shooting.

Suspicions that maybe this wasn’t “just” a case of a domestic dispute with tragic consequences.

That maybe Julie Webb knew she was moving in next door to a cop all along.

That she had planned this whole thing from beginning to end.

That she’d just used Chris as a weapon to commit murder.

Chapter Six

Standing in the Destiny Police Department at midnight on a Saturday wasn’t exactly where Chris imagined his fellow SWAT team members wanted to be. But not one of them had even considered going home. Max, Colby, Donna and Randy stood shoulder to shoulder with him in a show of solidarity while they watched their boss interview Julie Webb through the large two-way glass window.

Behind Chris and his SWAT team, two more officers sat at desks on the other side of the large open room that was essentially the entire police station. One of them, Blake Sullivan, was a recent transfer and would eventually be a detective and member of their SWAT team. But not yet. For now, he was learning the ropes of Destiny PD as a nightshift cop, which included filling out a lot of mundane reports.

There were fifteen desks in all, three rows of five. And other than a couple of holding cells off the back wall and a bathroom, there was just the chief’s office, his executive washroom that the team loved to tease him about and the interview room.

The entire night shift consisted of the two officers currently writing reports and two more out on patrol. Destiny wasn’t exactly a mecca for crime. The town didn’t boast a strip of bars or clubs to spill their drugs or drunks into the streets. A typical night might mean lecturing some teenagers caught drag racing, or rescuing a rival football team’s stolen mascot from a hayloft.

Tonight was anything but typical.

Tonight a man had died.

And Chris wanted, needed, to find out what had precipitated the violence by Alan Webb, leaving Chris no choice but to use lethal force. The chief had officially placed him on administrative leave, pending the results of the investigation. He’d expressly forbidden Chris from going into the interview room. But since the chief would’ve had to fight his own SWAT team to force Chris to leave the station, he’d wisely pretended not to notice him in the squad room, watching the chief interview the witness.

Along with her counsel, assistant district attorney Kathy Nelson.

Plus two administrative lackeys—Brian Henson and Jonathan Bolton—that Nelson had brought with her from Nashville. She’d left the two men sitting at one of the desks on the opposite side of the squad room like eager lapdogs waiting for their master to give them an order.

Chris studied Henson and Bolton for a long moment before looking back at the interview window. “If she felt she needed a lawyer, why call an ADA? And since when does an assistant district attorney have an entourage? Or drive with that entourage for three hours in the middle of the night for a witness interview, let alone one that’s way outside her jurisdiction?”

“Right? Doesn’t make a lick of sense,” Donna said beside him.

After dodging another barrage of questions like the polished politician that she was, Nelson shoved back her chair and stood.

“Wait, what’s she doing?” Max asked.

Nelson motioned to Mrs. Webb. She picked up her purse from the table and stood.

Chris stiffened. “They’re leaving.”

Donna was clearly bemused. “But they didn’t answer hardly any of the chief’s questions.”

“Screw this.” Chris stepped toward the interview room door.

Max grabbed his shoulder. “Don’t do it, man. The chief will—”

Chris shoved Max’s hand away and yanked open the door.

* * *

JULIE HURRIEDLY STEPPED back to put more distance between her and the imposing man suddenly filling the open doorway of the interview room—her neighbor, Detective Chris Downing. With his clenched jaw and hands fisted at his sides, he seemed like a tautly drawn bow, ready to spring.

Before Kathy could say anything, Thornton held his hand out to stop her and confronted his officer.

“I warned you, Chris. You can’t be in here.” His gravelly voice whipped through the room. “What do I have to do, arrest you? Lock you in a cell?”

Twin spots of color darkened Chris’s cheekbones. His heated gaze flashed to Julie, then back to Thornton. “I need answers. And, so far, you’re not getting any. Let me interview her. I’ll make her talk.”

Julie flinched at his harsh tone. She’d retreated to her chair, but even with a table between them, his anger seemed to fill the room, crowding in on her. Where was the gentle, concerned man who’d knelt in front of the couch earlier this evening, reassuring her that everything was going to be okay?

Kathy didn’t move. Her only concession to Chris standing so close was to tilt her head back to meet his gaze. “Are you threatening Mrs. Webb, Officer Downing?”

Thornton aimed an aggravated look at Kathy. “It’s Detective, not Officer. And he’s not threatening anyone. Stay out of this.”

The shocked look on Kathy’s face was almost comical. Julie doubted that anyone, except maybe Kathy’s husband, had ever dared to speak to her that way before. She seemed to be at a loss as to how to respond.

“Don’t you be questioning my methods, son.” Thornton jabbed his finger at Chris’s chest. “I was interviewing witnesses when you were knee-high to a mule. Since you’re the one who fired the gun, you can’t be involved in the investigation. Until this is over, you’re a civilian. And civilians have no business questioning witnesses. Now, turn around and—”

“No.” Julie jumped up from her seat.

Everyone stared at her in surprise.

She cleared her throat, just as surprised as they were at her outburst, but she now acknowledged what her subconscious had already known—that this was the right thing to do.

“I want him to stay,” she said.

The expression on Chris’s face turned suspicious.

“What did you say?” Thornton’s question sounded more like he was daring her to repeat her request, a request he had no intention of fulfilling.

“Julie—” Kathy began.

She waved her hand. “Taking a life is a heavy burden that no one should have to bear, even if taking that life was necessary. Letting Detective Downing ask questions about why he was put in that situation is the least that I can do to show my gratitude for his saving my life. So, Chief Thornton, either you allow him to stay, or the interview is over.”

While Thornton stood in indecision, Chris firmly closed the door and then straddled the chair directly across from her. He gave her a crisp nod, as if to grudgingly thank her. She nodded in return, just as stiffly—two adversaries facing off before a fight.

The other two gave up their vigil. Kathy sat down while Thornton stared pointedly at his chair, the one Chris was currently occupying. Chris ignored him. After grumbling something beneath his breath about “seat stealers,” the chief finally sat down. But the table’s small size and Chris’s broad shoulders had forced the chief to the end of the table, which had him grumbling again.

Julie waited expectantly. Rather than attack her with a volley of questions, Chris simply stared at her, as if sizing her up. If he was trying to figure out how to intimidate her, the effort was unnecessary. She’d been intimidated since the moment he’d stood in the open doorway like a fierce warrior looking for a dragon to slay.

And she was the dragon.

She clasped her hands beneath the table so he couldn’t see that they were shaking. It wasn’t just Chris that had her so nervous. Being in an interrogation room again, after all these months, stirred up a host of horrific memories. The past few months had been rough, brutal. But at least she’d survived. Her husband hadn’t. And even though she was relieved she no longer had to fear him, she still grieved that it had come to this. There’d been a time once, long ago, when she’d loved him.

He’d been a good man back then—handsome, kind, sweet, helping her move forward after the tragic loss of her family just a few months before she’d met him. She grieved for that Alan, the one she’d pledged to honor and love until death do they part. The man who had, or so she liked to believe, loved her, too, once upon a time, until the fairy tale had twisted into a tragedy.

“Mrs. Webb?” Chris’s deep voice intruded into her thoughts. “Please answer the question.”

She blinked. “I’m sorry. What did you ask me?”

“I’ll answer your question,” Kathy interrupted. “Mrs. Webb came to Destiny to hide from her abusive husband.”

Julie shot the other woman an irritated look. She made it sound like Julie had stayed with Alan through a long, abusive relationship. In truth, before today, Alan had been abusive only once, five months ago. After that one horrific night, she’d filed for divorce and ended her three-year marriage. She supposed she was lucky. Some women ended up caught in cycles of violence from which they could never escape. But Julie wasn’t feeling particularly fortunate at the moment. Everything was in turmoil. And Alan had lost his life. There was no way to feel good about what had happened.

“Her husband somehow found out that she was here, in Destiny,” Kathy continued. “And he broke into her home and assaulted her. The rest you know. Detective Downing had to use deadly force to protect her.”

“How about we let the witness give her own statement,” Chris said, closely watching Julie. “Mrs. Webb—”

“Julie, please,” she corrected, so tired of the awkwardness and formalities of this never-ending interview. At this point she just wanted it over.

“Julie,” he corrected. “Do you agree with the assistant district attorney’s version of this evening’s events?”

She hesitated, then nodded.

Kathy let out a breath, as if relieved.

“Except for the part where she made it sound like my husband had a history of violence,” she said. “Alan and I never had a perfect marriage. But until...recently...he never lifted a hand against me. Something...happened to make him snap.” She finished in a near whisper, her defense of Alan sounding weak when she said it out loud. Still, she hated to paint him as a bad person when, for most of the time that she’d known him, he was kind and good to her.

Kathy put a hand on top of Julie’s and gave her a sympathetic look. “You’re being far too kind to a man who tried to kill you.”

Julie swallowed and looked away.

Kathy sighed and turned in her seat to face Julie. “For the record, are you stating that your husband wasn’t dangerous? That you weren’t afraid of him?”

“No, of course not. He was definitely dangerous. You know what he did in Nashville.”

Kathy groaned and closed her eyes.

“I was wondering why you hadn’t brought that up yet.” Thornton jumped on her statement. “I ran your husband’s name through the computer before the interview. Why don’t you tell us your version of the first attack?”

Chris shot a surprised look at his boss. Julie figured he must not have been told what Thornton had found.

Kathy checked her watch, probably calculating how late—or early in the morning now—it would be by the time this was over and she could start the long drive back.

“You might as well tell them,” she said. “Now that you’ve brought it up. Then I’ll take you back to Nashville and—”

“I’m not going back.”

Kathy frowned. “Why not?”

“I just got here. I don’t want to move again. Not this soon.”

“You were here to hide out from Alan. Obviously, that’s not necessary anymore.”

“We don’t know if he was the one flattening my tires, salting my yard, and everything else. What if it was his family? I wouldn’t put it past them.”

“I don’t think they’re dangerous,” Kathy said.

“We both know what they can be like,” she said. “I’d much rather stay here until everything is settled. Then maybe they’ll finally leave me alone and I can return home and live in peace.”

Kathy shrugged. “Maybe it does make sense to stay here, at least until the civil case is over.”

“Civil case?” Thornton’s voice had risen again and he looked like he was ready to explode with frustration. “This is supposed to be an interview, a police interview. You two need to start talking to us, instead of to each other. You need to answer our questions.”

“Chief—” Kathy began.

“What did he do to you?” Chris’s deep voice cut through the conversation, silencing everyone in the room. His brow was furrowed with concern, his tone gentle, almost a whisper, just like back at the house. “How did he hurt you?”

Her stomach did a little flip. Part of her was tempted to throw herself in his arms and beg him to take her away from the nightmare that her life had become. She must be more exhausted than she thought. Chris had shown his true colors when he’d barged into the room, looking like a bull ready to charge after a red flag. He wasn’t really interested in helping her. She’d do well to remember that, and not let her exhaustion and longing for someone to lean on after all these months of being alone influence her decisions.

She straightened her spine and focused on Thornton as she answered. If she looked at the supposed concern on Chris’s face one more time she just might shatter.

“The reason I moved to Destiny was to hide from my husband, as Kathy said. He disappeared after posting bail. And there have been some...incidents, annoyances really, that made me wonder if he was stalking me. While it’s true that he doesn’t have a...long history of being abusive, he did attack me about five months ago, which you obviously already know. We were separated. He’d moved out and left the house to me. And then he broke into our home in the middle of the night. He was dressed all in black and wore a mask. And that night, like earlier today, he had a knife. Today, Detective Downing saved my life when he shot Alan. And I deeply appreciate his sacrifice. But there wasn’t anyone else around months ago to protect me. So I saved myself. I grabbed my husband’s gun, the one he’d left in the nightstand before moving out, and I shot him.”

Chris blinked in surprise. “You shot your husband?”

“I did.”

Thornton and Chris exchanged a glance. But Julie had no clue what they were silently communicating to each other.

Kathy said, “Mr. Webb was charged with breaking and entering and attempted murder. He had duct tape, a knife and gloves. He attacked Mrs. Webb, pulled her out of the bed and onto the floor. She was able to get away and grab the gun or she wouldn’t be sitting here today. She’d be buried six feet under. However, in spite of the overwhelming evidence in the case, the judge went against our recommendations and set bail at one million dollars, which Mr. Webb immediately paid. Then he—”

“He paid a million-dollar bail?” Thornton asked. He and Chris both looked at Julie with renewed interest. “Just how much money did he have? And who’s the beneficiary?”

She closed her eyes and squeezed her hands together in her lap. This was what she’d wanted to avoid. Now they would look at her the way Alan’s family did. They’d never believed her side of what had happened and had accused her of trying to kill him for his money.

Kathy said something to Thornton but Julie tuned it out. She just wanted the interview to be over. How had it come to this? As she often did when thinking about the past year of her life, when her marriage had started to fail, she tried to pinpoint that one decision, that one pivotal event that had led to her entire life being turned upside down. But she still didn’t know what had happened. One day she was happy, they were happy, her and Alan. The next, everything had changed. Alan had become moody, angry, and it continued to go downhill from there. A tear ran down her cheek. Then another. She drew a shaky breath and wiped them away.

“Here.” Chris was crouching beside her chair, holding a box of tissues. And in his other hand was a bottle of water, which he held out to her. “They’re so busy arguing with each other over there that they didn’t even notice I’d left the room to get you the water and tissues.”

He jerked his head toward the corner by the window where Thornton and Kathy were standing, having a heated argument. Apparently, Julie had been so lost in her own thoughts, she hadn’t noticed anything that had happened over the past few minutes, either.

She wiped her cheeks with a tissue, then took the bottle. He’d already opened it and had set the cap on the table.

“Thank you,” she said.

“You’re welcome.” He gestured toward the corner again. “I think they’re going to be at this for a while. Want to get out of here?”

She blinked. “I thought you wanted to interview me? Or is that your plan, to take me somewhere else and ask me questions without Kathy present?”

He cocked his head, looking every bit the handsome, sexy neighbor again instead of the angry, hardened cop. “Do you trust me?”

“No.”

He laughed. “Score one for honesty.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. Never apologize for telling the truth.” He glanced at the chief and Kathy, completely consumed in their argument, before looking at Julie again. “I’d like to remind you that I’m a police officer, sworn to protect and serve. And if that doesn’t make you trust me, I’ll resort to blackmail.”

“Blackmail?”

His grin faded, and he was once again staring at her with an intensity that was unnerving. “Like you said before, I deserve answers. So how about we ditch this place and I take you somewhere safe, where no one will bother you? We’ll both get a good night’s sleep. No questions. No talking unless you want to. Then tomorrow, we take a fresh look at the situation and figure out where to go from there. Sound good?”

“Sounds too good, actually. Why are you offering?”

“Because somewhere along the way this interview turned into an inquisition. The chief and I both want answers, so I don’t want Nelson convincing you to leave and never come back. But it’s late, we’re all tired and you aren’t a criminal being interrogated. You’re a witness, a victim. You deserve to be treated better than you have been. I’m offering a truce. What do you say? Will you let me get you out of here?” He stood and held out his hand.

This time it was her turn to glance at Thornton and Kathy. Both their faces were red. Whatever they were arguing about, it didn’t look like they’d stop anytime soon.

She put her hand in Chris’s. “Let’s go.”

Chapter Seven

Chris glanced at his passenger as he turned his pickup off the highway onto a gravel road. Thanks to his SWAT team, he’d managed to get the witness out of the station without Henson or Bolton being able to give chase. It was hard to follow someone when the only exit door was blocked by three cops with guns. But he was already having buyer’s remorse.

The chief was going to kill him for this.

Julie sat stiffly, clutching the armrest as if it were a lifeline, staring through the windshield. Was she also regretting the decision to flee? Wondering if she’d gotten herself into worse trouble than she was already in?

“This isn’t the way I go to my house.” She leaned forward to peer at the narrow gravel road and trees crowding in that were revealed in the headlights. “I assumed you were taking me home. Is this a back way?”

“Your home is still taped off as a crime scene. You can’t go there until it’s released.”

Her shoulders slumped, but she nodded. “This seems awfully far from town to be leading to a hotel.”

“It’s called Harmony Haven. You’ll see the place over that next rise. See how the sky is lighter up ahead? That’s from the security and landscape lights.”

“A bed-and-breakfast then?”

He steered around a pothole, surprised the road was in such poor condition. Then again, there’d been a lot of rain this past month, and he hadn’t been down this way in quite a while.

“Chris?”

He shook his head. “It’s not a B and B. It’s a private home on a horse-rescue farm. It belongs to my friends Dillon and Ashley. They’re not here right now and I figured they wouldn’t mind us crashing for the night.”

Any argument she might have been about to give was forgotten as they topped the rise and Dillon’s property came into view. Julie stared in wonder at the beautiful vista laid out before them. It pleased him that she seemed so awestruck. He felt that way every time he came here, especially at night because of the way the lights cast an ethereal glow on the place.

With the sweat equity he’d invested to help Dillon get this place up and running over the years, he couldn’t help feeling proprietary about it. But with Dillon married now, Chris’s visits had become less frequent. Newlyweds needed their privacy, even more so now with a baby on the way. His jaw tightened. If it weren’t so late, he’d call the hospital for an update on Ashley. He’d have to remember to call first thing in the morning and check on her.

He pulled the truck to a stop beside the two-story white farmhouse and took a moment to enjoy the view himself. Soft floodlights that Ashley had insisted upon, which were more for ambience than security, dotted a long, pristine, white three-rail fence and acres and acres of lush green pastures that went on forever.

The enormous stable was partially visible behind the house. He parked at the end of the home’s enormous wraparound front porch that boasted white rockers and an old-fashioned swing hanging from chains.

“It’s beautiful,” Julie whispered, seemingly mesmerized as the light breeze teased the swing back and forth, the chains creaking in rhythm with the sound of cicadas.

“I reckon it is.” He cut the engine, admiring her profile. The lights from the yard sparkled on the honey-blond highlights in her brown hair. She had a small, pert nose and pale skin with a smattering of freckles across both cheeks. A lock of her hair hung forward and he barely resisted the urge to brush it back.

“Harmony Haven,” she whispered, as if testing the name on her tongue. “You said it’s a horse rescue?”

He waved toward the stable, the main doors sealed up for the night. “There are a couple dozen horses in there, another dozen or so out in the pasture. Ashley and Dillon run horse camps every summer and adopt out most of the herd. Then rescues trickle in throughout the year and they work on rehabilitating them, regaining their trust. A couple months from now this year’s first campers will arrive. There’s a bunkhouse farther out for the farmhands and a second bunkhouse for the campers.”

“Ashley and Dillon are married?”

He nodded. “Almost a year now.”

“Then who’s Harmony?”

Chris’s smiled faded. “Dillon’s baby sister. She loved horses even more than he does, which seems impossible.”

“Loved? Past tense?”

“She died a long time ago. Hang tight. I’ll help you down.”

Before she could ask him any more questions or dredge up memories of the past, he hopped down from the truck and hurried to the passenger side. Although his black four-by-four was suspended a lot higher than the average pickup, it wasn’t quite a monster truck. It was just high enough for his six-foot-two frame to be comfortable climbing in and out. But Julie was almost a foot shorter than him, which meant he’d had to lift her up into the truck back at the station. Something he’d realized he didn’t mind one bit. She sure was a pretty thing.

She’d just opened her door when he reached her. With a mumbled apology, he put his hands at her waist and lifted her down. As soon as her shoes touched the ground, she stepped back, forcing him to drop his hands. She seemed awkward, uncomfortable as she smoothed her blouse over her khaki pants.

“Why didn’t we go to a hotel?” She followed him as he led the way toward the front porch. “Why drive so far from town?”

He stopped with his boot on the bottom step. “There’s only one hotel in Destiny. Nelson would have looked for you there.”

Her brows shot up. “I didn’t know we were hiding from her.”

He smiled. “We’re hiding more from my boss than from your ADA. I’m on administrative leave, which means I’m not even supposed to talk to you.”

“But you want answers, like you said at the station.”

He nodded.

“You aren’t too good at following orders, are you?”

“Not when I’m shut out of a case where I had to kill a man.”

She swallowed and looked away.

“Look,” he said. “I’m not going to force you to do anything you don’t want to do. For now, we’re just escaping the inquisition back there and getting a good night’s sleep. As a bonus, I ensure that Nelson doesn’t whisk you off to Nashville overnight.”

She stood on the first step, then moved up one more, making her almost eye level with him.

“You seem to think that if Kathy tells me to do something, I jump to do it. What gave you that impression?”

He shrugged. “I think it’s more that she drove three hours to come to your rescue. Allowing you to talk anymore to us would have pretty much defeated the purpose in her driving down here. Lawyers don’t want their clients to talk. Ever.”

He took the stairs two at a time and paused at the door.

When she joined him there, he added, “This place has the best security around. No one is going to sneak up on you while you’re here. You’re safe.”

Her lips parted in surprise.

He shook his head, exasperated. “Did you really think I was buying the picture that Nelson was painting? It’s as obvious as the day is long that you’re both hiding something, holding something back. And if you moved to Destiny just to hide from your husband, or little high school-type pranks, you wouldn’t still be scared.”

She stiffened. “What makes you think I’m scared?”

He glanced at her hands, which she was twisting together.

She jerked them apart, her face flushing again.

“I guess the real question is whether Nelson knows whatever secrets you’re hiding.”

Her expression went blank, as if she’d thrown up a wall. He’d been fishing, but now he knew for sure that she really was hiding something. What could she be hiding that even her ADA friend didn’t know about? And why?

She looked at the truck as if debating whether to demand that he take her back to town. Sensing that if he pushed her on it, if he argued to get her to stay, that she’d push back and demand to leave, he remained silent and waited.

“Your friends Dillon and Ashley—they know we’re here? You have keys to the house?”

In answer, he separated the keys on his key ring and held up one. “If Dillon is awake, he knows. The security system texted him our picture as soon as we turned down the private road to the farm.”

Her eyes widened.

“I’m sure they don’t mind,” he continued. “But I’ll call in the morning and explain the situation.”

“Okay, then. I’ll stay. Just for the night.”

He unlocked the door and waved her inside before she could change her mind.

Chapter Eight

Of all the reckless, crazy things that Julie had ever done, sneaking off with Detective Chris Downing was probably the most outrageous and stupid. She couldn’t believe that she’d had the gumption to tiptoe out of the conference room, pausing only briefly as he whispered to his SWAT team members, and then getting into his pickup truck.

When he’d handed her that tissue in the conference room to wipe her tears, it was as if they were co-conspirators, the two of them against the world. And she’d been just desperate enough to take the lifeline that he’d offered, tricking herself into believing that he was someone she could trust. He’d been what she’d needed most at that very moment—someone to lean on, someone who would keep her safe, be a friend, if only for one night.

She was such a fool.

They had a truce, more or less, but she knew the limits. The moment she got up tomorrow he’d probably barrage her with questions, and she wouldn’t have Kathy here to deflect them. She might as well have stayed at the police station.

As she followed him inside, he paused beside a beeping security alarm keypad and keyed in the security code, disabling it. After locking the door, he set the alarm again and waved his hand to encompass the large open room.

“This is it,” he said. “Dillon took down most of the walls to give it an open floor plan. As you can see, the kitchen is on the back left. Feel free to grab something if you’re thirsty or hungry.”

She nodded, noting the granite-topped island that separated the kitchen from the great room. A straight staircase was in front of them, with a small dark hallway opening behind it on the main floor. The room was an eclectic mix of masculine and feminine touches, with dark chunky wood furniture softened by pastel throws and pillows, and rugs scattered across the hardwood floor.

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