“Are you going somewhere?” Jackson asked.

“Home.”

“It might be best if you stay in the hospital,” he said.

“That’s what the doctor keeps telling me, but I’m feeling well enough to leave.”

“It’s not just your physical condition I’m worried about, Morgan. The men who attacked you are still loose. Until they’re found, the hospital is the safest place.”

“They’ve got no reason to come looking for me again.”

“They didn’t get what they wanted, did they?”

“No.”

“That’s more than enough reason.”

Morgan sighed. “Look, I’m grateful for everything you did tonight, but I really am fine.”

“And I can go back to wherever I came from? Sorry, I don’t work that way,” Jackson said.

“What way do you work, then?”

“I stick with what I start. I started protecting you from two men who wanted you dead. I’m not going to walk away until I’m sure I’ve achieved that goal.”

SHIRLEE MCCOY

has always loved making up stories. As a child, she daydreamed elaborate tales in which she was the heroine—gutsy, strong and invincible. Though she soon grew out of her superhero fantasies, her love for storytelling never diminished. She knew early that she wanted to write inspirational fiction, and began writing her first novel when she was a teenager. Still, it wasn’t until her third son was born that she truly began pursuing her dream of being published. Three years later she sold her first book. Now a busy mother of five, Shirlee is a homeschool mom by day and an inspirational author by night. She and her husband and children live in Washington and share their house with a dog, two cats and a bird. You can visit her Web site at www.shirleemccoy.com, or e-mail her at shirlee@shirleemccoy.com.

Running for Cover
Shirlee McCoy

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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I led them with cords of human kindness, with ties of love; I lifted the yoke from their neck and bent down to feed them.

—Hosea 11:4

To my fifth treasure, Qian Annalise— I am not your first mother or even your second, but I will be your last. It is true that you were not born from my body, but you have always lived in my heart—first a thought, then a prayer and now a reality that fills me up to overflowing.

You are mine, my cheeky girl, and I am yours. Forever and a day, to the edges of the universe and beyond, I love you.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

ONE

Pain.

It pulled Morgan Alexandria from silky blackness, slammed her into reality. She groaned, levering away from cold tile, crimson blood dripping from her lips and staining the white kitchen floor. More blood pooled in her mouth, the metallic taste of it making her gag. She wanted to sink back down, let whatever was going to happen happen. Images flashed through her mind—blond hair, deep blue eyes, chubby cheeks; dark hair and a solemn, thin face. Morgan’s sister and brother as they’d been twenty years ago.

What were they like now?

The question drove Morgan to her knees. She blinked, trying to clear her vision and her head. Sounds were coming from the den. Soft thuds and thumps. Rumbling voices. Morgan could wait for the two armed men who’d come into her gallery an hour ago to return to the kitchen or she could run. Either way, she’d probably die.

She staggered to her feet, her jaw and head throbbing in time with her racing heart. Just a few yards and she’d be at the door of the apartment. One flight of stairs down and she’d be in the small gallery she’d opened nearly a year ago when she’d foolishly believed she could cut her ex-husband Cody out of her life forever. She should have known that the trouble and heartache he’d brought to their marriage would follow her.

A loud crash startled her into action, and she ran, broken glass from the upended coffee table crunching under her feet as she raced through the living room. Her fingers brushed the doorknob, her hand closing around cool metal.

Almost free.

Hard fingers dug into her shoulder, yanking her away from the door and escape.

“You don’t get to leave until we get the disk. Just tell us where it is, and you can walk out of here.” The voice was as hard as the grip on her shoulder, and Morgan knew it was full of lies. There’d be no leaving. Just a slow, painful death or a quick, brutal one. Terror gave her strength, and she swung around, slamming her fist into the man’s eye.

He cursed, his grip loosening, and Morgan wrenched her shoulder from his grasp, grabbing the doorknob again and yanking the door open. She took the stairs two at time. Praying. Begging. Hoping God heard.

The gallery at the bottom of the stairs was dark, the room silent. No evidence of the violence that had taken place there in the minutes before Morgan had been dragged up to her apartment.

If she died, how long would it take for anyone to notice she was gone?

Her footsteps echoed through the large room as she raced for the front door, her heart pounding harshly in her ears. Just a few more feet. Just a few more seconds.

Please, please, please. I’m not ready to die.

The prayer caught in her throat, a barely formed scream dying as she was jerked backward. Her sweater tightened around her throat and stars danced in front of her eyes, darkness beckoning again. It would be so easy to give up. To give in. But there were too many things left undone, too many words left unsaid.

Too many regrets.

She clawed at the fabric of the sweater, fighting for air.

“Cool it. You kill her and we’ll never get what we came for,” a man said.

And suddenly Morgan could breathe again.

She collapsed onto the floor, coughing and gagging as one of the men leaned down, stared into her face. “You shouldn’t have punched me. We could have made this easy on you. Now…well, maybe it won’t be so easy after all. Come on. Get up. We’re going back upstairs and you’re going to tell us what you did with the disk.”

“I already told you I don’t have it,” Morgan managed to say, the words as dry and brittle as old bones.

“That’s not what your ex-husband said.” The man grinned, the hot, ugly look in his eyes making Morgan wish she could sink back into unconsciousness.

“Whatever Cody told you—”

The chime of the doorbell interrupted her, and Morgan froze, her gaze jumping to the gallery door. The sound came again, soft but insistent.

“You expecting a visitor?” Her captor hissed the words as he pressed a gun to her temple.

Morgan nodded, lying. Praying it would save her. Praying that the person on the other side of the door was someone she knew. Someone who would see the fear in her eyes, the bruises on her face and go for help.

“Whoever it is, get rid of him. If you don’t, his blood is on your hands.” He dragged her to her feet, motioned for the other man to step into the deep shadows of the gallery and then shoved Morgan to the door.

Her hands shook as she cracked it open just enough to see a man standing on the front stoop. Tall and rangy, his face shadowed by darkness, he was a stranger.

Morgan’s heart sank. “Yes?”

“I saw a light on and thought you might be open.”

“No. I’m sorry, we’re not.” Morgan forced the response past lips that felt swollen and tight. She wanted to shove the door open and run, but knew she’d be shot before she took half a dozen steps. And she wasn’t the only one who’d die.

“Too bad. I saw the closed sign, but hoped since your lights were on you might be willing to make a sale. A friend of mine is getting married in the morning, and I just realized I left his wedding gift at home in New York.” Despite the darkness, Morgan could see his easy, charming smile. He didn’t know how close he was to death, and Morgan didn’t dare try to tell him.

“I wish I could help you, but I’ve got a wedding to attend tomorrow, too. I’ve got a lot to do before then, so if you’ll excuse me…”

“Really?” He smiled again. “Maybe it’s the same one.”

“What?”

“Wedding. Who are the bride and groom?” He shifted as he spoke, easing a little to the left, his gaze focused on a point above Morgan’s head. Could he see the man standing deep in the shadows? Or the one right beside Morgan hidden behind the door? Did he sense the danger they were both in?

The hard butt of a gun jammed into Morgan’s side, urging her to answer the question and get rid of her visitor. For a moment she couldn’t remember what the question was, couldn’t think of what the answer would be.

The man at the door took a step forward, his gaze still on the point above Morgan’s head. And everything clicked into place. The question. The answer. “Lacey Carmichael and Jude Sinclair are the bride and groom.”

“It is the same wedding. I guess we’ll see each other there.”

The gun jabbed into Morgan’s side again, a silent warning she couldn’t ignore. “I guess we will.” If she lived that long. “Now I really have to go.”

“Sure. No problem. What time to do you open in the morning?”

Open? What time did she open?

Morgan’s mind was blank, her thoughts scattered.

“Ma’am?”

“Ten. I open at ten.”

“I’ll see you then,” he said, turning to walk away.

No. You won’t. I’ll be dead, sprawled on the floor of my apartment or wrapped in a plastic bag on the side of a road or lying on the bottom of the lake, cement blocks tied to my ankles.

Morgan wanted to shout the words, wanted to beg for rescue. Instead, she closed the door, her skin crawling as she met the eyes of the man who’d been standing next to her. Mud-brown, they were empty of emotion.

“Good job. That guy has you to thank for his life,” he said, shoving his gun into a holster beneath his jacket.

“Come on. We’ve wasted enough time. Let’s finish this,” the second man said from the shadows, his voice gravelly and rough. “Let’s go back upstairs and get what we came for.”

Morgan didn’t see him move, but she heard his booted feet on the stairs. Knew he was going back to her apartment.

“Let’s go. Maybe a little more convincing will help you remember where you put the disk.” The other man grabbed her arm, forced her toward the stairs.

“I told you, the disk isn’t here,” she protested, tugging against his hold.

“Like I said, that’s not what your ex said.”

“Cody is a liar.”

“Even a liar tells the truth when he’s in enough pain.”

“Pain? He’s in jail.” Morgan twisted beneath his grip, hoping to dislodge his fingers, but they dug deep into her flesh until she was sure her bone would break. A few more feet and they’d reach the stairs.

Desperate, she grabbed a clay vase she’d fired just a few days ago, slamming it into her captor’s head. He fell back, and Morgan broke away, racing to the door and yanking it open. Cool air stung her bruised face as she closed the door and jumped off the stoop, crashing into something yielding but firm. She tried to scream, but a hand clamped over her mouth, cutting off the sound. Morgan fought, kicking and punching as an arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her tight against a hard chest.

“Calm down, lady. I don’t know what’s going on here, but I’m not in the mood for trouble, so until I figure things out, let’s both lie low.” The gruff baritone seemed familiar, but Morgan was too scared to care. She twisted and pulled against his arm as he maneuvered her into the heavy bushes that hugged the foundation of the gallery.

“Someone’s coming. You need to keep still and quiet. Understand?” the man whispered, his lips pressed close to Morgan’s ear.

She nodded, but wasn’t sure she understood anything. Not how a peaceful night at home had turned into a nightmare or how her jailed ex-husband could still be ruining her life or who the man holding her was.

“Good, because Jude won’t be happy if I’m a no-show tomorrow.” His grip eased, his hand slipping away from Morgan’s mouth, his other arm still wrapped tightly around her waist.

Footsteps sounded on pavement, the quick, hard tap of booted feet sending a shiver along Morgan’s spine and filling her with terror. Hiding wasn’t good enough. They needed to run. She shifted, but was held firmly in place as the footsteps faded. The loamy scent of earth filled her nose, mixing with something subtle and masculine. Morgan should be terrified, should be fighting to free herself and run, but her head throbbed, her ribs ached and the warmth of the man holding her, the darkness that surrounded them, offered a false sense of safety that she wanted desperately to believe in.

The man who held her leaned close to her ear again, his breath ruffling her hair as he spoke. “Who is he? Boyfriend? Husband?”

“No.”

“A stranger?”

“Yes. Two of them. They’ve got guns,” she rasped out, the words too loud and harsh.

“Stay here, I’ll—”

“No.” Morgan grabbed his arm. She didn’t know anything about him, but right now having him around was a lot better than being alone.

“We can’t sit here waiting to be found.”

“Maybe they’ll go away.”

“No, they won’t. Stay down. I’m just going to look and see what direction they’re heading.” He eased away, moving so silently Morgan heard nothing but the rapid pulse of her blood and the rasping gasp of her breath.

She waited a few seconds, her heart slamming against her ribs. At any moment one of the men who’d held her captive in her own home, who’d beaten her unconscious and left her lying bleeding on the kitchen floor, could find her and it would all be over. All the hard work she’d put into opening her gallery, Clay Treasures, all the years she’d spent dreaming of reuniting with her siblings, all the time she’d spent searching for them, would end on the pavement of a parking lot in a small town she never would have come to if not for her ex-husband. Trusting Cody, letting him into her heart had been the biggest mistake of Morgan’s life. She’d vowed after her divorce to rely only on herself, yet here she was, sitting in the darkness, waiting for someone else to save her life.

The air seemed heavy with tension, the night thick with expectancy. Morgan eased up from her hiding place, peeked over the top of the shrubs and saw nothing but darkness. Fear spurring her on, she broke free of the prickly shrubs and ran to the corner of the building. For one brief exhilarating moment, she was sure she’d succeed. That somehow she’d escape the parking lot and make it out onto the street without being seen. There were neighbors who would let her in and call the police for her. All she had to do was make it to one of their doors.

Behind her, someone shouted, the sound breaking through the silence. Morgan dodged to the right, screaming as wood siding splintered inches from her face.

“Get down!”

The words barely registered as Morgan was tackled from behind. She landed hard, the breath leaving her lungs in a quick, painful rush.

“Are you crazy, lady? I told you to stay down!” He rolled away, and Morgan stayed put, barely able to breathe, much less move. She turned her head, trying to see what was happening, and saw her would-be rescuer pull something from beneath his jacket.

A gun! He had a gun!

He aimed at something behind him, fired and grabbed Morgan’s hand, pulling her up and into a dead run before she had time to realize she was moving. Something exploded inches from her feet, bits of asphalt flying up and hitting her calf. She screamed again and again, her throat raw from it.

“Come on. Faster!” The man beside her nearly yanked her off her feet as he sprinted into the street.

Morgan’s lungs burned, her legs shaking as he pulled her up the stairs and to the front door of the nearest house. He banged on the wood, his fists pounding hard enough to shake the door.

Morgan wanted to tell him that the woman who lived inside was eighty-five, hard of hearing and unlikely to open the door even if she heard him banging, but the words wouldn’t form. Darkness edged in, blurring her vision and stealing her thoughts. She swayed, knew she was falling but couldn’t seem to right herself.

“Whoa! No passing out. I can’t hold you and fire a gun at the same time.”

The grumbled command was the last thing Morgan heard as she fell into oblivion.

TWO

Jackson Sharo pulled the unconscious woman up against his chest, shielding her from the street as best he could. Gun in hand, he shifted his stance, glancing over his shoulder, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end. He’d come to Lakeview, Virginia, for his friend’s wedding. He hadn’t come for trouble. Unfortunately, trouble had found him.

He scowled, kicking the door.

“Open up. I’ve got an injured woman out here. We need help,” he shouted, wishing he still had the right to call himself a police officer. That was a lot more likely to get a door opened than kicking it and shouting would.

A light in the house went on and a shadow passed in front of the window to the left of the door.

“I’ve called the police. They’ll be here any minute,” a shaky voice called out.

“Call an ambulance, too. And open the door. We need help,” Jackson responded, tensing as a car passed by on the street behind him. A bullet in the back wasn’t the way he planned to end the night.

The woman he was holding stirred, pushing against his chest, her soft hair brushing Jackson’s chin as she raised her head and mumbled something he couldn’t hear.

“What?” he asked, looking down into her face. A dark bruise covered her left jaw. Another marred her cheek. Blood seeped from her forehead and shadowy marks on her neck hinted at other injuries. If he hadn’t shown up, she’d be dead by now. The thought made him cold with rage. He’d seen injuries like hers one too many times during his years as a New York City homicide detective, had experienced firsthand the devastation of losing a loved one to violence. No way would he let it happen to someone else.

“I said that her name is Mrs. Richardson. Tell her Morgan needs her help. She’ll open the door,” she repeated as she tried again to lever away from Jackson’s chest.

“Mrs. Richardson? I’ve got Morgan out here with me. She’s hurt.”

A face pressed against the window, and Morgan twisted in Jackson’s grip, offering a quick wave that seemed to reassure the elderly woman.

The door opened, and she hovered in the threshold, white hair puffed around a powder-pink face that nearly matched the color of her flowered bathrobe. “Morgan?”

“I’m afraid so,” Morgan said, her voice shaky.

“Come on. Inside.” Jackson kept his hold on her waist and urged her into the house, not waiting for further introductions or an invitation.

“What in the world happened to you?” Mrs. Richardson put a hand on Morgan’s arm, her gaze darting to Jackson and to the gun he held, her eyes widening with fear.

“Some men came into the gallery right before I closed. They—”

“I’m going to look for them,” Jackson cut in. “Close and lock the door when I leave. Don’t let anyone but the police inside.” There were two armed men on the loose and no time for chitchat.

“You can’t. They could kill you.” Morgan grabbed his arm, her grip surprisingly strong. Her bruises looked darker in the stark fluorescent light, her eyes pale silvery-blue, the pupils dilated. Trembling with fear or with shock, she didn’t look capable of staying on her feet, let alone arguing with Jackson. Somehow, though, she was managing it.

“The police should be here soon.” Jackson pulled off his jacket, draping it around her shoulders, hoping to warm her.

“But—”

He didn’t let her finish, just walked outside, pulling the door closed, his gun still firmly in hand. The sense of danger and urgency he’d felt while waiting for Mrs. Richardson to open her door had dissipated, and Jackson jogged back to the gallery, knowing the men were already gone, the opportunity to bring them into custody gone with them.

Except for his car, the parking lot was empty, light from the upstairs windows spilling onto the pavement. The gallery’s double doors yawned open, inviting Jackson to explore the darkened area beyond. If he hadn’t spent nine years as a police officer, he might have, but he knew that contaminating the evidence would make prosecuting a lot more difficult.

He turned away from the building, searching the area for any signs of the men who’d been there. There was nothing. No bullets. No casings. No tread marks, cigarette butts or trash. Everything clean and tidy and free of clues.

Jackson had just completed a circuit of the area when a squad car raced into the parking lot, lights and sirens off. An officer jumped out, her frantic energy freezing Jackson in place. No way did he want to get shot by a police officer, and the way the cop pulled her gun and pointed it in his direction, getting shot looked like a distinct possibility.

“Drop the weapon, sir, and step away from it,” she ordered.

Now wasn’t the time to explain things, so Jackson did as she asked.

She eased forward, lifting the gun, her gaze never wavering. “Facedown on the ground, sir. Hands where I can see them.”

Jackson knew the drill. He’d issued the same command enough times in his years on the New York City police force. He dropped to the ground, waiting impatiently as the officer checked the safety on his gun, frisked him for weapons and pulled the wallet from his pocket.

“I guess you have a permit for your gun?” Judging from the way she asked the question, Jackson figured she didn’t guess any such thing.

“I do. I’m a private investigator. My ID and permit are in my wallet.”

The deputy opened the wallet and took her time looking through it. Finally, she seemed satisfied with what she’d found. “You can get up, Mr. Sharo. Did you fire your weapon tonight?”

“One shot.”

“Did you hit your target?”

“Unfortunately, no,” he said as he accepted the wallet she held out to him.

“I’m not sure the law would agree with that.”

“I was firing in self-defense, Officer…?”

“Deputy Lowry. Want to tell me what happened here?”

“I saw a light on in the gallery and thought it might be open for business. When I rang the doorbell a woman answered. She looked beat-up and scared, so I searched the perimeter of the building to try to get a feel for what was going on.”

“You didn’t think to call the police?”

“For all I knew, she’d been in an accident of some sort and didn’t need help.”

“So, you walked around the house and…?”

“I didn’t see any reason to be concerned.” But he hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that something was wrong or to forget the look of stark terror in Morgan’s eyes. “I was going to leave, but decided to check on the owner one more time. Before I got to the door, she ran out. Next thing I knew, two men were shooting at us.”

“And you fired back.”

“One shot.” He repeated the answer he’d given before, knowing he’d probably be asked the same thing a hundred times before the night was over.

“Have you been back in the gallery since you fired the shot?”

“I was never in the gallery.”

“I see.”

Before she could explain what she thought she saw, another squad car pulled into the parking lot. The door opened and a tall, dark-haired man got out. He wasn’t alone. Morgan sat in the passenger seat, huddled beneath a blanket, a coffee mug cupped in her hands. She met Jackson’s gaze, offering a smile that turned into a grimace of pain.

“You should be on your way to the hospital,” he said as he walked to the vehicle, ignoring the deputy’s sputtered protest.

“She will be,” the man offered before Morgan could reply. “I’ve already called an ambulance, but Morgan wanted to make sure you were all right while we waited for it. I’m Sheriff Jake Reed.”

“Jackson Sharo.”

“From New York?” The sheriff’s brow furrowed and he cocked his head to the side, studying Jackson.

“That’s right.”

“You’re here for the Sinclair wedding?”

“Right again.”

“Jude told me you were coming. Said you were partners when you worked homicide in New York. I’m surprised you’re not hanging out with him. This being his last night as a bachelor and all.”

“That’s exactly what I’d be doing if I hadn’t run into trouble.”

“I guess what I’m asking is how you ended up at Morgan’s gallery tonight.”

“I’m happy to tell you, but you might want to get some men out looking for the perps before you waste time listening to my story.”

“I’ve already taken Morgan’s statement and issued an APB based on her description of the suspects. Doesn’t mean I don’t want to hear your story.” If the sheriff was annoyed by Jackson’s comment, his tone and expression didn’t show it.

“You want the long or short version?”

“Either will work.”

“I was working on a case and missed my flight out of New York last night. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to get another flight, so I drove down here. I got into town a few hours ago and realized I’d left Jude and Lacey’s gift in New York. After Jude’s rehearsal dinner, I decided to drive around town to see if I could find a place to buy one.”

“So that’s the short version?”

“Yeah.” The long version was something Jackson didn’t plan to share. He had wanted to find a gift for his friend, but he’d also needed space. Seeing Jude’s family together had reminded Jackson of his own family and the loss that had torn them apart. It was that more than anything that had driven him to his solitary search for a gift. If he’d been the kind to believe that God intervened in the business of men, Jackson would be tempted to think that He’d put him in just the right place at just the right time to save Morgan’s life.

“Tell me what happened when you got here,” the sheriff said, interrupting Jackson’s thoughts.

Jackson gave him as many details as he could, his gaze drawn to the squad car and the woman inside it. She looked vulnerable, her eyes hollow and empty. Jackson had gone into police work to help people like her. He’d left it because he’d failed when it counted most. The truth was a hard knot in his chest. He cleared his throat, wishing he could clear his mind of the past as easily. “That’s as much as I know. I think the rest of your answers will have to come from Morgan.”

“All right. Thanks. Are you staying with Jude?”

“Yes.”

“Leaving after the wedding tomorrow?”

“I’d planned to do some fishing and head back to New York Sunday morning.”

“Then I’ll let you get back to what you were doing, but I’ll want to ask a few more questions before you leave town. How about we meet after the wedding reception?”

“Sure.” Not that he had a choice in the matter.

“You have a business card?”

“In my wallet. Your deputy still has it.”

“Here you go, Mr. Sharo.” She dropped it into Jackson’s outstretched palm.

“And my gun?”

The sheriff nodded, and the deputy returned that to Jackson, as well. That meant he could do exactly what the sheriff had suggested and get back to the wedding gift hunt.

It was probably what he should do. It was even what he wanted to do, but Jackson knew he couldn’t. Quitting the police force hadn’t changed his desire to serve and protect. As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t leave until he was sure Morgan would be all right. “You said you called an ambulance?”

“Should be here in a few minutes.”

“A few minutes or an hour, it doesn’t matter, because I’m not going to the hospital,” Morgan said as she eased out of the squad car, leaving the blanket and coffee cup behind.

“I think we discussed this already,” the sheriff said. “You need to be checked out at the hospital. We’ve got a victim’s advocate there who will talk to you and help you through the process.” His tone was implacable, but Morgan didn’t seem to notice.

“I’m not a victim.” Despite the argumentative tone, her voice trembled, and Jackson wondered how long it would be before her tough facade crumbled and she crumbled with it.

“Sheriff Reed is right. You need to let the doctors take a look at your injuries.” He put a hand on her shoulder, letting it fall away when she flinched.

“I don’t need a doctor to tell me I’ve been beaten. And I don’t need a victim’s advocate to tell me it wasn’t my fault.”

“Then what do you need?”

Jackson’s question must have surprised her. She met his gaze, her almond-shaped eyes surrounded by thick black lashes that contrasted sharply with light-colored irises. “To go back a decade and say no when my ex-husband asked me to marry him.”

“You think your ex-husband had something to do with what happened tonight?”

“Something to do with it? He had everything to do with it. The men who were here were searching for something of Cody’s. A disk. They said Cody told them that I had it. That he’d given it to me before he went to prison.”

Her ex-husband was in prison?

And she owned an art gallery in Lakeview, Virginia.

And her first name was Morgan.

Surprised, Jackson studied her face. Bruised and swollen, it barely resembled the photo of Morgan Alexandria that he’d seen months ago when Jude Sinclair had asked him to investigate the ex-wife of a man he’d put into prison. Barely resembled but did. Dark black hair. Vivid, silvery-blue eyes. Exotic beauty that had stuck in his mind long after he’d seen the photo. Maybe if he hadn’t been so caught up in escaping his thoughts and his guilt, Jackson would have put two and two together when he’d first arrived at the gallery.

And maybe he wouldn’t have rung the doorbell.

Seen Morgan’s battered face.

A God thing?

His sister would have said so.

Maybe, just maybe, Jackson believed it.

An ambulance pulled into the parking lot, cutting off further conversation.

“Looks like your ride is here, Morgan,” the sheriff said quietly. “I’m going to check things out around here. Then I’ll come by to see how you’re doing.”

“Really, Sheriff Reed, I don’t need to go to the hospital. All I need are a few aspirins and an ice pack.”

Of course, she did need to go. There’d be a team waiting to collect forensic evidence from her clothes, hair and skin. Photographs would be taken. Doctor’s reports written. Everything done to ensure that anything collected would be admissible in court.

Sheriff Reed didn’t mention any of those things as two EMTs approached. Jackson didn’t either, but the thought of Morgan facing doctors, police and victim’s advocate alone didn’t sit well with him.

“Is there anyone you want me to call for you, Morgan? Family? Friends? Someone who can meet you at the hospital?”

“No. Thanks.”

An EMT dropped a blanket over her shoulders and urged her toward the ambulance. She took a few steps and stopped, turning to face Jackson. “In case I don’t see you again, thanks. For everything. If you hadn’t shown up—” she paused, shaking her head. “Thanks.”

In case I don’t see you again.

The words were eerily similar to the ones Jackson’s sister had spoken two and a half years ago. They’d been at their parents’ house, celebrating their youngest sister’s engagement. At the end of the evening, Lindsey had hugged Jackson tight, kissed his cheek and told him she loved him. Surprised, he’d laughed and asked what all the mushy stuff was about. Her words had haunted him ever since, echoing in his mind and drifting into his dreams. I just want you to know how I feel. In case something happens and we never see each other again.

She’d followed the remark with a quick comment about Jackson’s dangerous line of work, and they’d parted ways. A month later, Lindsey was dead, murdered by her estranged husband. Too late, Jackson heard her words for what they were—a cry for help. He couldn’t go back and change the past, couldn’t redo that moment, ask the questions that should have been asked. What he could do was make sure that Morgan really was okay.

An hour at the hospital, and Jackson would get back to what he’d come to Lakeview for. Tomorrow, he’d watch as Jude and Lacey vowed to love each other forever, he’d pray that their forever was much longer than his sister’s had been, and then he’d row out onto Smith Mountain Lake, inhale the cool autumn air and hope that somehow he’d find the peace he’d been searching for since Lindsey’s death.

THREE

Morgan pulled on a borrowed sweatshirt, wincing as the fabric brushed against her bandaged forehead. She’d told Sheriff Reed that all she needed were a few aspirins and an ice pack and she’d be fine. That was before the pain hit. Now she thought she might need a couple days in bed and some heavy-duty painkillers before she felt better. Her head throbbed, her jaw ached and her ribs hurt with every breath. Though the doctor assured her nothing was broken, moving was painful, and Morgan grimaced as she shoved her feet into sneakers that were a size too big and leaned down to tie the laces. At least she had shoes. The clothes she’d been wearing during the attack had been taken as evidence. If not for the kindness of several nurses, Morgan would be stuck wearing a hospital gown home.

And she was going home.

Despite the doctor’s recommendation that she stay for twenty-four-hour observation, Morgan was determined to return to the gallery as soon as Sheriff Reed gave her the okay. She had calls to make and packing to do. It had been two years since she’d last visited her family in Spokane, Washington. She’d thought there would be plenty of time for trips west after she established her gallery, but no one was guaranteed a tomorrow. Thanks to Cody and his thug friends, Morgan realized that now more than ever.

“Ms. Alexandria?” A young nurse poked her head into the room, her wide-eyed gaze making Morgan feel like a bug under a microscope. Worse, it made her feel like a victim, and that was something she’d promised herself she’d never be again.

“Yes?”

“There’s someone here to see you.”

“I’d rather not—”

Before she could get the words out, a man nudged past the nurse and stepped into the room. Morgan recognized him immediately. Rangy and tall with auburn hair and midnight-blue eyes, he looked exactly like a hero should—tough, trustworthy and strong.

Or maybe the fact that he’d saved Morgan’s life was skewing her perspective. “Jackson? What are you doing here?”

“Making sure you’re all right.” He said it as if coming to the hospital to visit a stranger was the most natural thing in the world. And they were strangers despite the way Morgan’s heart leaped in recognition as she looking into his eyes.

“Shouldn’t you be out searching for a wedding present for Jude and Lacey instead?”

“That can wait,” he said, his gaze dropping to the too-large shoes she wore. “Are you going somewhere?”

“Home.”

“It might be best if you stay here for the night.”

“That’s what the doctor keeps telling me, but I’m feeling well enough to leave.”

“It’s not just your physical condition I’m worried about, Morgan. The two men who attacked you are still on the loose. Until they’re found, the hospital is the safest place for you.”

“If they want to find me, the hospital is going to be no safer than anyplace else.”

“If?” he asked, raising an eyebrow, the gesture as practiced as the charming smile he’d flashed when she’d opened the gallery door. He reminded her of Cody. The same easy charm and playboy exterior that hid more than it showed. She glanced away, uncomfortable with the comparison and with her own need to make it.

“They’ve got no reason to come looking for me again.”

“They didn’t get what they wanted, did they?”

“No.”

“That’s more than enough reason. They risked a lot tonight. I doubt they’ll back down now. You said they wanted a disk that your husband gave you, right?”

“My ex-husband. And he didn’t give me anything.” The last gift he’d given her had been the diamond-and-ruby heart pendant he’d presented to Morgan on their sixth anniversary. It had been too expensive and ostentatious to wear, and after the divorce Morgan hadn’t felt at all bad about selling it and all the other jewelry he’d given her to help finance her gallery.

“Maybe it’s packed away in a box somewhere. Is it possible he slipped it into your belongings without you knowing it?”

“No offense, Jackson, but I’ve been asked these questions at least a dozen times by three different deputies. I’d rather not answer them again until Sheriff Reed gets here.”

Morgan eased down into a chair by the window. She wanted out of the hospital and out of the mess she’d suddenly found herself in. A mess of Cody’s making.

Of course.

That seemed to have been the pattern of their lives while they were married. Cody messing up. Morgan cleaning up.

“You okay?” Jackson asked, crossing the room and crouching down in front of Morgan, his hand touching hers for just a moment, the warmth of it remaining after he let it fall away.

“Fine. I’m just ready to get out of here. I’ve got things to do before tomorrow.”

“You look pale. How about I call the nurse?” He leaned closer, his eyes deep blue and flecked with gold and deep brown. An interesting color. The kind a woman could get lost in if she let herself.

Morgan wouldn’t let herself. She’d been down that path before, been interested, attracted and then in love. All she’d gotten from that was trouble. “Look, I appreciate your concern, and I’m grateful for everything you did tonight, but I really am fine.”

“And I can go back to wherever I came from?”

“Something like that.”

“Sorry, I don’t work that way,” he said, straightening, stretching. He was tall with a lean, hard build. More runner than bodybuilder, but he had a presence that made him seem larger than life.

“What way do you work, then?”

“I stick with what I start. I started protecting you from two men who wanted you dead. I’m not going to walk away until I’m sure I’ve achieved that goal.”

“You can’t be serious.” Appalled, Morgan stood, trying not to wince as the throbbing in her head and jaw increased. The last thing she needed was a man like Jackson hanging around trying to play hero. She’d worked too hard to become independent, she’d struggled too long to convince herself that going it alone was better than working as a team. There was no way she was going to allow herself to depend on someone, to believe in someone again.

“Sure I can,” he said, dropping a hand onto her shoulder, offering her support she didn’t want to need. “Why don’t you sit down before you fall down?”

“Why don’t you—”

A soft knock sounded on the door, and a pretty blonde stepped into the room, cutting off Morgan’s words. “Morgan! Thank goodness, you’re all right.”

“Lacey, what are you doing here?” Surprised, Morgan allowed herself to be pulled into a quick hug. Slender and lovely, Lacey Carmichael had proven to be a good friend during the months since they’d met. Morgan was cautiously excited about her friend’s engagement to Jude Sinclair and hopeful that Lacey would have a lot more happiness in her marriage than she’d had with Cody.

“Jude called to let me know you were in the hospital. I insisted he pick me up before he came here. He’s parking the car, but he’ll be here in a minute.”

“Are you both nuts? You’re getting married in a few hours. You should be home sleeping, dreaming of that happily-ever-after you’ve always wanted.”

“While you were here alone? Neither of us could do that.”

“I’m not alone,” Morgan said, shooting a glance in Jackson’s direction. He smiled, obviously amused by her attempt to use him despite her insistence that he leave.

“And you won’t be. Are you okay? Have they found the men who did this to you?”

“No, but it’s over, and I’m all right. That’s what matters.”

“And we’re going to make sure you stay that way. Jude and I discussed it on the way here. We’re going to postpone our honeymoon until the men who attacked you are caught.”

“There is no way I’m going to let you stay here babysitting me.”

“Your well-being is more important than a trip to Paris,” Jude Sinclair said as he walked into the room. Tall and lean, he’d come to Virginia to recover from a nearly fatal attack. When he’d showed up at Morgan’s gallery asking questions about her ex-husband, she’d recognized him immediately as the homicide detective who’d put Cody in jail.

To say it had taken a while for them to become friends was putting it mildly. Morgan was thrilled that Lacey had found someone to love, but being around Jude still put her on the defensive.

She forced herself to relax and to meet his probing gaze. “I appreciate the concern, Jude, but I’m old enough to take care of myself.”

“That’s not the point, Morgan, and you know it,” Lacey cut in. “This is about friendship. I can’t go to Paris and enjoy myself knowing that someone I care about is in danger.”

“Who said I was in danger? For all we know, tonight was a one-time thing.” Morgan lied deftly, not liking the taste of it on her tongue, but unwilling to let Lacey give up a honeymoon trip to Paris to keep her safe.

Nothing could keep her safe.

Nothing but running, and that was one thing Morgan excelled at. She’d been running for more years than she cared to admit. No sense in giving that up now.

“The fact is, I’m not sticking around. After your wedding tomorrow, I’m taking off.”

“To where?”

“Does Jake know this?”

Lacey and Jude spoke in unison, and Morgan decided to answer the first question and ignore the second. “Washington.”

“D.C.?”

“State. It’s where I grew up.”

“I thought you were from New York,” Jude said, eyeing Morgan with suspicion.

“I moved there after I married Cody.” She didn’t offer more of an explanation.

“We were housemates for months and you never mentioned Washington.” Lacey sounded more hurt than suspicious and the throbbing in Morgan’s head increased. Guilt was something she didn’t need any more of, but somehow she always managed to find it.

“I haven’t been back there in years. Now seems like a good time to visit.”

“Do you really think you can outrun the guys who came after you tonight?” Jackson asked. He’d moved a few feet away, but still seemed to take up more than his fair share of space.

“That’s not why I’m leaving. I have some…loose ends to tie up in Washington. Some family I need to reconnect with.”

“I’ll go with you,” Lacey said, her green eyes filled with worry and anxiety. She should be happy and excited about her wedding the following day. Not worrying about Morgan.

And guilt clawed another path up Morgan’s throat. She felt sick with it. Or maybe she was sick from the pain in her head and in her jaw. “I’m ruining what should be the most fantastic time in your life. I’m sorry.”

“I’m marrying the man of my dreams. There’s nothing that can ruin that.”

“There’s no need for anything to be ruined,” Jackson cut in. “I’m here. I’ll make sure that Morgan stays safe until the police figure out what’s going on or until you two get back from Paris. Whichever comes first.”

“You can get the time off?” Jude asked, frowning slightly.

“I’ll work it out.”

“You don’t need to work anything out,” Morgan responded, trying to regain control of the situation, but neither man seemed to hear.

“You’re sure?”

“Absolutely.” Jackson smiled, his gaze on Morgan. She was sure he was trying to convey something with his unwavering stare, but for the life of her, Morgan couldn’t figure out what it was.

“You two can discuss this all you want, but I don’t need or want Jackson sticking around,” she said, and Jackson responded with a brief shake of his head.

Obviously, he was trying to tell her something.

“You don’t, but if it’ll ease our friends’ minds to know that I’m here looking out for you, what’ll it hurt for me to stick around?”

And she finally got it.

He had no intention of playing bodyguard. He simply wanted to reassure Jude and Lacey so they could enjoy their wedding and honeymoon. That she could do. That she could deal with. “All right. If it’ll help everyone feel more comfortable, I’ll agree to it.”

“You will?” Lacey sounded so shocked, Morgan would have smiled if she hadn’t been in so much pain.

“Every once in a while, I see the sense in someone else’s plan. Jackson has a good one. You and Jude will have a wonderful day tomorrow and a wonderful week away, and I’ll be perfectly fine while you’re gone.” Fine without Jackson, but Morgan didn’t say that.

“Oh, Morgan, thank you!” Lacey pulled Morgan into a gentle hug.

“Don’t thank me. Thank Jackson. It was his plan.” His lie. But Morgan didn’t say that, either. She had too many of her own issues. Too much of her own sin to deal with. No way did she plan to point fingers at someone else until she could look in the mirror and stop seeing all the mistakes she’d made.

“Thank you, too, Jackson,” Lacey said “You don’t know how much this means to me.”

“Sure I do.” Jackson smiled and accepted Lacey’s hug, his gaze meeting Morgan’s again.

“I hate to interrupt the love fest, but I just finished at the crime scene, and I need to get some information from Morgan,” Jake Reed said as he strode into the room, a small notebook in his hand. He looked grim and unhappy, his jaw set and his lips drawn into a thin, hard line. Bad news had a look to it. A hardness and ugliness that no amount of trying could hide. Jake had that look, and Morgan braced herself to hear whatever he had to say.

“What is it? Did you find something?”

“Nothing significant. We’ve got a couple of smudged prints, the tread of a shoe in the blood on your kitchen floor. We’ll see if it matches to your shoe.”

“What else?”

“Nothing. The guys who attacked you were thorough. Professional. They didn’t leave hair or clothes fibers. We’re checking on some blood in the gallery. It may belong to one of our perps.”

“Okay.” Morgan took a deep breath. Waiting. Waiting. There was more. She was sure of it.

“While the forensic evidence team worked, I made some phone calls. Thought it wouldn’t be a bad idea to check up on your ex.”

“And?”

“I’ve got some news that you may not want to hear, but it’s got to be said.”

“So just say it.”

“Cody Bradshaw is dead. He was killed by an inmate three days ago.”

“He’s dead?” Morgan couldn’t wrap her mind around the thought. Vibrant, larger than life Cody. Dead.

The words didn’t seem to go together.

“I’m afraid so.”

“Why wasn’t I told?”

“His parents were listed as next of kin. Since you and Bradshaw are divorced, you weren’t contacted. I guess your in-laws didn’t bother to let you know?”

“No.” They wouldn’t have. They still blamed her for their son’s incarceration. According to the Bradshaws, Morgan had led their son down a path to destruction. They’d cut ties with her before the divorce was final.

She’d been happy to let them.

It was the way she’d wanted it. No contact with Cody. No contact with his parents. No contact with the past.

Too bad the past refused to let her go.

“Are you okay?” Jackson’s hand rested on her shoulder, his fingers warm through her borrowed T-shirt. Morgan wanted to tell him that she was fine. That hearing of Cody’s death wasn’t nearly as hard as hearing that he’d murdered his business partner had been. But the words stuck in her throat, and all she could do was nod.

“I’ve got a call into the warden. Hopefully by tomorrow we’ll have more information about what happened. Until then, I want to offer my sincere condolences,” Jake said, his grim expression never easing.

“Thank you.”

“Morgan, I’m so sorry.” Lacey’s eyes were filled with tears, and Morgan wanted to tell her to save them for something more tear-worthy, but she knew how harsh that would sound. How wrong.

The fact was, she’d loved Cody once. Might have continued to love him if he hadn’t betrayed her one too many times. In the nearly two years since he’d been in prison, Morgan hadn’t wasted time missing him and had rarely spent time thinking about him. But that didn’t mean she wanted him dead.

“It’s okay. I’m okay,” she offered, fighting tears she wouldn’t shed. There’d be a time to mourn the loss of life, but it wasn’t now. It wasn’t here. Later, when she was walking through the vivid green pasture behind her parents’ house, when she was staring up at the deep blue foothills of the Rocky Mountains, when she was all alone except for the grass and the sky and God, then she would cry. For Cody. For herself. For what they could have had, but had never managed to create.

“Can you think of anyone who would want your husband dead, Morgan?” Sheriff Reed asked.

“Ex-husband,” she said by rote. As if it mattered any longer.

“Sorry. Your ex. Is there anyone you can think of who had a grudge against him?”

“Not offhand. Cody could be charming when he wanted to be.”

“Did he always want to be?”

“If you’re asking if he had enemies, then you’ll have to ask someone else. Cody kept his business life separate from our life together.” He’d kept other things separate, too, but Morgan decided not to say as much. Not now with a roomful of people listening.

“If you think of anything…”

“I’ll let you know. Is there anything else you needed to ask? Because I’m exhausted, and I’d really like to go home.”

“Nothing that can’t wait for another time. I’ve got a cleaning crew getting your apartment and gallery in order. You may want to stay here for the night.”

“I’d rather not.”

“You can stay with me,” Lacey offered, but Morgan shook her head.

“I need to pack.”

“Pack?” Jake speared her with a hard gaze.

“I need to put some distance between myself and what happened tonight. I thought I’d go stay with my parents for a while.”

“And they’re where?”

“Washington.”

“That’s a long way from here.”

“I know.”

“Tell you what, write down what town you’re going to be in. Give me your parents’ address. I’ll call the local police and make sure they’re aware of what’s going on. They can keep an eye out on things on their end while I investigate here.”

“I appreciate it, Sheriff Reed.”

He eyed her for a moment and then nodded, handing her his notebook and a pen. “Write the information down for me. Then you can be on your way.”

She did as he asked, her hand shaking as she scribbled her parents’ address, her mind racing with memories. The day she’d met Cody. The day she’d brought him home to meet her parents. The soft, sweet scent of summer rain as they’d fished in the pond behind her parents’ house. The quiet joy of finally feeling accepted and loved.

The disappointment of knowing it was all a lie. The sweet words and tender touches. The whispered promises and deep, meaningful gazes. The vow to love forever.

Lies.

And now Cody was dead and it was too late to do it over. To try it again. To hope for something better.

A tear dropped onto the pad of paper, and Morgan brushed it away angrily.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay with me, Morgan?” Lacey asked, and Morgan glanced up, saw that four pairs of eyes were watching her intently.

“I’m sure,” she said, forcing a smile as she handed the pad back to the sheriff. “But I wouldn’t mind a ride home if someone can give me one.”

“I’ll drop you off,” Sheriff Reed offered. “That way I can make sure you’re locked in tight before I leave you alone.”

“You don’t have to worry about that. I’m going to lock and bolt every door.”

“I’ll call you when I get home, okay?” Lacey said, her green eyes shadowed with worry as she and Jude walked to the door.

“We’ll talk tomorrow. At your reception. Or have you forgotten that you’re getting married in ten hours?”

“Twelve, but who’s counting?” Lacey smiled, some of the worry easing from her face.

“You. Now go home and get some sleep or everyone in Lakeview will blame me for the dark circles under your eyes tomorrow.”

“Be careful, okay?”

“I will.” Morgan offered a quick wave as Lacey stepped out of the room.

“You’re sure you want to go home?” Jake shoved the small notebook into his back pocket, and Morgan nodded.

“Yes.”

“All right. Let’s get out of here, then. You coming, Sharo?”

“I’m heading back to Jude’s place,” Jackson replied, following as Sheriff Reed led Morgan from the room.

Morgan could feel the heavy weight of his gaze as they made their way down the hall to the nurse’s station and then outside into the crisp fall night. Jackson was an attractive man. A very attractive one. He was also a liar. Morgan had watched him in action, heard the sincerity in his words as he’d offered to keep her safe.

A handsome, charming liar.

Just like Cody.

So why was she almost sorry to see him go when he climbed into his sporty black car and drove away?

“Because you’re an idiot. That’s why,” she muttered as she slid into Jake’s police cruiser.

“You say something?” he asked.

“Nothing important.”

He nodded and closed the door, leaving Morgan in silence as he rounded the car and got in. She wanted to break the quietness as they drove toward her house, but could think of nothing to say. There were too many thoughts and too many memories, none worth the effort it would take to put them into words.

She’d fallen in love with Cody. She’d married him. He’d broken her heart. Now he was dead.

What could she add to that?

“You sure you’re okay?” Jake asked as he pulled into Clay Treasures’ parking lot.

“I will be.”

“I’m not so sure you should be heading off to Washington, but I’m not going to tell you not to go. What I am going to tell you is to be careful. Your ex-husband is dead. I’d hate for you to be next.”

“I’ll be careful.”

“Seems your ex might have been more than just a murderer.”

“What do you mean?”

“Two men came here tonight looking for something Cody said he gave you. Cody was killed three days ago. It could be someone has decided to go to a lot of trouble to make sure Cody never reveals what was on that disk.”

“You think he was murdered to keep him quiet?”

“I don’t know, but I plan to find out.” Jake got out of the car and opened the door for Morgan, waiting as she climbed out. “The apartment should be clean. I told the crew to take care of that first. It may be a while longer before they finish in the gallery.”

“That’s fine.”

“You go on up to your apartment. I’ll wait here until the cleaning crew is done, and then lock up. There’ll be a marked patrol car parked outside tonight, so don’t worry that you won’t be safe.”

“Thank you, Sheriff Reed. I really appreciate it.”

“No need to thank me. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He held the gallery door open, and Morgan walked in, frowning as she saw the carnage. Clay vases and pots had been smashed. A slick, wet spot stained the tile floor. All Morgan’s hard work, all the time she’d spent creating a gallery that matched her dreams, and this is what it had come to.

“You’ll get it back the way it was,” the sheriff said quietly, and Morgan nodded.

Maybe she would. Or maybe she’d take the destruction of her gallery as a sign that it was time to move on.

A sign?

She didn’t believe in signs. She believed in well thought out plans and carefully considered options. At least, that was what she used to believe in.

She sighed, waving to two women who were sweeping up shards of pottery, and hurried up the stairs to the apartment. The door was cracked open, and she gave it a gentle push, bracing herself for whatever she might see on the other side.

The coffee table had been righted. Someone had thrown pillows over ragged tears in the sofa, and Morgan could barely see the slashed fabric. The kitchen had been scrubbed clean, all the evidence of the brutal attack swept away. The ugliness of it still seemed to hang in the air, the choking fear and vicious pain of the time she’d spent trapped in her apartment seeping into Morgan’s pores as she checked the den and the bedroom.

Maybe she should have stayed at Lacey’s place for the night.

Morgan made another circuit of the house, checking the locks on the window and pulling the bolt on the door. Since she’d come to Lakeview, she’d been lax about keeping the apartment door locked. Mostly because she always locked the gallery below.

No more. If she returned to Clay Treasures after her trip to Washington, she’d never again sleep with the apartment door unlocked.

If?

When.

She would return to Lakeview and her pottery gallery. Cody had caused her enough pain and heartache. No way would she allow him to take away the dream she’d worked so hard to achieve. She frowned and walked into her bedroom. A large window looked out over the parking lot, and she hurried to close the curtains, blocking out the darkness beyond.

She should grab her laptop and boot it up, buy a plane ticket and pack her bags. She should do a lot of things, but all she wanted to do was lie in bed, close her eyes and forget that she’d almost been killed, forget that it had taken a stranger to save her life.

Forget that Cody was dead.

She blinked back hot tears and closed her eyes, wishing she could forget. As much as Cody had hurt and betrayed her, as much as she’d resented him, there’d been a time when she’d truly believed she would love him forever.

She sighed.

Cody was dead, but she was alive. There had to be a reason for that, and she wouldn’t waste the second chance she’d been given.

She glanced at the alarm clock on the bedside table. It was midnight in Lakeview, but only nine in Spokane, Washington. Morgan took a deep breath, lifted the phone and dialed her parents’ number.

FOUR

Jackson loosened his tie as he stepped out of the sanctuary and joined the crowd lining up to offer Jude and Lacey congratulations. The wedding seemed to have gone off without a hitch, but it wasn’t the beautiful bride or peacock-proud groom that Jackson was anxious to speak with. Morgan was several guests ahead of him in line, her bruised jaw and swollen lip only partially camouflaged by makeup. Despite the obvious injuries, she walked with her head up and her shoulders back, her quick stride seeming to dare people to take a second look.

For his part, Jackson didn’t need a dare to want to look again. Glossy black hair, pale blue eyes, slender figure encased in a curve-hugging dress. Even without the bruises, she was an attention grabber. What man wouldn’t take a second look?

As he watched, Morgan offered Lacey a hug, said something to Jude and then hurried toward the exit. Jackson stepped out of line and followed. He and Jude had spoken at length before the wedding, and Jackson knew what his friend expected. Twenty-four-hour guard until the men who’d attacked Morgan were caught. Jackson didn’t have a problem with that, but he was pretty sure Morgan would.

The day had the crisp, cold feel of late fall, the clear blue sky and bright sunlight belying any danger that might lurk nearby. Jackson followed Morgan across the parking lot, wondering if she realized how vulnerable she was. Despite the nearly overflowing parking lot and the buzzing crowd of people exiting the church, Morgan made an easy target. Buildings, trees and even cars were perfect hiding places for a sniper, and she was doing nothing to escape notice, nothing to keep her out of the line of fire.

He picked up his pace, reaching Morgan’s side as she opened the door of a beat-up Chevy.

“Heading over to the reception?”

She jumped, whirling to face him. “Jackson, what are you doing here?”

“Same thing you are. Attending a friend’s wedding.”

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

“If you’re asking why I’m standing here talking to you, I’d think the answer was obvious. I’m following through on a promise to a friend.”

“You weren’t serious about that.”

“About making sure you stay safe until Jude and Lacey get back from France? Sure I am.”

For a moment she said nothing, then she shook her head, her eyes flashing with amusement. “I’ve got to admit, I’m surprised. I thought it was all just an elaborate scheme to put Lacey at ease.”

“I don’t lie and I rarely scheme. Especially not when it comes to people who trust me. Lacey and Jude are both concerned about you. If it helps them feel more at ease, helps them enjoy their wedding and honeymoon, I’ve got every intention of following through on my promise to keep you safe.”

“That’s going to be difficult to do, considering that I’m going to be in Washington.”

“Not so difficult if I’m in Washington with you.”

“But you won’t be. My plane leaves in an hour and a half, and I’ve got to get going or I’ll miss it,” she said, shifting in her seat and closing the door.

Jackson didn’t bother trying to stop her. No way did he think she’d change her mind and invite him along on the trip. Then again, there was no way he was going to break his word to Jude. He’d told his friend that he’d keep Morgan safe. That’s exactly what he planned to do. Whether she liked it or not.

He crossed the parking lot and hopped into his Mustang, reaching for his cell phone as he pulled onto the road behind Morgan’s car. He’d planned on returning to New York on Sunday, but his plans had changed and his boss was going to have to be informed. He dialed quickly, waiting impatiently for Kane Dougherty to pick up. Owner of Information Unlimited, Kane had founded the business two years ago and pulled Jackson on board shortly after.

“Dougherty here.”

“It’s Jackson.”

“I thought you were at a friend’s wedding.”

“It’s over.”

“And you felt compelled to check in with me?”

“I ran into some trouble.”

“If you’re going to ask me to bail you out, forget it. I’ve got plans.”

“No need to post bail, but I’m not going to be back Monday like I’d planned. I’ve got some personal business to take care of.”

“When will you be back?” Kane asked, not demanding further detail. That was no surprise. Kane was a tenacious investigator but never stuck his nose into his employees’ business.

“A week or two.”

“You going to be able to work the cases you’ve been assigned, or should I call someone in to cover for you?”

“There’s nothing on my docket that I can’t work on long-distance,” Jackson responded as he pulled into the airport parking lot and followed Morgan to the long-term parking garage. If she knew he was following, she gave no indication of it, just drove slowly through the crowded lot until she found an empty spot.

“That’s fine then. I may have another case for you this week. You want it, or do you want me to pass it on to Skylar?”

“It depends on the case.”

“It’s another missing person case. A mother looking for a son she lost contact with a dozen years ago. Lady has just been diagnosed with cancer.”

“I should be able to handle things from Washington.”

“Washington?”

“I’m flying there in an hour.”

“Check in with me Tuesday. I’ll update you on the new case then.”

“Sounds good. Talk to you then.” Jackson hung up and pulled into a parking spot a half dozen yards away from Morgan. She seemed completely oblivious to his presence as she yanked a small rolling carry-on case from the trunk of her car and started walking toward the airport terminal.

Jackson had a feeling she wasn’t. She’d survived a brutal attack, escaped two armed men. There was no way she didn’t realize she’d been followed from the church.

He covered the distance between them quickly, saw her tense as he matched pace with her shorter stride.

“Need some help with the bag?”

“No. And I’d appreciate it if you’d stop following me.” She didn’t bother looking his way, just kept focusing straight ahead, her silky hair swinging as she moved. It was touchable hair. The kind Jackson could imagine running his fingers through if he let himself.

“That would make it a little difficult for me to do my job.”

“You don’t have a job. At least not one that involves me.”

“I guess we’ll have to agree to disagree on that,” he said, smiling as she glared in his direction.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re infuriating?”

“My sister used to.”

“She doesn’t anymore?”

“If she were still alive she probably would.” And after two and a half years, the truth of her death was as fresh and ugly as it had been the day Jackson had learned that his older sister had been murdered.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize…”

“How could you have?”

She shrugged, her hair brushing against the slim column of her neck. Dark, oversize sunglasses hid her eyes but did little to draw attention away from her bruises. They were dark blue and green against her tan skin, and Jackson wanted to take her to the nearest hospital and make sure she stayed there until she recovered. “I’m still sorry. You must miss her a lot.”

“I do. Lindsey was a great person,” Jackson said, knowing that words could never adequately describe his oldest sister. Sweet, funny and intelligent, she’d loved passionately and without reservation. In the end, it was love that had been her undoing.

“Were the two of you close?”

“Not as much in the few years before her death, but when we were kids, we were.”

“I guess that makes it harder.”

“It does, but I realized a few months after she died that I could drown in regret or I could learn from my mistakes and move on.” Learning had been the easy part. It was the moving on that Jackson was still having trouble with.

“It takes two people to make a relationship strong, so I’m sure you weren’t the only one at fault for the distance between you and your sister,” Morgan said as she tried to maneuver her carry-on over a curb. She grimaced, releasing the case and grabbing her side.

Jackson put a hand on her shoulder, holding her steady as she caught her breath. He could feel delicate bones and tense muscles beneath her jacket, could feel her arm tremble as she shifted beneath his touch. He wanted to tell her everything would be okay, that he’d make sure of it, but he doubted she’d want to hear it. He grabbed her carry-on instead, ignoring her sputtered protest.

“You should be home in bed, Morgan. Not traveling to Washington.”

“You might be right, but I’m going anyway. It’s been a long time since I’ve been to visit my parents. Too long.”

“It won’t hurt to wait a few days, give yourself a chance to heal.”

“It will if…”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

He let it go. She didn’t have to finish the thought for Jackson to know what she was thinking. If the men who’d attacked her got their hands on her again, she might be out of chances to visit family and reconnect with those she loved. “Do your parents know you’re going back home?”

“Know? I left a message on their answering machine, and they’ve called me ten times to make sure I haven’t changed my mind. If my father had his way, he’d be heading here to play escort.”

“That might not have been such a bad idea.”

“I’m about fifteen years too old to need an escort. Besides, by the time he returned my call, I’d already booked my flight. There was no way he could get here before I took off.” She smiled wanly, pulling off her sunglasses as they stepped into the airport. “Speaking of which, my plane boards in an hour, and I’m going to wait by the boarding gate until then.”

“Is that a subtle hint that this is good-bye?”

“I wouldn’t call it a hint, and I’m sure it wasn’t very subtle. But I didn’t sleep much last night, and I’d rather sit and be quiet than stand and chat,” she said, brushing a few strands of inky hair from her cheek, the sleeve of her jacket riding up to reveal blue-gray smudges circling her wrist.

An image flashed through Jackson’s mind. Lindsey the last time he’d seen her. The deep black bruises on her neck. The tubes that had snaked from her broken body. The pale, lifeless face that had once been vibrant and filled with humor. “Be careful, Morgan. The men who attacked you last night are still on the loose.”

“Believe me, I know it. It’s pretty much all I’ve thought about for the past twelve hours.”

“Did you speak with Jake this morning?”

“Briefly. He called me a few hours before the wedding to let me know that he contacted the Spokane Police Department. They know I’m on the way. Other than that, he didn’t have much to report.”

“No leads?”

“None that he was willing to share.”

“I’ll make some phone calls. See if any of my old pals in the New York City Police Department have information about your ex’s murder.”

“I’m sure that Jake is already taking care of that.”

“I’m sure he is, too, but I don’t think he’d frown on another set of eyes and ears. Besides, I’ve got some buddies on the force. They may be willing to share information with me that they wouldn’t with someone else.”

“Even if it’s information that can help break a case?”

“The information I’m talking about is more the speculative type.”

“You mean gossip,” she said, moving toward the Northwest Airlines gate.

“Gossiping wouldn’t be a very manly thing to do. I prefer to think of it as dispersal of unproven information.”

“Dispersal of unproven information, huh? I’ll have to remember that one.” They’d reached the gate, and Morgan stopped, turning to face Jackson. With the dark glasses off, Jackson could clearly see the fear and worry in her eyes. “I know it may seem like I’m not grateful to you for what you’ve done, but I am. You saved my life, and I don’t take that lightly.”

“You saved your own life, Morgan. I just happened to be there to help out.”

“That’s nice of you to say, but I think we both know the truth,” she said, reaching for his hand and squeezing it.

The jolt of awareness that shot through him was as unexpected as it was unwelcome.

Surprised, he met her eyes, saw his own shock reflected there.

She dropped his hand, took a quick step back. “Take care, Jackson.”

She hurried away before he could respond.

That was fine. He’d ignore what he’d felt. Chalk it up to fatigue and stress or too many months out of the dating game. What he wouldn’t do was let Morgan travel to Washington alone. She was in too vulnerable a condition. If she ran into her enemies again, she’d have no way to defend herself. No hope of escape.

He watched until she was through the security gate, and then he followed, trying to blend in with an older couple moving into the boarding area ahead of him. No sense in letting Morgan know he’d booked a flight to Spokane until it was too late for either of them to trade in their tickets.

Morgan was a hundred yards away, sitting with her back to the security gate. Not a good move. Anyone could walk through without her noticing. Jackson was tempted to tell her that, but figured it could wait. They’d have plenty of time to talk about safety measures on the flight to Spokane.

He took a seat on a bench several rows away from Morgan, positioning himself so that he was partially hidden by an information desk. They’d board the plane in a half hour. That would be soon enough to let Morgan know he was sticking around. He was pretty sure she wouldn’t be happy about it, and he was just as sure he didn’t care. He’d made the mistake of believing Lindsey when she’d brushed off his concern over a bruised cheek and a broken finger. An accident, she’d said. And he’d taken her at her word. Two months later, she was dead.

God knew Jackson regretted not asking more questions, regretted not allowing himself to imagine the unimaginable.

Regretted it, but regret didn’t change what had happened, and it couldn’t bring his sister back.

He was going to Spokane. He was going to finish what he’d started because he had to.

For Lindsey.

For Lacey and Jude.

For Morgan.

And maybe, more than anything else, for himself.

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