WITNESS TO MURDER

A gang of masked gunmen murder a man right in front of reporter Olivia Brant. Now they’re after her—the newswoman witness who won’t rest until she gets her story. She’s rescued in the nick of time by a six-foot-four former bodyguard, but Olivia hardly feels safe. She’s certain Daniel Ash is connected to her investigation into the dead man’s business dealings, but how? With no one left to trust, Olivia accepts Daniel’s offer of shelter at his abandoned country house in rural Ontario. But the killers are not far behind, and determined that Olivia takes the evidence she’s uncovered to her grave.

She’d been kidnapped.

A figure in fatigues leaped out of the car and ran after her. A mask covered his face. There was a gun in his hand.

She ran. Rain fell fast and wild, obscuring her view. The wind tossed her soaked hair. Bonds dug into her wrists and sent pain shooting up her arms.

Her body smacked hard against the hood of a truck.

She gasped. The vehicle was nothing more than a gray shape in the darkness and had seemed to come out of nowhere. The driver’s face was hidden in the darkness and distorted by water pounding off the windshield. She spun on her heels.

“Olivia!” a deep voice yelled. “This way.”

She stumbled. A strong arm grabbed her around the waist and nearly hoisted her feet off the ground. She opened her mouth to scream. A hand clasped over her mouth. “It’s me, Daniel. It’s okay. Just get in the truck.” He half steered and half pulled her toward the passenger door.

Daniel? The complicated and moody man who’d told her never to contact him again?

“Untie me. Now. And take me back to the diner.”

“I can’t. Sorry. Just get in. I’ll explain when we’re out of here.”

MAGGIE K. BLACKis an award-winning journalist and romantic suspense author with an insatiable love of traveling the world. She has lived in the American South, Europe and the Middle East. She now makes her home in Canada with her history teacher husband, their two beautiful girls and a small but mighty dog. Maggie enjoys connecting with her readers at maggiekblack.com.

Headline: Murder

Maggie K. Black

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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God will rescue me from these liars

who are so intent upon destroying me.

—Psalms 57:3

With thanks to all the amazing writers, editors and others I’ve had the joy of sharing a newsroom with. You all stretched and inspired me so much.

Most especially Doug, one of the best newshounds I’ve ever had the privilege of working with. Peace to you and Margie on your journey.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

NINETEEN

TWENTY

EPILOGUE

Dear Reader

Extract

Copyright

ONE

Shock rippled like a wave through the crowded Toronto courtroom, leaving a rumble of anger seething in its wake. The crown attorney had just announced that Brian Leslie, sleazy owner of Leslie Construction, was going to walk out the door a free man, despite stealing hundreds of thousands from both the government and his own employees. Which meant the construction crew he’d left both unemployed and broke had just seen their best hope for justice go up in flames.

Reporter Olivia Brant tightened the grip on her notepad. Her green eyes grew wide. That man’s sloppy, reckless attempts at tax evasion had made headlines across Canada. How could the authorities possibly think it was “in the public interest” to let a thieving creep like him go free? Growing up, always shuffling from one lousy rented apartment to the next, she’d seen all too well how working for really bad bosses could tear someone’s family apart.

Well, even if I don’t succeed in saving my own position at Torchlight News, at least the last story I write will be about something I care about. Although hopefully, if she acted fast enough, this would turn out to be the one big news story that actually kept her from losing her job.

Olivia tightened the clasp holding back her fiery red mane and leaped to her feet. The camera that she’d nabbed off a coworker’s desk clattered to the floor. She scooped it back up and pushed through the rows. The courtroom was packed to the seams with former Leslie employees eager to see Brian pay. Now that justice wasn’t coming, the room felt like a mob waiting to surge. A large bald man with a hawk tattoo on his neck cursed and gripped the seat in front of him until his knuckles cracked. Beside him, a woman with spiky hair cried loudly.

Brian sat alone and was grinning so widely he might as well be gloating. The only other living member of the wealthy Leslie family was Brian’s teenage niece, Sarah. Much to the media’s dismay, the seventeen-year-old heiress hadn’t agreed to any interviews about her uncle’s arrest and hadn’t attended his trial. Didn’t look as though any friends had shown up to offer Brian support, either. Olivia wondered if the rumors of his gambling addiction and drug use were true.

Any moment now, he’d walk out of the courtroom, head down to the private parking garage and drive out as a free man into the hot summer air.

When he got to his vehicle, she’d be waiting.

Dear God, please help me get this interview with Brian Leslie. Or at the very least a picture and a quote to make my article solid enough for the front cover. I really don’t want to lose my job. The newspaper’s the only place I’ve ever really felt at home.

Prayer slipped through her heart like an instinct. It was funny, no matter how many times she tried to put her childhood faith out of her mind, whenever stress hit she could feel it pushing back in at the edges. Not that all the desperate prayers she’d prayed as a child had ever kept her dad from losing one job after another. While Vince, her editor at Torchlight News, was one of the most dedicated people of faith she knew, that still didn’t alter the fact that recent changes at the paper meant he was going to have to lay off almost a third of the staff by September.

Her phone buzzed with a text message. It was from Ricky, a young photographer at Torchlight who was probably facing the chopping block, too.

Hurry back! Vince is looking for you. Also, you seen the camera? R.

Guilt dripped down her conscience like a nagging cough she couldn’t clear. She hadn’t told Vince she was covering the Leslie Construction trial. There were dozens of potential stories like this in Toronto every day. Torchlight could only afford to send reporters out to so many. Newspaper policy was that writers brought their article ideas to the weekly story meeting, like treasure hunters piling their maps into the middle of the table. Vince would then decide which stories would get reported on and who covered what. Getting a good, hard crime story meant a chance at seeing your story hitting the front cover. He’d never given her that chance.

Maybe Vince won’t like that I just took the initiative and jumped on this story without asking. But if I pull it off, it’ll prove I have what it takes and he’ll think twice about letting me go. Or at least, it’ll give me a great story on my resume to help with my job search.

Her fingers slid over the handle to the stairwell door.

“Hey! Where do you think you’re going?” A large hand landed on the door in front of her. She turned, coming face-to-face with a young man in a dark blue police uniform and a bushy blond beard.

“I’m sorry. I was just—”

“You can’t go down there.”

Olivia rolled her slender shoulders back and stood tall. Sure, she was only five foot two, and this man was easily twice her size. But she’d worked in a newsroom long enough to know police couldn’t just block public access somewhere without cause. This belligerent officer hadn’t even flashed her a badge.

She flashed him her media credentials. “I’m a journalist with Torchlight News and, yes, I can. This is a public stairwell and you have no legal reason to detain me.” His eyes narrowed. In her experience, while most cops were amazing, a handful of them got just a little too used to throwing their weight around and expecting the public to obey. Not the type of cop a reporter ever wanted to tangle with. What was worse was this cop had even covered the badge number on his uniform, so she wouldn’t be able to report him—an illegal but sadly not unheard-of practice that the chief of police had been clamping down on hard. She raised the camera, hoping the thought of being caught on film would be enough to make him back down. He just scowled.

“Is there something else going on here that I should be reporting on?” she asked.

A loud crash came from behind them, along with a whole lot of yelling. She turned. A muscular dark-haired man was being forcibly ejected from the waiting area. He was putting up such a fight it took multiple guards to handle him. The blond officer snickered.

Olivia ducked under his arm and dashed down the stairs.

“Hey!” The questionable cop’s voice bellowed through the staircase like a freight train. “Stop!”

Her feet pelted down one flight of stairs. Stopping wasn’t an option. But maybe a route change wasn’t a bad idea. She hit the second floor, slipped through a side door and came out on an administration level. Her footsteps sped up, weaving through rows of people waiting for their trials to be called. She went down one more staircase and came out on the opposite side of the parking garage. The officer was gone. A slight smile crossed her lips.

The garage was dark, lit only by the eerie glow of yellow fluorescent lights. She readied the camera. The state-of-the-art equipment would just keep snapping once she pushed the button, taking hundreds of pictures a minute. She only needed one of the pictures to be usable, so the odds were in her favor. Brian’s car was to her right.

That was when she noticed the truck. The bright green pickup was parked a few spots away, looking like a flash of sunlight on a fresh spring leaf compared to the sea of concrete around it. Her breath caught. There was a man in the driver’s seat. He was tall and rugged, with broad shoulders and a faded plaid shirt. Strong arms rested on the steering wheel. His head was bowed, showing a mop of chestnut-brown hair that curled slightly at the neck. He looked nothing like a lawyer. Bit too casual for a journalist, at least from anywhere reputable. A member of Leslie Construction’s crew, perhaps? But then, why would he be down here instead of in the courtroom?

He glanced her way. His eyebrows rose. She looked down at her camera.

The door to the staircase flew open. Her camera started snapping. Brian Leslie walked through. He glanced around the garage, turned back toward the stairs for a moment, then hurried to his car.

“Mr. Leslie!” Olivia started across the parking garage toward him. “Olivia Brant, Torchlight News. What do you have to say to your former employees? Are they ever going to see the money you owe them?”

“Seriously?” He laughed and yanked his car keys from his pocket. “You heard how those ungrateful jerks booed me in court today? As if my family didn’t keep them working for years. You tell them that I’ll be dead and buried before they get one more cent of money from the Leslie family. Tell them fat chance winning in civil court now.” He pressed the button on his key fob to unlock his car. The car didn’t respond. He frowned and jammed his finger on the button. Nothing happened. “Stupid waste-of-money car.”

Then, it was like everything happened at once.

A stairwell door banged open to her right.

Three figures in black fatigues and blank featureless masks ran toward Brian.

Three men without faces.

A gunshot split the air. Olivia screamed.

Brian wheeled around. Blood spread across his chest.

His car exploded in flames.

* * *

Daniel Ash froze with his hands on the steering wheel. The scene unfolded in front of him through a haze of smoke and fire. Just moments ago, he’d been sitting there trying to pray for Brian Leslie—an endlessly unpleasant man who he’d briefly called his brother-in-law a very long time ago.

Then Brian walked into the garage, three masked men surged from the shadows and the world erupted in fire.

A car bomb. A weapon fired. A bullet through Brian’s chest.

It was like Baghdad, Manila and Damascus all over again.

Here. In Toronto.

Just moments ago he’d seen a woman running toward Brian. Now her screams echoed through the flames.

Instinctively, Daniel yanked open the glove compartment to feel for his bullets and gun. It might be too late for Brian. But he could still save the beautiful stranger from the line of fire.

His hand came up empty. There were no bullets. He had no gun.

Reality hit—Daniel wasn’t a bodyguard anymore. His handgun was long gone.

He was just a regular guy back home in Canada, a place where it was incredibly difficult for a personal bodyguard to even get a license to carry a handgun. This wasn’t his first firefight. But this time he was unarmed and unprotected, without even an armored vehicle to shield him.

His hand gripped the door handle. His eyes rose in a split second of prayer.

Lord? What do You want me doing right now? Can I still save her?

More gunfire now. Sounded as though only one of the masked men was firing. But he couldn’t see either the shooter or the target, just a series of bangs and flashes in the billowing smoke.

The woman’s screams fell silent.

He’d never once run from danger. But like it or not, his hero days were over. Daniel had given up being a bodyguard four years ago, because his former stepdaughter had no one else to turn to. I made a commitment to be Sarah’s legal guardian. With her uncle Brian’s death, the teenager was now the last remaining member of the Leslie clan. For all he knew, whoever had killed Brian would now be coming after her, too. He needed to be there for her. He needed to protect her.

How can I risk my life to save a stranger? The woman might not even still be alive.

Reluctantly, Daniel turned the engine over. He grabbed the gearshift, ready to drive. Then, through the smoke, he saw a flash of red hair. She was running toward him, beautiful and terrified, like a phoenix rising. Dark lashes fringed eyes wide with fear. Auburn hair tumbled loose around her face.

He couldn’t just leave her to die.

Daniel threw the door open. “Here! This way! Run to me—”

A second explosion shook the air and tossed her onto the ground. Daniel leaped from the truck. He pelted across the parking garage—toward the flames, the chaos and the woman now lying still on the concrete. In moments, Daniel had reached her side. Her eyes were closed. But when he clasped her wrist, he felt that her pulse was strong. He scooped her up into his arms—bag, camera and all—and cradled her up against his chest. He ran for the truck. A huge, faceless brute of a man loomed out of the smoke and yelled at Daniel to stop. He kept running. Bullets ricocheted in the darkness behind him. Prayers poured from his heart over his lips, “Please, God, guide me now!”

He climbed into the driver’s seat, not letting his strong arms loosen their grip on the woman’s body for an instant. As he slid her off his lap and into the passenger seat, her press pass caught his eye—Olivia Brant, Torchlight News. He reached across to buckle her seat belt. Her cheek brushed his shoulder. Luminous green eyes fluttered open, inches away from his own.

“Olivia? Hey, my name’s Daniel. Don’t worry. It’s going to be okay. You’re safe here with me.” He glanced up and counted three masked, black-clad figures in the haze. The brutish one now had a gun in each hand. A short man was fiddling with a small box. An extremely thin one barked orders at them both. The big one raised both guns toward the truck. “And we’re getting out of here.” Daniel slammed his door. “Right now.”

He hit the gas and swerved a hard left, narrowly steering the truck between the thin man and a concrete support pillar.

“Daniel?” Her voice beside him was faint. “Who are you? What are you?”

Thank You, God! She was both conscious and able to talk, which hopefully meant no serious injuries, even though her mind was probably reeling and her ears would be ringing. No doubt she wanted to know what kind of man had just scooped her into his truck. But now was no time for long answers. The short version would have to do.

“I used to be a bodyguard.” He focused his eyes on finding an exit. “Spent a decade overseas. War zones and danger spots mostly. Getting someone safely from point A to point B like this was kind of my specialty. Now I’m just a carpenter.” One who apparently could still swerve around an obstacle course of parked cars and concrete at full speed.

“Carpenter?”

He couldn’t tell if that was really a question or if she was just repeating back the only word she’d managed to catch. Depending on how hard she’d hit her head, she might not even remember any of this. “How are you feeling? There’s a hospital only a few blocks from here. That’s where I’m taking you. If you’ve a phone handy, please call 9-1-1. We’ve got to let the police know what happened here.”

He couldn’t begin to guess how much of the garage was actually covered by security cameras or how security would respond to whatever they saw. Sometimes surveillance only covered the stairwells and exits. For all he knew, they’d just seen smoke and were treating it like a car fire. Instead of...what exactly? A terrorist attack? Some kind of organized crime hit on my former brother-in-law?

There was no answer from Olivia. Daniel risked a sideways glance. Her eyes had closed again. There was a cell phone in his jacket, but that was in the backseat and he wasn’t in any position to reach it. Could he afford to stop, grab his phone and call the police before he reached the hospital? No. He had one task right now and one task only—saving the life of the person in his care.

“Thank You, God, that we’re both still alive,” he prayed aloud. “Please have mercy on everyone else who might be in danger. Please prompt someone else to alert the authorities. Any help and guidance You want to give me right now would be awesome.”

An engine roared behind him. The sound echoed off the concrete walls. There was the crack of a gun being fired and the clang of a bullet hitting his tailgate.

He raced up the final ramp. Another shot was fired.

His truck’s rear window exploded in a spray of glass.

TWO

Glass hit the back of Daniel’s seat and fell down around them like rain. He clenched his jaw, pressed the gas pedal to the floor and forced his mind to block out everything but the growing space of sunlight ahead. The ticket barrier was unmanned, and he wasn’t about to stop at the machines to pay for parking. He just had to hope some security guard somewhere had seen this all go down on a monitor and called the police.

He swerved around the barrier and clipped the edge of the wood. Then he was outside, blinking in the bright summer sun. Smoke poured through the tunnel behind him. A few passersby were stopping to film it on their phones. A couple more took pictures of his broken back window as he merged into heavy downtown traffic. Hopefully someone had the sense to call 9-1-1. Another murmur slipped through Olivia’s lips. Delicate color had returned to her cheeks. Sunlight filtered through the window, setting her hair alight in a cascade of red and gold.

Tires screeched behind him. His gaze shot back to the rearview mirror. A black van with tinted windows shot out of the parking garage and forced its way into traffic. It was five car lengths back. No one was firing now, but the van whipped back and forth between lanes as the driver fought his way closer.

The gunmen were following.

Emergency vehicles streamed toward him on the opposite side of the street. That was one prayer answered—someone had called the authorities. But would they head straight to the garage, or would anyone notice his predicament? He flashed his lights, honked his horn and waved a hand out the window in the hopes of grabbing an officer’s attention. The cops flew past. Apparently a broken back window hadn’t been enough to raise suspicion. And he wasn’t about to stop.

The gunmen were now only two car lengths behind. He cut through a parking lot, swerved into an alley and came out on another street. The van followed. He could see the driver now. It was the tall one of the three. He’d pulled a hood over his head to keep the mask covering his face from drawing the attention of anyone not looking straight on. But Daniel could still see the mask—black, oval-like fencing gear and utterly featureless. Would they be brazen enough to open fire on a busy Toronto street? The light ahead of him turned yellow. Daniel gunned the engine and flew through. He hit the other side of the intersection seconds before it turned red. The van followed tight on his tail. The vehicle was now so close he could practically feel it tapping his bumper.

The hospital sign appeared ahead. Cars lined up to enter the hospital parking lot, but Daniel wasn’t about to wait. He aimed straight for the emergency-vehicles ramp. Two cop cars and an ambulance sat near the emergency room door. He hit the brakes beside them.

A smattering of hospital staff and police ran toward him.

The black van kept going, disappearing into traffic.

“Hey! You can’t park here!” A paramedic reached him first. “You have to go around to the lot—”

Daniel threw the truck into Park and leaped out. Shards fell from his clothes. “This woman needs help and might have a head trauma. There was a car bomb inside the courthouse parking lot. People shot at us. A man named Brian Leslie was just murdered. Wait—be careful. The truck is full of broken glass.”

Two paramedics eased Olivia out of the truck and onto a stretcher. Daniel turned to follow her. A hand tapped his shoulder.

“Sir, you’d better follow me.” It was a hospital security guard, flanked by a uniformed police officer.

“Absolutely. I want to give a statement. Just let me get her stuff first.” He turned back to the truck. The messenger bag had spilled all over the floor. He scooped the contents up quickly. Her press photo identification badge was hooked on the edge of the seat. He pulled it loose, allowing his eyes one moment to linger over the adventurous curve of her smile. “Her name is Olivia Brant. She’s a newspaper reporter.”

The security guard took her belongings from him. “What’s your connection to her?”

I’m her bodyguard.

The answer he’d have given in his former life flew through his brain automatically and he just barely caught himself before it left his mouth. “Absolutely none. I just happened to be there when the bomb exploded and saw she needed help.” His eyes glanced toward the emergency room door. He couldn’t see where she’d gone. “But if it’s all the same to you, I’d like to stay and give my statement here. Just in case she needs anything. Or at least stay until you’re able to reach her emergency medical contact, so she’s not alone.”

He had no real reason to stay. Yet something inside was urging him not to go.

“Sir?” The officer’s tone was definitely a little sharper now. He took another step toward Daniel. “I think you’d better come with me.”

* * *

Words swam in a jumble of black-and-white on Olivia’s computer screen. A pencil spun between her fingers. It had been two days since Brian Leslie had been murdered and her memory of the event was still nothing but an incoherent mess of disjointed images. She leaned back in her chair and listened to the clack of her colleagues’ fingers hitting keyboards. It was Friday afternoon and she seemed to be the only one blinking bleary-eyed at a story that wouldn’t come together. She added a few more pencil lines to the sketch in her small pocket-size notebook.

A blank oval face, like a black fencing mask, stared back at her through a haze of charcoal smoke swirls.

“Hey, can I borrow that a second?” Ricky rolled his office chair across the alcove from his desk to hers. “I want to check it against something I saw online.”

“Help yourself.” She shrugged. “It’s all I can remember of the killers. But it’s not much to go on.”

The young photographer picked up the notepad and rolled back to his computer. “I never knew you could sketch like this. Why aren’t you in the graphics department?”

She shrugged. “I really enjoy writing.” And editing, graphic design, ad layout and photography. Over the past few years she’d settled into a pretty comfortable role at the newspaper as a “bit of everything” journalist who could write one day, edit the next and field a decent classified ad page in between. But being good at a little bit of everything wasn’t the same as proving to Vince that she belonged on his new, smaller team.

Last summer, Vince had gotten into a major battle of wills with Torchlight’s former publisher when they’d tried to force him to fire crime reporter Jack Brooks over his investigation into the Raincoat Killer. So Vince had bought out the newspaper and turned it into a scrappy independent. Which was actually awesome, except that he’d warned them it would mean cutting staff. Now was no time to have a mind full of smoke and haze.

Her temples ached. If she closed her eyes, she could almost recapture the memory of the man who’d saved her—dark eyes, a voice as deep and soothing as a morning cup of coffee, chestnut hair curling ever so slightly at the nape of his neck. Daniel. But then she’d blink and he’d be gone again.

“Hey, Olivia? Come look at this.”

She slid her chair over. It was an internet web page. Three crude figures in black fatigues and featureless fencing-style masks stood in the center of the screen under the words The Faceless Crew.

The sudden reminder of how terrified she’d been sent adrenaline coursing through her. “What is this?”

“It’s a fragment of a website that was shut down a few weeks ago.” Ricky ran one hand through his shaggy hair. “Remember that car bombing in Vancouver last June that turned out to be some turf war between small-scale rival gangs? These guys tried to take responsibility for it and a few other car fires, too. They posted some stuff on various hate websites, trying to get attention as some kind of homegrown terrorist group for hire. No one took them seriously.”

She vaguely remembered Ricky bringing it up at a news meeting weeks ago. Vince had said no hard facts equaled no story and that the paper wasn’t in the business of chasing ghosts. But it seemed these men weren’t ghosts anymore. “Can you print it for me?”

“Yup, and look here.” He zoomed in. “I was able to recover some text, too.”

She read out loud, “‘The Faceless Crew are a gang of three killers. Rake is the strategist and leader. Brute is the weapons expert and, ah...assassin. Shorty is the explosives expert.’” She looked up. “They misspelled assassin. Looks to me like three brash, delusional kids who watched too many action films and decided to go start their own gang.”

“You can see why no one took them seriously.”

Right up until the moment they planted a bomb in the court garage and killed a man. Then again, an alarming number of gang-related murders, and even terrorist attacks, were committed by angry, mentally unstable young men whom no one took seriously at first.

They walked over to the shared printer and waited for the page to come through.

“Is it possible someone got them to murder Brian Leslie?” Ricky asked.

“I don’t know.” She ran both hands through her hair, then twisted it into a knot at the back of her neck. “Brian owed his crew a lot of money. They hadn’t been paid in weeks. He’d skimmed money off their checks. He had them working off the books without them knowing it, which meant they can’t even claim unemployment now. So I can imagine a lot of people wanted to hurt him. But there are far easier ways to get justice than hire contract killers with gang ties.”

The paper inched its way out of the printer. “What happens to the company now that he’s dead?”

“It’s a family business, started by Brian’s father. The only remaining member of the Leslie family is Brian’s niece, Sarah. But she’s just a teenager and can’t inherit anything until she turns eighteen sometime this fall.” It was any guess how she’d handle the mess her uncle left behind. “I’m just sorry I lost the camera. If I still had it, we’d have photographic proof that these were the guys. But it wasn’t in my bag at the hospital, so I can only guess it’s now buried in rubble. You want to come with me to talk to Vince?”

Ricky shook his head. “No. Just try to talk him into keeping me on staff if this turns into something.”

Torchlight’s editorial pool shared the large top floor of a converted Toronto townhouse. She climbed down the steep stairs to the second floor, went down the hall and knocked twice on the editor’s door.

“Come in.” Somehow Vince’s salt-and-pepper hair seemed even grayer than usual. His tweed jacket was pushed up over his elbows. She laid the printout on his desk. He leaned on his desk with both hands and stared down at it. “What am I looking at?”

“Something Ricky found online.” She took a deep breath. “I think this might be who I saw kill Brian Leslie.”

“I seem to remember Ricky showing me this printout before.” Blue eyes glanced up under bushy eyebrows. “You already know what I’m going to say about it, don’t you?”

Yup. Theories were for the writers’ meetings. Facts were what got printed in the paper.

“I know we can’t just print that these three random men might have been involved in this murder without something solid behind it.” Reporter Thinks She Kind of Remembers Seeing Three Masked Men Who Could Be the So-Called Faceless Crew was hardly a headline she’d put on the cover of the paper, either. “But I’ll get something solid. I’ve put in calls to the police, Sarah Leslie and the crown attorney’s office. I’m just waiting for someone to call me back.”

Not to mention, she’d also tried calling her older sister. Chloe was a detective in Northern Ontario. While this was hardly her jurisdiction, her sister had an incredibly practical way of looking at things that Olivia found both infuriating and helpful. Besides, it was always wonderful to hear her voice. But Chloe hadn’t called her back, either.

“Well, I’ve never seen police and the courts put such a tight lid on a story.” Vince sighed like an ancient freight train billowing steam. “And every news outlet in the country will be after an interview with Sarah.”

“Yes, but not every news outlet has a reporter who was there in the garage when her uncle died.”

“Oh, you don’t need to remind me.” A reluctant half smile crossed the newshound’s lips. “You should probably be thankful I didn’t fire you over that.”

A flush rose to her cheeks.

“Any progress tracking down the other witness?” he asked.

“Daniel? No, but I’m pretty sure he said something about being a carpenter.” And also a bodyguard. Her memories of him were so larger-than-life it was hard to know if they were all real. “But his truck was pretty distinctive. I thought that if I went around visiting some construction sites, I might find someone who knows who he is.”

“From now on, I want you to limit your pursuit of this story to email and telephone.” Vince crossed his arms. “This whole Faceless thing looks more like urban legend than fact, but anyone capable of murdering a man and blowing up his car inside a government building is more than capable of taking out a lone reporter. We can all sit down as a writing team next week, talk it through together and decide how to proceed. There might be other tacks we can take on this.”

Her heart sank. “You mean, there might be other reporters you could put on this story.”

“We’re a family here, Olivia.” Vince frowned. “You know that. As an editor, it’s my prerogative to assign stories however I think will serve the paper best. Jack is our crime reporter. He’s got expertise in things like this. True, he’s off on a book tour right now, but he’ll still be able to take lead on this one remotely.”

She looked down at the ground. Just because Vince liked to say the staff were family didn’t mean it was accurate. Everyone was loyal to the paper, but it wasn’t the only loyalty everyone had. Jack had his book tour. Their sports reporter Luke was working freelance from new digs up north after having reconnected with his former sweetheart. Everyone was keeping an eye out for other opportunities to pay the bills. She came to work every day expecting to be told to pack her metaphorical suitcase. What good was a family if some people just left to chase their own dreams—and others were kicked out?

Her cell phone started to ring. She glanced at the number but didn’t recognize it.

“I’ll let you get that.” Vince leaned back. Worry filled his gaze. “Monday, I want you and I to sit down and talk through your future with the paper. I’m sorry, I know you really want to move to writing full-time. I’m just not sure that’s where your talents are best suited.”

“Got it. Thanks.” She nodded numbly.

How on earth am I going to change his mind over the course of a weekend?

She went out into the hall and closed the editor’s door behind her. Thankfully, the caller hadn’t given up. “Hello?”

“Hello, Olivia?” The voice was deep and soothing, yet somehow it still managed to send shivers running down her spine. “This is Daniel Ash, the man from the parking garage.”

Her breath caught in her chest. Daniel?

For a moment, she nearly ran back into Vince’s office to put the call on speakerphone.

If only he hadn’t just said he was thinking of assigning the story to someone else and that she didn’t belong in the writing pool.

“Daniel! Hi! Hang on.” She glanced over her shoulder and then slipped down another flight of stairs. In a moment, she was outside in the muggy August heat. She leaned back against the brick. “It’s...it’s really great to hear from you. How did you find me?”

“Your name and newspaper were on your press badge. I found your cell number on the newspaper website. You’re a reporter, right?”

She glanced at the windowsill above. “I am.”

At least until Monday.

There was a pause on the other end of the phone. “Is there any chance you could you meet me for coffee? I’m looking for advice about talking to the press...and you’re the only reporter I know.”

“Sure. Of course.” She pressed her lips together and hoped she already knew the answer to the question she was about to ask. “About what kind of story?”

She heard Daniel take in a long breath and let it out slowly.

“It’s about Brian Leslie’s murder.”

THREE

Heat shimmered off the highway like a mirage. The weather report had predicted dangerous thunderstorms all weekend. Olivia glanced at her cell phone. It had been about an hour and a half since she and Ricky had left Toronto and started north, and her cell phone signal was down to just one bar. A rundown motel and camping trailer park loomed ahead. A giant tattered clown sign told them to take the next exit for their fairground.

She shivered. “I think we turn here.”

They pulled off the rural highway onto a smaller country road. When Daniel had told her that he’d be at his house in the country until some time next week, she’d decided it was better to offer to drive up there to meet him right away, instead of telling him she might be unemployed by the time he came back to the city.

When she’d told Ricky, he’d immediately offered to drive up with her, even though she suspected he might have blown off a weekend assignment from Vince to help her. An uneasy feeling was fluttering in her chest. She hadn’t told Vince about the call from Daniel or that she was going to meet him. But Daniel had stressed he just wanted to meet for coffee to get her advice, nothing more. This wasn’t an interview. This was just coffee. Still, no matter how hard she tried to convince herself that driving up to meet Daniel wasn’t really the same as slipping off to the courts in the middle of the day without telling Vince, the unsettled feeling inside her wasn’t convinced.

The thin rural road snaked past abandoned barns and ramshackle buildings, ragged from years of neglect. Broken windows peeked out from empty farmhouses. An empty strip mall loomed on her left, surrounded by a crude chained-metal barrier fence.

It was practically a ghost town.

“I can’t tell if we’re lost or not.” Ricky glanced at his cell phone. “I’ve got no signal now.”

They probably had another half hour before the sun began to set. Without streetlights there was no telling how dark this road would get. Then she saw a red-and-white awning ahead on her left next to a faded sign offering gas. A sigh of relief left her lungs.

“I think that’s it.” A bright green pickup truck sat on the edge of the gravel parking lot. There was fresh glass in the back window and bullet holes in the tailgate. “Actually, if you could pull just past the lot and park down the road a bit, that would be great.”

Ricky did so. “Everything okay?”

“Absolutely. Daniel just seemed really hesitant about whatever he wants to talk to me about. He must have stressed three times that this was going to be nothing more than a casual chat over coffee, and that this needed to be private. So I don’t want to spook him by showing up with a photographer, even if you’re mostly just here as a friend.”

“Got it.” Ricky grinned. “Actually, would you be okay if I drove back down the road a bit and tried to find a cell phone signal? I’d like to call my folks. They live about half an hour north of where we turned off the highway. If that megastorm hits early, we might be able to crash there tonight instead of driving back into the city.”

Dark clouds had already started to gather at the horizon. If the storm really was as bad as forecasters feared, the road back to Toronto might even flood. Might make sense to drive north and wait until the roads reopened. But the worst of the rain wasn’t supposed to hit until well after midnight. Surely they’d be back home long before then.

“Sure, just don’t be gone too long.”

“I won’t. Just going to drive back to the creepy clown motel. Shouldn’t take me more than thirty minutes. Forty tops.”

“Sounds good.” She got out of the car and walked toward the truck stop. Humid air tickled her skin. Bells clanged gently as she stepped through the doorway. Daniel was sitting at a table by the window. He looked up and gave her a slight wave. An unexpected shiver ran down her arms. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this nervous about meeting someone for coffee.

Get hold of yourself, Olivia. This isn’t really “meeting a guy for coffee.” It’s hardly a date. He’s a potential story source and witness to a murder.

She smiled professionally and started toward him, memorizing him down to every last detail. He had broad shoulders and strong arms. His plaid shirt was faded and the top two buttons were open. Dark eyes like mocha gazed straight into hers, with a look that was friendly yet also determined not to let her too deeply inside. He was unconventionally good-looking, with the air of a man who was used to keeping secrets.

Who are you, Daniel Ash? And how are you connected to Brian Leslie’s murder?

“Olivia! Hi!” He stood. He was taller than she’d realized. At least six foot four. Maybe taller. His hand reached for hers. “It’s wonderful to finally meet you, properly.”

His smile was warm. Unexpectedly, she could feel a genuine smile tugging at the corner of her own lips, too. “It’s honestly really nice to meet you, too.”

They shook hands. His grip was surprisingly gentle. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m just fine. Thanks to you.” She felt herself blush. “You saved my life.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m just glad I was there.”

Yes, but why had he been there in that parking garage?

They sat. For a moment, she didn’t know what to say. How could she simply press him for information knowing that the last time she’d seen him, he’d cradled her into his arms and carried her to safety? Yet how could she feel this close to a man she knew practically nothing about? Come on, Olivia. Think like a reporter. “Well, I’m glad you knew what to do. The whole thing was like something out of a nightmare. Am I right in remembering you said you were a bodyguard?”

He nodded. “I used to be, yes.”

“So you’re a fighter, then?”

He laughed, a warm chuckle that seemed to roll off his shoulders. “I’m anything but. When you’re a head taller than most people, with muscle to match, you learn it doesn’t take a lot to hurt them, even without meaning to. The way I saw it, my job was to de-escalate violence and get my clients away from bad situations, not escalate trouble. So I’d use force, obviously, but only wisely and only when needed. Other bodyguards used to joke that I didn’t actually need weapons, I just needed to stand there and look imposing. Used to call me the gentle giant.”

“No weapons, huh?” Her gaze dropped to his muscular arms, now resting on the table. There was so much she wanted to know. “So you’re not into guns?”

He frowned. “I don’t have a license to carry a handgun or anything like that, if that’s what you’re asking. I do own a shotgun, though. But just for hunting birds.”

He looked bothered by the question for some reason. She changed the topic back to the safer territory. “How long were you overseas?”

“Oh, years.” He ran one hand through his hair. “When I was still in high school, I got a security job for a company here. By the time I was twenty-one the boss was taking me with him on business. I was always pretty tall and I used to have a full beard, too, so I guess I looked pretty scary. Then I got hired by a personal security company overseas. Mostly I’d escort foreign businesspeople around and keep them out of trouble.”

“That’s amazing.” Fragments of him speeding through the smoke-filled garage flickered in the back of her mind. “Did you ever escort any journalists?”

“A few. Mostly in and out of war zones.”

Wow. “Sounds dangerous.”

“Sometimes.” He shrugged. “It’s only really dangerous if the person you’re protecting doesn’t follow directions. When someone’s protecting you it’s vital you’re able to do what you’re told without argument. The last thing you want is someone freaking out and running off madly. I mean, sometimes running is what keeps you alive. But sometimes running can get you killed, if you run in the wrong direction. A lot of the time, I had to subtly alert people of danger without causing them to panic, or even ask questions.”

She leaned forward. “Can you give me an example?”

“Of how I’d warn someone of danger?” he asked. “Okay, your initials are OB, right? Say we were together and I spotted something. I might tap out your initials in Morse code on a surface, or even on your arm.”

His fingers hovered over her wrist for a moment, like he was about to tap lightly on her skin. Then he pulled back and tapped the table beside it—one long beat, three short, three long. She watched his fingers as they moved.

“I can’t imagine why you’d ever give up that life to come back to Canada.”

She looked up. Something flickered in the depths of his eyes. Sadness maybe? Regret?

Then he blinked again, the unguarded flash of emotion was gone and only the politeness of an acquaintance remained. “Carpentry has always been a passion of mine, too. So I was happy to be able to pick up a hammer again. Being back gave me a chance to rebuild an old house that a relative left me, not far from here.”

None of which even began to answer her question. A waitress dropped two menus on the table then left without so much as a nod. Over half the items were crossed off. Another long pause spread out between them. Whatever Daniel had wanted to talk to her about, he wasn’t in a hurry to bring it up and he’d sounded so hesitant on the phone she hated the idea of pushing him. As much as she suspected she’d probably quite enjoy just listening to his stories for hours, they were hardly here for small talk. Ricky’s printout of the Faceless Crew website was folded inside her notepad. She slid it out onto the table but didn’t unfold it.

There really was no easy way to ask this. “Were you working for Leslie Construction, then? Either as a carpenter or as some kind of security?”

He sat up straight. Not surprising, considering she’d basically just asked if Brian had stolen from him or if the man had been killed on his watch. Or both.

“No.” He shook his head, as if the question surprised him. “No, not at all. I mean, I did a handful of shifts for Leslie, here and there, a few years back when I needed a bit of extra money. Mostly I’m an independent contractor.”

Now they were both surprised. “Then, why were you in the garage during the trial?”

“I was hoping to have the chance to have a quick word with Brian in private.”

Her eyebrows rose. “About what?”

“A personal matter.” His mouth set in a grim line, as though she was stepping over the line of whatever he was willing to let her know. He leaned back and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “What do you know about the Leslie family?”

There was an edge to his voice. It was as if he was testing her in some way she couldn’t put a finger on.

She flipped her small notepad open, even though she knew what her notes said without even having to glance. “I know that Leslie Construction was started by Brian Leslie’s father sometime in the early seventies. When he died, the company passed down to Brian and his sister, Mona. Mona had a reputation of being quite the party girl and got arrested on a handful of drinking and drug-related charges. But the crew generally liked her. They weren’t so fond of Brian, who took over full ownership of the company when Mona died about four years ago.”

The look of Daniel’s face was serious, focused and inscrutable.

She kept going. “Brian had a gambling problem and tried to both cheat on his taxes and steal from his employees. But he wasn’t very good at it and got caught. The court changed its mind about prosecuting him before the trial even started. We saw him get murdered. Now Brian is dead, the company is in shambles and will be passed down to his teenage niece, Sarah.” She leaned back. “Now here I am talking to you.” And you won’t tell me why.

Another pause, then Daniel let out a long breath. “Okay. So that’s a bit more than I was expecting. But a good starting point. Anything else?”

“Just this.” She unfolded the printout about the Faceless Crew website and pushed it toward him. His eyes scanned the page while her eyes searched his face. It paled. “A colleague found this online. I don’t know if this has any connection to Brian’s murder.”

“I’ve never heard of them before. Which is worrying. Maybe even terrifying, considering they might be after—” His words cut off abruptly. He ran both hands over his face, and for a moment it sounded as if he was praying under his breath. Then, to her surprise, he leaned across the table and took her hands in his, as if they were gearing up for something. “Okay, you’ve got to promise me that everything I’m about to tell you is off-the-record. All of it. At least for now. I’m trusting that this won’t suddenly all end up in your newspaper.”

She looked down at his hands holding hers. “You have my word.”

A light flashed outside, illuminating the window beside them in a blinding blur of yellow and white. She turned to look, but all she could see were the spots of light dancing before her eyes. “Is that lightning? Already?”

“No! Someone out there is taking pictures of us!” Daniel leaped to his feet. Frustration flashed like fire through the depths of his eyes. “Please tell me you didn’t bring a photographer with you.”

Her heart sank. Oh, no. What was Ricky thinking? “Well, yes, sort of. But it’s not what you think—”

Before she could even finish, he stormed past her and rushed outside.

* * *

Daniel scanned the parking lot just in time to see a shadow run off down the road. Moments later, he heard a car door slam. Then he saw headlights flicker on through the trees. Olivia’s photographer colleague seemed to be just sitting in his car, probably waiting for her. Daniel stifled a growl. The sun had all but set now, leaving a wash of inky gray and black in the clouds above his head. The air was damp with the threat of impending rain that still seemed reluctant to fall. Tension rolled over his shoulders and back.

What had she been thinking bringing a photographer without telling him?

No, what had he been thinking in trusting a woman he barely knew when his stepdaughter’s life was on the line? Keeping Sarah safe was his primary responsibility. Now more than ever.

It had been a very long time since he’d felt his mouth go that dry when he’d looked in a pair of sparkling eyes. Olivia was right when she’d called Mona Leslie a likable party girl. As an awkward, introverted eighteen-year-old mourning the recent death of his parents, he’d been instantly drawn to Mona’s unpredictable energy and vitality. She’d been seventeen then, raising baby Sarah all on her own. They had provided him with an instant family—one that needed him. He’d married Mona when he was nineteen. But she’d never made good on her promise to give up drinking, drugs or fooling around. She’d left him less than two years later, announcing she wasn’t cut out for monogamy. He’d taken a job on the other side of the world.

Still, when he’d gotten that long-distance call from a lawyer telling him that Mona was dead, that they’d still been legally married and he was still listed in her will as Sarah’s legal guardian, he’d returned home. How could he let the child he’d once pledged to raise as his own end up in the care of social services? Mona might not have loved him for very long, but her decade-old will had specified that Daniel was the only person she trusted to be Sarah’s guardian and to hold her inheritance until she turned eighteen. Even Mona had known not to trust Sarah’s future to either her heavy-partying friends or her thieving brother, Brian. The bright-eyed baby who’d captured his heart long ago might now be an emotional, complicated teenager. But she was still his responsibility.

There was the clatter of the door opening and closing behind him.

“I’m sorry.” Olivia was at his shoulder. Her voice was soft and filled with regret. “Ricky is a friend from work. He drove me up so I wouldn’t have to come alone. Yes, he’s a photographer. But I never expected he’d just start taking pictures.”

He nodded to show he’d heard her, but still gave himself a few moments to calm back down before responding. After all, he’d been the one who’d decided to call her about the current crisis Sarah had found herself in. Ever since Brian’s trial began, the teenager had received dozens of calls from nosy reporters, who just saw her as some kind of pretty novelty from a notorious family. Those calls had tripled since Brian’s death. Daniel was exhausted from arguing with her on why throwing herself into the spotlight was probably one of the worst things she could do.

But when he’d told her about Olivia, Sarah had seemed open to meeting her, even though she’d been less than excited about the idea being interviewed by such a small newspaper. It had sounded as if it could be a workable compromise to get her story out without throwing her to the media wolves. He’d hoped meeting Olivia for coffee, explaining the situation with Sarah and getting her advice would be the first step in finding a sensible way forward. Instead, even just being around her made him feel strangely flustered.

The diner’s light turned off. He glanced back. Someone had switched the door sign from Open to Closed. Moments later, the waitress and a second woman who he guessed was the cook walked out and drove off without so much as a wave in their direction.

He waited until they were gone before replying, “You should have told me he was here. I made it pretty clear that I wanted to talk to you off-the-record.” Daniel turned and walked toward his truck.

“You did. And again, I’m sorry.” Olivia followed and in a moment was walking by his side. “Ricky’s young and he must have misunderstood me somehow. He dropped me off and told me he was planning to drive to find a cell phone signal to call his folks.”

“And instead he parked down the road, sneaked back and snapped a picture, then ran off back to his car. These are hardly the actions of an honest person.” He tried to keep his tone level, but irritation still seeped through his voice. This situation was ludicrous and exactly what he’d hoped to avoid. While he’d only shared a few brief moments with Olivia, it had still felt as though they’d had some kind of connection. That there was something deeper beneath the surface—maybe his faith, his worldview or his drive to do the right thing—that she’d shared, too.

Obviously he was wrong.

“Well, that’s my fault, too, I guess,” she said. “I’d asked him to pull past the diner when he dropped me off. So he must have done the same when he came to pick me up.”

He stopped short. “So I wouldn’t see him, right?”

“Yes, and I’m sorry.” She crossed her arms in front of her chest. “I don’t know how many times I can say it. I made the wrong call. I get now that this is apparently a big deal for you.”

No, she didn’t get it. He’d been ready to trust her with something more important than she could have known. And she’d blown it.

But she’d admitted she was wrong and she’d apologized. That was far more than Mona had ever done. True. But she was also a stranger and a journalist. And the way he kept comparing her to his deceased former wife was reason enough to get out of here quick.

“I’m sorry, too. This was obviously a mistake.” He pulled his keys from his pocket and headed for his truck’s driver’s-side door. “I accept your apology. But this just doesn’t feel right to me anymore. Please consider everything we have talked about off-the-record and don’t contact me in future.”

He watched her face, expecting her features to fall in disappointment. Instead, her shoulders straightened and a firm, clear determination flashed in their depths.

“Understood. Well, I’m very sorry to have wasted your time.” She turned on her heel and started toward where the photographer’s headlights shone through the trees.

“Hang on. Let me at least escort you to your colleague’s car.”

“No, I’m fine on my own, thanks.” She didn’t even turn. “Good night, Mr. Ash.”

Olivia walked out of the parking lot without looking back. He climbed into his truck and tried not to watch her go. Part of him wanted to pray, but couldn’t begin to find words for the jumble of thoughts racing through his mind. Another part of him wanted to run after her and apologize, not even knowing what he should be apologizing for. Instead, he waited a few minutes to give her the chance to reach her coworker’s car. He heard a car door slam. A dark car sped past the lot. Seemed Olivia and her photographer friend were in a hurry to leave.

Daniel sighed, then eased his truck out onto the road and started driving. Despite the threat of rain, he rolled his window down and leaned out into the warm, damp night, hoping the fresh air would clear his head. What was it about this woman that unsettled him so much? He barely knew her, and yet sitting in the diner it had felt as if she’d been determined to reach around his defenses and rattle every single one of the locked doors inside him.

The headlights ahead of him lurched suddenly, weaving across the road and back as though the driver had suddenly lost control of the wheel. The dark car swerved toward the fenced-in remains of what was once a strip mall, then back onto the road again.

Olivia flew backward out of the passenger door.

FOUR

Daniel jammed on his brakes. The sound of his own thudding heartbeat filled his ears.

The world slowed.

Olivia’s body tumbled along the road like a rag doll.

The dark car spun around so quickly it nearly swerved off the road.

She forced herself to her feet and started running away.

Her hands were bound behind her.

She’d been kidnapped.

A figure in fatigues leaped out of the car and ran after her. A mask covered his face. There was a gun in his hand.

Daniel pressed his foot to the gas.

Lord, help me save her. I can’t fail her now.

He aimed the truck for the gap between Olivia and her kidnapper, planning to swerve between them and yank her in via the driver’s-side door, using the truck to shield her from the gunfire. But Olivia turned, darted through a gap in the barrier fence surrounding the strip mall and ran toward the abandoned buildings. No! Daniel gritted his teeth. Didn’t she realize those were his headlights shining on the road in front of her? Didn’t she see that he was there for her?

If only he hadn’t asked Olivia to meet him somewhere this isolated.

The masked thug leaped through the opening in the fence after her. Okay, new plan. Daniel swerved hard and came to a stop inches before the metal barrier. The masked man turned back and looked at him. Daniel’s eyes searched his form. Black fatigues. No insignia. Same as what he’d seen in the parking garage. Could’ve come from any military surplus store.

Semiautomatic handgun. Popular and illegal.

So probably a low-level street thug.

His voice was gravelly and definitely fake. “Keep driving, old man. This doesn’t concern you.”

The masked thug leveled the barrel of the gun right between Daniel’s eyes. Right, as though he was that easy to intimidate. He had faced down bigger guns and nastier threats back when this kid was probably still in grade school. Not that Daniel was about to be reckless and get himself shot while Olivia was still in danger. Daniel held the man’s gaze just long enough to watch Olivia disappear between two buildings behind him. Showdown over. He shifted the truck into four-wheel drive and pulled away. The gunman laughed, turned and ran after Olivia.

Thunder rumbled in the darkened air. The skies opened. Rain fell with a vengeance.

Daniel gunned the engine. He raced past the fenced-in lot, then turned hard into the empty field. The truck bounced and jolted over the grass and scrub, kicking up mud in his wake.

A gunshot sounded from the lot to his left. Thankfully, whoever had condemned this strip mall had only thought to put barricades at the front of it. He turned hard and raced back toward the lot, hit a drainage ditch and launched the truck up onto a patch of pavement behind the buildings. Then he cut the engine and waited. Hopefully the gunman was too focused on his hunt to notice Daniel’s little stunt drive.

Okay, Lord, now how do I—

But before the prayer could leave his lips, he saw Olivia shoot down an alleyway straight toward him.

* * *

She ran, barely able to see where she was going. Rain fell fast and wild, obscuring her view. The wind tossed her soaked hair into her face. Bonds dug into her wrists. Pain shot up her arms.

Her body smacked hard against the hood of a truck.

She gasped. The vehicle was nothing more than a gray shape in the darkness and had seemed to come out of nowhere. The driver’s face was hidden in the darkness and distorted by water pounding off the windshield. She spun on her heel.

“Olivia!” a deep voice yelled. “This way.”

She stumbled. A strong arm grabbed her around the waist and nearly hoisted her feet off the ground. She opened her mouth to scream. A hand clasped over her mouth. A breath brushed against her ear. “It’s me, Daniel. It’s okay. Just get in the truck.” He half steered, half pulled her toward the passenger door.

Daniel? The complicated and moody man who’d told her never to contact him again? Could she trust him? Then again, she’d foolishly thought the blinding headlights she’d been heading toward had belonged to Ricky’s car, until a masked man had stepped out of the shadows and pressed a gun into her face. If he was still after her, entrusting her safety to Daniel was the only choice she had left.

She tossed her head and his hand slipped from her lips. “Untie me. Now. And take me back to the diner.”

“I can’t. Sorry.” Authority rang through each syllable as though she was just supposed to take his word for it. “Just get in.”

“What do you mean you can’t?”

With one hand, he reached around her and opened the passenger door.

“Just get in. I’ll explain when we’re out of here.” Then before she could answer, he grabbed her waist with both hands and hoisted her into the truck. She landed on the seat. He reached past and buckled her in before she could even process what was happening. Then he slammed the door, leaving her sitting almost sideways, belted into his truck, her hands still tied behind her back. Daniel ran around and hopped into the driver’s side. His wet shirt was plastered to his skin. Water streamed down his face.

Her voice caught in her throat. “I said, untie my hands and take me back to the diner.”

“I said, I can’t.” He started the truck.

The thug who’d abducted her burst out of a gap in the buildings ahead of them.

A gunshot split the air, the sound fading into the echo of another thunderclap.

Daniel gunned the engine and threw the truck into Reverse.

They flew backward into a field.

“Diner’s closed,” Daniel said. “I’m taking you somewhere safer.”

“But Ricky will come back to the diner looking for me!”

Another shot sounded in the distance.

“You sure your pal’s coming back for you? Someone took our picture. And who else had any idea where you were? For all you know, he had something to do with what just happened to you.” Tires spun in the mud. Windshield wipers slashed back and forth through the downpour. They were hurtling across a field into dark and empty nothingness. Did he even know where he was going?

“You can’t possibly suspect Ricky had anything to do with that!”

Daniel stared straight ahead. “It’s my job to suspect everyone.”

“Was. Was your job. You’re not my bodyguard. I’m not some helpless debutante who needs you to chuck me into your truck and make all the decisions for me.”

One eyebrow rose. But he didn’t even answer. She pressed her lips together and stared at the water pouring down the window beside her. Okay, that probably sounded pretty ungrateful considering he’d just saved her life. Again. But since he’d been the one who’d suggested they have some secret meeting in the middle of nowhere, it was probably his fault that her life had been in danger, too.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t have anything I can cut your ties with here.” Daniel drove up a steep incline. They bounced through a drainage ditch and hit another field. “I do have a utility knife with me. But I’d have to stop the truck to get at it. Since those are heavy-duty plastic zip tie cuffs, it would take me a couple of minutes to hack my way through them. Under the circumstances, getting away from whoever just tried to kidnap you is my top priority.

“Also, it would take me half an hour to drive to the closest police station, and I made the call not to head back to the main road because if that thug has backup that’s probably where it would be waiting for us. But my place is less than three minutes from here and it’s not on the kind of road a stranger could just stumble on easily. Once we’re there, I can snip off those cuffs and we can call the police. Now, did that answer all your questions?”

Pretty much. “Enough for right now.”

“Great.” A wry grin crossed his lips. “And for the record, considering you just managed to escape from a moving vehicle while some thug had a gun pointed at you, helpless and debutante probably aren’t quite the words I’d use.”

Hang on, was that a compliment?

He risked a sideways glance. “I must admit, I’m kind of curious how you pulled that off.”

Looked like it was. They came out on a thin, unlit road. The rain slowed to a steady patter.

“Well, I didn’t realize it wasn’t Ricky at first,” she said. “By the time I got close enough to see it wasn’t his car, someone had already stepped out of the trees, covered my mouth and stuck a gun in my face. He ordered me into the car. Said if I didn’t go willingly he’d stick me in the trunk. I played along, but the first second the gun wasn’t pointed directly at me, I opened the door, swiveled on the seat and kicked him in the jaw.”

“Impressive.” The grin on his mouth spread all the way up to his eyes.

They pulled onto a dirt road and the truck slowed to a crawl. Trees pressed up against the window. Lightning flashed across the sky. She looked up.

A stone farmhouse loomed in front of them. Derelict and deserted looking, the building was three stories tall, with a wide, sagging front porch. If this whole area was mostly a ghost town, then this manor was definitely the broken jewel of the battered crown. He drove past the house and farther up the driveway to a rather big and surprisingly modern-looking barn garage. At the press of a button clipped to his visor, the garage door rolled up. “Welcome to my home.”

They pulled out of the rain. The door rolled shut behind them.

“The house itself isn’t much to look at yet.” He turned off the truck and climbed out. “I’m restoring it from the ground up. Just the kitchen, one bedroom and the study are livable so far. The living room’s nothing but a foundation pit and the whole second and third floors are structurally unsound. I still spend most of my time at my apartment in the city.”

She scanned the garage. Rows of both antique and modern tools were arranged over a reclaimed wood workbench. Piles of lumber lay neatly stacked against the wall. He walked around the truck and opened her door. The gentle smell of sawdust filled the air. “I built the garage before I started gutting the house. There’s a loft over the workbench, which doubles as both storage and sleeping space.”

She glanced up. A thick wave of wet red hair tumbled over her face.

“May I?” he asked. She nodded. He brushed the hair gently behind her ear. Then he unbuckled her seat belt. “I’m really very sorry to leave you sitting in those cuffs so long. Come on. Let’s get them off you.”

She started to step out of the truck. Her left foot snagged on some kind of strap underneath the passenger seat. She tumbled forward. Her body fell against his chest. His arms wrapped tight around her.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you.” He set her on the ground.

A flush rose to her cheeks. “My foot’s just caught on something.”

She looked down and sucked in a breath. It was the Torchlight News camera.

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