FRAMED FOR MURDER

Accused of murdering her estranged husband, widowed mother Samantha Rogers panics and flees. But the real killer is now after her and her son. She’s desperate to find a safe haven where her past is secret. So when John Wagner offers her room and board in exchange for work on a remote island in the Chesapeake Bay, she moves to Smuggler’s Cove. Samantha longs to tell her handsome boss why she’s always looking over her shoulder. But when danger arrives on shore, the truth may put John in a killer’s crosshairs.

“Someone wants me dead,” Samantha said.

She paused, then continued, “I just need a place to lie low for a while. I don’t want to cause any trouble.”

John watched her carefully. “Maybe I can help.”

“I appreciate that, but the less you know the better.”

Why couldn’t Samantha trust him?

“If you say so.” He took a step toward the door, realizing he wouldn’t get anything else out of her. It was her choice, and he could do nothing about it.

“John…”

He paused and looked back. “Yes?”

Samantha’s eyes brimmed with tears. “If anything happens to me, will you make sure my son is okay? I just need to know that someone will watch out for him.” Her voice cracked.

His heart ached at the vulnerability of her words. “Absolutely.”

He paused another moment. He didn’t want to leave, and he wasn’t even sure why. But his throat squeezed with pressure, and his feet seemed rooted where they were.

CHRISTY BARRITT

loves stories and has been writing them for as long as she can remember. She gets her best ideas when she’s supposed to be paying attention to something else—like in a workshop or while driving down the road.

The second book in her Squeaky Clean Mystery series, Suspicious Minds, won the inspirational category of the 2009 Daphne du Maurier Award for Excellence in Suspense and Mystery. She’s also the coauthor of Changed: True Stories of Finding God in Christian Music.

When she’s not working on books, Christy writes articles for various publications. She’s also a weekly feature writer for the Virginian-Pilot newspaper, the worship leader at her church and a frequent speaker at various writers’ groups, women’s luncheons and church events.

She’s married to Scott, a teacher and funny man extraordinaire. They have two sons, two dogs and a houseplant named Martha.

To learn more about her, visit her website, www.christybarritt.com.

Desperate Measures

Christy Barritt

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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I will say of the Lord, He is my refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust.

—Psalms 91:2

This book is dedicated to everyone who likes adventures off the beaten path and long for a place where time has stood still.

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

Dear Reader

Questions for Discussion

Extract

Copyright

ONE

Samantha Rogers looked over her shoulder, trying to maintain her composure in the inky black parking lot. Her heels clicked against the pavement and the overstuffed paper sack in her arm teetered.

Why weren’t the overhead lights working out here? Sure, the grocery store was in the middle of nowhere, in Yorktown, Virginia, a town where crime was practically nonexistent. But the soft glow of “Hal’s Market” on the sign above her did little to comfort her or guide her steps.

A footfall sounded behind her.

She craned her neck but didn’t see anyone. The sound spooked her enough that she quickened her pace. Her shoe caught in a crack, and she nearly toppled onto the asphalt.

She righted herself, but not before an apple escaped from the top of her bag and rolled under a nearby car.

No way was she stopping to retrieve it. Not with the way imaginary spiders scattered across her skin and her throat ached as she tried to hold her fears at bay. Tension pounded at her ears as she strained to hear another telltale sign that someone was following her.

Her paranoia reared its head at the worst times. But Samantha could have been certain that the man in the grocery store had been watching her. His bulging muscles, heavy jowls, and rocklike hands only made him appear to be dangerous. That’s what she tried to tell herself, at least.

For that matter, the man was probably shopping for the same household staples she was. She’d stopped by on her way home from a late night at work to grab the usual—milk, eggs, bread and some fresh produce. A lot of people stopped to get those things. That’s most likely why the man’s movements inside the store had paralleled hers.

He was just someone on his way home. His wife could have called him and reminded him they were out of milk. That was it.

She may have mentally convinced herself that her theory was true, but her body still remained on alert.

Samantha’s SUV came into view. It was only four parking spaces away. The heavy downpour earlier had flooded the front of the lot, so she’d had to park in the back. Now she wished she’d battled the ankle-high water closer to the store instead.

With her free hand, she fumbled inside her purse until she found her keys. She grasped them like a lifeline.

Almost there.

Almost safe.

She’d pick up Connor from his karate class, go home and lock her doors.

Then she’d laugh at herself for being so silly. She’d make jokes about her paranoia. She’d tell herself she had an overactive imagination.

Though she tried to brush off her anxiety, it didn’t work. How much longer could she live in this fear? It wasn’t fair to Connor. Every eight year old should have a stable, predictable life. Connor deserved to live in the same place for more than a few months at a time. He needed a safe place to call home.

This wasn’t how she’d imagined her life turning out.

Always looking over her shoulder. Tense. Afraid.

She reached her SUV and rounded it to the driver’s side. Relief filled her. That footfall had been her imagination.

As she hit the button to unlock her door, a man rushed from the shadows.

She dropped her bag and tried to scream. Before she could, the man’s fist collided with her jaw. The force of the hit propelled her backward, into her vehicle. Her head snapped back, cracking against the SUV.

It was the man from the store. The one with arms that looked like tree trunks. With a neck as thick as his head. Who towered above her by a foot, at least.

She hadn’t been paranoid.

“Did you think we wouldn’t find you?” he mumbled. Spittle showered her, followed by a blast of the man’s hot breath. “We always find who we’re looking for.”

Her knees went weak, and she began sinking to the ground. She didn’t stand a chance against this man. Her one hundred and twenty pounds weren’t enough. Her cell phone was out of her reach. Her keys jangled as her feet hit them on the asphalt.

This man was going to kill her, and she could do nothing about it.

No, she had to think about Connor. She had to fight for him. She couldn’t let this man win.

Her gaze quickly scanned her surroundings for something—anything—she could use as a weapon. All she saw were a dozen broken eggs, a busted milk carton and a loaf of bread.

Tears threatened to squeeze out as the man grabbed her blouse and jerked her back to her feet. His fist struck her stomach.

Deep, jarring pain made stars swim before her eyes. Her ribs ached. Air squeezed from her lungs.

“You have some very powerful people looking for you.” He pressed her against the SUV. “One in particular said you need to pay for what you’ve done.”

Wasn’t there anyone else out here? Anyone to call for help? The SUV formed a barrier, making it impossible for anyone coming from the store to see them.

“Leave me alone,” she mumbled, her head spinning. “Someone already killed my husband.”

“Someone killed him?” He grunted. “You killed him. An eye for an eye.”

“Of course I didn’t.” Her voice cracked.

“That’s not what I heard.”

“Please. I have a son. He needs me.” Maybe she could reason with this man. It was doubtful. But maybe. She didn’t have many options right now.

She quickly soaked in the man’s features. Gold tooth. Snake tattoo stretching up his neck. She’d never seen him before. He had to have been contracted by someone—one of her husband’s former friends.

“I wasn’t hired to be compassionate. I was hired to bring you in—dead or alive. Dead would be less of a hassle.”

The man punched her in the gut again. The air rushed from her lungs. Tears spilled down her cheeks.

He reached into his back pocket and pulled out something shiny.

A knife, Samantha realized.

Any hope she had for surviving disappeared faster than her last paycheck.

Dear Lord. Help me!

Just then, a siren screeched in the distance. The man startled at the sound.

Adrenaline surged in Samantha. She had to fight for her life. To fight for her son.

Finally, the scream that had been lodged in her throat escaped. She pushed the man away with a strength that surprised even her. Then she sprinted toward the store.

She ran, not looking back until she reached the inside. There, she sagged against the wall.

She glanced outside, just in time to see the man scowl at her. He climbed into his car and squealed off. She was safe. But for how long?

She had to get Connor and run. Where? She didn’t know. What would she do once she got there? She had no idea.

But staying here was not an option.

* * *

“I know people think I’m crazy, but I’ve got to do this.” John Wagner leaned back in his chair, not liking the tension across his chest. He’d felt this tension for far too long now. “I’ve got to make some life changes. I’ve been in denial about it for a long time.”

“I think it’s a good choice,” his friend Nate said. “Even if people think you’ve lost your mind.” His friend grinned as he leaned against an empty table in The Revolutionary Grill. It was Tuesday night, the one night of the week the grill didn’t open. That’s why John always stopped by, every week on the same night, to hang out. Nate and his wife owned this place.

Today would be John’s last visit for a while, though. In the morning, he’d leave for Smuggler’s Cove where he would begin a new adventure. He’d worked at the Coast Guard Training Center here in Yorktown for the past five years.

Now it was a time for a fresh challenge: restoring nine cabins on the remote island of Smuggler’s Cove, located in the middle of the Chesapeake Bay. John was looking forward to some new scenery and new faces. Mostly, he was hoping his soul might be restored right along with the old cabins.

Since Alyssa had died, nothing in his world had felt right. This life change was his last-ditch effort to find some peace, to make things right with himself. He prayed to God that would be the case. If this didn’t work, what would?

Finally, John took his last sip of coffee and stood. He raised his cup in acknowledgment of all the Tuesdays he and Nate had done this. “As always, thanks for the coffee. You guys will definitely be what I’ll miss the most about this place.”

“We’ll be out there to visit you in a week,” Nate added. “Work fast.”

“You know how to put the pressure on, but there’s no one else I’d work as hard for.” It was the truth. Nate and his wife Kylie had been loyal friends to him. He’d do anything for them.

Just then, the back door of the restaurant flew open. John’s gaze traveled through the kitchen, swerving in the direction of the sound.

A woman stood in the back entrance, her eyes wide. Blood trickled from her forehead, her lip was busted, her gaze looked frantic.

Nate rushed toward her, his eyebrows furrowed together in worry. “Samantha? Are you okay?”

The woman nodded and touched her forehead.

That’s right, John realized. It was Samantha, the woman who was renting the room above the restaurant. He’d hardly recognized her in her disheveled state.

John had seen her around a few times. She was hard not to notice with her trim build, soft blond hair that fell to her shoulders and the mysterious air about her. She kept to herself, but her gaze was always searching her surroundings, as if she was on guard or looking for someone.

She’d spiked John’s curiosity, but that was as far as it had gone. Ever since Alyssa, John knew he didn’t deserve the chance to even consider a relationship. Besides, Samantha seemed like a closed book, someone whose body language screamed, “Keep your distance.”

John joined his friend, scanning for trouble out the backdoor window. Before he even reached Samantha, he could see her trembling.

“I’m fine,” Samantha muttered. Her gaze fluttered to Nate and then John. “Just a little...an—an accident.”

John was sure those injuries were from anything but an accident. Had someone done that to her? Anger surged in him at the thought.

He’d seen firsthand the devastation that happened when people didn’t treat others as humans. Alyssa had been a prime example, and his heart still broke at the memory.

“That must have been some accident,” John muttered, soaking in her injuries.

Samantha shrugged. Her gaze fluttered wildly about the room, and she gripped her purse. “I’m sorry. I can’t talk now.”

“Can we help you get cleaned up, at least?” Nate asked. “I can grab my first-aid kit, put some ointment on that cut.”

She shoved a hair behind her ear. “I’ll be fine.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a piece of paper. Her tremble was more noticeable when she extended her arm. “Here’s the rest of my rent for the month. I’m afraid I’m going to have to take off. Family emergency.”

“Anything I can do to help?” John asked, even though it wasn’t his business to ask.

“No.” She shook her head. “I’m just going to grab my things and pick up Connor. We’re going to hit the road tonight.”

Nate shifted, worry wrinkling the corners of his eyes. “You can’t wait until morning?”

Samantha shook her head. “I’m sorry. But I’ve got to go now. This can’t wait.” She paused and sucked on her lip for a minute. “Look, you and Kylie have been really kind to me. I don’t know how to say this, but please be careful. Be safe. Especially safe.”

“What’s going on, Samantha? I don’t like the sound of that.” Nate, a seasoned Coastie, had always been tough, strong and fair. Right now, he sounded on edge.

John wanted to step in, to say more, to help in some way. But he didn’t know the woman, and Nate did. He held his tongue, restrained himself from pushing Samantha for answers. It was obvious that she needed help, even if she wouldn’t admit it or accept it when offered.

She took a step toward the staircase leading to her apartment over the restaurant. “I don’t have any time right now. I’ve got to go.”

She rushed up the stairs. Halfway up, she dropped her purse and the contents clattered down. John retrieved some lipstick and a pen. He handed the items to her, noticing how she jerked back when their hands touched.

“Thank you,” she muttered before hurrying away.

John stomped back down the stairs and joined Nate at the back door. He wanted to get his friend’s take on the situation. They moved away from the staircase so their voices wouldn’t carry.

“What was that about?” John asked.

Nate rubbed his jaw, looking just as perplexed as John was. “I have no idea. She’s scared.”

“Someone roughed her up,” John muttered.

Images of Alyssa flooded his mind. He blanched at each memory before regret filled him. He should have done more to protect her. He should have known that the man who’d caused her so much misery in her past would return, that he wouldn’t be content to leave her alone.

“I’ve seen that look before. She’s terrified.” John shook his head, unable to get the images to leave his mind. “What do you know about her?”

Nate shook his head. “Not much. She keeps to herself. Always pays her rent on time. Dotes over her son. But she’s offered very little in terms of personal information. We don’t ask. If she wants us to know, we figure she’ll tell us.”

John clenched his jaw, still replaying the conversation with her. “She said, ‘Be safe.’ It sounds as if trouble might be coming.”

“I’ll keep my eyes open. We’ve had problems around here before.”

“And they landed you in the hospital,” John reminded him. “Maybe I should stick around, be an extra set of eyes....”

“You do your thing, John. Smuggler’s Cove is your dream. I’ll take care of things here or call the police if I have to.”

John hated to walk away when a storm could be brewing. Especially since Nate and Kylie had a toddler and another baby on the way. Nate would need all the help he could get.

John prided himself on always being there for friends when they need him. That’s one of the reasons why his failure with Alyssa hurt so much.

He’d let her down. He’d let their unborn baby down.

“I don’t like this,” John finally said.

Nate clamped his hand on John’s shoulder. “It’s about time you did something for yourself. The change of scenery will be good for you.”

But John didn’t know if he could do that. The image of Samantha standing in the doorway with fear in her eyes would haunt him. So would the remembrance of her busted lip and the cut on her forehead.

Could he really go on with this new chapter of his life just as he’d planned? He didn’t know.

* * *

Samantha’s thoughts raced a mile a minute as she zipped her suitcase. Her jaw and her head ached. Even her eyes hurt as tears threatened to push out.

She had to get a grip. She had to pick up Connor and keep moving. And she didn’t have much time.

Samantha didn’t know where she’d go, how she’d get there or what she’d do once she arrived. All she knew was that she had to leave.

She gave one last glance at the apartment. At one time, she’d thought the small space was perfect. She’d wondered if they might find a home here in Yorktown. And maybe one day Kylie and Nate could be her friends.

She should have known better. A stable life—feeling normal and without fear—none of those things were her reality right now. The notion of a safe, happy life was only a farce.

Stepping back onto the landing, Samantha closed the door behind her. She heard the lock click, the sound cementing her plans to run.

Here I go...again. Lord, watch over me. Show me where to go. Pour Your wisdom over me.

Hauling her suitcases behind her, she thumped down the stairs. Her heart raced, pounding in her ears. Each pulse seemed to echo the urgency of the situation.

Go. Move. Run.

All she wanted was to find a place to stay. Rest. Be.

At the landing by the back door, she looked back. Just as she expected, Nate was standing there, waiting for her. She’d known he wouldn’t accept her flimsy explanation. His friend was gone, though. John was gone.

That was probably good. The man’s eyes had seemed too intense, too curious...too compassionate. She feared her reaction to him. Whenever he’d come into the restaurant and Samantha had spotted him, her heart had raced.

The man was attractive. Really attractive. He was tall with dark, neat hair. His body looked sculpted and firm. He seemed to be a loyal friend to Nate and Kylie. He wasn’t the loud or pushy type. Instead, he seemed steady, patient and strong.

“Samantha, are you sure you have to go?” Nate asked. Concern stained his eyes, pulling her back to reality.

She nodded, her throat dry. She crept closer and closer to the door, unable to stay in one place. “I’m sorry. I hope I didn’t bring trouble your way.”

“Trouble?”

She licked her lips, panic fluttering through her. “I’ve said too much already.”

What was she thinking? She should have just slipped away quietly. Too bad there wasn’t a training course for how to effectively go on the run and disappear off everyone’s radar. The problem was that Nate and Kylie had a toddler, and a baby on the way. She’d never intended to put them in harm’s path.

“Maybe Kylie and I can help....”

“No one can help, but thank you.” She stared at him another moment, wishing she could offer more of an explanation. “Thank you for everything.”

He finally lowered his chin, his lips pulled into a tight line. “Be safe.”

She nodded again. “Thanks.”

She stepped outside into the warm, dark summer night. She really had liked it here. Living above the little restaurant. Enjoying the waterfront, the shops, the history.

The area had seemed so safe, so quaint and friendly.

Her desire to keep her son safe trumped her wish for a stable life, though.

She ambled across the parking lot, pulling her suitcase and heaving Connor’s backpack up higher on her shoulder. Was she really ready to start another new life? Exhaustion pulled at her at the thought.

As she rounded the corner, a figure in the shadows caught her eyes.

Oh, no! He was back. The man from the grocery store.

Samantha wasn’t sure she had enough fight left in her to survive another confrontation.

TWO

Samantha broke into a run, not bothering to look behind her. She had to move quickly. Had to think fast. Had to be smart.

“Samantha, it’s me.”

The voice sounded familiar. She slowed her steps but only for a minute. After all, Billy’s voice had been familiar. Familiar didn’t mean safe.

“It’s John, Nate’s friend. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

She slowed again. Hesitated. Finally, she turned. Her entire body was tense, ready to flee if necessary.

John raised his hands and stepped toward her. Maybe he hadn’t been in the shadows, as she’d first thought. His truck door was open, as if he’d just climbed out. Maybe he’d spotted her leaving before he’d pulled out of the parking lot.

“I saw you leaving,” John confirmed. “I wasn’t trying to hide or frighten you.”

“What do you want?” She didn’t care if he was Nate’s friend. She didn’t know who she could trust right now.

He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on. I didn’t even plan on doing this. But I won’t be able to live with myself if I don’t say something. I have a feeling there’s really not a family emergency.”

“It depends on how you define family emergency.” Her family—she and Connor—were definitely in the middle of an emergency situation. The thugs hired by Billy had found her. And if they caught her, they’d kill her. They wouldn’t bat an eyelash before taking her life. She wouldn’t be so lucky to get away again the second time around.

He pulled out a piece of paper. “If you’re looking for a place to get away—and a job—here’s an idea for you. It’s not much, but you’d have a place to stay. A safe place.”

She glanced down at the card, tempted by the offer. She didn’t have any other plans. No ideas even. “Smuggler’s Cove? I’ve heard of the island before. One of my friends in high school lived there for a while.”

“It’s one of the safest places I’ve ever been. Everyone knows everybody. The biggest crime is littering. I’m fixing up some cabins there. I could use a hand painting, restoring some furniture, making the structures livable.”

She stared at him. His words sounded sincere. But she couldn’t shake her general distrust of people. “Why do you want to help me?” After all, didn’t everybody want something? Nothing was free or sacred. Not even marriage, apparently. She’d learned that the hard way.

John shifted. A new heaviness seemed to press down on his shoulders. “I’ve been in some tough spots before. I get what that’s like, and I hate to see people struggle.”

She held her head up higher, struck by the sincerity of his words. But she couldn’t let herself soften. Being weak would get her killed. “Thanks for your kindness, but I’ve got to go.”

He looked away and shoved a hand in his pocket. “Right. Family emergency.”

She nodded, unsure why she felt the urge to pour everything out to him. What would it be like to let someone else help carry her burden? It was an idea she couldn’t let herself consider because the crushing reality was that she was all alone. Now and forever. “That’s right. Thanks again.”

Before he could say anything else, she climbed into her car and took off to pick up Connor.

* * *

The next morning, John stared at the beachfront cabins in front of him. His thoughts should be on the task before him—the major, he’d-bitten-off-more-than-he-could-chew task. The task that could easily turn into a money pit.

Instead, he was still thinking about Samantha Rogers. He couldn’t help but wonder if she was okay. Or try to figure out where she’d gone and why she was so scared.

He wanted to help. But they didn’t have that kind of relationship. They didn’t have any kind of relationship, for that matter. To even say they were acquaintances would be stretching it.

The woman was an adult, he reminded himself. She could ask for help if she needed it. He couldn’t make Samantha trust him. She had no reason to.

Which was why he simply needed to dig into his work and concentrate on his own issues. The good Lord knew John had enough problems of his own that he shouldn’t try to take on anyone else’s, as well.

But something about the look in her eyes reminded him so much of Alyssa. Helping Samantha would in no way atone for the failings of his past, he reminded himself. But something still drew him toward the situation. Something brought out a protectiveness in him and made him want to intercede.

He put those thoughts aside and continued making a list of everything that needed to be done. Before John had arrived, he’d had a plumber and electrician come out. With those tasks done, he could work on the rest of the restoration process.

There were eight smaller cabins surrounding one larger one in the center. They’d been fishing cabins twenty years ago until the owner had died. The owner’s son had no interest in staying on the island, so the structures had been abandoned until two months ago when the son had finally put them on the market.

Smuggler’s Cove was one of John’s favorite haunts when he was out boating and fishing. The island had great seafood and a quiet pace of life that fascinated him. He’d known he needed a life change. When he saw the cabins, he knew what that change should be.

His plan was to fix them up and rent them out to fishermen, vacationers and people who just needed some time away. He certainly knew what it was like to yearn for a place where time had slowed. He knew the healing powers of being on the water. John realized that sometimes only time and reflection could heal broken, grief-stricken hearts.

He circled one of the cabins, compiling a list of all the supplies he needed. The bulleted list had already filled one page. Now he was starting on his second. At this rate his savings wouldn’t last long.

At least he’d still have the comfort of the summer breeze. The scent of the bay seemed to soothe him, along with the squawking of seagulls, the sound of crashing waves, the heavy, salty air.

As he rounded the corner of one of the cabins he spotted a woman and child approaching in a golf cart. Alvin—the town’s “chauffeur,” as he called himself—was at the wheel. John stopped and watched as Alvin unloaded two suitcases, waved hello, and then sped off to his next job. No doubt there were other tourists waiting to sightsee on the island. This was prime tourist season; the time when businesses counted on making enough money to sustain them all year.

The woman and boy grabbed their luggage and started across the sandy path toward him.

His heart quickened as he recognized the woman. “Samantha.”

She’d tried to cover up the cuts and bruises with makeup but it hadn’t worked. Still, the woman was striking.

She raised her chin. “I hope that job offer is still available. I’ve reconsidered and I’d like to work for you.”

“I can arrange that.” His heart lifted. He still didn’t know why he felt so protective of a woman he hardly knew, but he had to believe that God had brought Samantha and her son here for a reason. Their meeting last night was no coincidence.

“Great.” She looked beyond him, wincing when her gaze reached the cabins. “Those are yours?”

He glanced behind him and frowned. The task did seem overwhelming, maybe even foolish. “These are going to be my life for the next couple of months.”

“Big job.” Her gaze still fixed on the houses in the distance.

“You up for it?” He watched her expression. When her eyes met his, John saw curiosity there.

She nodded slowly, surely. “Definitely.”

“The cabins aren’t much, but a couple are in better shape than the others. Pay is free rent, plus $100 a week. It’s not much, but it should get you groceries and cover any other expenses.”

“Sounds fine.”

John nodded behind her. “Who’s this with you?”

Her arm went around the boy’s shoulders. “This is my son, Connor.”

“Nice to meet you, Connor.” He guessed the boy to be around eight. He was the spitting image of his mother with blond hair, big eyes and milky skin.

The boy squinted against the sun and frowned. “Nice to meet you, too.” He sounded less than enthusiastic.

“I thought I should let you know that I have worked construction before,” Samantha continued. She raised her chin, stubborn determination written all over the action. “I can do any labor that’s needed.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

“Thank you. I’ll work hard. I’m not looking for a handout.”

“Understood.” He liked it when people worked for what they wanted instead of accepting everything for free. He could respect that.

Just then, someone appeared from the gravel road that led to the secluded cabins, and called out a loud, “Hey!”

Samantha jumped, reminding him that she was in some sort of trouble, the details of which were unknown to him.

* * *

Samantha turned, and stared at the uniformed man in front of her, her heart pounding so hard that it felt visible, as if her entire body was pulsating with it. When she spotted the brown law-enforcement uniform her pulse only quickened more.

Time and time again, the police had let her down. She’d thought they were there to protect and serve. Instead, she’d found they were best at judging and condemning.

That much had been obvious when she’d been framed for a crime she hadn’t committed. She should have stayed around to fight for her good name and reputation, but she’d seen the way justice wasn’t always served, and she wanted no part of it. So she’d taken things into her own hands and fled with her son.

Now she lived in fear of being discovered.

“Can I go look at the water, Mom?” Connor’s voice pulled her out of her thoughts.

Samantha looked down at her son and nodded. “Just don’t wander too far away.”

Just as Connor sprinted toward the bay, John turned toward her. “Samantha, this is Zachary Davis. He’s the sheriff here on Smuggler’s Cove.”

She felt her face go pale as she nodded hello. Great. Her new boss was chummy with the local sheriff.

That meant her time on the island may not last as long as she might like. She knew she should have gone to a big city. But somehow she’d ended up here, on this remote little island where no one had cars, a place only accessible by boat.

As she’d thought about John’s offer last night, she’d tried to talk herself out of it. But then she’d realized that Billy would expect her to run far. Staying close might throw him off her trail.

After she’d picked up Connor, she’d called a friend from work who’d agreed to meet her at a local park. Samantha had decided to leave her SUV there. It was obvious that someone knew her car’s make and license plate number. She had to put distance between herself and the vehicle.

Lisa, a single woman in her mid-twenties, had taken her to a hotel. The next morning, Samantha had called a taxi.

“Where to?” the driver had asked.

Samantha had remembered the dwindling money in her purse. Using her debit card or credit card would be too risky. Billy could track her. He obviously knew her alias now. But the ferry to get to Smuggler’s Cove was pricey. What if John had changed his mind once she’d arrived?

So much was depending on this one decision to come here. Mainly, the lives of her and her son—and her son’s life was the most important thing of all.

“What’s going on, Sheriff?” John’s voice pulled Samantha out of her thoughts.

The sheriff put his hands on his hips. “We’ve had some vandalism around here lately. I’m just trying to let the townsfolk know. I have suspicions that whoever is behind these crimes might have used these cabins as a hideout at some point or another.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. I didn’t think stuff like that happened out here.” John squinted against the sun, which flooded his face. He had a five o’clock shadow that made him look rugged. His white T-shirt and worn jeans seemed to fit his persona better than the uniform Samantha had seen him wear in the past.

“It usually doesn’t. But nowhere is immune to crime, not in today’s world.” The sheriff shifted.

He was youngish—probably in his late twenties, just like Samantha. He had sandy brown hair and blue eyes. Samantha noticed he didn’t have the same island accent as the people down at the docks did.

“When did you get here?” the sheriff asked John.

“Just this morning.”

“Take the ferry in?”

John nodded toward a boat bobbing in the water by the pier. “No, I came over on my boat. I figured I’d need it, especially if I had to go back to the mainland for supplies. The ferry’s schedule isn’t always mine.”

“Well, it will be nice to have you around here. I might be able to use some of your expertise from your coast guard days, especially if these vandalisms continue.”

“Anytime. But only if you show me some of those fishing holes you’ve been telling me about.”

Samantha tuned out their conversation for a moment. The sheriff’s words caused Samantha to shudder. Vandalisms? Here on Smuggler’s Cove? There wasn’t anywhere one could get away from the bad in the world, was there? She wasn’t naive enough to think there might be; she’d only hoped this place might be different. Might be safer.

At a lull in the conversation, the sheriff turned toward her. “You here visiting from out of town? I don’t think we’ve met yet.”

Her throat burned as she nodded. “I’m Samantha. I’m going to be helping to restore the cabins here.”

“These places might need a bit of a woman’s touch.” He grinned personably. “Where you from?”

Familiar tension began pulling at her. Why did people always have to ask for details? “Everywhere actually. But I was raised in Georgia.”

He tipped his head. “Well, nice to meet you, Samantha. Hope you enjoy your stay here. Make sure that John shares some of his fish with you. Nothing better than grilling out with the fresh catch of the day on the menu.”

Tempting, but there would be no enjoying her stay. No, the only part of life she’d taken delight in over the past year had been Connor. He was her happiness. The rest of life...it scared the breath out of her.

As the sheriff walked away, John turned toward her. “How about if I show you to a cabin?”

Samantha nodded and called Connor over. Putting some space between herself and the rest of this town sounded perfect at the moment. Even if that meant hiding out in a shabby, drafty cabin that hadn’t been used in years.

She knew the better end of a bargain when she saw one.

* * *

John unlocked the door to the cabin next to his. Of all the cabins, this one’s structure was the most stable. It had electricity and plumbing. The furniture was decent.

The whole place still needed to be spruced up and aired out, but he figured it was the most sufficient for Samantha and Connor.

He pushed the door open and squirmed at what he saw inside. The whole place felt musty and dark. There were rust stains on the kitchen sink. A door hung slightly askew. The wallpaper peeled in the corners.

Maybe this wasn’t suitable for Samantha. For anyone.

She seemed to read his thoughts. “This will be fine.”

“It’s not much.” John looked down at Connor and saw the boy frown. He also saw Samantha squeezing her son’s shoulder, probably a nonverbal message for him to stay quiet. Honestly, John wouldn’t blame the boy if he had reservations about staying here.

“It just needs to be cleaned up a little,” Samantha said as she examined the room with her gaze. “Needs a little paint, everything needs to be wiped down, maybe add some curtains and get rid of those dusty ones. It will be great.”

The cabins weren’t large—only eight hundred square feet or so. The front was a great room with a living room on the left, a dining room and kitchen on the right. The two spaces were separated by a breakfast bar.

A short hallway stretched beyond that. There were two bedrooms and one bathroom.

At least the refrigerator and stove worked in this cabin.

He’d offer them his own cabin, one that was larger. Except it wasn’t in any better shape than this one. In fact, one of the bedrooms had a hole in the floor that he needed to patch. Way too dangerous for Connor.

“I’m thinking we should start here today,” John said.

“Good idea.” A smile tugged at her lips.

“I’ll bring the supplies over, if you don’t mind painting and getting a little dirty. You can start now. We’ll get this place in shape for you.”

“Not at all.”

He stomped across the rickety porch and walked toward his cabin, where he kept his supplies. He couldn’t believe that Samantha had actually come. If he’d even had an inkling, he would have started preparing this place earlier.

He’d followed his gut when he’d invited her here. Now his brain had to kick into action so he could figure out his next step. He needed to make a list of things she could do around here. Having her here was the right thing; he felt sure of it. But there were details that needed to be considered.

He grabbed what he needed and started back toward Samantha. As he approached the cabin, the sand soft—and silent—beneath his feet, he paused. A conversation drifted out from the open window.

“This isn’t a discussion, Connor,” Samantha said, her voice firm.

“I’m tired of moving, Mom. Why couldn’t we just stay where we were? I liked my school. I liked my friends.”

“It’s not an option, Connor.”

“But, Mom...”

“There’s nothing to discuss.”

“There’s nothing to do here. This place is boring. There aren’t even any cars. Probably no TVs. Not in here, at least. I bet you there aren’t any kids my age, either.”

“You might be surprised. And getting away from those video games will be good for you. Besides, you can help me work. Then you won’t be bored.” Her voice lilted near the end.

“This stinks.”

“We’re going to make the best of it. That’s what we do. It’s a good life lesson. A hard one. But a good one. We don’t choose our circumstances, but we choose our attitude.”

John had heard enough—enough that he felt as though he was intruding. He knocked on the door, more curious than ever as to what their story was. He knew he couldn’t ask.

Samantha pulled the door open and stared up at him with eyes as wide as full moons. “Mr. Wagner.”

“Please, call me John.” He held up his supplies, quickly observing that Samantha had already changed into some old shorts, a T-shirt, and had tied a purple bandana around her hair. “Let’s get this place into shape. There’s a washer and dryer at my place. You should probably wash the sheets and comforter. I bought them used from someone in town.”

“I can definitely handle today’s assignment. Especially since Connor will be helping me. Right, Connor?” She looked back at her son.

The boy frowned as he looked up from a handheld video game, his expression like most eight-year-old boys probably would have in this situation. Just then, John’s phone rang. He saw Nate’s number.

“Excuse me a moment.” He stepped outside and hit Talk. “What’s going on, man? You miss me already?”

“Ha. Yeah, I wish my reasons for calling were that simple.”

That didn’t sound good. “What’s going on?” John focused on some seagulls fighting over something on the shoreline.

“I just thought you should know that someone broke into the restaurant last night.”

“What?” Was this related to Samantha? It had to be. He didn’t like the sound of this already.

“Yeah, someone went through our former tenant’s apartment.”

“Trying to find Samantha,” John filled in the blank.

“Exactly. I think she’s in trouble. Big trouble.”

He remembered her sweet face, battered and bruised. He thought about her little boy. “I hate to hear that. Any reason you wanted to call and tell me, though?” He hadn’t mentioned his offer to Nate.

“We had to call in a police report. We gave the cops a copy of the rental agreement we had with Samantha, and they did a routine check on her driver’s license number. It turns out there’s no record of any Samantha Rogers, not one with her license number or at her previous address. She doesn’t exist.”

“What?” Was Samantha using an alias? Why? Just what was her story?

“The plot thickens, bro. There’s more. After the local police came by, an FBI agent paid us a visit.”

John’s mind raced. What in the world was going on?

“He claims that Samantha isn’t in trouble. He says that Samantha is trouble.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Samantha was obviously scared, but nothing about the woman screamed devious.

“That’s what he said. He said something about her being a suspect in the murder of her estranged husband back in Texas.”

THREE

“A murder suspect? I don’t believe it.” John glanced across the sandy yard just as Samantha stepped onto the porch with an armful of sheets. Connor ran ahead of her, and she began racing after him. Connor giggled as his lead widened. That was not an image of a killer. Samantha, if anything, was a victim. “What did you tell him?”

“I told him I couldn’t believe Samantha could ever hurt another person and that I had no idea where she went. It’s the truth. I don’t want to know. My guess is that this agent is trying to track her down, though. I don’t know how long it’s going to take.”

“I don’t think you ever answered my original question. Why are you telling me this?” John asked.

“Samantha texted Kylie last night and did an informal character check on you. She wanted to find out if you were a classy kind of guy.”

“And Kylie said?”

“She said she’d trust you with her life. I know your past. I figured you might have passed on your contact information to Samantha. I just thought I’d let you know what happened last night. Just in case. I have a hard time believing Samantha’s dangerous. But, should you see her, keep that in mind.”

John did see her. She paused at his cabin doorway, then turned around to get his approval before going inside. When he nodded, she flashed a smile and then ducked into the doorway.

A killer?

Never.

But whatever was going on in her life sure had created a tangled web. If he were smart, he’d stay away.

But the chivalrous side of him couldn’t stand to see a woman or child in danger.

He wasn’t sure what he’d been thinking when he’d agreed to hire her. He knew what Alyssa would tell him. She would say that his heart was too big for its own good. Then she’d smile and tell him that’s why she loved him so much.

There wasn’t a day that went by that he didn’t miss that woman. Time had made his grief more bearable, but it hadn’t lessened his loss.

That’s why he had to help Samantha while still keeping her at a distance. His moral duty was to aid someone in need. But helping was as far as it went.

* * *

After working a seven hour day, Samantha relished the tepid shower water. She was even thankful for the lousy water pressure as she scrubbed the grime off nearly every visible surface of skin. She had to admit that the physical labor today had felt good, despite her sore ribs and the tender skin around her eye.

She’d been working a desk job for the past few months. While working this new job, she found it invigorating to submerge herself into a task at hand, even better because Connor could work alongside her. Her injuries were grim reminders that not everything was as idyllic as it seemed here, though.

She climbed out, toweled dry, and pulled on some clean clothes. Then she rubbed the steam from the mirror and stared at her reflection. She noted the lines around her eyes and on her forehead. Those hadn’t been there a year ago. The events of the past twelve months had taken a toll on every part of her—physically, emotionally and spiritually.

Her mom had once told Samantha that she was a survivor. She held on to her mom’s proclamation, hoping it was true. But she didn’t feel like one. Sure, maybe she’d managed to stay alive. But somehow, she hadn’t felt as if she was truly living in a long time. Fear and guilt could be a prison of their own.

“You ready, Mom?”

She looked over at Connor, her heart squeezing with both love and guilt. “Sure thing.” She dried her hands and then hooked an arm around her son’s neck. “Thanks for helping today. Admit it—you had fun.”

He shrugged. “I don’t know if I’d say that.”

The place had shaped up quickly. Samantha had washed everything, scrubbed the floors and peeled down wallpaper. It didn’t look that bad after all.

Meanwhile, John had patched the roof, fixed a broken stair on the porch and removed a hornet’s nest from outside. Connor had even gotten into the action. He’d helped with painting and had scrubbed the fridge.

They’d all worked together—in silence. Samantha was thankful. Talking led to questions, and she didn’t want the questions to lead to lies.

“We’re going to be okay, Connor,” she assured him.

“Mom?”

“Yes?”

“I changed my mind. Can we stay here for a while? Please? I’m so tired of moving.”

Her heart squeezed. “I think we can stay awhile.”

“You think? That means you’re not promising anything.” Not much got past her son, and she wouldn’t lie to him.

“It’s complicated, Connor.”

He frowned.

Samantha leaned down in front of him until they were eye to eye. “I’m doing the best I can. I hope we can stay here for a while, Connor. I really do.”

“Promise me.”

“I promise that I’ll do my best to stay here. I know it’s not exactly what you want to hear. But it’s the most I can give you.”

“Okay.” He frowned again and reluctantly began walking with Samantha toward John’s house. She should have refused John’s invitation to dinner. But she had no groceries and no time to buy anything. Besides, having dinner with someone wasn’t a promise of anything—not a promise of friendship or trust or anything other than a professional relationship.

Despite that, Samantha should have probably said no. Her jaw ached. She was tired. And she was scared.

The fewer people who saw her face here, the better. It was bad enough that the sheriff had already seen her. The last thing she needed was for him to run some kind of background check on her.

If he did, then she’d be out of a job, behind bars and Connor would have no one. The cops back in Texas still thought she was involved in the scheme her husband and his friends had devised. When Billy—the ringleader—had heard she was going to turn them in, he’d put money into her personal bank account—large sums of money. Money that made her look guilty. He’d planted emails that made it look as though she was the mastermind behind his scheme to scam people out of their investments. He’d lined everything up just right so that, if he fell, then she’d fall with him.

That’s why it was so important that she remained low-key and not arouse anyone’s suspicions.

The problem was that she could already see in her boss’s eyes that he was perceptive and intelligent. How long would it take for John to put it together that she was running from both the bad guys and from the law?

If he discovered that information, would he turn her in?

The smell of a charcoal grill billowed in the air as they approached. John looked up from an old, park-style grill—one that was cemented into the ground—and grinned.

“How’s the cabin coming?” he asked.

“I think it will be fine. I really appreciate your letting us stay here.”

“I appreciate the help. I was sincere when I said I needed a hand.”

Samantha paused by the grill, second-guessing herself for a moment. Maybe she should have refused his offer. She’d done such a good job keeping to herself. She couldn’t let herself feel too safe here on the island. “Is there anything I can do to help get dinner ready?”

“It’s nothing fancy. I’m fine. You can just relax.”

Relax? She almost wanted to snort. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d relaxed. No, she was always on guard, always alert.

Despite that, she sat in an old deck chair on the porch of John’s cabin. Connor plopped on the steps and began running a stick over the sand, drawing pictures.

She looked out in the distance.

The Chesapeake Bay was blue and pristine. The sun was setting across the water, smearing pink and purple lights together. Wisps of dune grass sprinkled the area. Pelicans flew overhead, and the smell of seawater brought an unusual sense of comfort.

A false sense of comfort and security, for that matter.

“So, tell us about Smuggler’s Cove,” Samantha urged.

“It’s a national treasure, if you ask me.” John flipped the fish and a scrumptious scent filled the air.

Samantha took a moment to soak him in.

The man was gorgeous with his broad frame, his head full of dark hair, and his warm brown eyes. No one could deny that.

But that didn’t matter to Samantha. It was the single life for her, from now until eternity. Every man she’d ever trusted had ultimately let her down. She didn’t see that changing...well, ever. Men were all the same, as far as she was concerned.

At five, her father had left. Her boyfriend in college had cheated on her. Her husband had swindled people out of thousands of dollars, choosing money over his family.

She’d never met a man she could trust.

Which was why she needed to concentrate on something else at the moment.

“I think the neighborhood where I grew up is bigger than this place,” she said, careful to not reveal too much about herself.

But her words were true. The whole island could only be maybe fifty acres. It was small enough that Samantha, as she’d traveled from the wharf to John’s yesterday, had seen tombstones in people’s front yards.

He chuckled. “You could be right. I think there’s only around a thousand residents here. It’s unlike any place I’ve ever been. At high tide, the waters rise and small wooden bridges connect various parts of the island. Only about sixty percent is inhabitable. The rest is marshland.”

“I hate to see what that means during hurricane season.”

“They say the island was formed from a hurricane and another one could easily erase it. In fact, there’s an island north of here—locals call it the Uppards—that was once inhabited. Residents abandoned it about forty years ago because of flooding. The entire island became submerged during storms.”

“It was probably a good idea that they ditched the place then.” She crossed her legs, soaking in the sun for a moment. “What about the accent I heard on some of the locals. I wasn’t imagining that, was I?”

John closed the grill and leaned against a picnic table. “Not at all. When the island was first settled by the British back in the 1880s—yes, we’re talking nearly as far back as John Smith and Pocahontas—they were isolated. Really isolated. More so than they are now. Their way of life was preserved for a long time, even the accent stuck around. In recent years, it’s become not as prominent with television and visitors and so.”

“Fascinating. I didn’t get a good look at what’s here. I take it there’s not a Macy’s.”

He chuckled. “No, no Macy’s. But there is a general store, three restaurants, a bed and breakfast, the docks and the homes of the residents living here.”

“Why’s it called Smuggler’s Cove?” Connor asked.

“Many years ago, pirates were said to have buried their loot on the island, thus the name Smuggler’s Cove.”

“So, if I look hard enough, I could find treasure? Awesome! Can I start now?”

Samantha shrugged. “Go for it. Just don’t wander too far away.”

As Connor scurried off, John turned toward her. “So, you said you had experience in construction?”

She nodded. “I worked for a construction company, doing their books. I also helped Connor’s father with flipping houses. My uncle was a handyman, so he taught me a lot.” Even her uncle had ended up leaving his wife for another woman. He’d totally lost contact with the rest of the family when that happened.

She leaned back into the chair, imaging herself living a different life. A life where she could sit back and relax and enjoy the world around her. But there was no need to dwell on what wasn’t. She had to concentrate on survival. “How about you? Is this what you do for a living? Restoring cabins?”

“Nah, I quit my regular job at the Coast Guard Training Center. Decided I needed a change of pace.”

Why would someone do that? Samantha wondered. But the question wasn’t hers to ask. Not now. Besides, too many personal questions could be dangerous. She needed to stay on neutral ground.

She nodded. “Where are you from?”

“Texas originally. Gloucester for the past several years. Smuggler’s Cove now.”

Tension crept up her spine at the mention of Texas. “Really? What part of Texas?”

“The Houston area.”

Just a coincidence, she told herself. He probably hadn’t heard of Billy. Probably hadn’t heard about what happened to her husband. But what if somehow he made the connection that her former husband was a part of the gang that had cheated the city’s richest out of their money? What if he put two and two together?

She stared out to sea. The island seemed so secluded, so far off the beaten path.

But that seclusion would either keep her safe or keep her trapped.

“I just remembered a phone call I need to make,” Samantha blurted. She had to excuse herself before her face gave way any more of her thoughts.

“Go right ahead. I’ll finish cooking these fish. Dinner will be ready in no time.”

She stood and plodded through the sand, going far enough away that John wouldn’t be able to hear any of her conversation.

She walked toward the shoreline, noting how Connor dug holes in the sand not far away. Still searching for buried treasure. She smiled sadly as she looked over at him.

Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a cheap track phone she’d bought from the gas station beside the hotel last night. She’d needed to call a few people, but she didn’t want to be traced. She’d thrown her old phone into a river, trying to take every precaution possible not to be tracked.

She wished she could simply walk away from her life in Yorktown and disappear. But her boss was counting on her. He might call the police if she simply left without a word. And Connor’s summer school teacher would worry if he just stopped going to classes. It was best she covered her tracks and made everyone think this was a last-minute trip. That way no one would call the police. The last thing she needed was a missing-persons report.

She cleared her throat and dialed her boss’s number. A moment later, Hank came on the line. “Samantha, where are you?”

“I’m sorry, Hank. Something’s come up. A family emergency.”

“Man, Samantha, I’m sorry to hear that. Talk about awful timing, all the way around.”

She bristled. “What do you mean?”

“You heard about Lisa, right?”

Samantha’s muscles constricted. Lisa had promised not to say a word about their meeting. And Samantha hadn’t even told Lisa where she was going. The fewer people who knew, the better. She’d only asked Lisa for a ride because she couldn’t risk keeping her car. The thug who’d attacked her had seen the vehicle. He knew her license plate.

“No, I didn’t hear.” Her throat burned with the words.

“She died last night. She ran off the side of the road, apparently. No one really knows what happened. Rumor has it that she had some drugs in her system.”

“Lisa didn’t do drugs,” Samantha said. “You know that.”

And Lisa hadn’t been high when she’d helped Samantha. An inkling of the truth began to creep into her mind. Someone had killed her and covered their tracks. Just like someone had killed Anthony and made Samantha look guilty.

“She’s gone. I can’t believe it. And now you’re not here. I don’t know what I’ll do without you two ladies.”

“I’m sorry, Hank. I really am.”

“Come back as soon as you can, you hear?”

“You got it.”

As she hung up, cold, stark fear swept over her.

Lisa... Not Lisa. This was Samantha’s fault. She’d put her friend in danger. She should have been more careful, tried to be more independent.

Now her friend was dead.

Guilt pounded at her conscience. If she could only go back, she’d do things differently. She’d keep her friend out of this.

But it was too late to change anything of that.

She’d managed to escape these thugs before. Why did she feel as if her time had run out? All of the running in the world wouldn’t make her feel safe right now.

FOUR

John noticed the change in Samantha when she returned from her phone call. He wondered what kind of conversation she’d had. He hadn’t missed the pallor that had come over her at the mention of Texas, either.

He kept reminding himself to mind his own business. But minding his own business wouldn’t help keep anyone safe.

Just then, Lulu appeared down the sandy walkway leading to the cabins, a large dog pulling her along.

His dog.

Rusty was a rowdy Australian Shepherd he’d found wandering outside his house three months ago. The dog hadn’t gone away, so eventually John had adopted him. Now it followed him everywhere, perhaps as his eternal way of saying thanks.

John liked to grumble about the dog, but he had to admit that Rusty had become a faithful companion. Lulu was the island’s local groomer, and John had dropped Rusty off with her this morning after she’d promised a free first visit.

“Hello, there!” Lulu called. Lulu was a heavyset woman with orange hair and too much makeup. But she was a friendly soul.

Rusty broke free from the leash and stampeded over to jump on John. The dog’s tail wagged and he continued to jump, sixty-five pounds of hyper joy. John grabbed the leash before the dog greeted Samantha and Connor with an equal amount of enthusiasm.

“A dog!” Connor exclaimed.

Connor giggled in delight when Rusty began licking his face. A moment later, Connor and Rusty took off running down the shoreline together. John thanked Lulu, who looked exhausted, and then turned back to Samantha.

“You’ve just made a friend,” Samantha mumbled. “Connor has wanted a dog forever.”

“Rusty’s been wanting a little boy to call his person for a long time, too, so they should get along just fine.”

John finished cooking, and when Connor came to join them, something nearly impossible happened. Rusty followed him and stayed at Connor’s feet. The canine didn’t run off or even look longingly down the shoreline in search of seagulls or other critters.

Traitor.

They all sat down at a weathered picnic table in front of John’s cabin. He’d thrown an old sheet over the benches, hoping no one would get a splinter. Funny how he hadn’t given that a second thought up until a few hours ago.

“What’s there to do around here?” Connor asked, taking a bite of his burger. John had cooked a couple, just in case Connor didn’t like flounder.

John looked at the water. “Go to the beach, fish, crab.”

“That sounds boring. Well, maybe not the beach. Not if I have a boogie board. Do you have a boogie board I could borrow?”

“I might be able to scrounge one up for you. But have you ever tried fishing?” John took a sip of his soda, amused by the boy’s expressive face.

He shook his head.

“Well, I’ll show you sometime.” Great, he was making promises. That was something he’d vowed not to do. He didn’t want anyone depending on him, especially not Samantha.

“Can I put the worm on the hook?” The boy’s eyes were wide with excitement.

John glanced at Samantha. A halfway amused expression feathered across her face.

“Do you want to put the worm on the hook?” John asked.

Connor nodded, mustard from his burger slathered across his top lip. He didn’t seem to notice—or care. “I do.”

“Then definitely.”

“What else is there to do?”

John looked off in the distance again. Those weren’t questions he’d thought about. He’d only been focused on his cabins. “Some boys in town like to play kickball. You ever played?”

“No, I just do karate.”

“Well, maybe you can teach them some karate, and they’ll invite you to their kickball games. How does that sound?”

He shrugged. “Okay, I guess.”

John looked over at Samantha to see how she was taking their conversation. At the moment, she appeared distracted. Her gaze constantly scanned the area around them. Any of the earlier amusement was gone.

He stared at that bruise on her jaw. John had a feeling it wasn’t from an accident—a fall or car crash or walking into a wall. He also noticed her hand reaching for the side of her rib cage when she thought no one was looking. The woman had been beaten up. The thought caused anger to surge in him.

Samantha must have noticed him staring because her hand went to her jaw.

Connor jumped in. “She fell in the grocery store parking lot.”

A rigid, quick smile fluttered over her face. “I’m kind of clumsy.”

“Why do I have a feeling there’s more to the story?” he asked.

Her face tensed. “Nothing more, and nothing that you should concern yourself about.”

He didn’t question her, even though curiosity burned inside. Everything about the woman was mysterious...and slightly suspicious.

The rest of the conversation revolved around what needed to be done on the cabins, where to get groceries, and what to expect during tourist season.

When everyone finished eating, Samantha started to help him clean up, but the sound of a boat puttering in the distance interrupted them. He looked up to see a Bayrunner creeping up to his pier, a man waving from the bow.

He approached the man, noting how Samantha stayed back. Still, he could feel her wide eyes on him, watching everything that happened.

“You the owner of this place?” the man on the boat asked. The man appeared to be in his mid-forties and had the look of someone who spent a lot of time in the sun. His skin was so tanned that the wrinkles around his eyes remained paler than the rest of his face. He had longish blond hair, that was swept away from his face.

John nodded. “I am.”

“I’m Kent Adams, a real estate agent from Richmond. I’ve been trying to find you for the past month.” The sunset blurred behind him.

“Why would you want to find me?” John placed his hands to his hips, his guard going up.

“I have a buyer who’s interested in your land. He’s willing to pay handsomely for this piece of property. He said it’s perfect for his retirement home.”

“But this land isn’t for sale.”

“We were hoping we could change your mind. We’re talking an amount where you wouldn’t ever have to worry about money again. You could quit your day job, find another nice little plot of land, and enjoy yourself.”

“I’m not interested. Thanks for the offer.” He started to walk away when the man called him back. John paused.

“Take my card in case you change your mind.” The man extended his hand, a piece of cardstock at the end. “Maybe talk to your pretty wife about it first.” He nodded behind him at Samantha.

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“At least hold on to this, just in case.”

Against his better instincts, John backtracked and took the man’s business card. He didn’t plan on using it. No, the cabins were his. He had plans for them—plans that didn’t include becoming rich, but becoming whole and healed.

Samantha’s gaze looked fragile when he returned. Her arms were crossed, her eyes focused on the boat puttering away in the distance. Meanwhile, Connor was talking to Rusty who had nothing but attention for the boy.

“Everything okay?” she asked.

John shoved the card in his pocket. “Someone inquiring about the land.”

“Is that odd?”

Her question was odd, but he didn’t mention that. “Maybe a little. It’s like Murphy’s Law, though, isn’t it? This property has been abandoned for years with no interest. As soon as I snatch it up, someone else decides they want it.”

“Life is funny sometimes.” She nodded back to her cabin. “I should get going. I need to get rested up for a full day of work tomorrow.”

“Anything you need from me?”

She shook her head. “No, we’ll manage with what we’ve got.”

With that, she called Connor over and started back to her cabin.

Just what was that woman’s story?

He probably shouldn’t dig too deeply, he reasoned.

She needed help, and he had agreed to give it to her.

But still, curiosity burned inside him.

* * *

Samantha couldn’t sleep. She couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that Lisa had died. Guilt continued to pound at her, and she mourned for her friend.

How had she died? What had happened in the moments leading up to her death? Had she suffered? Her thoughts then turned to Lisa’s family, to worry about Connor, to anxiety about everything else in life.

Her only comfort was in the fact that she was here now.

This place was no Hilton. But at least it was a place to sleep. A place to feel safe, if just for a night.

There was no telling how long they’d be here. Best-case scenario: through the summer. Worst-case: mere days.

She’d be on guard. She’d keep an eye on the sheriff, on John. If anyone seemed to recognize her, if anyone asked too many questions, she’d catch the next ferry. If that didn’t work, she’d borrow John’s boat. It was docked on the pier outside the cabins. How hard could it be to operate the watercraft?

Finally, realizing the futility of sleep, she threw the covers back, stood and went over to the living room window. Against her better instincts—in spite of her fears of someone breaking in—she’d cracked it open before turning in for the evening. Without AC, the place was hot. It would be unbearable to try to sleep in the stuffy cabin with the humid, ninety-degree weather. A nice breeze floated over the bay, but the only way to appreciate it was to open a window.

As she stared outside, she wondered if she should have gone somewhere bigger, somewhere she’d blend in. But the island seemed so secluded, like such a peaceful hiding spot. She hoped she didn’t regret the decision.

Then she thought about the man on the boat who’d paid John a visit earlier. Could he have been hired by Billy? Had he come out searching for her under the ruse of trying to buy property?

She didn’t know. Maybe she was reading too much into it.

But those men had gotten to Lisa. Poor Lisa. She’d been such a sweet friend. She’d had no idea about Samantha’s past. She’d had no idea where Samantha was going. She’d been innocent.

Despite that, they’d killed her.

That just went to prove that Billy and his cronies were ruthless. They were hot on Samantha’s trail and didn’t want her to get away again.

Not just that, they wanted to kill her. And if they did, Billy and his henchmen would flaunt it to everyone they could. They would make an example of her, showing what happens to people who betray them.

Killing her estranged husband hadn’t been enough. They also wanted her blood.

Anthony had left her three months before she’d discovered the scheme he and his friends had developed. The two of them had had endless fights over his work hours, his increasingly erratic behavior and the influence of his friends. Financially, they were better off than ever. But their relationship had otherwise gone downhill.

He’d left her and filed for divorce. Then one day, Anthony had shown up at the front door, sweat across his brow, demanding to pick up something he’d left in their home office. Samantha had refused to let him come inside. She’d feared that he might fly into a rage, and she didn’t want Connor to see his father like that.

She’d finally closed the door, and Anthony had left.

Then she’d been curious.

What had he wanted so badly? His visit had motivated her to go through the items he’d left at the house. After searching the desk once more, and in a moment of dumb luck, she’d discovered a false bottom in one of the drawers. Inside were his company’s books. She’d glanced at the pages, and what she’d seen had blown her away. Her husband had been scamming people.

She crunched the numbers and compared the figures to other records left at the house. That was when she’d realized that her husband and his friends had been embezzling from some of the city’s wealthiest. They’d promised a twenty-five percent return on their investments for flipping houses. Instead, her husband and his friends had kept all the profit for themselves.

She confronted Anthony, and he denied her accusations. Then he’d gotten quiet and asked her not to pursue her theories any further. He’d warned her that asking questions could lead to trouble.

Samantha hadn’t listened. She’d thought it was just an empty threat. She’d told him he had two days to come clean himself or she was turning the books over to authorities. Anthony had begged her not to.

Never had she imagined that in those two days, one of his friends would come up with a way to frame her. Nor had she imagined that her husband would be killed in a car crash. And she never would have imagined that Billy, Anthony’s best friend—and a cop—would frame her for Anthony’s murder. He was the mastermind behind everything, the one calling the shots.

The police had brought Samantha in for questioning, and it became clear she was going to take the fall for Anthony’s murder and the supposed part she’d played in the investment scheme. When she’d been let go on bail she’d grabbed the telltale books and fled.

It hadn’t been the smartest thing to do. But Samantha had done it.

Now, here she was today. She’d hidden all the evidence she’d taken with her in a safety deposit box. The law— including Billy, under the guise of doing his job—was chasing her. If Billy found her, she’d pay the ultimate price for her betrayal.

He wouldn’t get her. The fighting instinct in her knew she wouldn’t let that happen. She’d defend herself—and her son—with every last breath. She’d gotten this far.

Samantha had been on the run for the past year. Every time there was a hint that Billy or one of his hired men might be close, she’d fled. It hadn’t been an easy life, but it was better to keep moving than chance being killed. Better than it would have been if she’d stayed and been convicted of a crime she hadn’t committed. Then Connor would have no one. Samantha’s dad was long gone. Her mom was in and out of rehab—in other words, unreliable.

The other men involved just did Billy’s dirty work. Samantha had suspicions he was blackmailing them. That was the way he operated—by manipulation. The man who’d attacked her last night had been a stranger, no doubt someone who’d been hired.

Billy was serious. He was scary. And he was determined to find Samantha.

It was too bad the police wouldn’t help. No, the police couldn’t be trusted. Billy and his friends had planted that money in Samantha’s bank account—somehow and someway. Samantha still wasn’t sure about the details. She hadn’t stuck around long enough to find out. To go online now and snoop around was risky. She didn’t want to do anything to lead the police to her door.

The breeze fanned her face. She closed her eyes for a moment and let herself think about what it would be like to be carefree. To be on this island on vacation. To be able to relax and enjoy herself and have fun without always having to look over her shoulder.

When she opened her eyes, she realized they were moist. No little girl ever imagined at the beginning of her happily-ever-after story that things would go this horribly wrong. Her life had become a living nightmare.

She stared at the moon over the bay. It was bright and luminous. It sent a trail of light over the water.

Samantha glanced over at John’s cabin. The man seemed nice enough. And he kept to himself. That was a good thing. Keeping distance from people was almost a requirement right now. It often left her feeling empty, but at least Connor would remain safe. That was all she could ask.

At least Connor had made a new best friend in Rusty by being here. Good. The dog would distract him and keep him occupied. John didn’t seem to mind.

She smiled when she thought about Connor squealing with delight as Rusty chased him along the shore. That boy had always wanted a dog. But she could never get him one.

What would happen if they had to pick up and leave? A dog would only get in the way.

She hoped he didn’t become too attached.

A noise in the distance caught her ear.

She tensed. What was that? It almost sounded like a scratch.

She needed to find something—anything—to protect herself with. She glanced around and realized she had nothing in the nearly barren cabin.

Creeping across the floor, she grabbed a bottle of body spray she’d left on the kitchen table. It wasn’t much, but maybe she could douse the intruder’s eyes and buy some time, if that was what it came down to.

She paused by her suitcase and listened again. There was that sound. Someone was walking across the porch, nestled close to the wall and just out of her vision.

If she put the window down, the intruder would hear her and know she was inside. But if she left it up, gaining access to the house would be too easy.

She hunkered against the wall.

She glanced across the way. Through the open door across the small hallway, she could see Connor asleep in his bed. He didn’t have a clue what was going on. Good. That was the way she wanted it. For now, at least.

Another footfall sounded. And then a shadow covered the moon that had once flooded into her cabin.

She bit back a scream and prepared herself to fight.

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