A SWAT officer must protect the woman who broke his heart

Years ago, detective and part-time SWAT officer Max Remington proposed to the woman he loved. Her response? To flee town—and Max’s life—under a cloud of suspicion. Folks said Bexley Kane killed the man “allegedly” stalking her and got away with murder. Now Bex is back in Destiny, Tennessee, but their tense reunion is cut short when bullets start flying, and this time, they’re aimed at her. As Max fights to keep Bex safe, he’s also fighting to protect his heart. Can they unravel the secrets of the past in time to save each other? Or will Bex’s final secret destroy them both?

“Bex,” a harsh whisper sounded. “Move. Now.”

Bex’s eyes flew open. Impossibly, Max stood towering over her, ski-mask guy limply hanging over his shoulder, his arms dangling toward the ground. Max jerked his head, motioning for her to run straight ahead to the aisle directly in front of them.

Stunned that she was alive and could run, she ducked and darted from the alcove, then stopped just past the endcap and looked behind her.

He yanked out his pistol and shoved it toward her. “Remember how to use one of these?” he whispered.

She swallowed, then nodded. “I haven’t fired one in years.”

Something dark passed in his eyes, and she knew he was remembering one of the many times he’d taken her to target practice so long ago.

And seeing him now, so calm and focused, she knew that if anyone could save her, it was Max.

But who would save her from him?

Secret Stalker

Lena Diaz

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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

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Thank you to my editor, Allison Lyons,

and my agent, Nalini Akolekar.

This one’s for George. Because he reads every book I write,

and pretends to love romance novels, all to make me happy.

Best. Husband. Ever. I love you, babe.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Extract

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

The whispers started thirty seconds after Bexley Kane walked down aisle three in the Piggly Wiggly on Magnolia Street. Not that there was a Piggly Wiggly on any other street in the tiny town of Destiny, Tennessee. With a population the size of a large high school in other parts of the state, this town could only support one grocery store. And one movie theater. And one Waffle House. But, oddly enough, there were four Starbucks. Too bad not one of them was anywhere close to Magnolia Street. Bex sure could use a venti caramel macchiato right now.

Head high, shoulders back, she began filling her cart as quickly as possible while pretending not to notice the other shoppers talking behind their hands as she passed. But, come on, did they really believe that she didn’t know they were gossiping about her? She could well imagine what they were saying.

Is that who I think it is? What’s it been, ten years? Why is she back in town?

You didn’t hear? Her mama done passed away. I heard she died of a broken heart, on account of her daughter didn’t visit even once after she got run out of town.

You think Chief Thornton will arrest her this time?

Is there a statute of limitations on murder?

“Miss Kane, nice to see you today.” Mr. Dawson gave Bex a genuine, welcoming smile from behind the deli counter. “I was hoping I’d see your lovely face at least one more time before you left Destiny. You here for lunch? We’ve got a brand-new batch of pickled pigs’ feet.” He proudly thumped a large jar on top of the display case that looked like a science experiment gone horribly wrong.

Bex very nearly lost her breakfast. She averted her gaze from the nauseating sight and smiled at one of the few people in Destiny who hadn’t treated her like a pariah in the week that she’d been back.

“Hello, Mr. Dawson. I called in an order for some lunch meats and grilled chicken. Could you see whether it’s ready, please?”

“Gladys must have taken that order. I’ll check the cooler. Won’t take but a minute.” He opened the massive walk-in refrigerator behind him and headed inside.

Bex checked her grocery list. The only thing left to get was mustard, one of several things she’d forgotten the first time she’d been in the store. After today’s shopping trip, she should have enough to tide her over for several more days, until she finished taking care of all of the details of her mother’s estate. Then she could hop into her car and leave Destiny in the dust. Again. And this time, she’d never come back.

If she remembered correctly, Mr. Dawson kept the condiments across the aisle from the meat case. Since little else had changed in this town, she doubted that had, either. She turned around—and locked gazes with the one person she’d hoped to avoid.

Max Remington.

His golden-brown eyes stared at her in shock for all of three seconds. Then they filled with anger. His jaw clamped tight and, without a word, he circled around her and headed to the sandwich counter at the other end of the deli.

Gladys miraculously appeared as if from thin air, eager to take Max’s order. Bex couldn’t help noticing that he was all smiles and yes, ma’ams, no, ma’ams when speaking to the older woman. But he couldn’t even spare a hello for his former lover.

His curt dismissal shouldn’t hurt. After all, she was the one who’d left him. But he’d been her first love. And she’d built him up in her mind over the years as her handsome hero, dreaming of what life could have been, should have been, if she’d said yes that night.

And if Bobby Caldwell hadn’t died.

She grabbed a jar of mustard and allowed herself the guilty pleasure of admiring Max from beneath her lashes—all six feet two of him. At eighteen, he’d been the cutest, sweetest, most popular boy at Destiny High. At twenty-eight, he was a devastatingly handsome man with bulging biceps and muscular thighs filling out the gangly frame of his youth. His dark hair was short on the sides, thick and wavy on top. He’d been clean shaven when she’d been with him. Now his angular face was framed by neatly trimmed stubble, as if he was considering growing a beard but hadn’t yet committed.

He dressed pretty much the same as he had back then: nothing fancy, just a no-nonsense button-up blue linen shirt neatly tucked into a pair of crisp jeans. In deference to the chilly autumn air outside, he wore a lightweight navy blue jacket. And as he turned to point to something in the display case for Gladys, the white lettering on his back reassured Bex that she’d made the right decision all those years ago—the letters spelled Destiny Police Department.

Good for you, Max. You chased your dream after all.

“Will you be needing anything else, Miss Kane?”

She forced her gaze away from Max, her face flushing with heat when Mr. Dawson glanced down the counter, then back at her, obviously noting her interest in her former high school sweetheart.

He handed her a brown paper sack that was stapled closed. “Your order’s inside. Just show the cashier that code on the bag at checkout and she’ll ring up the manager’s special. That’ll save you a couple of dollars.”

“Thank you.” She lowered her voice. “I really appreciate how nice you’ve been to me. You’re one of the few people who’s made this trip bearable.”

“You don’t need to thank me for doing what’s right. It’s a downright shame how nasty folks can be. They ought not to be throwing stones without taking a long, hard look at themselves first.”

She smiled again, painfully aware that Max and Gladys had stopped talking the moment she’d thanked Mr. Dawson. Was Max looking at her? Had he decided to acknowledge her existence after all?

The sound of his boots echoed on the tile floor as he strode toward her. She clutched the bag and jar of mustard against her chest, frozen in place while she desperately tried to think of something, anything, to say.

He stalked past without even looking at her.

Bex’s breath rushed out of her, deflating her like a popped balloon.

Someone cleared their throat. Mr. Dawson. He was watching her with a sympathetic expression on his face. Beside him, Gladys looked decidedly less friendly, a frown wrinkling her brow, her hands on her generous hips. There was no doubt about whose side she was on. Not that there were any sides to take. A fight required two people, and Max hadn’t cared enough about the outcome to even stick around for the first volley.

Bex nodded her thanks to Mr. Dawson before putting her items in the cart and heading toward the back of the store, as if there was something else she needed. What she really needed was a moment to compose herself.

Not wanting to risk another encounter with Max, she strolled along the rear aisle toward the other side of the store, putting off checking out until she was certain he’d be gone.

Maybe she should just get in her RAV4 and hit the road right now. She could hire someone else to pack up her mom’s house. Settling the last legal details of the estate through the mail instead of working with her lawyer in person would delay things. But at least she wouldn’t have to endure one more person’s disapproving stare. And her heart wouldn’t have to face Max again.

She tried to convince herself that it wasn’t cowardice that had her wanting to run—it was self-preservation. Because it had taken years to tape and glue the pieces of her broken heart back together. But shattering it again had only taken one angry look from Max Remington.

* * *

MAX SHUFFLED IMPATIENTLY in line behind Mable Humphries. It was the express lane, ten items or less. But she had thirty items. And the only other register that was open had three customers waiting with overflowing carts.

He blew out a frustrated breath, then forced a smile when the elderly woman looked at him.

“How are you today, Mrs. Humphries?” he asked.

“You sure are sweet to ask, Detective Remington. My joints have been aching something fierce today, and not just from the chill outside. I think we’re in for a storm soon. Don’t you?”

He gave her a noncommittal answer and she prattled on about her aches and pains. He wished he could just ignore her outright or tell her to hurry up. But the manners his mother and father had drilled into him couldn’t be ignored.

Except, apparently, where Bexley Kane was concerned.

A twinge of guilt shot through him over the way he’d treated her. Or, rather, ignored her.

Destiny was too small for him not to have heard the rumors. He knew she was back in town because of her mother’s recent passing. But he hadn’t been prepared for actually coming face-to-face with her after all these years. He’d just...reacted. All the lines he’d rehearsed in case he ever saw her again had disappeared in a fog of rage and hurt. So he’d done the only thing he could safely do. He’d kept his mouth shut.

As Mrs. Humphries droned on, Max nodded in the appropriate places but otherwise tuned her out.

Bex. It was hard to believe that she was really here. Was she staying? Permanently? Based on her comments to Mr. Dawson about him making her “trip” bearable, Max didn’t think so. Maybe he should have paid more attention to the gossip swirling around town about her instead of taking pains to avoid it every time her name came up. Then maybe he’d know what Bex’s plans were so he could take the necessary precautions to ensure that he didn’t run into her again.

He’d already done his duty by Bex’s mom, the sweet woman whom he and half the town had expected would become his mother-in-law one day. He’d gone to the memorial service her church had put together, a service without a casket or even an urn since her body had been shipped out of town to be interred somewhere else. As far as he knew, Bex hadn’t bothered to go to the church. For his part, he’d arrived early and left fast, just in case she did show.

His mourning was done in private, when he’d planted some white lilies in Mrs. Kane’s garden as a tribute to her. They’d always been her favorite, and he’d planted a new lily in her yard every Mother’s Day for the past ten years.

“It sure was nice running into you, Detective.” Mable’s gnarled hand gripped his with surprising strength. “Hope to see you at the town picnic next weekend. I’m making some of my famous sweet potato pie.”

“I wouldn’t miss it, ma’am.” He gently extricated his hand and returned her wave as she pushed her cart to the exit.

The young brunette at the cash register scanned Max’s sandwich and handed it back to him.

“You want to make that a meal deal with chips and a drink? I can have someone run to the deli and—”

“Just the sandwich, thanks.” He quickly paid and let out a breath of relief that he was finally about to get out of purgatory. He wasn’t even hungry anymore. All he wanted to do was return to the police station, immerse himself in work and try to forget all about Bexley Kane.

“Everybody do what we say and no one gets hurt!”

Max jerked his head toward the entrance. Five masked gunmen with assault rifles had just run in through the front door and were pointing their guns toward the handful of customers at the other register.

The cashier beside him started screaming. One of the gunmen swung his rifle her way. Max dived over the counter, pulling the girl to the floor seconds before the countertop above them exploded in a hail of gunfire.

Chapter Two

Bex flattened herself against a cereal box endcap, pressing both of her hands against her mouth to keep from crying out.

Rat-a-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat!

Bam! Bam!

She dropped to the floor, her breaths coming out in short pants. What in the world was happening? Who would fire guns inside a Piggly Wiggly? The answer, of course, was obvious. Someone was holding up the place. But she still couldn’t believe it was happening. Not here. Not in the tiny town of Destiny.

Thank God Max had plenty of time to have left before the gunman or gunmen had shown up.

And wasn’t that a crazy thought, being glad the police officer was out of harm’s way when he was the one person who might have been able to help her and any others trapped inside?

A scream sounded from the front of the store. Someone else shouted. Footsteps pounded down an aisle not too far from where Bex lay on the floor. If someone was holding up the store, wouldn’t they have forced the manager to open the safe in the front office? They wouldn’t be running down aisles and still shooting minutes later, would they?

Bam! Bam!

That sounded like a pistol.

Rat-a-tat-tat-tat.

Automatic gunfire.

She pressed a hand to her throat. Was that a gunfight? Whoever had the pistol was at a serious disadvantage.

Another shout sounded. More footsteps.

Bam!

“Where is she?” a man yelled. “She wasn’t with the ones who locked themselves in the cooler.”

“How the hell should I know? Reggie said she was ready to check out. She should have been up front when we got here.”

“Find her. And find that stupid cop. He’s screwing everything up and I’m gonna blow his brains out.”

Oh, no. Please, God, don’t be talking about Max.

But in her gut, she knew they were. He was the only policeman she’d seen in the store just a few minutes before the gunmen came in. No one else could have gotten here this fast. He either hadn’t left when she’d thought he had, or he’d run back into the store when he saw the gunmen go inside.

Footsteps sounded again, much closer this time. If they turned down the back aisle that ran the width of the store, they’d see her. She had to move, hide. Or better yet, find Max and get them both out of the store.

Right, like she was GI Jane or something. The only danger she faced on a typical day was whether she might get a splinter in her finger from one of the pieces of furniture that she sold at her antique store.

Move, Bex. Hurry!

She sent up a quick, silent prayer then pulled herself forward in an army crawl.

* * *

MAX CROUCHED DOWN, his pistol out in front of him while he whispered into his cell phone and made his way down aisle five toward the front of the store again.

“Searching for remaining three gunmen. What’s your ETA?” he asked his SWAT team lead, Dillon Gray.

He reached the end of the aisle and looked left, then right, before crouching by the endcap. He paused, listening for sounds that might indicate where the gunmen were hiding.

“Roger that,” he whispered in answer to the instructions over the phone. “I’ve got five customers and four employees locked in the cooler from the inside with good cover. There are coats in there, so they’re okay for now. Searching for additional customers. You guys need to get in here ASAP, full SWAT gear. These yahoos may be stupid and disorganized. But that makes them unpredictable and dangerous.”

A noise sounded from the east end of the store. He looked down the next aisle. Clear. He jogged to another endcap, heading east.

“Negative,” he whispered in response to Dillon’s next question. “No clue what they want. As soon as the cashier screamed, they started shooting. Erratic though, as if they don’t know how to handle those M16s they’re waving around. Thankfully no one’s been hit yet except the one gunman I took out.”

With his fellow SWAT team members apprised of the situation, he put his cell phone away so he could focus on finding the one customer he knew was unaccounted for.

Bex.

* * *

AS PLANS WENT, hiding behind a waist-high clothing rack of “I Dig the Pig” Piggly Wiggly T-shirts probably wasn’t the best one Bex could have made. But when she’d seen the end of a rifle emerging from one of the side aisles, she’d dived behind the closest cover she could find. Unfortunately, the T-shirts were apparently good sellers. There were barely enough left to conceal her.

She held her breath as the gunman crept past her hiding space. He was dressed in black jeans and a black T-shirt and was wearing sunglasses. She supposed that was his idea of a disguise, but he clearly was young—probably barely out of high school. The other gunman she’d seen a few minutes ago had a black ski mask over his face and the build of someone older, maybe late twenties. Both of them were carrying wicked-looking rifles.

The guy in sunglasses turned down the aisle she’d left just a minute earlier. She let out a shaky breath, then crept to the side of the display, ready to zip down another aisle to get to the front of the store. That’s where she’d last heard the sound of a pistol. And she was betting that pistol belonged to Max.

She leaned forward, looked left, right, then—oomph! A hand clamped over her mouth and she was yanked backward behind the shirts.

Chapter Three

Bex struggled against her captor, twisting and writhing in his grasp.

He pressed his cheek against hers and held her so tight she could barely move.

“Be still, Bex. It’s me, Max.”

She froze, then went limp with relief.

He slowly lifted his hand from her mouth, as if he didn’t quite trust her not to cry out. She half turned to look at him, nodding to let him know she wasn’t going to sob hysterically and give away their position. Or at least she didn’t think she was. Cowering from gunmen was an entirely new experience for her. She could very well start screaming like a madwoman any second.

Apparently Max had more faith in her than she did. He loosened his arm around her waist and let her go. She was about to ask him what she should do when he edged to the right of the display. His whole body was tense, alert, as he ducked lower and slid his pistol into the holster at his waist. What was he doing?

A gunman, the one in the ski mask, stepped out from behind a stack of bagels and English muffins, his gaze zeroing in on Bex through a gap in the clothing rack. She ducked behind another shirt, expecting to feel a bullet slam into her any second. The gunman rushed forward, his sneakers visible beneath the clothes.

Bex jerked her head toward Max. But he wasn’t even looking at her. He was poised like a runner, one leg down, one up, balancing on his fingertips like he was about to take off in a sprint. Ski mask guy stopped directly in front of the rack, looking down at Bex. He started to raise his gun.

She squeezed her eyes shut. The air rushed beside her. The squeak of a shoe sounded on the floor. She heard a grunt, then...nothing. She was still alive. No bullets had ripped into her body and thrown her to the floor in a pool of her own blood.

“Bex,” a harsh whisper sounded. “Move. Now.”

Her eyes flew open. Impossibly, Max stood towering over her, ski mask guy hanging limply over his shoulder, his arms dangling toward the ground. Max jerked his head, motioning for her to run to the aisle directly across from them.

Stunned that she was still alive and could run, she darted forward, stopping a few feet down the aisle and looking back.

Max was lowering the unconscious—dead?—gunman to the floor under the rack. Bex swallowed, hard. Moments later, Max stopped beside her with a confiscated rifle in his hand.

He frowned. “Are you all right?”

She looked past him at the body visible beneath the obscenely cheery pink and green shirts. A shiver ran up her spine over their close call but she forced a nod.

After a quick look to the far end of their row, Max checked the rifle’s loading, then yanked out his pistol and shoved it toward her.

“Remember how to use one of these?” he whispered.

She swallowed. “Sure. But I haven’t fired one in years.”

Something dark passed in his eyes, and she knew he was remembering one of the many times long ago when he’d taken her to target practice. When other boys waffled between wanting to be a pilot or a fireman or maybe a professional football player, Max had never wavered in his desire to be a detective and SWAT officer like cool Chief Thornton, who’d visited Destiny High every year on career day.

Max had loved the idea of piecing clues together and solving crimes as his main gig. And then, when the situation called for it, putting on full SWAT gear and storming some criminal’s compound to rescue hostages. It had been his dream. And seeing him now, so calm and focused, she knew that if anyone could save her and the other customers, it was Max. But only if she followed his instructions and let him do his job.

She took the pistol, careful to point it away from him and keep her finger on the frame, not the trigger, as he’d drilled into her so many times.

He gave her a nod of approval and pivoted toward the back of the store again, then the front, as if scoping out their situation. Then he dropped to his knees and peered in between the bottom shelf and the one above it on both sides of the aisle they were on. He hesitated, as if thinking something through. Then he was pushing boxes of noodles and pasta behind the jars of spaghetti sauce. When he’d cleared a spot a couple of feet wide, he grabbed her arms and shoved her toward the opening.

She wanted to protest that she wasn’t nearly as small as he apparently thought she was. But the sound of footsteps, and Max’s head jerking toward the front of the store, had her squeezing into the impossibly small hole and pulling her legs in after her as tightly as she could. The sharp scrape of the metal shelf against her arm had her clenching her teeth. But she didn’t make a sound.

He leaned down, held a finger to his lips motioning for her to be quiet, and then he was gone.

She clutched the pistol in both hands, her pulse pounding so hard she felt light-headed. A tiny tapping sound started above her head. She twisted to see what was causing it and realized she was shaking so hard her shoulders were making the shelving above her rattle against its brackets. She drew several deep, slow breaths and concentrated on trying to calm down. The tapping stopped. Then she heard it, another sound—footsteps.

Coming toward her.

Her finger shook as she moved it to the trigger. Wait. It could be Max. She moved her finger back to the gun’s frame.

Oh, God. Please let it be Max coming back for her.

The tapping started again. She clamped her jaw and forced herself to hold still. The footsteps stopped. Was it one of the gunmen? Had he heard her?

Ever so carefully, she peeked through the gap above the boxes of pasta to her left but couldn’t see more than a few feet. Looking the other way yielded more of the same—boxes and jars blocking her view.

A squeak. Someone’s shoe against the floor?

Her hand started shaking violently, the pistol bobbing in her grip. A trickle of sweat rolled down the side of her face.

Another sound. Oh, God. Someone was behind her. She was surrounded. The person in her aisle shuffled forward, his shoes squeaking again.

Bam! Bam! Bam!

Gunfire sounded from the front of the store. She sucked in a breath.

Bang!

Another shot rang out.

A new sound—scuffling feet not far from her hiding place. A muffled curse. A dull crack. More footsteps, hurrying toward her now.

This was it. He was coming for her.

She steadied the pistol, blew her breath out, tried to remember everything Max had taught her all those years ago. Exhale slowly, move your finger to the trigger, squeeze—

“Bex, it’s me. Don’t shoot.”

She blinked. Max? Wait, he wasn’t whispering.

She moved her finger away from the trigger just as he crouched down in front of her and peered into her hiding place.

“Max?” All of her questions and fears were in that one hoarsely uttered word.

“It’s okay,” he said. “It’s over.”

He gently took the pistol from her violently shaking hands, shoved it into his holster. And then he was scooping his arms beneath her, pulling her out of the maze of pasta and sauces and lifting her up against his chest.

The sight of a dark heap on the floor had her throwing her arms around Max’s neck and squeezing her eyes tightly shut.

“Is he...is he—”

“He’s alive. Don’t worry about him. I’ve got you, Bex. Everything’s going to be all right.”

She should have told him to put her down, that she was perfectly capable of walking on her own. But she wasn’t entirely sure that was true. Her whole body seemed to have turned into a mass of shaking nerves. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut and selfishly buried her face against Max’s chest while he carried her to the front of the store.

She sensed others around them now, heard someone ask Max something but didn’t catch his murmured reply. More sounds—voices, boots scuffling across the floor. Her traumatized mind grasped what was happening, that help had finally arrived, that the SWAT team must be clearing the store and securing the scene. But she couldn’t seem to force her eyes open or loosen her grip around Max’s neck as he carried her outside.

Chapter Four

Max leaned against a Destiny PD patrol car in the Piggly Wiggly parking lot, in a circle with the five other officers who made up the SWAT team, all in full tactical gear except him. Since the danger was over, they were talking in detective mode, trying to figure out what had just happened.

There’d been no fatalities. The only people to get shot were two of the gunmen, courtesy of Max, and they were on their way to the hospital. The three other bad guys were on their way to the county lockup. But the grocery store and surrounding area were still bustling with firefighters and police officers and would be for quite a while as they sorted through the mess.

Chief Thornton, who’d been talking to the fire chief, shoved his way between team lead Dillon Gray and his best friend, second in command Chris Downing. The others—Donna Waters, Colby Vale and Randy Carter—widened the circle to make room.

Thornton looked at each of them, a ferocious frown on his brow. “Where’s the new guy?”

Max’s lips twitched at the shrugs and carefully blank looks on Dillon’s and Chris’s faces. The chief was having a heck of a time trying to force everyone to accept a new member onto their SWAT team and detective squad. Blake Sullivan was still learning the ropes of Destiny PD and no one was exactly rolling out a welcome mat for him.

The guy was former military and had been a detective in Knoxville before relocating here. He’d made it clear on his first day that he expected to step right into the action. It had been a bitter pill for him to realize he had to spend several months as a uniformed beat cop first—as they all had—to learn the station’s routine and his way around the county before becoming an active member of the team.

Thornton turned around, looking for his beleaguered new hire, then put his hands on his hips. He’d obviously spotted Blake, fifty yards away, looking bored as he leaned against the ambulance where Bex was being examined by an EMT.

“Why isn’t he wearing tactical gear like the rest of you?” Thornton demanded, directing his question at Dillon.

“When Max’s call came in, we had to hustle,” Dillon said. “Didn’t have time to coddle a newbie and bring him in on the assault.”

The chief narrowed his eyes. “This would have been a perfect opportunity to show him the ropes. Next time the team is activated, you had better include him. You hear me?”

“Yes, sir. I hear you.”

Max grinned. He wouldn’t bet a plug nickel that Blake would be included on their next callout. At this point, it was a matter of principle. Blake would have to show some humility before Dillon would back down. And judging by how distant and arrogant the new guy seemed most of the time, that moment of acceptance wasn’t going to happen anytime soon.

“Colby, go get Blake.” The chief jerked his head toward the ambulance.

Colby sighed and jogged across the parking lot.

“And you, Max, stop grinning like the village idiot and tell me if you recognize any of the gunmen. Chris snapped their pictures as they were brought out, minus the ski masks and sunglasses some of them were wearing.” The chief motioned for Chris to pass his phone to Max.

Max flipped through the images on the screen, then shook his head and returned the phone to Chris.

“None of them look familiar. I don’t think they’re local.”

“He’s right,” Dillon said, not even glancing Blake’s way as Colby ushered him into their circle. “We all grew up here. I may not know everyone in town by name, but I know most of them by sight. I’ve never seen any of those men before.”

“Let me have a look.” Blake held out his hand.

Chris arched a brow.

Max shoved him. “Give him a break. What could it hurt?”

Chris shoved him back but handed his phone over.

Blake’s jaw tightened. One of these days the guy would probably explode like a spring that had been wound too tight. Max wasn’t sure he wanted to be there when that happened.

“Well?” the chief asked, impatience heavy in his tone as Blake carefully examined each picture.

He handed the phone to Chris. “The second one and the last one are gangbangers from my hometown. I don’t know their names. But they have the same tattoos on their forearms as other gangbangers I’ve arrested.”

“They’re gang members from Knoxville?” the chief asked.

Blake nodded. “Those two for sure. Can’t speak for the other three. I can call my old squad, send them the photos to help us get IDs. Maybe the other ones just don’t have their tats yet. They have to earn them. But we can assume they’re all in the same gang.”

“We don’t assume anything around here,” Dillon said. “We deal in facts.”

Blake’s shoulders stiffened, but he didn’t rise to the bait.

Colby asked, “Why would street thugs drive forty-five minutes to storm a small, rural grocery store with assault rifles? They could have made a much bigger haul in Knoxville.”

“They didn’t get a haul at all. Didn’t even try,” Max said. “As soon as they came in, they started firing wildly into the air—except the one who shot at me. They split up as if looking for something, leaving only two guys to control the customers up front. But they didn’t seem to have a clue what they were doing. I was able to signal the manager to hustle the employees and customers into the cooler while I drew the gunmen’s fire. If they were there for money, they’d have all stayed up front and forced the manager to open the safe.”

Dillon crossed his arms, looking thoughtful. “They came here looking for something.”

“Maybe they were looking for someone.” Max nodded toward the other end of the parking lot.

As one they all turned to see Bex, still sitting in the back of an ambulance.

The chief motioned to Chris. “Text those pictures to all of our phones. Max, show the pics to Miss Kane and ask her whether she recognizes any of them.”

Max straightened away from the cruiser. “Dillon’s the lead. He should question her.”

A look of surprise flashed across Dillon’s face, but he took a step toward Bex anyway.

The chief put his hand on Dillon’s shoulder to stop him. “No. Max is going to interview her. The rest of you can change out of your gear and get initial statements from the other witnesses. The EMTs should be done checking them out soon. One of our officers is putting them in the break room as their medical reviews are done, unless any of them need to be hospitalized. You know the routine. Get those statements.”

Colby clapped Max on the shoulder in a show of solidarity as he and the others headed to their vehicles to shed their gear. When only the chief remained, he faced Max with his hands on his hips.

“Go on, son. Spit it out. You look like you’re chewing on nails.”

“You, more than anyone, know my history. You hired me right out of high school, right after...everything. Dillon or one of the others should interview Miss Kane. Not me.”

“That it? That’s all you got to say?”

He wanted to say a whole lot more. But he respected his boss too much to let loose with a string of curses. “Yes, sir. That about sums it up.”

“Good. Glad we got that settled. Because you’re a professional and I’ve never had reason to say otherwise. Don’t give me a reason today. Miss Kane was clinging to you like a lifeline when you carried her out of the store and it took ten minutes of your sweet-talking to get her to let you go. You may not be comfortable, given your past. And I understand that, I really do. But this isn’t about you. This is about finding the truth, conducting an investigation. Right now, whether either of us likes it or not, you’re our best option for getting her to answer our questions. Now, I ain’t normally one to explain my decisions and don’t plan on doing this again anytime soon. So I suggest you get over there and do your job, Detective.”

Heat flushed up his neck. His face was probably beet red. Feeling like a high school kid who’d just been scolded by the principal for skipping class, Max gave his boss a curt nod and strode across the parking lot.

Before Max was even halfway there, he noticed an older gentleman in a dark gray suit working his way between the cars and fire trucks toward Bex’s ambulance. Max hesitated. The man was Augustus Leonard, one of only two lawyers in town. Why did a lawyer want to talk to Bex?

* * *

THE EMT, DON, steadied Bex’s left forearm on a raised metal board that he’d slid out from the wall of the ambulance. From the amount of bandages, antibiotic sprays and other first aid equipment lying around, Bex would have thought her arm had been severed. She was embarrassed at all the fuss he was making over such a small cut.

Pausing with a needle poised between what looked like tweezers, he said, “Ma’am, are you sure you won’t go to the hospital and have a doctor stitch you up? You may need X-rays. There might be other injuries you don’t even know about yet.”

She shook her head. “I don’t have anything more serious than this.”

“You’re one lucky woman. It could’ve been a lot worse.”

Bits of memories flashed through her mind—gunshots, crouching behind the T-shirt rack, her stomach clenching with dread as the gunman with the ski mask raised his arm, ready to shoot her. She shivered and considered the bandage on her arm. He was right. It could have been so much worse.

“You’re right. And I assure you I’m very grateful that I’m only getting stitches.”

“Stitches? What stitches?” a gravelly voice said from the open doors of the ambulance.

Bex looked over, smiling to see her lawyer looking all proper and perfect, his white hair neatly in place, his handlebar mustache sticking out on each side like skinny white toothpicks. She started to lean toward him to shake his hand, but Don frowned at her, holding her injured arm steady.

“Sorry, Don.” She waved at her lawyer. “Mr. Leonard, nice to see you. What are you doing here?”

He arched a bushy brow. “I might ask you the same thing, Miss Kane. Imagine my concern when I look out my office window and see a SWAT team racing into the grocery store. Even worse, a few minutes later, you’re carried out by Detective Remington and placed in this ambulance. And now I hear something about stitches. Do tell, please, what’s going on? How badly are you hurt?”

She nodded toward her left arm. “Not bad at all. Just about to get a couple of stitches, that’s all.”

“More than a couple,” the EMT murmured as he pricked her skin with the needle.

The shot he’d given her to numb her arm did its job, but she couldn’t help wincing and looking away.

“How did you get cut?” her lawyer asked.

“It happened when I crawled in between some shelves. Some gunmen held up the store and I had to hide. I really am okay. Thanks to Max—ah, Detective Remington.”

“Who else was hurt?” he asked. “I saw two men brought out on stretchers.”

“I have no idea. I haven’t heard about anyone else in the store, or the details about what happened. I hope those men will be okay.”

“They were the bad guys,” Don said without glancing up from his work. “Heard it over the radio. Two of the gunmen were shot and taken to Maryville. I don’t think any of the shoppers were injured.”

Bex turned her head again as he poked the needle into her skin.

“Hurts?” Augustus asked.

“No, I just...don’t like needles.”

“It’s a shame your mother refused to let you come see her in Destiny all these years and then your first time back you end up in the middle of a robbery.” He shook his head. “Dorothy shouldn’t have kept you from your own home all this time. It wasn’t right. For what it’s worth, I did try to talk some sense into her. But she was too worried about you, was determined to keep you away.”

“I just wish she would have agreed to move in with me. But she insisted on staying here,” Bex said.

“Destiny was her home. She had a lot of friends here, her volunteer work at the church. I doubt she’d have moved for anyone.”

“Well, I guess it all worked out. Mama enjoyed the trips to see me. She got a little thrill every time I had a limo pick her up.”

“You spoiled her.”

“She deserved it. I only wish I could have done more for her while she was alive. No matter how well my business did, she refused to let me buy her anything expensive. Half the gifts I mailed her were returned. I sent her a houseful of furniture once and she wouldn’t sign for it, wouldn’t even let the guys unload anything from the truck.”

He smiled. “That’s Dorothy for you.” He leaned forward and patted her good hand. “My condolences again. I know you loved her very much. Her heart attack was such a shock to us all.”

She blinked against the burn of unshed tears. “Thank you. No sense in dwelling on the past anymore, though. I need to wrap things up here and get back to my own home as soon as I can, make sure Allison isn’t ready to quit after being left in charge of the antique shop so long.”

“Allison?”

“My assistant. And friend. Once I pack up everything, when do you think I’ll be able to put the house up for sale?”

She risked a quick look at her injured arm. Four stitches in, probably a few more to go. She looked away before Don dipped the needle in again.

“Another few weeks at best, a month at the worst. Your mother’s will is fairly straightforward. But there are some tangles to unravel with the various properties she had around the county and ensuring there are no liens before I can get them transferred to you as the owner.”

“You’re referring to the farmland my daddy used to have? Aren’t those plots leased out to local farmers? The same ones who’ve been on that land since Daddy died years ago?”

“Yes, but it won’t take long to clear them out. Shouldn’t be a problem. It’s a standard eviction process.”

“I don’t want them cleared out. Just transfer the deeds to them.”

He blinked like an owl. “Pardon?”

“I don’t need the land, Mr. Leonard. And I’m doing well with my antique store. I’m not rich by any stretch. But I’ve got what I need. No reason to be greedy. Those men have worked that land for years. They’ve earned this. It’s the right thing to do. Mom and Dad would approve, I’m sure.”

He looked like he wanted to argue but he gave her a crisp nod. “Very well. It’s your land, your money. I’ll draw up some papers to make the transfer. It will take more time than originally planned, of course.”

“Thank you. I understand.”

Don jostled her arm as he leaned past her to put away the needle. But when she started to pull back, he stopped her.

“I need to bandage that before we’re done,” he said.

She sighed and relaxed her arm.

Don cleaned up the tabletop to prepare for bandaging her cut.

“If the paperwork takes much longer, can we plan on doing it through the mail? Including the sale of my mom’s house?”

He frowned. “Why would you want to do that? You’re here now. If a few more weeks is too long, I can try to put a rush on things.”

“I don’t want you to have to hurry on my account. But after, well, after today, I’m more inclined to finish packing up the house and just go. Can’t I sign some kind of power of attorney over to you?”

His brows raised again, making her think of snow-white caterpillars.

“You can, certainly. But most people prefer to give power of attorney to someone they know and trust rather than to their lawyer.”

“My mama trusted you. That’s good enough for me.”

He puffed out his chest, his face turning a light shade of red. And suddenly Bex wondered whether he’d felt more toward her mother than simple friendship. And whether those feelings were returned. If so, her mother had never said anything. But then again, her mother might have worried that Bex would feel funny about her finally dating someone after all these years. And, truth be told, she would have felt...odd about it.

A car crash had taken Bex’s father from them when Bex was in middle school. The loss had been devastating for her and her mother. Imagining her mom with anyone other than her daddy made her feel sad. But happy, too. Her mother deserved some male companionship in her life. And if she’d found it with the honorable Mr. Augustus Leonard, then that was a very good thing.

Mr. Leonard cleared his throat. “Thank you for your faith in me, Miss Kane. I have a form at the office you can fill out for the power of attorney. When you’re finished here, I can walk you over. Martha’s a notary. She can witness our signatures and notarize the document.”

“Can you raise your arm a few inches?” Don asked.

Bex lifted her arm so he could wrap some gauze over the stitches.

“Sounds like a plan,” she said to her lawyer. “The sooner I can get out of Destiny the better. There’s nothing left for me here except bad memories.”

Movement near the ambulance doors had her looking up, and right into Max’s eyes. Again. And just like in the grocery store, his jaw tightened and his eyes darkened.

“Max. Um, hi. How long have you been standing there?” she asked.

“Long enough.” The bitterness in his voice surprised her. Had he heard what she’d said to Mr. Leonard? Why would it matter? He certainly didn’t have any feelings for her anymore, as evidenced by how he’d treated her at the deli.

Or did he?

He motioned toward the bandage. “What’s wrong with your arm?”

She blinked and looked down, having forgotten all about her injured arm. “It’s just a little cut.”

“More like a gash,” Don said. “Eight stitches.”

“How did that happen?” Max elbowed his way past the lawyer and hopped into the ambulance. He grabbed Bex’s left hand to inspect the EMT’s work as if he would demand a redo if it didn’t meet his standards.

Bex frowned and tugged her arm out of his grasp. “I assume it happened when you...when I hid between the shelves. It’s not a big deal. I’m fine. Really.”

He studied her a moment, then promptly ignored her, speaking instead to the EMT.

“Why didn’t you take her to the hospital?”

“She said she didn’t—”

“I refused to go to the hospital,” she said.

“Well?” he asked the EMT, as if she hadn’t spoken.

Don’s brows rose to his hairline. “I, ah, Miss Kane didn’t want to go to the hospital. She asked me if I could take care of her arm here.”

“What about the risk of infection? Those grocery store shelves aren’t exactly sterile.”

The bewildered look on Don’s face hardened. “I know how to clean a wound, sir. And I asked Miss Kane about getting a tetanus shot, but she insisted that she didn’t need one.”

Max turned to face her. “You either get the shot or you’re going to the hospital.”

Bex rolled her eyes and grabbed her purse from the bench beside her.

“I’m not an idiot, Max. I’m up-to-date on my shots. And I don’t need you, or anyone else, bossing me around.” She shook the EMT’s hand. “Thank you, Don. I appreciate your help.”

She went to hop down from the ambulance, but Max gently pushed her back and hopped down first. Then he lifted her out before she realized what he was about to do.

The feel of his warm hands around her sent a delightful shock of awareness up her spine, making her stiffen in surprise.

His jaw tightened and he dropped his hands, taking a quick step back. Before she could correct his obvious misinterpretation of her reaction, Mr. Leonard stepped forward.

“I’ll escort you back to my office.”

“She needs to answer some questions about the shooting,” Max said, a thread of steel in his deep voice.

Eager to avoid any kind of confrontation, Bex stepped between the two men and shook Mr. Leonard’s hand. “Thank you, for everything. If you don’t mind, I’ll go to your office some other time to sign that power of attorney.”

“Very well. My door’s always open for you, Miss Kane.” He tipped his head politely. “Detective Remington.” Then he headed across the parking lot toward his office, one of a handful of businesses and restaurants on Magnolia Street.

Max waved Bex back from the ambulance so Don could close the doors and prepare to return to the hospital.

Bex crossed her arms, not quite sure which Max Remington was standing before her now—the one full of anger at the deli, or the one who’d nearly broken her heart with kindness as he’d soothed her after carrying her out of the store.

“I never really thanked you before. You saved my life today.”

“Just doing my job.” His voice was curt, clipped.

She sighed. Deli Max was back.

“Chief Thornton wants me to show you some pictures of the gunmen to see whether you recognize them. And I’m sure he’ll want me to interview you about what happened,” he continued. “I figure it will be easier at the station. We can take my truck. I’ll bring you back to your car when we’re done.”

He reached for her good arm, but she jerked back, her stomach churning with dread. At the mention of the police station, her body flushed with heat, in spite of the chill in the air. She shook her head and took a step away from him.

“I’m not going to the police station.”

He frowned. “Why not?”

She glanced past him at Thornton, who was talking to a uniformed officer about thirty yards away. “I...don’t have fond memories of that place, as you can imagine. And I never intend to go there again. So, unless you’re arresting me, the answer is no.”

She hurried toward her car, which, thankfully, was no longer blocked by a fire engine, as it had been earlier.

“Bex. Wait.”

The irritation in his voice as he followed her had her practically running and pulling out her keys. She stopped beside a blue Honda and reached for the door handle just as Max caught up to her. He braced a hip against the door and crossed his arms as if daring her to try to open it.

Which was fine, since this wasn’t her car.

She stepped back, her hands on her hips. Then she took another step, then whirled around and ran to her Toyota RAV4 SUV two spaces over. By the time Max realized she’d played a trick on him and started toward her, she was zipping out of the parking space.

He stood watching her in her rearview mirror, his hands fisted at his sides.

Running from him was childish. Especially since he was a police officer and she’d have to answer his questions eventually. But facing angry, cold Max was more than she could take right now after everything else that had happened. How could she stand there, talking to him as if he was a stranger, when even now her body yearned for his touch?

It might have been ten years since she’d last kissed him, a decade since she’d felt the comforting weight of his body pressing her down into the mattress. But from the moment she’d seen him at the deli, all those years had fallen away as if they’d never happened. And her emotions were just as raw now as the day she’d left.

She wanted, needed, some time to herself. To decompress, to reflect about what had happened today and get her emotions back under control. Trying to do that with a man she’d once loved looking at her like he despised her was more than she could bear, more than anyone should have to bear after the kind of crisis she’d just lived through. No, tomorrow would be soon enough. She’d face Max tomorrow.

The sound of a powerful engine had her looking in her rearview mirror again. A shiny black four-by-four pickup was coming up fast behind her. And sitting in the driver’s seat was an achingly familiar silhouette.

Max Remington.

Chapter Five

Normally the ride from the grocery store to her mother’s house would have taken Bex twenty-five minutes. Today, with Max riding her bumper, it took half that. She barreled into the driveway on the left side of the house and slammed her brakes. Max braked hard behind her, narrowly missing her car.

He hopped out of his pickup and stalked up to her window before she’d even cut her engine.

“Get out.”

Even with the window rolled up, she could hear the anger vibrating in his deep voice.

“Go away.”

He shook his head. “Open the door, Bex.”

She gave him a very unladylike gesture and reached for the gearshift, fully intending to drive across the lawn back to the road.

“Gonna run again, Bex?” he taunted. “You’re good at that.”

She stiffened.

“You drove twenty miles over the speed limit. I can arrest you for that.”

“There was a maniac following me. I was in fear for my life.”

If his jaw tightened any more his teeth would probably break.

A long breath huffed out of her as her anger drained away. This wasn’t how she wanted things between the two of them. She’d blindsided him by coming back and deserved a little consideration. He’d also saved her life today. Repaying him by pushing his buttons and making his job difficult wasn’t right. She cut the engine, grabbed her purse and waited.

Looking suspicious at her sudden change of heart, he seemed to almost reluctantly step back, just enough for her to open the door and get out of her car.

As she headed toward the wide, covered front porch than ran the width of the cottage, he was hot on her heels, so close she could feel his body heat against her back. And just like that, her skin prickled with awareness and her belly tightened, her body’s natural response to Max being that close.

She couldn’t believe he still had this kind of impact on her, after all these years and after everything that had happened. It was irritating, and made it really hard to keep her raw emotions at bay.

“You don’t have to hang so close,” she told him as she climbed the steps.

“Just making sure you don’t run again,” he taunted.

She stopped, then whirled around to face him. But he was too close. She had to climb two more steps to be able to meet his gaze without craning her head back.

“Was that supposed to be funny?” she demanded.

“Not even a little bit.”

He arched a brow, daring her to bring up the past, to go down a road she had no intention of traveling. Down that road lay too much hurt. And danger. For both of them.

She let out a pent-up breath and turned around, climbing the rest of the steps and crossing the wide porch. After unlocking the front door, she turned the knob. And suddenly he was pushing past her into the living room.

“Please, won’t you come in,” she muttered behind him, closing the door and flipping the dead bolt.

He did a quick turn around the room, glancing through doorways into the kitchen, the hall, the bathroom, all while keeping his hand on his holster. She supposed it was second nature to do things like that, the instincts of a cop automatically checking the security when they went anywhere.

When he returned to the entry, he eyed the dead bolt but didn’t say the obvious—that she’d never have locked a door when she was growing up here. Most people in Destiny didn’t lock their doors. Bex’s mother certainly hadn’t. The dead bolt had been frozen when Bex had arrived and she’d had to spray it with oil to get it to work.

Feeling silly now for having locked it, she flipped the bolt again, leaving the door unsecured, even though her big city instincts had her fingers itching to flip the bolt.

For a man who’d been all bent out of shape about wanting to talk to her, Max didn’t seem to be in any kind of hurry to talk now. Instead, he strolled around the room, examining the stacks of boxes containing her mother’s things, reading the labels on each one. When he reached the fireplace, he stared in silence at the dark square above it where a picture of the two of them from their senior prom used to hang. She expected him to ask her what she’d done with it, perhaps in a sarcastic or accusing tone. She’d die before she told him that she’d carefully packed it away and put it in a box to go back home with her to Knoxville. But he didn’t ask.

Instead, he turned around and headed toward the archway that led into the eat-in kitchen on the front left side of the house.

“Got any coffee? I sure could use some even though it’s inching toward dinnertime now,” he said.

She frowned and hurried after him. “I thought you wanted to interview me about what happened at the store? Show me some pictures or something?”

He hesitated, then pulled his phone out. A moment later, he flipped through pictures of five men, holding each one up for her.

“Recognize any of them?”

“No. Are those the gunmen?”

He didn’t answer, just put his phone back in his pocket. After opening the cabinet to the right of the sink, he took down two coffee cups, acting just as familiar and comfortable with the house as he’d been as a teenager. As if the years between had never happened.

A few minutes later he had the old-fashioned coffeemaker spitting and gurgling a thin stream of dark coffee into a carafe.

“Cream and sugar still?” He took the creamer out of the refrigerator, which Bex had topped off just this morning, and grabbed the sugar bowl from the kitchen table.

“Yes. Still.” She pulled out one of the chairs and plopped down. “I’m surprised you remember where Mom kept everything.”

His lips thinned. “I practically lived here in high school. Your mom was like a second mom to me. We kept in touch. I didn’t write her out of my life just because you wrote me out of yours.”

She sucked in a breath, old hurts washing over her. The last time she’d seen Max suddenly felt just as fresh and painful as it had the first time around—as if all the years in between had never happened. She should apologize, explain. He deserved that. But how could she?

Especially now that he was a cop.

He set the cup of creamy white coffee in front of her and a cup of strong, black coffee in front of himself before finally sitting across from her.

He rubbed his neck and let out a deep sigh, stretching his long legs out in front of him. He looked so tired, as if the weight of everything that had happened today had drained the fight right out of him.

“Why did you come back, Bex? After all these years, why come back at all? It’s not like you went to the memorial service.”

She almost choked on the coffee she’d just sipped. She forced the now tasteless liquid down her throat and shoved the cup away. She rose from her chair, fully intending to order him to leave.

“Bex. Please. I’m not trying to fight. I really want to know.” He watched her intently, waiting for her to make the decision.

She drew a deep breath then sat down again. “I had a private funeral for her in...outside Destiny.”

He nodded. “I figured. Which is kind of my point. Why come back? You didn’t have to. You could handle everything remotely. From wherever you live now.”

Silence filled the room, his unasked questions hanging between them. Where did she live? Where had she gone? Where would she go once she left again?

She considered telling him. It wasn’t exactly a big secret anymore, as it had been when she’d fled. Privacy was a fantasy these days. Finding someone was as easy as doing a search online, even if they’d changed their name—which she hadn’t done.

If Max really wanted to find her, he could. Especially as a police officer. He’d be able to track her down. And yet, all these years, he’d never once tried to find her. Had never walked up to her condo or visited her little shop, asking for answers. So she wasn’t going to give them now.

“I needed to settle her estate, go through her things, pack up the house.”

He didn’t say anything, just waited.

She glanced around the kitchen, at the fading yellow drapes hanging above the sink. The horrible red-rooster wallpaper on the wall above the stove, wallpaper that she’d hated while growing up here but that somehow seemed perfect now.

She smoothed her fingers against the faded, chipped laminate-topped table. Her mother had refused to let Bex replace it with one of the gorgeous antiques from her store. Mom had insisted she loved the cheap, worn table. But Bex knew that what her mom really loved were the memories she’d shared with Bex’s father at this worn-out table, before a tight curve on a dark road had taken him away from both of them.

“Bex?”

She forced her hands to stop rubbing circles on the fake wood. “I guess I just...needed to see...home, one last time. I wanted to go through her things, remember her, decide what to keep, what to give away.”

“Was there any other reason that you came back?” he asked, his deep voice soft, barely above a whisper.

He was giving her an opening. It shocked her to realize that, to see the longing in his eyes, bared before her. And, God help her, she wanted so much to tell him that, yes, she came back to see him, too. But that wasn’t true. No matter how much she wished it could be. Once she left this time, she knew she’d never see Max again.

She slowly shook her head. “No. No other reason.”

He blinked, and like throwing a switch, his eyes shuttered, his expression went blank. “Well,” he finally said. “Guess that answers that.” He gave her a bitter smile. “I loved you, Bex. All those years ago, I loved you in every way a man can love a woman—with my mind, my body, my heart, my soul. And I thought you loved me, too. I would have done anything for you back then. Anything. Together we could have faced whatever really happened the night Bobby Caldwell died. We would have gotten married, raised a couple of kids by now.” He shook his head, a muscle flexing in his cheek. “But all that’s water under the bridge now, isn’t it? You’ve sure as hell moved on. Guess it’s high time I moved on, too.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket. “If going to the station’s too difficult, so be it. We’ll do the interview here. You don’t mind if I record it, do you?”

She sat as still as a statue, staring at him in shock, reeling from everything he’d just said. And one thing in particular—that it was time he moved on. What did that mean? That in all these years he’d never dated anyone? That he’d been, what, waiting for her?

She’d dated, a handful of times. But her first dates were always last dates. Because no one had ever measured up to Max. She’d never once considered that he might have been existing in that same limbo that she had all this time. And now she wished that she could tell him the truth.

That she hadn’t moved on. And never would. That a day hadn’t gone by that she didn’t think of him.

He arched a brow. “Bex? I’ve turned on the recording app. Do you consent to having your statement recorded?”

She blinked, then nodded.

“You have to say it out loud.”

“Oh, um.” She cleared her throat. “Yes, I consent to having my statement recorded.”

“Excellent.” He shoved the phone to the middle of the table between them. “First we have to get the logistics out of the way. State and spell your first and last name for the recording. Then list your address and place of employment.”

She frowned. “Is that really required?”

He nodded.

She sighed and told him what he’d asked, admitting that she lived in Knoxville, giving him the address of her condo. And she told him about her antique store. Then she went on to answer his questions about everything she’d done the day of the grocery store shooting.

The interview started out stilted, on her side at least. But answering his questions was almost a healing therapy for her emotional wounds. It helped her go numb, almost dead inside, and get through this.

Going over the same questions over and over was grueling, tiring and reminiscent of when the chief had grilled her years ago. Thornton had trained Max well. She felt just as guilty this time as she had ten years ago, even though this time she had nothing to feel guilty about.

He finally stopped the recording and put his phone away. “I guess that’s it. For now.”

Relieved, she grabbed both of their long-empty coffee cups and carried them to the sink. After rinsing them, she turned around. Max was still sitting at the table, studying her as if he had a million more questions and was looking to her for the answers. Afraid that he might start the interview all over again, she headed toward the archway into the family room.

“Thanks again for protecting me this morning.” She waved toward the front door. “You can see yourself out. I’ve got packing to do.”

She headed into her bedroom, the one she’d had her whole life until she’d left at eighteen. Taking the master bedroom hadn’t even tempted her. It would have felt...weird, sleeping in the room her mother had slept in just a few short weeks ago.

Her suitcase was in the closet, so she grabbed it and dropped it on top of the bed, then flipped it open. She’d packed light, with just a week’s worth of clothes, and had laundered everything yesterday. It wouldn’t take long before she could head out. She opened the top dresser drawer and grabbed a stack of underwear and bras.

“You’re not sticking around?”

Startled, she jumped, then pressed a hand against her chest. Max lounged in the doorway to her bedroom, looking impossibly appealing.

“Sorry,” he said, even though he didn’t look sorry. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

She shoved her armload of underwear into the suitcase and headed to the dresser for more clothes. “I’m going home.”

“When?”

An armload of shorts and T-shirts went into the suitcase. “Today. Now. Just as soon as I’m packed.”

“Don’t you want to stick around and find out why those gunmen went after you?”

She hesitated, her arms full of jeans. “What are you talking about? They robbed the store. You make it sound like it all had something to do with me.”

“I’m thinking maybe it did. They didn’t rob the store. They were searching up and down aisles looking for you. At least, that’s what it seemed like to me.”

She slowly lowered the jeans into the suitcase. “Why would they be looking for me?”

He shrugged, not offering anything else. Probably because it was part of his investigation.

“All the more reason to leave, then.” She headed for the closet to get her shoes.

Max wandered around the room, picking up a few odds and ends from her childhood—little horse figurines on her dresser, a cross necklace her mom had given her on her sixteenth birthday. And then he looked up, at the wall over her dresser, and froze.

Bex could feel her face growing warm. “Mom left my room exactly the way it was the day I left.”

He was in most of the pictures, with her, because they’d always been together, from middle school on. It seemed that every fun or cherished moment in her life had Max in it—her first dance, the field trip to Animal Kingdom at Disney, playing video games at the arcade in the mall one town over from Destiny. And there was their graduation photo, the last one taken of the two of them. They’d walked together, hand in hand in their black graduation robes, each of them boasting the gold stoles of the National Honor Society. Both of them smiling and happy.

“Figures I’d find you both here, in your bedroom. Just like old times, huh?”

Bex and Max both turned to see Bex’s old high school nemesis, Marcia Knolls, standing in the doorway. Max’s hand had automatically gone to the gun holstered at his hip, but he relaxed when he saw who was standing there.

“What are you doing in here?” he demanded. “You should have knocked.”

“I did. You two were apparently too busy to hear me.” She smirked at Max. “Does your girlfriend know about all those police interns you’ve been screwing?”

Bex blinked, then looked at Max.

His eyes narrowed, and he took a step toward Marcia.

Bex hurried to step between them.

“Marcia, hey. It’s been a long time. Is there something I can help you with?”

Marcia glared at her, hands coiled into fists at her sides. Surprisingly, Bex wasn’t even mad at her for her crude comment about her and Max. Instead, she felt sorry for her. Marcia was one of those people who’d been miserable the whole time Bex had known her and had blamed others for that misery. It was clear that she hadn’t changed, that she was still just as miserable and lonely as she’d been back in high school.

“I heard about the shooting,” Marcia said. “Figured I’d stop by and see if you were okay.” She glanced at Max. “Looks like you’re doing just fine, already slipping back into old habits.”

Bex doubted Marcia had stopped by hoping she was okay. If anything, she was looking for some juicy gossip.

“There was a shooting at the Piggly Wiggly. But thanks to Max, everyone is fine. He saved my life, and the lives of everyone else in that store.” She could feel the weight of his stare, as if he was surprised or wondering if she really felt that way.

“Yeah, well, too bad he couldn’t save everyone years ago,” Marcia taunted. “Then maybe Bobby would still be around.”

“What do you really want, Marcia?” Max asked. “You can cut the crap about caring about Bex. No one in this room believes that.”

She gave him a resentful look. “I was just wondering when Bex plans on leaving.” She waved toward the suitcase. “I’m assuming soon?”

“And why do you want to know?” Max demanded.

Her face reddening slightly, Marcia said, “Mama sent me over with a casserole and her condolences on your mother’s death, Bex.” She cleared her throat. “Not that you really cared, did you? You never bothered to visit her.”

Max stepped even closer. “Not that it’s any of your business, but Bex saw her mother a lot, just not in Destiny. And they spoke on the phone every Sunday evening, without fail. Now, unless you have something nice to say to a woman who’s grieving the loss of her mother, you need to leave.”

Bex almost felt sorry for Marcia. Her face went pale and she seemed taken aback. “I wasn’t trying to be mean.” She aimed a pleading look at Bex. “I’m sorry about your mom. I really am. It’s just that when I see you, it makes me think of Bobby. And I just—”

“Out. Now.” Max used his much larger body to force her into the hallway.

Bex was about to tell him to go easy on Marcia when the other woman turned and ran from the house. Max followed her, and soon the sound of the front door slamming echoed through the little house.

If she hadn’t been anxious to leave before, Bex was anxious now. She’d meant it when she’d told her lawyer that there wasn’t any reason left for her to stay. Marcia was only one of many who blamed Bex for Bobby’s death. And Max wasn’t exactly warming up to her. Not that she could blame him.

Bex stuffed a few more things into her suitcase and zipped it closed.

“She’s gone,” Max said from the doorway. “You’re really leaving, right this minute?”

“I think it’s for the best. I’ll stop at my lawyer’s office in town, then I’m off to Pigeon Forge for a couple of weeks to clear my head before going home.”

He was reaching for her suitcase but stopped with his hand on the handle. “Pigeon Forge?”

It dawned on her what he was thinking about, and she belatedly wished she’d thought more carefully before answering him. She nodded and refolded an afghan at the foot of the bed that didn’t need folding. Pigeon Forge, nestled in the foothills of the Smoky Mountains, had been their place, where she and Max had gone on many trips their junior and senior year. Always with friends, to satisfy her mom that they were well chaperoned. But she and Max had found plenty of time to sneak away to be together. It had been the happiest time of her life. And it had become her habit since leaving Destiny to go to Pigeon Forge every time her life seemed like it was falling apart. The moment she’d found out about her mother, she’d reserved her usual cabin in the Smokies for once she was finished with her duties in Destiny. Now she wasn’t sure it was a good idea anymore. Rather than healing her soul, it just might crush her.

Without a word, Max picked up her suitcase and carried it out of the room.

Bex sighed and followed him, grabbing her purse and car keys along the way.

Once he’d placed the suitcase in her trunk, he straightened and leaned against her car. “I may need to contact you with more questions as the investigation goes on.”

“Mr. Leonard has my contact information. He’ll be able to get in touch with me.”

“It’s probably better that you’re leaving. Bobby Caldwell’s death is a fresh wound again now that you’re back in town. A lot of people, like it or not, believe you got away with murder. Marcia’s just one of them.”

She paused beside the driver’s door. “Just like you.”

“No.”

She looked up at him. “You don’t think I killed Bobby?”

He swore and ran a hand through his hair. “Whatever...resentments I have toward you, I never once believed you had anything to do with Bobby’s death.”

She wasn’t sure what to say to that. “You told Marcia I saw my mom, that I called her every week. How did you know that?”

He shrugged. “Small town. Word gets around.”

“Only if my mom told someone about it. And she wasn’t the type to gossip, not about me. And her close friends wouldn’t share that type of information, not with you. The only way you could have known is if Mom told you.”

He didn’t say anything.

“You’re the one who planted the lilies, aren’t you?”

Again, he remained silent. But the truth was in his eyes.

“You really did visit my mom regularly, didn’t you, Max? Why?”

He straightened away from her car. “Just because you pushed me out of your life didn’t mean your mom did. I always planned on marrying you, Bex. From the moment we started hanging out in middle school. I thought of your mom as my future mother-in-law for so long I couldn’t just turn that off when you threw my proposal in my face.”

She sucked in a breath. “I didn’t throw it in your face.”

He waved his hand in the air. “Just go see your lawyer and run off to Pigeon Forge. You’ve probably got some guy waiting there for you. Don’t let me keep you.”

She glared up at him, her hands on her hips. “And don’t let me keep you from those interns you’re sleeping with, either.”

His jaw tightened and he held the door open for her.

Her anger evaporated in a shaky sigh. Tears burned at the backs of her eyes. “Can’t wait for me to leave, can you, Max?”

Something passed in his eyes—regret? His anger seemed to rush out of him, too, and he looked tired and resigned.

“This is never how I wanted things to be between us. But it’s probably for the best, Bex.”

She nodded. “I’m just glad you’re okay. I was so scared when I heard that gunman saying the cop had interfered and they were going to kill him. I figured that was you. I was so scared. I was trying to find you to warn you when I got trapped behind that display of T-shirts.”

“You were looking for me to warn me? Are you insane?”

She stiffened. “Apparently so. Take care, Max. I mean it. I want you to be happy and safe. No matter what you think of me, that has never changed. I’ve always wanted what was best for you. That was the driving concern in every decision that I made.”

He frowned at her words. “Bex, what are you—”

She shook her head, realizing she’d said too much. She stepped into the opening to get in the car. A loud boom sounded and the windshield exploded.

Max grabbed her and shoved her to the ground.

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