please let me be wrong.
Just two more miles...
Then she’d reach the Oceanview Lodge, where she and her guests could watch the wind, rain and waves buffet the coast.
Her business thrived on the winter weather drama that drew people from all over the country. Since the lodge perched on a bluff overlooking a rocky section of the beach, her clients were protected from the hazards posed by seriously high waves as they dashed magnificently against rocky outcroppings, or crashed into the beach.
Like today’s storm that threatened high winds, twenty-foot waves and a significant surge in sea level. Citizens of the town of Windsurf had placed warning signs on the beach about the dangers of sneaker waves and ocean swells. Jonna had assisted in the placement of the signs, and she should have been back before the brunt of the storm hit. No matter. She would be okay as long as she kept clear of the sneaker waves.
Never turn your back on the water.
Never turn your back on the past.
The foreboding thought caught her by surprise. In coming back to Washington, she’d tried to do just that. So far, it had worked.
Far from the threats of her past career, she’d found a sense of peace here in Windsurf on the Pacific side of Coldwater Bay. A few small towns bordered the bay and a peninsula separated them from the ocean.
With her training and her trustworthy Sig Sauer P320 Compact, which she had affectionately named Max, she could take care of herself while she enjoyed managing this peaceful lodge—a stormy haven where she could watch the storms from a safe distance.
The inclement weather wouldn’t prevent her from running.
And neither would a stalker. Was her follower the man who’d already abducted and murdered five women along the Washington coast over the last six months? The Shoreline Killer?
If so, then he’d just picked the wrong woman to mess with.
Or was it someone from her past? Her old boss in Miami, Gil Reeves, had contacted her not long ago—to catch up, he’d said. See how she was doing. Then he’d casually mentioned her name had come up in intel chatter. He’d been giving her a heads-up.
It had been three years since she left. Why would anyone care to talk about her, much less find her, then follow her here? She was no threat to any criminal operations these days. There was no reason to attack her and bring an investigation down on themselves.
A violent gust caused her to misstep, but she righted herself and second-guessed her decision to run outside no matter the weather. A wave could wash up and sweep her away, rip her off the beach and take her out into the depths. Or it could wash over her, carrying driftwood that could knock her unconscious.
Either scenario would result in her death.
She had to get back to the safety of the lodge, but another part of her wanted to face off with man on the ridge pacing her.
Except she hadn’t brought Max. So better to head straight home, where she could arm herself.
She was almost there.
Just beyond the rocky outcropping ahead of her, rustic steps led up to her lodge on the ridge.
Dark, angry clouds bled into an equally dark ocean, blurring the line where sky met sea. The breakers rolled in, reached higher and crashed harder. Jonna stayed just out of reach, her breaths coming faster as she ran on the wet sand, her running shoes leaving footprints that quickly melted away.
Salty ocean spray lashed at her, taunting her. The ocean swelled. Her heart hammered as she ran. If she could make it back to the lodge and grab her gun, then she could find the guy and get some answers.
Fear and determination fueled her steps.
Dread surged as a wave towered up and arched over—a sea monster opening its mouth wide, baring ugly sharp teeth ready to chomp down and consume her whole. Jonna barely escaped.
When she glanced over her shoulder at the ridge, the guy was gone. She was alone in the storm after all.
He hadn’t followed.
Had her instincts been wrong? Was she that rusty?
Relief surged as she neared the lodge. She waited until the crashing waves subsided so she could make her way around the rocks.
A gust of wind forced cold into her marrow, despite her rain-resistant cold-weather jogging garb. Running today had been the absolute worst idea.
Before another wave crashed forward and the ocean surged, blocking her path, Jonna had to get past those rocks.
The hooded man stepped around them and aimed a gun at her.
* * *
Ian Brady was too late.
He lunged at the man with the gun pointed at Jonna, ramming into him to at least throw off his aim. Gunfire resounded in his ears. The weapon went off before he could stop it.
Cold, brutal waves washed over them as he fought the man and disarmed him. Thankfully, the receding waves whisked the gun away. A fist filled his vision. Pain radiated across his face. Salt water washed into his nose and burned.
Ian drew from his experience and training to ignore the pain. He shoved the attacker down in the wet sand and pinned his arms behind his back, then lugged him to his feet. He had the man securely contained in his grip. Now to haul him off to the sheriff.
Except Ian was fighting another assailant now. The Pacific gripped them both. Ian floundered as the current ripped the man from his grasp. Tossed him. Icy cold water pulled Ian under. He held his breath, trying to gain his footing again. He met the sand on his knees, broken shells cutting into his flesh as he gasped and choked water. Hands gripped him, and he wrestled someone to the ground.
Too late he recognized the feminine form beneath him. “Jonna!” The woman who ran the lodge where he stayed.
And the woman Ian had been sent to secretly protect.
“We have to get out of here—it’s too dangerous,” she yelled over the cacophonous storm.
Now she was trying to protect him?
He pulled her to her feet. Together they ran away from the angry ocean to the stairway that climbed the cliffside and carefully maneuvered the slippery steps to the landing. They stopped beneath the shelter of her lodge’s terrace. Driving winds and lashing rain accosted them even under the covered porch. At least they weren’t still on the beach. Below, the ocean boiled and waves collided with rocks and blasted the shoreline.
In the distance, Jonna’s would-be killer crawled onto the beach. At first he floundered when another wave tried to take him, then he found his footing and fled. The guy was too fortunate. He was also too far up the beach for Ian to give chase, but he couldn’t just let the man get away so easily. On the landing of the steps, Ian watched the shooter head for another set of stairs up the cliff to make his escape from the raging waves. Ian started to run after him, but Jonna grabbed his arm.
Surprised at the strength in
