brown eyes captivating him and attracting other men within her radius.
Man, what a night. Excitement in the air. His surprise threatening to burst out. Fighting to control it. Waiting for the right moment to tell her that he planned to transfer colleges to be closer to where she went to school. Her throwing cold water on him, telling him not to bother—she wasn’t into him.
And now, here she was, rising up to meet him, and no matter what he felt, he had to focus on keeping her safe.
Still holding his hand, she took a few steps, as if checking for injuries.
“Everything okay?” he asked.
She let go and, eyes clouded, lifted her bag. “I am, but I don’t know about my camera.”
Good. If she was concerned for her camera, maybe she wasn’t as close to a breakdown as he’d thought.
“C’mon. Let’s get out of here.” With a hand on her back, he urged her along the sidewalk, heading toward the gallery.
“Shouldn’t we call the police?” she asked.
“Let’s get inside first. Then we’ll report it.” He took the side near the road and kept his head on a swivel, looking for any threat. He didn’t really think he’d try something again so soon, but Ethan couldn’t take any chances.
They moved at a good clip despite Jennie’s limp. She had to be in pain, but she didn’t complain. Didn’t speak at all. She cradled her camera bag like a baby, and her focus remained fixed ahead.
During their summer together, he’d been able to read her mind, but today? Not a clue. Was she thinking about the assault or their breakup?
Did she feel the awkwardness of their reunion, now that the moment of danger had passed? There was no way for him to know. Still, he could make sure she knew he’d let go of his anger over the way she’d bailed on him and was up to the task of protecting her.
“It’s good to see you again, Jen,” he said, keeping his tone light and sincere.
She looked up at him, a tight little smile the only outward indication of her mood.
“Thanks for helping me today. I don’t know what I would’ve done if…” She shook her head, then reached up and fingered his tattered sleeve. “I haven’t even asked if you’re okay.”
He looked at her slender fingers brushing over the white fabric soaked with his blood. Her concern warmed him and he wanted to bask in it for a few moments, but he couldn’t afford to be distracted.
“I’m fine, Jen.” He lifted her hand from his arm and gave a quick squeeze before releasing it.
“But your shoulder looks bad. There’s a lot of blood.” She stared up at him, measuring. Weighing.
“It’s just a scratch. I’ll look at it when we get to the gallery.”
Her concern washed away and her face paled.
Nice one, Ethan. Remind her of the threat waiting for her.
“Everything will be all right. I promise.”
“I really hope so.”
“We’ll do everything within our power to find this guy.”
“Good. Because no matter what he threatens, I won’t cancel the benefit. This is our biggest fundraiser of the year. I won’t let these children down.” Her shoulders went back, and she tilted her chin in the cute little stubborn angle he remembered so well. She was still so determined. Tough, ready to take on the world. Now she directed it toward helping children.
Since she’d moved to Portland five years ago, he’d read all about her dedication to Photos of Hope, the charity she had founded and on which she now served as chairman of the board. She traveled the world, shooting pictures of suffering children then displaying them in posh galleries to raise money for them. And thanks to Madeline, it was now his job to make sure she lived to carry out her work.
They turned the corner and the gallery came into view. A crime-scene van pulled from the curb and yellow tape strung across the sidewalk fluttered in the breeze.
The sun darted behind heavy clouds and a dark shadow descended over them. He saw Jennie shudder. The urge to comfort her rose up stronger than before, but nothing he could do would spare her from the destruction and the chilling message declaring if she didn’t cancel the show she’d be killed.
TWO
As they neared the Premier Gallery, Jennie looked down at her feet.
Right. Left. Repeat. Focus. Keep moving. Stop thinking. Don’t dwell on the trashed gallery or the message or Ethan. Definitely not Ethan.
She felt him next to her as if they were connected. His strength and confidence giving her hope that this would end soon. And if it didn’t, that he’d be there for her. He’d already put his life on the line for her, circling his arms around her, bearing the brunt of injury, but now that all the unresolved issues of their past and the painful way they’d once parted came rushing back, she wished he’d go away.
What kind of person was she to want him gone when he was willing to sacrifice his life for her?
A scared person, that’s what. Scared of this threat against her life. Scared of the way her heart beat quicker in his presence. Scared of caving in to her fear of this lunatic and failing the children.
A clue, Lord, just give me a clue what to do here. How to act. How to survive. You’ve brought me through some crazy times in the past. I need You to do the same thing now.
“Are you sure you’re up to seeing this?” Ethan clasped the gallery’s door handle.
“I have to see it sometime, right?”
“Madeline’s already told you what happened. We could come back after she’s had a chance to clean up.”
“No,” she said, surprised at the strength in her voice. “I can’t run away from this.”
He watched her for a few moments, his eyes searching until he seemed to shake off his thoughts and opened the door.
She stepped inside and came to a stop. A caustic paint odor saturated the narrow room where she’d once found comfort. Now order had turned to chaos. Shards of glass, mangled frames and torn photos littered the rough brick floor. Black-and-white. Color. It made no difference. This creep had ripped her photos of children from the wall without a care.
She could feel the vandal’s presence. Strong and threatening, like on the train. She saw him, standing here in the dim light of night, shredding the pictures and tossing them around like bits of confetti. Then moving to the wall. His arms sweeping in big, powerful strokes, anger seething from his face and vibrating through his hands as the spray can spit out his message.
OPEN THE SHOW AND YOU DIE!
She stared at it. Expected fear to rise up again, but anger boiled up instead. How dare he do this to Photos of Hope! The funds from the sale
