drove across town, shrouding streets and alleys in shadows. As always, the darkness brought memories. The gun. The explosion of sound as it was fired point-blank into another man’s head. Vincent Martino’s cold face illuminated by moonlight. No matter how hard Olivia fought to let go of her old life, she couldn’t rid herself of it. Perhaps that was why she felt so on edge, so nervous.
Streetlights did little to dispel the darkness or to chase away the memories, and Olivia was tense with anxiety as she pulled into the parking lot at the Y.
Housed in an old warehouse, the building was long and narrow, the parking lot large. A few cars were parked near the building, and Olivia pulled in close, hesitating a moment before opening her door. Maybe she should quit teaching at the Y, quit waitressing and lock herself in her house until the marshals came to take her to Vincent Martino’s trial.
Go about your daily life as if nothing has changed. Keep up the appearance of normalcy. Don’t give anyone a reason to think you have something to hide.
“Easy for you to say, Micah. You’re not the one with the price on your head,” she murmured as she forced herself to open the door and step out of the car. Evenings in Pine Bluff, Montana, had a richness to them. The sky seemed ripe with starlight, the distant mountains fading into deep azure sky. God’s creation, filled with wonder and beauty, but Olivia could find no comfort in it.
She hurried toward the building, her pulse jumping as something scraped on the pavement behind her.
She didn’t want to turn to look.
Then again, she didn’t want to die with her back to her killer.
She whirled, ready to face down the threat, but the parking lot was empty of life.
Olivia took a step back, her eyes probing the shadows. Was someone there, waiting and watching? A U.S. Marshal, maybe? Or someone worse?
Skin crawling, the hair on the back of her neck standing on end, Olivia took another step back and then turned and ran toward the building. She yanked the door open with enough force to send it crashing against the wall and bounded into the foyer, her breath heaving, her heart racing.
“No need for quite that much of a hurry. You’ve got ten minutes before the class starts,” Lorna Scott said, peering out of the office. Sixty, with short, dark hair cut into a pixie style, Lorna eyed Olivia with curiosity. “Is everything okay?”
“Fine. Everything is fine. The door just got away from me.”
Lorna raised a dark eyebrow, but didn’t comment. What could she say, short of calling Olivia a liar? “I’m glad you got here a little early. I need to talk to you about something. Come on in the office.”
“What’s up?”
“Someone was here looking for you. He said he was your husband,” she said quietly, but the words seemed to fill the room, stealing Olivia’s breath.
She swayed, grabbing a chair to steady herself. “That’s impossible.”
“I’m afraid it’s not. He arrived just a half hour after I called you. Said his name was Ford, showed me a picture of you and asked if you worked here. I would have called to let you know, but I figured you were already on your way here.”
“What did you tell him?”
“That you didn’t work here. Can’t say the lie sat very well, but I wasn’t sure what kind of relationship you two had. I figured if he was the ex you told me about, you might not want him to know where you worked.”
“I appreciate it, Lorna.”
“Your private life is your private life. Besides, the guy looked a little dangerous. I was anxious to get him out of the building.”
“Dangerous? Ford?” Olivia never would have described him as that. Successful, confident, too handsome for his own good, those were more apt descriptions.
“Maybe it was just the scar. You know how that is. Guy’s got a scar on his face, he looks dangerous whether he is or not.”
“Ford doesn’t have a scar.”
“Well, this guy did. On his right cheek. Didn’t distract from his good looks, but it sure did make me wonder how he got it.”
“It couldn’t have been Ford, then.” Which meant someone else had come to the Y looking for Olivia. Someone with a photograph of her.
“Maybe not, but someone was here, and it was you he was looking for. Want me to call the police?”
“No. That’s okay. Listen, I hate to do this, but I’m not up to teaching tonight after all.”
Lorna nodded, not bothering to ask why, not commenting again on the scarred man. She must have known things weren’t right with Olivia. Maybe she’d even begun to suspect that the things Olivia had shared were only partial truths. “That’s all right. I’ll find someone else.”
“Thanks.” Olivia hurried from the office, her mind racing. She needed to get in the car and drive as fast and as far from Pine Bluff as she could. Once she put some distance between herself and the town, she’d call Micah and let him know that she’d been found.
She unlocked the car, started to pull the door open.
“Olivia?” The voice shivered through the darkness, gritty and deep and as familiar as her own.
Ford. Her husband. The father of her child. The man she’d tried so hard to forget during her four months in witness protection. Behind her. Waiting for her to turn and face him.
Not the kind of danger she’d expected, but danger nonetheless.
“If you get in the car and drive away, I’ll just follow you.” There was little emotion in the words, just a cold statement of fact.
She could turn around and face him now or she could run and face him later. Either way, she’d have to deal with him. Ford never gave up on something he wanted, never stopped pushing for a win. This time, though, the drive to succeed might cost him more than he bargained for. If Olivia didn’t convince him to go back to Chicago, it might cost them both their lives.
TWO
Every muscle in Ford Jensen’s body tensed with anticipation as Olivia slowly turned to face him. It had been four months since he’d last seen his wife, four months that he’d spent hounding FBI agents and U.S. Marshals, trying to get a lead on Olivia’s whereabouts. He’d finally found her, and he wanted to rush forward and pull her into his arms, but he knew she wouldn’t thank him if he did. Just as he knew she wouldn’t thank him for finding her. He’d broken one too many promises, ignored her one too many times. When she’d called to tell him she’d seen a murder and that she was entering witness protection, she’d said it was for the best. A clean break.
It hadn’t been clean for Ford. It had been painful, filled with regrets and rife with a million lost opportunities.
“Ford. You shouldn’t be here,” she said quietly, her hand resting on the door of a dark blue Ford.
“But I am.”
“I’ve
