He’d found her. After all this time, she’d finally started to feel safe again, as if she didn’t have to constantly look over her shoulder. But somehow, he’d found her and sent his goons after her.
These stupefied thoughts ran through Juliette Lawson’s mind as she put one foot in front of the other. Her body had gone numb, but she could still feel the exact spot where the cold metal of a gun barrel pressed against her head.
The thug walking behind her had grabbed her just when she’d thought she was going to escape. She’d been in the bathroom when she’d heard screaming that morning. She’d peeked out in time to see three men enter, holding pictures of her. She’d never seen any of them before, but she knew why they’d come.
Initially, she’d darted back into the bathroom, hoping to hide, praying they wouldn’t find her, that they’d just leave. But it soon became clear hiding wouldn’t work, so she’d tried to slip down the back stairs. Just as she’d been reaching for the door to the exit, this one had come up behind her and put a gun to her head. He’d led her out the back door, out of sight of the police officers gathered in the distance and farther away from help.
She’d considered screaming, but fear had trapped it in her throat and then she’d realized if she did yell for help, he’d probably shoot.
Now, the gunman jabbed her with his weapon every few steps, pressuring her to move faster up the little dirt trail through the woods. But they were moving uphill at a steep angle, and she was wearing heels. If she picked up her pace any more, she was going to stumble. And the faster she walked, the less chance she had of figuring out a way to escape before he reached the next step of his plan.
Juliette knew the next step of his plan was to do one of two things: either get her somewhere secluded and kill her, or take her back to Dylan. It was like comparing a death sentence to life behind bars. She wasn’t sure which was worse.
But she did know that if Dylan had hired him, this guy had training. Even if by some miracle, she managed to wrestle the gun away from him, he’d be able to take her down. If she ran, he’d probably shoot. And he wouldn’t miss.
She tried to push aside all the regrets she felt, to focus on survival, but one regret kept surfacing. If only she’d never met Dylan Keane. Then maybe she’d still be back in Pennsylvania, still trying to sell the paintings she loved in galleries, instead of trying to be invisible as a graphic designer and spending her days buried in a cubicle.
Now there was a very good chance she wouldn’t even be buried in a shallow grave. There was a good chance she was about to bleed out in the woods, and those cops who’d surrounded the office would eventually find her body. She prayed she’d be the only casualty, and the other gunmen wouldn’t hurt her colleagues.
They had no idea who she really was, no idea what danger they were in just being near her. She’d never thought she’d been putting them in harm’s way, because she’d never expected Dylan would send goons to her work. She’d always figured that if he tracked her down, he’d simply grab her out of her apartment one day and drag her back. Force her to live in that house again, like a prisoner. Or just kill her right there and leave her dead in her apartment until one of her neighbors noticed the smell.
Stop it, Juliette told herself. Morose thoughts weren’t going to get her out of this. She needed a plan. And even though running was pointless, it was probably her best chance.
Up ahead, the trail curved. That was the spot. She’d pretend to stumble, ditch the heels. She’d be able to run faster barefoot.
Her heart started pounding so hard she could hear the blood pumping in her ears. It seemed to block out the other noises off in the distance—the birds chirping, the FBI agent in the parking lot yelling over a loudspeaker at the gunmen, even the big, furious guy behind her insisting she pick up her pace.
The curve got closer and closer, until she knew it was time. Her heart felt out of control as she let out a squeak and pretended to trip on a protruding branch, going down on her knees and sliding out of her heels as though they’d come off in the fall. The guy’s hand closed around her arm, but the gun came down. It was no longer pointed at her head.
This was her chance.
She readied herself to shove upward, to knock him down and run as fast as she could, zigging and zagging the way Dylan had taught her, back before he realized he might not want her to escape a bullet. But she never had the chance to try.
A figure flew out of a tree, crashing past her and onto her attacker in a tangled blur of arms and legs and guns.
Juliette yelped and scurried free. The new man was armed too, a Glock strapped to his hip, and a whole slew of other equipment attached to his body that suggested he was in the military. He was all motion, just smooth brown skin and bulging muscles and full of confidence as he drew back a fist and sent it crashing into the gunman’s jaw.
The gunman took the hit with a growl and tried to flip the new guy, but Juliette didn’t wait around to see who’d come out on top or how long the fight would last. She caught a glimpse of intense, dark brown eyes on her rescuer and decided he was some kind of Special Operations soldier. She had no idea what he was doing in the woods, but she said a silent thank you and stumbled to her feet, darting off the trail.
She was pretty sure the soldier was going to prevail in the fight happening behind her, but even if he wasn’t with the law enforcement surrounding the office complex, he’d surely turn her over to them.
And then there was no question what would happen next: she’d be headed straight back to Dylan, straight back to the life she thought she’d finally escaped.
* * *
“WHAT DO YOU think you’re doing?”
A strong hand closed around her arm, bringing Juliette to a stop. Her bare feet almost slid out from underneath her on the trail, which was slippery from the leaves that had begun falling off the trees a week ago. Before she could go down, her rescuer dropped his hand from her arm to her waist, catching her.
“It’s over,” he said, his voice reassuring. His fingers pressed into the top of her hip, keeping her from making another run for it, away from everyone. “The guy’s in handcuffs. You’re safe.”
Juliette stared up at him. He probably had four inches on her height of five foot six, just enough so she had to tip her head back to look him in the eyes. They were deep brown, almost hypnotizing the way they were locked onto hers as though he didn’t see anything else in the world right now.
She knew it was only because he was trying to convince her everything was going to be okay, but that didn’t stop a shiver of awareness from working its way up from her toes.
Thank goodness he misunderstood the reason. He told her, “I’m Andre Diaz, with the FBI. I promise you, you’re safe with me, okay? And we’re going to get your colleagues out of there. But right now, I need you to come with me.”
Instead of letting go of her waist, he led her back down the trail toward the parking lot, guiding her like she was in shock. Which maybe she was, because she couldn’t believe any of this was happening.
She’d been on the run for three years. She’d managed to hide, to somehow stay one step ahead
