Книга - Battle Tested

Battle Tested
Janie Crouch


Someone WAS always watching her… Rosalyn Mellinger never meant to dupe Steve Drackett, she didn’t know he was part of Omega Sector—she fled after their weekend of passion to protect him from her ruthless stalker, The Watcher. But Steve is the only one who can protect her…and their unborn child!







Someone WAS always watching her…

Everywhere she went, Rosalyn Mellinger had eyes on her. The Watcher followed her everywhere. It seemed hopeless, inescapable…especially when she met Steve Drackett on vacation. Another person to be hurt by her stalker. But Rosalyn didn’t know Steve was part of Omega Sector—there was literally no one better to protect her, if she’d just open up to him. He had years of experience, and while the Watcher preyed upon Rosalyn, Steve would beat him at his own game.

But Rosalyn had a secret even Steve couldn’t see coming: a baby from their vacation romance…

Omega Sector: Critical Response


Steve did something he hadn’t done in twenty years of law enforcement: lowered his weapon in shock.

“Rosalyn?”

She reached up and lowered the hood of her windbreaker as she turned completely around.

It was her. Beautiful black hair, gorgeous blue eyes. Even the splattering of freckles over her nose. Rosalyn was alive.

Which was impossible because he’d just ID’d her dead body a few hours ago. Steve didn’t care. By whatever miracle she was here—and he would get her to explain it all, no doubt—he would take it.

He holstered his weapon and pulled her into his arms. Then yanked her back immediately, looking closer at the rest of her body.

Rosalyn was here. She was alive.

And unless he was very, very wrong, she was definitely pregnant.


Battle Tested

Janie Crouch






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


JANIE CROUCH has loved to read romance her whole life. The award-winning author cut her teeth on Mills & Boon Romance novels as a preteen, then moved on to a passion for romantic suspense as an adult. Janie lives with her husband and four children overseas. She enjoys traveling, long-distance running, movie watching, knitting and adventure/ obstacle racing. You can find out more about her at www.janiecrouch.com (http://www.janiecrouch.com/).


This book is dedicated to my aunt Donna. You are a blessing

to me and so many others. Thank you for all the times you

brushed my hair (because goodness knows I didn’t do it)

and loved me like a second mother. And for teaching me that

romance books are the best books.


Contents

Cover (#u9757a89a-1fb8-576c-8940-571c02043c29)

Back Cover Text (#ub78770ab-d4e5-5e74-8295-5aa367e009a6)

Introduction (#u898494ad-76dd-5940-8956-c60d3acd5d55)

Title Page (#u970a3086-a349-5e39-9c5d-2eeb55aaa89d)

About the Author (#ue4c27418-fa1b-50af-b16c-8270d3b24a9c)

Dedication (#ua3428599-0346-5036-8948-0454613da79f)

Chapter One (#ud91c8bed-f7a1-51bf-9edf-4d27f6b24346)

Chapter Two (#uab5edc9f-d954-5cd9-8ba8-143a22f55f1a)

Chapter Three (#u9a547c54-9b59-5624-93ba-e383e846a82c)

Chapter Four (#ub40a1422-8bb3-5e40-a81a-1f7dd216ba24)

Chapter Five (#u4fdca33f-9a14-5584-ac99-83f47910dc0b)

Chapter Six (#u1f646c39-abb4-5c71-920c-488c115845cf)

Chapter Seven (#u885bd937-ab3b-53ff-86d9-76ba690150f5)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One (#ubeb5ecb4-10a4-5a9a-b1b9-6c74460d357d)

Rosalyn Mellinger had reached her breaking point.

She was exhausted, frightened and about to run out of money.

Sitting in a diner in Pensacola, Florida, one she’d chosen because she could see both the front customer door and the rear employee entrance from her corner booth, she huddled around the third cup of coffee she’d had with her meager meal, stretching out her stay here as long as possible.

Although sitting with her back to the wall didn’t help when she had no idea what the person who stalked her looked like. She tensed every time the tiny bell chimed signaling someone new had come through the door, like it had just now.

The couple in their mid-eighties, entering and shuffling slowly to a table, were definitely not the Watcher.

But she knew he was around. She knew because she would get a note later tonight—or an email or a text or a phone call—that would say something about her meal here. About what she’d eaten or the name of her waitress or how she’d used sweetener in her coffee rather than sugar.

Some sort of frightening detail that let her know the Watcher had been nearby. Just like he had been for the last five months. She scanned faces of other patrons to see who might be studying her but couldn’t find anyone who looked like they were paying her any attention.

It always seemed to be that way. But still the Watcher would know details as if he had been sitting here at the booth with Rosalyn. And would mention the details in a message to her, usually a note slid under her door in the middle of the night.

Rosalyn clutched her coffee cup, trying to get her breathing under control.

Or maybe the Watcher wouldn’t say anything about the diner at all. Maybe he wouldn’t contact her for days. That happened sometimes too. Rosalyn never knew what to expect and it kept her on the precipice of hysteria.

All she knew for certain was the constant acid of fear burning in her gut.

Her waitress, Jessie, who couldn’t have been more than eighteen or nineteen years old, wiped the table next to Rosalyn’s, then came to stand by her booth. The kid looked decidedly uncomfortable.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but my manager said I would have to ask you to leave if you’re not going to order anything else. The dinner crowd is coming in.”

The burn in Rosalyn’s belly grew at the thought of leaving the diner, although she didn’t know why. She was no safer from the Watcher in here than she was somewhere else.

He’d found her again last night. Rosalyn had been in Pensacola for four days, staying at a different run-down hotel each night. Three nights had passed with no message, no notes, and she’d let just the slightest bit of hope enter her heart that she had lost the Watcher permanently.

Heaven knew she had driven around enough times to get rid of anyone who followed. Hours’ worth of circles and sudden turns around town to lose any tails. Then she had parked at a hotel before sneaking across strip malls and a small park to another hotel about a mile away just in case there was some sort of tracker on her car. It seemed to have worked for three nights.

Rosalyn thought maybe she had figured it out. That the Watcher had been tracking her car and that’s how he always found her. She would gladly leave the car rotting in the wrong hotel parking lot if it meant she could get away from the man who stalked her.

But then last night a note had been slipped under the hotel door as she slept.

When she saw the envelope lying so deceptively innocently on the floor of her hotel by the door as she woke up this morning, she promptly vomited into the trash can by the bed.

She finally found the strength to get up and open the unsealed envelope and read the note. Handwritten, like them all.

Sorry I haven’t been around for a few days. I know you must have missed me. I missed you.

She almost vomited again, but there was nothing left in her stomach.

She took the note and put it in the cardboard box where she kept all the other notes. Then she meticulously put the box back inside her large duffel bag. From her smaller tote bag, the one she always kept with her, she took out her notebook. With shaky hands she logged the date and time she found the note, and its contents.

She’d taken her bags and gone back to her car—a tracker there obviously wasn’t the problem—and driven toward the beach and ended up at this diner. She needed to get on the move again. But she didn’t know how—her savings from when she’d had a decent-paying job as an accountant were gone. And she didn’t know where she would go even if she had had money.

The Watcher found her no matter where she went.

Sometimes she was convinced he was in her head since he seemed to know everything she did and thought. But that would mean she was crazy.

An idea that was becoming more and more acceptable.

Rosalyn rubbed her eyes. Exhaustion weighed every muscle in her body.

“Ma’am?”

None of this was her waitress’s fault. She turned to the girl, who seemed so much younger even though she was probably only five or six years less than Rosalyn’s twenty-four. “Of course. I’m sorry, Jessie. Just let me pay my bill and get my stuff together.”

Jessie shuffled her feet. “No need to pay anything. I already took care of that for you. Pay it forward and all that.”

Rosalyn wanted to argue. Jessie had been working hard the three hours Rosalyn had been in the booth. The girl was probably saving up for college and needed the money.

But the truth was, Rosalyn was down to her last twenty dollars. Not having to pay six dollars for her meal would help a lot.

Being able to live a normal life and return to a regular job would help a lot more, but Jessie’s gesture was still touching.

“Thank you,” Rosalyn whispered to the girl. “I truly appreciate it.”

“I can probably hold my manager off for another thirty minutes if that will help you. I’m sorry I can’t do more.”

“No. I’ll be fine. Thanks.”

The girl nodded and walked away.

Rosalyn wondered if she would read about her conversation with Jessie later tonight in the note the Watcher left her. Or even worse, if Jessie would end up dead. That had happened three months ago with the detective in Shreveport, Louisiana, when she’d passed through. Rosalyn had taken a chance and told him what was happening and found, to her surprise, that he believed her. Detective Johnson was the one who suggested she keep all the notes and take photos of any texts and try to record any phone messages. He was the one who got her the notebook and told her to write down everything that happened.

The relief to find someone who believed her, who didn’t think she was just out for attention like her family had, was overwhelming. Finally the feeling of not being utterly alone.

Unfortunately, Detective Johnson—a healthy fifty-year-old man—suddenly died of a heart attack two days after meeting with Rosalyn. He was found in his bed. Natural causes, the newspaper said. Rosalyn was heartbroken that she’d so unfortunately lost the one person who had listened and believed her.

Until she received an anonymous email the next day with a link to a drug called succinylcholine. A drug that in a large enough dose caused heart attacks but was virtually untraceable in a victim’s system.

Detective Johnson’s death had been no accident.

Neither had the mechanic’s—a man named Shawn who had been super nice and repaired Rosalyn’s car at a deeply discounted rate a month ago in Memphis. She mentioned to him that she was on the run. Didn’t want to say more than that, but he asked. Shawn’s sister had an ex who had turned violent and terrorized her. Shawn recognized some of the same symptoms in Rosalyn. He pressed and Rosalyn gave him some details. Not all of them, but enough. He invited her to his mother’s house for dinner, explaining the importance of not going through something like this alone.

Rosalyn, almost desperate for a friend, agreed. When she came back to the shop that night, she found the place surrounded by cops.

Shawn had been a victim of a “random act of violence” as he was closing up his garage. He was dead.

She still had the newspaper clipping that had been slipped under her door the next morning.

Rosalyn rubbed her stomach against the burn. She hadn’t spoken to a single person about the Watcher since that day. She’d just kept on the run, trying to stay ahead of him.

He’d found her again. Pensacola was the sixth town she’d moved to in five months. He always found her. She wasn’t sure how.

Exhaustion flooded her as she grabbed her tote bag and walked toward the door. Jessie gave her a small wave from behind the servers’ station and Rosalyn smiled as best she could. She was almost to the entrance when she stopped and turned around, walking back to Jessie.

The girl looked concerned. For Rosalyn or because of her, Rosalyn couldn’t tell. Rosalyn took six dollars out of her bag.

“Here.” She handed the money to Jessie. “Paying for my meal was very kind and I’m sure it will get you karma points. But I know you’re working hard, so I’ll pay for my own meal.”

“Are you sure?”

No, she wasn’t sure. All she knew was that she couldn’t take a chance that something would happen to this pretty young woman because she’d spotted Rosalyn six dollars’ worth of salad and chicken.

“Yes.” She pressed the money into Jessie’s hand. “Thanks again, though.”

Rosalyn turned and walked out the door feeling more lonely than she had in...ever.

She couldn’t do this anymore.

What good was it to run if the Watcher was just going to find her again? What good did it do to talk to people if any ties she made were just going to get them hurt?

And at what point would the Watcher stop toying with her and just finish her off? Rosalyn had no doubt her death was his endgame. She just didn’t know when or how.

Maybe she should just save him the trouble and do it herself. At least then she would have some measure of control.

She looked down the block toward the beach. She would go sit there. Think things through. Try to figure out a plan.

Even if that plan meant taking her own life. That had to be better than allowing innocent people to die because of her. Or living in constant fear with no end in sight.

She began walking toward the beach. She would sit on the sand, watch the sunset. Because damn it, if this was going to be her last day on earth—either by her own hand or the Watcher’s—she wanted to feel the sun on her face one last time.

Beyond that, she had no idea what to do.


Chapter Two (#ubeb5ecb4-10a4-5a9a-b1b9-6c74460d357d)

Steve Drackett, director of the Omega Sector Critical Response Division, was doing nothing. He couldn’t remember the last time that had happened.

And even more so, he was doing nothing in a tiki-themed bar on the Florida Panhandle. In flip-flops.

He was damn certain that had never happened.

It was his first real vacation in ten years. After his wife died twelve years ago, there hadn’t been much point in them. Then he’d become director of the Critical Response Division of Omega—an elite law enforcement agency made up of the best agents the country had to offer—and there hadn’t been time.

But here he was on the Florida Panhandle, two days into a weeklong vacation for which his team had pitched in and gotten for him. Celebrating his twenty years of being in law enforcement.

And to provide him with a little R & R after he was almost blown up last month by a psychopath intent on burning everything and everyone around her.

Either way, he’d take it. Home in Colorado Springs could still be pretty cold, even in May. Pensacola was already edging toward hot. Thus the flip-flops.

Steve sat at the far end of the bar, back to the wall, where he had a nice view of both the baseball game on TV and the sunset over the ocean, along with an early-evening thundershower that was coming in, through the windows at the front of the bar. It also gave him direct line of sight of the entrance, probably not necessary here but an occupational hazard nonetheless.

The cold beer in his hands and an order of wings next to him on the bar had Steve just about remembering how to unwind. Nothing here demanded his attention. The bar was beginning to fill up but everyone seemed relaxed for the most part. The hum of voices, laughter, glasses clinking was enjoyable.

As someone whose job on most days was literally saving the world, the tiki bar was a nice change.

Then the woman walked through the door.

He glanced at her—as did just about every pair of male eyes in the bar—when she rushed in trying to get out of the sudden Florida storm. Another couple entered right behind her for the same reason, but Steve paid them little attention.

She was small. Maybe five-four to his six-one. Wavy black hair that fell well past her shoulders. Slender to the point of being too skinny. Mid-twenties.

Gorgeous.

Steve forced his eyes away, although his body stayed attuned to her.

She didn’t belong here—he had already summed that up in just a few moments. Not here in a tiki bar where the patrons were either on vacation or trying to just relax on a Sunday evening.

She wasn’t wearing some flirty skirt or shorts and tank top or any of the modes of dress that bespoke enjoying herself on a Florida beach in mid-May. Not that there was anything wrong with how she was dressed: khaki pants and a blue button-down shirt. No flip-flops for this black-haired beauty, or any other type of sandals. Instead she wore athletic shoes. Plain. White.

Her bag was also too large for a casual outing or catching a couple of beers for an hour or two. And clutched too tightly to her.

This woman looked ready to run. From what or to what, Steve had no idea.

Steve had been out of active agent duty for the last ten years. His job now was behind a desk on most days. A big desk, an important one. But a desk nonetheless. He didn’t need to be an agent in the field to know the most important thing about the woman who’d just walked into the bar: she was trouble.

Since trouble was the very thing he was trying to get away from here in flip-flop Florida, Steve turned back to his beer and wings. Back to the game.

But as he finished his food, he found his eyes floating back to her.

She was obviously over twenty-one, so it was legal for her to be here. If she wanted to take off in a hurry—with her oversize tote-type bag—as long as she wasn’t doing anything illegal, it was her own business.

She didn’t want to buy a drink—he noticed that first. But as the storm lingered, then grew worse, she obviously knew she’d have to or else go back out in it. She ordered a soda.

She sat with her back to the wall.

She tried not to draw attention to herself in any way.

She was scared.

Steve finished one beer and started another. He flexed his flip-flop-enclosed toes.

Not his monkeys. Not his circus.

This woman was not his problem, but he still couldn’t stop glancing her way every once in a while. She barely moved. Unfortunately, Steve wasn’t the only one whose attention she had caught. Just about every guy in the place was aware of her presence.

At first men waited and watched. Was she meeting someone? A husband? Boyfriend? When it became obvious she wasn’t, they slowly began circling. Maybe not literally but definitely in their minds.

Then some began circling literally.

A couple of local boys who had been here since before Steve arrived—and had been tossing beers back the whole time—worked their nerve up to go sit next to the woman. She didn’t give much indication that she was interested, but that didn’t deter them.

Since the baseball game was over, someone turned on the jukebox and a few couples were dancing to some Jimmy Buffett song. One of the guys stood and asked the woman to dance but she shook her head no. He reached down and grabbed her hands and tried to pull her to a standing position, obviously thinking she was playing hard to get.

Steve could read her tension from all the way across the bar, but the guys talking to her obviously couldn’t.

He should leave now. He knew he should just walk away. The boys weren’t going to get too out of hand. As soon as the woman put them down hard, they would leave her alone.

She was trouble. He knew it. He should go.

He sighed as he put money on the bar for his meal and began to walk toward the woman and the two men who were now both trying to get her to dance. He hadn’t become the director of one of the most elite law enforcement groups in the country by walking away from trouble.

He stepped close to the first local guy, deliberately invading his space. The way the guy was invading the woman’s.

“Excuse me, fellas. The lady doesn’t want to dance.”

“How do you know?” The other guy snickered. “Are you her dad?”

The woman’s eyes—a beautiful shade of blue that stood out in sharp juxtaposition against her dark hair—flew to Steve’s. She winced in apology at the crack about his age.

Steve was probably fifteen years older than the woman. Not quite old enough to be her father, but probably too old to be anything else to her.

“No, not her father. Just someone old enough and sober enough to realize when a woman is uncomfortable.”

“She’s not—” The guy stopped and really looked at the woman then—the way she was clutching her bag, discomfiture clear on her face.

“The lady doesn’t want to dance,” Steve said again.

The local guy and his buddy released the woman, murmuring apologies. Steve stepped back relieved he wasn’t going to have to make some show of strength. He could’ve. Could’ve had both men unconscious on the ground before they were even aware what sort of trouble they were facing. But the guys hadn’t meant any harm.

Steve nodded at the woman as the locals walked away. He didn’t step any closer or try to talk to her. His flirting skills were rusty at best and this lady obviously wasn’t here to scope out men. Steve turned to make his way back to his seat only to find someone had already taken his place.

Looked like it was time to go.

That was fine. It wasn’t like Steve had any grand plans for his evening here in the tiki bar. He began walking toward the door.

“Thank you.”

He heard her soft voice as the black-haired beauty’s hand touched his arm. Steve stopped and turned toward her.

He smiled. It felt a little unpracticed. “I don’t think they meant any harm, but it was no problem.”

“There was a time I would’ve let them both have it, but I just don’t seem to have it in me lately.” She looked a little surprised that she was even talking to him.

She was skittish, scared. She’d been that way since the moment she’d walked in. It made him want to wrap an arm around her, pull her close and tell her to take a breath. He’d protect her from whatever demons she was trying to fight.

It surprised him a little that he felt that way. His entire life had been spent helping people, first as an FBI agent, then as he was recruited into Omega Sector. But usually he was more at a distance, less personal.

He already felt personal with this woman and he didn’t even know her name.

“I’m sure you could’ve handled them. I just was doing my fatherly duty.”

She snorted and humor lit her blue eyes. “Father, my ass. You’re what? Thirty-nine? Forty?”

“Forty-one.”

“Oh. Well, he should’ve said grandfather, then.”

Her smile was breathtaking. Steve couldn’t stop himself from taking a step toward her. “I’m Steve Drackett.”

She shook his outstretched hand. He knew the thought that a flash of heat hit them both as their skin touched was both melodramatic and sentimental. Steve was neither of those things.

But he still felt the heat.

“I’m Rosalyn.”

No last name. He didn’t press. It was just another sign she was trouble, but Steve somehow couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Can an old man buy you a drink or something?”

She studied him hard as they finally released hands. They were halfway between the bar and the door. He honestly wasn’t sure which way she’d choose. To stay with him or to leave.

She ended up choosing both.

“May I ask you something?” She slid her tote more fully onto her shoulder. She had to step a little closer so they could hear each other over the noise in the bar. He found himself thankful for the chaos around them.

“Sure.”

“Are you some sort of psycho? A killer or deranged stalker or both?”

She asked the question so seriously Steve couldn’t help but laugh. “Nope. Scout’s honor.” He held up his hand in what he was sure was an incorrect Scout salute. “I’m an upstanding member of society. Although you know if I was a crazy killer, I probably wouldn’t answer that question honestly.”

She shrugged, her eyes back to being haunted. “I know. I guess I just wanted you to tell me so I could see if I would believe you.”

“Do you?”

She smiled so sadly it damn near broke his heart. “I think so. Or maybe I just don’t care anymore. And to answer your question, yes, you can buy me a drink. But let’s get out of here.”


Chapter Three (#ubeb5ecb4-10a4-5a9a-b1b9-6c74460d357d)

Rosalyn knew her actions bordered on reckless. Even if she hadn’t known she had a deranged stalker following her every move, leaving a bar with a man she’d just met would still have been pretty stupid.

He’d laughed—in a kind way, but still obviously thinking she was joking—when she’d asked if he was a killer or crazy. But like he’d said, no true villain would give her an honest answer about that.

Actually, she believed the Watcher would. If she ever met him face-to-face and asked him outright if he was her stalker, she believed he might actually tell her.

Steve Drackett wasn’t the Watcher. He might be an ordinary garden-variety psycho, but he wasn’t the psycho she was desperately attempting to escape right now.

And in that case, she was willing to take her chances with him.

She looked up at him as he led her to the door. He had joked about being a grandpa but that couldn’t have been further from the truth. His brown hair might be graying just the slightest bit at the temples, but that was the only sign whatsoever that he wasn’t a man fifteen years younger. His green eyes seemed kind, at least to her, but the rest of his face was hard and unforgiving. Stark cheekbones, strong chin. Definitely not a pretty face but very much a handsome one.

His body was well honed—the black T-shirt Steve wore left no doubt he was in excellent physical shape. His khaki shorts were quite appropriate for a bar in Florida on a May evening, but she doubted it was what he normally wore. She was positive the flip-flops weren’t.

“If you’re not a psychopath, what do you do, Steve?” she asked as they walked out the door. Humid air from the coast blasted them. The storm had moved out to sea, but dampness still hovered everywhere, a sure sign another storm would be coming.

“Present occupation is beach bum. I’m here on vacation from Colorado.”

They walked down the steps. “Mountains. Nice. I’ve never been there. Are you a bum there, too?”

He hesitated slightly before he smiled. “Worse. Management.”

He didn’t want to tell her what he did for a living. Okay, fair enough. She hadn’t told him her last name.

Of course, she was doing it for his own safety.

“Are you from around here?” Steve asked. “Do you have a bar you’d suggest?”

She didn’t want to go to a bar. Not somewhere the Watcher could hear them, see them.

“How about a six-pack and walk on the beach?”

He smiled down at her. “That might break some open-beverage-container laws, but I’m willing to risk it.”

Rosalyn didn’t know exactly what she’d been expecting when she’d left the bar with Steve, but the next few hours were not it.

They bought their beers and sat alone, where no one—not even the Watcher—could possibly hear them.

And they talked. About everything and nothing.

He told her about his wife—his high school sweetheart—who had died in a car accident twelve years ago. About places he’d traveled. Even a little bit about his job, that he was a manager in some sort of division office and how he sometimes felt more like he was babysitting than anything else.

Rosalyn was vague without being dishonest. She told him she had a mother and sister but wasn’t close to either—an understatement. She told him a little about her college years and her job as an accountant. When he made a joke about the size of her bag, she told him she never went anywhere without it. Told him she was taking some time off, traveling around a little bit, trying to “find herself.”

She somehow managed not to laugh hysterically as she said it.

Steve was a good listener, a friendly talker. He never made a move on her or made her feel uncomfortable. He seemed to be both completely at ease but at the same time completely surprised at their continued, comfortable conversation.

He obviously didn’t spend a lot of time picking up strangers at a bar.

At some point deep in the night—it had to have been nearly four o’clock but Rosalyn wasn’t sure—it began to rain again, gently, but enough that they couldn’t stay here on the beach any longer.

It looked like her reprieve was over. She needed to make her way back to her car. Maybe she’d catch a couple hours of sleep in it—the thought of being out in the open like that made her skin crawl, but what choice did she have? She was out of money. A hotel, even a cheap one, was no longer an option.

She stood and Steve got up beside her, helping her. She smiled at him. “Thanks for hanging with me. It was nice to have a peaceful night.”

“Been a long time since you had one?”

She was tempted to tell him about the Watcher. To share while they had complete privacy. But knew she couldn’t. Some middle-management guy from some business in Colorado couldn’t remedy this situation.

“Seems like it,” she said instead.

“Anything I can help with?”

She looked up at him. He was a nice guy. A nice, hot, utterly delectable guy. For the hundredth time that evening she wished she had met Steve under different circumstances.

“I’m fine. But thank you for asking.” She smiled, trying to make it as authentic as possible. Trying not to think about the darkness that hovered all around them that she would have to face alone in just a few minutes.

As if the weather could hear her thoughts, it started raining a little harder.

He touched her gently near her elbow. “I need to tell you something I probably should’ve mentioned earlier but couldn’t figure out how to do it without coming across like a jerk.”

She braced herself for bad news. “Okay.”

“My beach bungalow is about two hundred yards that way.” He pointed up the beach. “It’s a ridiculous room. Some sort of romance package. My colleagues at work chipped in and got it for me.”

She didn’t know what she’d expected him to say, but that wasn’t it. “Oh.”

“You’re welcome to come in. Get out of the rain. No expectations or anything like that.” He shrugged, the awkwardness on his tense face adorable. He obviously didn’t want her to feel pressured. “The peaceful night doesn’t have to end right now.”

Rosalyn looked out at the darkness again. She knew what waited for her there. Fear. Isolation. Panic.

Steve reached up and tucked a damp strand of her hair behind her ear. He didn’t say anything. Didn’t try to talk her into it or put pressure on her in any way. Just stood silently, letting her know he was there if she wanted to go with him but he was fine if she didn’t.

The lack of pressure, more than anything, helped her make the decision.

“Okay, just for tonight.”

She couldn’t take a chance and let the Watcher find her again. Find Steve.

He smiled and took her hand. They began to run through the sand toward his room. Like he’d said, it wasn’t far.

The oceanside bungalow was nice inside: sort of what one would expect for the romance package on the beach. A king-size bed with a teal bedspread and canopy roof. A couch and chair over in the reading-nook section.

And a huge heart-shaped Jacuzzi tub in the far corner.

Rosalyn looked over at Steve, who grinned sheepishly.

“You failed to mention the giant heart-shaped Jacuzzi in the middle of your room.”

Steve laughed. “I wasn’t sure if it would work in my favor or against me.”

“Are you sure you weren’t supposed to be on your honeymoon here or something?”

Steve laughed again, crossing to the bathroom to grab them both a towel to dry off from the rain. Rosalyn set her tote bag down on the chair in the sitting area.

“Honestly, I just booked a normal room in the hotel section. When I got here, I found out I had gotten an upgrade—thanks to my colleagues chipping in. I’m sure they scoped out pictures and knew exactly what they were getting for me. Including the huge roll of condoms.” He rolled his eyes, gesturing to the sparkling box on the nightstand. Rosalyn couldn’t help but laugh.

“It’s nice that they like you so much.”

Steve shrugged. “They like to get rid of me for a week, that’s for sure. And a not-so-subtle hint to come back more relaxed.”

She had no doubt Steve was well respected, a good man. Guilt over the danger she was putting him in washed over her.

“Hey, what’s going on?” He saw her face and walked over so he was standing in front of her. He put his thumb under her chin when she wouldn’t look at him. “Do you regret coming here? Feel uncomfortable? If so, I can give you a ride wherever you need to go.”

She didn’t regret coming. She wanted to stay. Wanted more than just the safe haven Steve was offering.

She wanted him.

He looked so big standing in front of her. So able to take care of himself. Not someone who could be taken by surprise by someone else.

But she knew the Watcher didn’t play fair. He’d taught her that.

“No, I’m not uncomfortable with you. The opposite, in fact. I just—” She stopped, not knowing what to say. She couldn’t explain. Couldn’t take the chance.

“What?” he asked gently.

“It’s not good for you to be here with me, Steve. I’m afraid I’ll only bring heartache for you.” Or worse.

“Are you married?” he asked.

“No.” She shook her head. “Never have been.”

He took a step closer. She could smell his damp skin, the saltiness of the sea air and something that was distinctly male. She breathed in deeply.

“Are you running from the law?”

“No,” she whispered as he moved closer again, his body now so close to hers she could feel the heat. She leaned closer, unable to stop herself.

“Then I don’t think there’s any reason at all for you to leave this room if you don’t want to.”

His lips closed the inches between them and she couldn’t think of any response even if there’d been a good one anyway. Instead she just gave herself over to the kiss.

If she was going to lose everything, she was going to have this one night with this gorgeous, strong man first. Tomorrow be damned.

The heat all but consumed them both. Her arms reached up to wrap around his shoulders, then his neck. She clutched at his hair, too impassioned to be gentle.

Steve didn’t mind at all. His arms circled her waist, then reached lower to cup her hips and pull her up and into him.

Both of them gasped.

He took possession of her mouth. There was no other word for it. Possession. His tongue stroked against hers and fire licked at them both. Her fingers linked behind his neck to capture him. Not that he seemed interested in being anywhere but pressed up against her.

“Rosalyn.” Her name was reverent on his lips.

She began walking forward, causing him to move backward toward the bed. His arms were still wrapped around her hips making sure they were fully pressed together. When his knees finally hit the bed and he fell backward, he lifted her—as if she weighed nothing at all—and pulled her on top of him.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” he murmured. “It’s still okay if you just want to be here. Nothing has to happen.”

He would say that while she was lying flat on top of him? They weren’t undressed yet, but Rosalyn had no doubt they would be soon. In her experience most guys would call her a tease—or much worse—if she decided to call a halt to everything at this point.

“You would stop now if I asked you to?”

He threaded his hands in her hair and pulled her back so he could see her more clearly.

“Of course. Is that what you want?”

“No. Just most guys would give a woman a hard time if she decided to change her mind now.”

“Honey, a real man accepts that a woman can change her mind at any time and respects the word no if he hears it.”

Was it possible to fall a little bit in love with someone you’d known for only a few hours?

Rosalyn sat up, her legs straddling Steve’s hips. She unbuttoned her shirt and slowly peeled it over her shoulders. “Well, thanks for asking, but I have no desire to stop.” She pulled her sneakers and socks off and threw them over the side of the bed.

Steve crossed his arms under his head and just watched her. “Thank goodness. I would’ve stopped, but I sure as hell didn’t want to.”

She gasped as he sat up suddenly, forcing them even closer together. He spun and scooted them farther on the bed before dropping her down so he was now on top. She helped him discard his shirt, then pulled him back down to her.

His lips met hers again. No, she wasn’t interested in stopping. She was already coming apart inside. She held on to Steve and let his lovemaking chase away the demons that weren’t far outside the door.

* * *

THEY DIDN’T LEAVE the bungalow the entire next day, which was fine with Rosalyn. Who needed the beach? Especially on a cloudy, dreary day. Instead they made use of the bed and the couch and very good use of the heart-shaped hot tub. Steve ordered room service for every meal.

Steve’s colleagues might have meant the room as a joke—and heaven knew it wasn’t tasteful in its decorating—but Rosalyn loved every bit of it.

It was her own hideaway. The Watcher obviously didn’t know she was here. And as long as she stayed inside, there was no way he would find her.

She wondered if she could talk Steve into staying in the room forever. She looked over at him sleeping in the bed next to her right now, so late at night. His sexy face relaxed in sleep. It hadn’t always been that way. She’d seen his face tensed in passion or smiling as he talked to her and told her a story from his past. She’d also seen the concern when she caught him studying her when he thought she wasn’t paying attention.

He was worried about her.

If he knew about the Watcher, he’d be less concerned about her well-being and more concerned with his own. Might even ask her to leave right away.

Every person she’d told about the Watcher who believed her had wound up dead. She wouldn’t take that chance with Steve. She’d just live in this little bungalow of fantasy until it didn’t exist anymore. Then she would go.

But she knew she’d be leaving a little part of her heart behind when she did. She rolled onto her side so she could study him more fully. She reached out and stroked his hair by his ear, drawing her fingers down his cheek. He turned his face toward her, seeking her touch even in his sleep.

She should sleep now too. It had been a pleasurable but exhausting day and now it was late. Who knew what tomorrow would bring.

Her eyes were drifting closed when she heard the sound.

It didn’t wake Steve. Why would it? It was just the barest whisper of a noise. If her body and mind hadn’t already been programmed to listen for it—to fear it above all else—Rosalyn wouldn’t have heard it either.

The sound of an envelope being slid under the door.

Her heart stopped and her breathing became ragged. The acid that burned in her stomach—blessedly missing for the last day—returned with a force that caused Rosalyn to ball up on the bed.

She bit her fist, tears streaming down her face. She didn’t want to awaken Steve. If she did, she’d never be able to keep this a secret from him.

The Watcher had found her again.

Rosalyn lay on the bed for what seemed like forever trying to get herself under control. She finally managed to crawl off, dropping silently to the floor, and stumbled over to where the envelope lay.

With shaking hands she picked it up and pulled out the paper from inside.

If you like Steve so much, I guess I’ll need to meet him soon.

She swallowed the sob in her throat. No. She couldn’t allow the Watcher to come after Steve. The thought galvanized her into action.

Within minutes she had silently dressed and grabbed her bag. Steve had rolled over toward her side of the bed, as if he was seeking her missing form, but Rosalyn refused to let herself think about it. If she did, she would never make it out.

And she had to concentrate on where she was going to go. The time with Steve had given her the strength not to give up her battle against the Watcher. To keep fighting. But it hadn’t given her a course of action with which to do that. She didn’t have any money and she had no plan.

She spotted Steve’s wallet on the dresser. He’d used it each time he’d paid for the food that had been delivered. Food he wouldn’t even consider letting her help pay for—good, considering how broke she was.

Shame beat down on Rosalyn as she opened his wallet and took out the cash. One hundred and eighty-three dollars.

She didn’t know how far it would get her, but at least it would get her away from here. Get the Watcher away from Steve.

She looked down at his naked back, his hips and legs tangled in the sheets. He’d never know how much he’d meant to her. What he’d given her in a time she’d needed so much.

He’d just remember her as a one-and-a-half-night stand and the woman who stole his cash. She’d become a cocktail story for him. A joking warning to his friends.

The tears leaked out of her eyes. This time she didn’t even try to stop them.

Thinking about her would be distasteful for Steve.

But at least he would be alive.


Chapter Four (#ubeb5ecb4-10a4-5a9a-b1b9-6c74460d357d)

Six months later

“Would it be okay for us to see Steve now or should we make an appointment?” Brandon Han, Omega’s top profiler, asked one of Steve’s assistants in the outer office.

“Yeah, maybe we should make an appointment. For around eighteen months from now.” That was Liam Goetz, leader of the hostage rescue team. “When hopefully Steve is in a better mood.”

Cynthia, the assistant who kept his entire office running, laughed. “I think it’s safe now.”

Steve winced. Obviously nobody realized the door to his office was cracked and he could hear everything they were saying.

“Should we remove our weapons?” Liam asked.

“Why? Are you afraid you might shoot him?” Cynthia’s gentle laughter didn’t make Steve feel better.

“Are you kidding? I’m afraid he might take them and shoot us.”

The topic moved on to more neutral ground: Liam’s twins and Tallinn, the little girl he and his wife had adopted. Liam had pictures. Steve stopped listening.

Liam’s jokes didn’t bother him—Liam was always making jokes—but Brandon’s initial question did. These men were an important part of the Critical Response Division’s inner team. Steve’s team. Moreover, they were his friends. They didn’t need an appointment to see him.

But evidently they thought so given Steve’s behavior over the last few months.

Rosalyn.

He ran a hand over his eyes, then turned his chair so he was facing the Rocky Mountains out the window.

When he’d awakened as the sun began to rise in Pensacola and found her gone, he’d at first thought she’d decided to walk on the beach or run out to get donuts or something. Heaven knew they hadn’t left the room in a day and a half. Maybe she’d needed some air.

Then he realized all her stuff, including that giant catchall bag she carried, was gone.

Going against his nature, Steve still gave her the benefit of the doubt. She was scared of something, he knew. He’d hoped to convince her to tell him what it was, to let him help.

Every time he’d considered broaching the subject—telling her he worked in law enforcement and could help her with whatever had her so afraid—they’d ended up making love instead.

Not that Steve had minded that. The only time he didn’t see shadows floating in Rosalyn’s eyes was when they were filled with passion. He had hoped to convince her to stay the rest of the week with him and during that time get her to tell him what was really going on with her. To share whatever burdens she carried. And the secrets she was obviously keeping.

Starting with her last name.

But it soon became obvious Rosalyn wasn’t out to grab coffee or go for a jog. Steve had known that from the beginning, although he hadn’t wanted to face it. Someone who looked over her shoulder as much as Rosalyn, who’d been so willing to stay inside the bungalow even when there was a gorgeous beach right outside, wouldn’t be going out for a casual walk.

Checking his wallet confirmed it. She’d taken every bit of his cash.

She’d played him.

Even now, six months later, the thought sat heavily in his gut. The time they’d spent together hadn’t meant anything to Rosalyn. He was just a means to an end.

Steve had packed up his stuff that afternoon and returned to Colorado Springs. He’d been in a bad mood ever since. Obviously something everyone was aware of, from the conversation that had just occurred outside his door.

The thing was, he would’ve given Rosalyn the money—more if she’d needed it—if she had let him know what was going on. Would’ve done it without her having sex with him or waiting until he was asleep to steal it.

But she hadn’t. She’d found him to be an easy mark and taken off.

Steve stood and walked over to the plastic evidence bag on his windowsill and picked it up. It held a glass inside. One from the bungalow that he knew contained Rosalyn’s fingerprints.

Steve had brought it back with him like it was some damn souvenir or something.

“Hey, boss.”

Steve put the bag back down quickly. “Brandon, hi.”

“Liam is showing Cynthia pictures of the twins.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Who would’ve thought the great womanizer would become such a family man.”

Brandon joined Steve at the window. “Just takes the right woman.”

Brandon had found the right woman a couple of months ago—Omega behavioral analyst Andrea Gordon—and Steve couldn’t argue the change it had brought about in the man. The peace it had brought both Brandon and Andrea.

“You brought that home from Florida, right?” Brandon asked, pointing to the evidence bag. “Prints, I’m assuming. But you’ve never run them.”

Steve shrugged. Brandon was a certified genius and a profiler. Not much got past him.

“I’m assuming something happened with a woman down there. If I had to guess, I would say a one-night stand.”

Sometimes Han was spooky good at his job. Steve shrugged again. “It was Florida. And you guys did pitch in to get me the romance package.”

“Then I’m assuming she took off suddenly, probably while you were unaware.”

“Why do you say that?” Steve crossed back over to his desk chair.

Brandon leaned a shoulder against the wall. “You sure you want me to go into this? I didn’t come here to profile you, Steve.”

“No, please. Continue.” Brandon was rarely wrong and Steve needed to hear what the man thought of his behavior.

“Okay, you met a woman. You were extremely interested in her. I would assume the relationship became intimate, but you didn’t and still don’t know much about her.”

All right so far. Steve gestured for Brandon to continue.

“Something happened. Something not good. The fact that you have an evidence bag with a glass with her prints suggests that you want to know more about her. Who she is. But the fact that you haven’t run them suggests that she hurt you personally in some way rather than actually committing a crime against you, in which case you would try to find and arrest her. She hurt your pride.”

Actually, Rosalyn had done both, committed a crime and hurt his pride.

“And you’re mad at yourself.”

Steve’s eyes narrowed. “Why do you say that?”

“You keep that bag in the center of the windowsill. You look out that window at least a dozen times a day. Every time you do, you’re reminded of the woman who got the best of you. Who got past your guard, then hurt you. You want to remind yourself never to be weak like that again.”

Steve leaned back in his chair. “I’m glad you’re on our side, Han.”

Brandon walked over to Steve’s desk. “It’s okay to want to check on her, Steve. To see if she’s okay. To be concerned about her even after she did whatever she did.”

Now he was getting further off course. “You getting that from an evidence bag too?”

“No. I can tell that from knowing you for so many years. Nobody just gets the drop on you. You let this woman close to you for a reason—more than just a physical one. No matter how it all ended, you’re still a little concerned about her.”

A picture of Rosalyn’s haunted blue eyes jumped into Steve’s mind but he pushed it away. Rosalyn was a consummate actress. She’d faked passion with him, then stolen his money. She was lucky he wasn’t running her prints—he was sure she’d end up in the system somewhere—and having her arrested.

He told himself it was because stealing less than $200 wasn’t worth the taxpayers’ money needed to have her arrested and put in jail for a few months.

It had nothing to do with being concerned for her.

“Well, most of your profile of me and this situation is correct, except for the last part. I don’t have any concern about her.” Steve smiled, but it was stiff, as if it had been so long the muscles seemed to have forgotten how. “Just want the reminder not to be a jackass again.”

“Oh man, are we profiling Steve?” Liam asked from the doorway. “I missed all the good stuff.”

Liam would probably make the worst profiler ever. The man didn’t care how people thought, just wanted to understand the best way to bring down bad guys.

“Don’t worry, Liam, I’ll try to control myself and not use your own weapon against you.”

Liam at least had the good grace to look sheepish. “Sorry about that, boss. I know I—”

“Don’t worry about it.” Steve cut him off. “I know I haven’t been the easiest person to be around for the last few months.”

“Are you kidding me? I have a wife trying to nurse newborn twins. She hasn’t gotten a decent night’s sleep since they were born. You are not the grumpiest person I know.”

Steve snickered. “Glad to hear I at least beat out an exhausted new mother.”

“Yeah, well, I keep my weapons away from her too.” Liam grinned.

The two men took a seat. It was good to feel something besides anger. Listening to Brandon’s profile had helped Steve realize it was time to let it all go.

Yeah, he’d been a fool and had gotten played. But now it was time to move on.

* * *

STEVE LEFT LATE that night and was back in the office early the next morning, as per his usual habits. Like always, Cynthia was in the office before Steve got there.

“Morning, Steve.” She handed him a stack of papers as he came in. “I’ve got your overnight Washington, DC, briefings, your weekly Omega Division Directors’ update and your Pensacola police briefings.”

Steve took the papers from her. “Thanks.”

As he got to the door to his office, he turned back. It was time. Past time.

“You can stop the Pensacola PD briefings. I don’t need those anymore.”

He didn’t even know why he had started them in the first place. Well, actually, he did. He figured Rosalyn would probably be arrested at some point. If she was a small-time crook preying on traveling salesmen, she would probably get arrested eventually.

What he really didn’t know was what the hell he planned to do if her name came across his desk in an arrest report. Press charges himself? Or go get her released and keep her with him and make sure she never did anything that stupid again?

He shook his head, irritated with himself for his thoughts. He walked over to the evidence bag with the glass. He picked it up and carried it to the trash can by his desk. He hesitated just the briefest of moments before tossing it in.

It was time.

Steve set the division updates—the weekly reports that allowed all the directors to know what was happening in the different sectors of Omega—in one pile. He grabbed the Pensacola police reports and prepared to throw them in the trash.

A picture from that group caught his attention and brought him up short. A Jane Doe the Pensacola police hadn’t been able to identify.

It was Rosalyn. She looked like she was sleeping peacefully.

But the picture was from the county morgue.

Rosalyn was dead.


Chapter Five (#ubeb5ecb4-10a4-5a9a-b1b9-6c74460d357d)

Steve caught the first flight he could get to Pensacola. Sadness and guilt weighed on him the entire time.

The prints on the glass in his office—immediately fished out of the trash—were being run right now. If Rosalyn was in any law enforcement system, Steve would have the full results by the time he met with the Pensacola police.

Damn it, he should have run them earlier. Should’ve gotten her information and gone after Rosalyn himself. Okay, maybe she might have had to do a short stint in prison for theft, but at least she would be alive.

Steve had known something was wrong, known Rosalyn was in serious trouble, but he hadn’t been able to look past his wounded pride to see she got the help she needed.

And now it was too late.

He got the information about the prints via email as he was getting off the plane in Pensacola.

Rosalyn Mellinger.

Twenty-four years old from Mobile, Alabama.

Her prints actually weren’t in any of the law enforcement databases; that’s why the Pensacola PD hadn’t been able to identify her. Cynthia had been able to identify Rosalyn from something to do with her juvenile record. She couldn’t access the full record but had been able to link the print from the glass to the record.

Steve drove straight to the police department, which also housed the coroner’s office. It was midafternoon but Steve was determined to identify Rosalyn’s body today. Somehow he couldn’t stand the thought of her sitting another night unidentified in the morgue.

The Pensacola county sheriff and the coroner were both waiting for Steve when he walked in.

“Agent Drackett.” The sheriff, a portly man in his fifties, extended his hand for shaking. “Is agent the right title? I’m Sheriff Harvey Palmer.”

“Just call me Steve.” He shook the man’s hand.

“This is Dwayne Prase, our county coroner.” Steve shook his hand too.

They began walking down the hallway to the morgue.

“We really appreciate you coming all the way from Colorado,” Sheriff Palmer said. “I have to be honest—I didn’t expect your call.”

“I don’t know the victim in any official capacity. I met her when I was on vacation here six months ago. We spent a few days together. I recognized her immediately when the Jane Doe picture came across my desk.”

“I see.” The sheriff nodded and thankfully didn’t ask why Steve would be getting police reports from Pensacola. “No one here has missed her at all. No missing-persons report or anyone asking about her. Her prints didn’t show up in any of our computers.”

Steve nodded. If he hadn’t had access to the Omega databases, he wouldn’t have known anything about Rosalyn either.

“She was definitely murdered?”

Palmer nodded. “Yes, strangled. In her car in a parking lot.”

“She’d been dead for hours before anyone found her,” the coroner chimed in. “And has been here unidentified for nearly thirty-six hours.”

Steve brought his fingers up to the bridge of his nose. There was so much he wished he’d done differently.

They reached the cold chamber of the morgue, where the body was being kept to reduce decomposition. Steve entered with the two men and saw the body was already on the table ready to be identified.

Prase pulled the sheet slowly off the body’s face.

Steve hadn’t realized how much he’d been praying there had been some type of mistake, that it wasn’t really Rosalyn, but looking at her now, he couldn’t deny it.

“That’s her. That’s Rosalyn Mellinger.”

* * *

STEVE SPENT THE next couple of hours with Sheriff Palmer, filling out some paperwork. He’d asked the sheriff if his men would mind if Steve stuck around for a couple of days and helped in any way he could with the investigation. Thankfully, Palmer hadn’t felt threatened by the offer and readily agreed.

He’d called back into Omega and let them know he’d be out for a few days. One thing about having a team as good as his: they could continue to function without him when necessary.

Steve planned to find Rosalyn’s killer. It was the least he could do.

But not tonight. Tonight he was going to go back to the tiki bar where he’d met her and have a drink in her memory.

Steve decided to stay at the same hotel he’d used before. Not the romance package, but still a nice place. It was only a few blocks from the station. He checked in and unloaded his overnight bag. He took off his suit and changed into jeans and a T-shirt. No shorts and flip-flops this time.

He decided to walk to the tiki bar from his room even though it was through sand. He stopped for a minute as he reached the area where he and Rosalyn had sat and talked for so long that first night, partially because he wanted to take a moment to remember that place.

But also because Steve could feel eyes on him.

Someone was watching him.

As inconspicuously as he could manage, Steve turned. He didn’t see anything to his left. He knelt down into the sand as if he’d found some great shell and spun to the right. No one there either.

Maybe this feeling was just a result of stress. God knew today had been stressful enough.

He stood back up and began walking to the bar.

It was a Wednesday now, not a Sunday like when he’d been here before. The TVs had some basketball games on, and the place wasn’t nearly as full.

No Jimmy Buffett playing on the jukebox, no storm driving in beautiful women from outside.

Steve didn’t plan to be here long so didn’t get his seat at the end of the bar. Instead just sat at the first seat he came to and ordered a beer.

He was only a few sips into it when he felt eyes on him again. Steve quietly paid the bartender in case he had to leave in a hurry but then sat back and eased himself casually around in the barstool.

No one seemed to be paying him much mind, but he’d been in law enforcement too long to ignore a gut feeling twice in one hour.

Somebody was following him. Probably had been since he left the police station.

Maybe it was the killer trying to see who had identified his victim. Or maybe hoping to make another victim out of Steve.

Steve felt adrenaline pump through him. Bring it on. There was nothing he’d like better than a physical altercation with Rosalyn’s killer before arresting him. They would have to send the perp to the hospital before taking him to a holding cell.

Steve took a sip of his beer and allowed his vision to become slightly unfocused so he could better see everything happening in the room at once. After just a few moments he caught what he was looking for.

Someone out on the deck in a hooded jacket watching him through the window. The figure ducked as soon as Steve glanced his way.

Steve moved immediately but had to go out the side door to make it to the deck, losing valuable moments. The guy had already headed down the outer stairs and was moving quickly toward the closest set of hotels. Picking out his black jacket and hood was difficult in the darkening sky.

But Steve had no plan to let him get away.

Steve looked forward to the hotel buildings where the man obviously planned to go—his car was probably parked there. Then he ran down the back stairs, jumping down the last few. He began running up the path to the hotel also, but on a different path so the guy wouldn’t look back and think Steve was following him and move faster.

Steve was going to come around the other side of the building and cut him off.

It was a risky plan, dependent on the perp not changing course, but Steve didn’t dwell on it. He put all his effort into getting around the other side of the building before the person got there.

Racing through sand wasn’t easy but Steve knew he was gaining ground. From the corner of his eye Steve could see the perp was slowing down. Probably because he didn’t see Steve behind him. Or maybe he was trying to blend in with some other tourists now that he was closer to the hotel.

Steve didn’t slow down as sand gave way to a sidewalk, then to the asphalt surrounding the hotel. Glancing over, he saw the hooded figure slip down a slim walkway between two buildings. This was his chance.

Steve forced another burst of speed out of his body. He had to make it around the corner and to the walkway before the guy got through and made it into the parking lot. Steve wouldn’t have much chance of finding him then.

Steve barreled around the corner ready to make a flying tackle if necessary, but the guy wasn’t there. He immediately scanned the parking lot but saw only one group of teenage girls getting into their car and two parents removing kids from car seats in another.

No hooded man. Damn it.

Steve squinted in the fading light. He could be hiding behind a vehicle. Or had made it around the corner and run the other way.

Something caught his attention away from the parking lot. About halfway down the corridor he’d been expecting the perp to run through, a head stuck out, looking the other way. It was the guy, looking for Steve but looking the wrong way.

Steve flattened himself against the wall and began making his way toward the man. He pulled out his weapon, although he kept it low and pointed to the ground. He didn’t want to cause any panic for vacationers who might alert the suspect that Steve was coming up behind him.

Quickly but silently, Steve approached the hooded figure, who still watched the other way.

“I’m armed law enforcement,” Steve said as he made his last few steps and pointed his Glock directly at the man. “Very slowly put your hands behind your head.”

Steve saw the guy stiffen and stepped closer in case he tried to run again or fight. He was small, but Steve had seen plenty of small people who could do a lot of damage. Hell, he’d helped train some of the best himself.

Steve didn’t have cuffs with him, so he’d have to call Sheriff Palmer to come make the arrest.

“Just stay right there,” he said as he pulled his phone out of his pocket.

The guy began to turn around.

“Hey, did you hear me?” Steve poked him in the back with his weapon. “Just stay right where you are.”

“Steve.” The voice was soft. Almost a whisper, but it sent a bolt of electricity through him.

Steve did something he hadn’t done in twenty years of law enforcement: lowered his weapon in shock.

This wasn’t a man at all. It was a woman.

“Rosalyn?”

She reached up and lowered the hood of her Windbreaker as she turned completely around.

It was her. Beautiful black hair, gorgeous blue eyes. Even the splattering of freckles over her nose. Rosalyn was alive.

Which was impossible because he’d just ID’d her dead body a few hours ago. Steve didn’t care. By whatever miracle she was here—and he would get her to explain it all, no doubt—he would take it.

He holstered his weapon and pulled her into his arms. Then yanked her back immediately, looking closer at the rest of her body.

Rosalyn was here. She was alive.

And unless he was very, very wrong, she was definitely pregnant.


Chapter Six (#ubeb5ecb4-10a4-5a9a-b1b9-6c74460d357d)

Steve stared down at her belly for a long time. He finally looked up at her face again.

There were so many questions in his eyes she hardly knew how to start answering them all.

His hand gently touched her stomach, so that’s where she started.

“Yes, I’m pregnant. Six months.”

It wasn’t terribly difficult math, so she let him work out for himself that the baby was his. She didn’t want to say it outright, because she wasn’t sure if he would even believe her. They hadn’t parted on the greatest of terms, after all.

He studied her for a long time without saying anything. Rosalyn just stood there. She was as surprised to see him as he was to see her.

“I just identified your dead body,” he finally said.

Okay, maybe not quite as surprised.

“My twin sister,” she whispered. “Lindsey Rose. I didn’t know she was dead until today. I was coming into the police department when I saw you leaving.”

She’d been skeptical about going to the police station anyway, knowing the Watcher would probably be waiting for her there. When she saw Steve exit the building, she’d been totally thrown.

What was he doing there?

Steve was the last person Rosalyn expected to see. His presence had to have something to do with Lindsey’s death. Why else would he be here from Colorado?

“Have you been following me from the police station?”

“Yes.”

Steve’s eyes narrowed. “Why? To tell me about the baby? Why did you run when I saw you at the bar?”

He fired off the questions faster than she could answer them. Not that she knew how to answer them anyway.

She hadn’t expected to see Steve. She’d been about to cross the street into the police station, knowing her sister was dead and the Watcher had found her again.

She was six months pregnant, alone, frightened and grieving. She’d pushed back the terror, so her only thought had been identifying her sister so Lindsey could have a proper burial.

Then Steve had walked out the door. He’d looked so strong. So capable of handling anything life threw at him.

Rosalyn had gotten in her car and followed him without even meaning to. When she saw he was going to the same hotel and then the same bar where they’d met, she’d felt a little hope inside.

Maybe he didn’t hate her.

Maybe she could tell him about the baby.

Maybe she could tell him about the Watcher and everything that had happened.

She needed help.

But when his eyes had flown to her at the bar, obviously suspecting trouble, she’d panicked. She’d run—well, run as fast as her body would let her—to get away.

But she hadn’t gotten away. He’d caught her and said—

He was law enforcement?

“You’re a cop?”

He took a step closer, obviously trying to use his size to intimidate her. “You didn’t answer my questions.”

She couldn’t get into the entire story now. They were too out in the open. “I will answer your questions, but not out here. You told me you were in management before.”

Steve shrugged. “I never said what sort of management I was in. And I want answers to my questions before I arrest you.”

“Arrest me for what?”

“How about the theft of nearly $200 six months ago?”

Rosalyn’s face heated. “I’m sorry about that. I didn’t have any other choice. I was desperate. My whole time with you I was pretty desperate.”

That wasn’t the right word, or at least she should’ve phrased it differently, she realized when he stiffened and stepped back. She hadn’t meant that she’d spent time with him because she was desperate, but he’d obviously taken it that way.

“I guess your little souvenir from our time together—” he gestured at her belly “—wasn’t what you wanted, then. Is the baby even mine?”

“Yes.” She took a step toward him without even meaning to. “I know you probably don’t believe me, but you’re the only man I’ve been with for a long time.” The only man she’d allowed herself to trust in a long time.

“Yeah, well, once the kid is born, there are paternity tests that are probably in our best interests to complete.”

Rosalyn knew she shouldn’t be hurt given what had happened between them but she couldn’t help it. “Of course. I don’t expect you to just believe me.”

Now that the Watcher had found her again, she needed Steve’s help whether he believed her or not. She had more than just herself to look out for. Steve didn’t know the entire situation but at least she knew she could trust him.

Steve ran a hand through his hair. “Look, I’m not trying to be an ass. You’ve caught me off guard on multiple levels here. But I need some answers.”

“Okay. I have a room at a hotel a few miles from here. Let’s go there.”

* * *

ROSALYN WAS ALIVE.

Rosalyn was alive and pregnant. Steve could hardly get his head around the first part, much less the second.

She was sitting right in front of him in a pretty scary run-down hotel room they’d driven to in her car, eating a packet of crackers. He was sitting in the desk chair that he’d pulled over and placed right in front of the bed just watching her. Like her eating crackers was the most interesting thing he’d ever seen.

Did she need more food than that? Was she taking care of herself? Had she been seeing a doctor throughout her pregnancy to make sure everything was okay?

Was the baby honestly his? They had used protection. But he knew accidents still happened.

He wanted to believe her when she’d said yes. She’d taken off her jacket and he could more clearly see the outline of her stomach under the T-shirt she wore. There was very definitely a baby bump. Not one that had her waddling or anything like that, but very definitely pregnant. Someone as petite as Rosalyn couldn’t hide it.

He wanted to ask her all sorts of questions about her pregnancy but had so many other questions to ask that those got pushed to the back burner.

Steve sorted through important information for a living, made decisions on where Omega’s Critical Response team would go and what they would do, based on his reading of a situation. Knowing what questions to ask to get the information he needed was his job. And lives depended on his ability to do it well.

But damned if he knew where to start with Rosalyn.

The dead body seemed the most reasonable place.

“So the woman I identified in the morgue—”

“Like I said, my identical twin, Lindsey Rose Mellinger. My mom—in a fit of soberness—thought it was quite clever.”

Rosalyn and Lindsey Rose. “The reversal of each other. Well, almost.”

She nodded. “Yeah. And it ended up being true in just about everything. We were twins, but we were complete opposites. Very different from each other except for how we looked.”

“When was the last time you saw your sister alive?”

Tears came to Rosalyn’s eyes, but she brushed them away. “At least a year and a half ago. We’ve never been close but grew even further apart as adults. Lindsey was in and out of drug rehab all the time. She still lived in Mobile.”

“And that’s where you’re from?” Steve already knew the answer to that but wondered if she would lie.

“Yes, but I haven’t lived there for nearly a year.”

Steve wondered where she’d been for the past six months, but he’d get to that.

“Do you know anything about your sister’s death?”

She shook her head. “No, but she was murdered, wasn’t she?”

“What makes you say that?”

This time the tears overflowed before Rosalyn could wipe them away. “Lindsey was in Pensacola because I asked her to meet me. We were supposed to meet at a restaurant a few blocks from here two days ago, but she never showed up.”

She gave him the name and address of a local café. Lindsey’s body had been found inside her car very close to that area.

“Lindsey’s pretty flighty,” Rosalyn continued. “I thought she’d just gotten the day or time wrong. Or that she was high again. I didn’t know she was dead until a waiter showed me a tiny section of the local paper that stated the police were looking for information about a deceased Jane Doe who looked exactly like me.”

Rosalyn stood up and grabbed a tissue from the box on the small desk. “I was coming by this afternoon to identify the body when I saw you.”

“You said she did drugs a lot, so what makes you think she was murdered? Don’t you think it’s more likely something happened with her drug abuse?”

“Normally, yes.” She sat back down. “But I suspect foul play because she was meeting me.”

“I don’t understand.”

Rosalyn’s blue eyes bore into him. “You saw her body, right?”

Steve nodded.

“I’ll answer your questions, I promise. But first please tell me, was she murdered?”

Steve couldn’t see any good in lying to her. “Yes, I’m sorry. She was strangled in her car.”

Rosalyn began to cry quietly, holding her face in her hands. Steve moved to sit next to her. No matter what had happened between the two of them, he would never deny comfort to someone who had lost a family member.

“I had hoped you would tell me something different. That it was related to drugs,” she finally said.

“I don’t understand why you don’t think it would’ve been.” In Steve’s experience, when regular people heard a family member had died, they did not assume it was murder. And if Lindsey had been involved in illegal drugs, Steve didn’t know why Rosalyn didn’t assume the murder wasn’t centered around that.

Because Rosalyn knew something. Something she wasn’t telling him.

“Rosalyn.” He tilted a finger under her chin so she was looking directly at him. “Tell me. Whatever is going on, I need you to tell me.”

She tried to look away, but he wouldn’t let her.

“I can’t.” Another tear slid silently down her cheek. “I can’t risk you too.”

Steve stared at the tiny woman—tiny, pregnant woman—determined to protect him. Why would she care about him if he was just someone she had scammed and robbed? Either way, he was getting to the bottom of all this.

“I can take care of myself, Rosalyn. Just tell me what’s going on.”

At first he didn’t think she was going to answer, but finally she did.

“For the past year someone has been stalking me.”

Steve sat up straighter. “Stalking you how?”

“Mostly he leaves notes. Ones he slides under my door while I’m sleeping at night.” She shuddered. “Although on occasion he has emailed, texted or called me.”

He’d been in law enforcement long enough to take stalkers very seriously. Especially ones who were close enough to leave notes under doors. That meant they were close and probably deadly. “What types of messages?”

“Never anything threatening. Not even ‘We’ll be together forever’ stuff. Usually just little comments about something that has happened in my day.”

Odd for a stalker, making it about her rather than about him. Stalkers were usually caught up in their own fantasy world and tried to make their victims a part of that.

“And you reported it?”

“Yes. I told my family first about a year ago. They just accused me of wanting attention. I decided to move across town, just to get rid of the weirdo, hoping that would stop it all.”

“But it didn’t?”

“The first night I moved into my new apartment, someone slid a note under my door.”

Steve frowned. The guy had been following her closely. “Did you go to the local police?”

“Yes, I talked to them in Mobile, but I had thrown a lot of the letters away, so they didn’t believe it was anyone wishing to do me harm.”

It was easy to be frustrated with the Mobile police for doing nothing to help Rosalyn, but the truth was, funds were always limited in local departments. If the notes weren’t threatening Rosalyn in any way, it would be easy to not give them or her much attention.

She stood up and began walking back and forth.

“It got so bad that after about a month I chose to just leave town. I had a pretty big savings account, so I quit my job and decided to go somewhere different. Anywhere different. I didn’t have a moving truck, didn’t grab a bunch of suitcases—I just got in my car one morning and left.”

She stopped walking for a minute.

“I ended up in Dallas. Thought it would be a cool town to vacation in while I was losing my annoying little follower. Thought I had done it too, until the second night. Another note under my door mentioning the crème brûlée I had eaten at dinner.”

She wasn’t looking at him, but he could hear the fear in her voice.

“I left just minutes later. Drove all around to make sure no one was following me. Ended up in Shreveport. I went straight to the police station.”

It wasn’t the best of plans, since nothing had happened in their jurisdiction, but Steve didn’t tell Rosalyn that. She would’ve been better off going to the Dallas police.

But a note that mentioned a dessert probably wouldn’t have been taken seriously there either.

“Nobody wanted to listen to me, but this one detective, Johnson, offered to meet me after he got off his shift. I told him everything, and he helped me. Or he tried.”

“What did he do?”

She began rubbing her hands on her legs, a nervous gesture he didn’t think she was aware of.

“I showed him what notes I had kept. He told me to keep them all, and any I got from now on, in a box. And he gave me a notebook and showed me how to keep track of everything that the Watcher did.”

He reached over and grabbed her hands so she would stop the rubbing. “The Watcher?”

“Yeah, that’s what I call him. I’ve kept everything since Detective Johnson showed me what to do.”

“And did he do anything with it? Did it go any further?”

“Unfortunately, he died of a heart attack the next day.”

Steve’s head snapped up. “Was he old?”

“Maybe fifty. And in pretty good shape.”

“That’s a damn unfortunate coincidence.” And probably a devastating blow for Rosalyn, to have found someone who wanted to help, then died.

“I thought so too until I got an anonymous email the next day about a drug that caused heart attacks.”

“What?”

“The Watcher killed Detective Johnson. He’s killed everyone I’ve told about him. I’m afraid you’ll be next.”


Chapter Seven (#ubeb5ecb4-10a4-5a9a-b1b9-6c74460d357d)

Steve didn’t believe her.

He wasn’t overt in his disbelief, didn’t mock her or anything like that. But she could tell he didn’t think the Watcher was actually a credible threat. He thought Detective Johnson, a fifty-year-old policeman, had died of a heart attack.

It certainly happened all the time. Police work was stressful.

Her sister was also dead, but she’d been a drug addict. That happened all the time too.

She didn’t tell him about Shawn, the mechanic, who’d also died after she’d told him about the Watcher. Because she could already tell Steve thought she was exaggerating.

She’d recognized the placating look. The attempt to figure out how to convince her of reason without offending her. He didn’t want to add to her stress, but he also didn’t think there was anything sinister to her story.





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