Mistaken Twin. Jodie Bailey

at another human being was almost zero, but it still made her feel better to have protection at hand.

      She stared over the bar at the door as the footsteps stopped outside. Wyatt had probably decided he had more intrusive questions to ask. Well, the door was dead bolted and the chain was on. Let him think she’d gone to sleep, was in the shower, whatever... He was not coming in here again tonight. She had to have time to think, to pray. The packed bag in the attic called to her, but what if running wasn’t the way out this time?

      The door rattled as he grabbed the knob, then there was silence.

      Jenna reached for the coffee carafe again.

      The door exploded inward, wood splintering around the lock.

      The coffeepot slipped from Jenna’s hands, hit the side of the sink and shattered in the basin as she released a strangled cry and stumbled backward until her back collided with the cold stainless steel refrigerator.

      A man hulked in her doorway.

      Not a man. The man. The one from her shop. The same leer curled his lip as he stepped onto her door and stood between her table and her couch, blocking her exit.

      Panic robbed her muscles of strength. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t move. There was nothing to do but stare as the man stalked slowly toward her, his dark eyes never leaving hers. A deepening bruise ran along his jaw where Wyatt had delivered a near-crippling blow earlier.

      Wyatt. He was watching. He had to have seen what was happening. He’d be on the stairs any second, bursting through the door to save her. She swallowed hard, pulled herself taller and found her voice. “You’d better leave. The police are watching.”

      “Is that a fact?” The man stopped, his chuckle a low rumble. “You mean your boyfriend? The hero who rescued you earlier?” He sniffed and waved a hand in the direction of the door, his eyes practically glittering with amusement. “Sorry, hon. By now, he’s dead.”

      The words hit her in the chest, rocking her backward until she was pressed fully against the refrigerator. The cold of the metal seeped through her shirt into her spine, bringing a shiver. No. He had to be lying. Wyatt couldn’t be dead because of her.

      He couldn’t be dead at all.

      Methodically, as though he enjoyed torturing her with his presence, the man stepped closer until he stood in the doorway of the kitchen between the column and the wall, a few feet from her position. “Here’s what you need to know to make this easier on both of us.” His hand went to his side and rested at his hip, where a gun was likely concealed beneath his navy blue windbreaker. “My boss pays me whether I bring you in alive or dead, though there’s twice as much in the bank if you’re breathing. He’d like the pleasure of taking care of you himself. It’s really up to you to decide what happens next. You can come to Texas with me all nice and quiet, or you can find yourself in the morgue next to your boyfriend. Either way, my wallet thanks you.”

      The truth hardened her resolve and it flowed from her core to strengthen her weakened joints. If she walked meekly out her front door with this man and let him take her to El Paso, she was dead. Logan would never let her survive, not if he was willing to go to these lengths to drag her to her past.

      No. She could die right here, but at least she’d go down fighting. She turned and backed down the long galley kitchen one foot, two. If she could reach a knife, something...

      Her gaze drifted to the counter. The pistol.

      His eyes followed hers and he walked into the kitchen, feet heavy on the tile floor. “I wouldn’t if I were you. You’ll never make it.”

      No, she wouldn’t. Jenna jerked her hand toward the gun and, when the man lunged for it, she shifted to the right and shoved his back with everything she had in her, edging around him as he stumbled off balance and crashed into the wall behind her.

      She ran for the door as more footsteps rang on the stairs from outside. Jenna stopped, her heart thumping painfully, freedom a breath away.

      She was trapped.

      A man appeared in the doorway.

      Wyatt, his pistol drawn. In one smooth motion, he grabbed her by the wrist and tugged her behind him, leveling his weapon on the assailant in her kitchen. The man grabbed his head and stood staring wide-eyed at the police officer he’d assumed was dead.

      “Put your hands behind your head. Don’t you dare even twitch in any other direction.” Wyatt’s voice was deep and commanding, daring the stranger to disobey him.

      More sounds on the stairs. Officers Brian Early and Mike Owens crowded around Wyatt, weapons drawn, easing into the room.

      Holstering his pistol as the other officers moved to apprehend their suspect, Wyatt reached for Jenna and drew her to his chest, resting his cheek on the top of her head.

      “It’s over. We got him.”

      Jenna shook her head. He could believe it was over if he wanted, but it wasn’t. There was clearly a price on her head, and unless Logan lifted the bounty...she was dead.