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 of Dylan all that time. And now it was over.
Those first few months, heck, that entire first year, she’d jumped at every noise and slept with the lights on most nights. But lately, she’d found herself relaxing. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d looked over her shoulder or run to her car clutching her mace in one hand, certain one of Dylan’s lackeys was on her trail.
She’d let her guard down, created a new life for herself. It hadn’t been a full life, but it had been hers. And now it was over.
Glancing at Andre as he helped her down the trail, carefully avoiding any sharp sticks or rocks on the trail because of her bare feet, tears blurred her vision. Not out of fear, but because someone cared enough to bother helping her. She blinked them away.
Now wasn’t the time to get emotional because some guy was doing his job, because apparently some members of law enforcement really were on the side of the victims. And now really wasn’t the time to fixate on the feel of his strong hand grasping the top of her hip as he led her to all those blinking red and blue lights in front of her office building. But she couldn’t help but be hyperaware of the pure masculine scent of him beside her, the ridiculously hard bicep pressing into her back.
She dragged her feet as they hit the concrete, glancing up at the third floor where all her colleagues were, terrified because of her. And she realized Andre had carefully led her to a vehicle on a path that kept her completely out of view of the windows up on the third floor.
“Hop in here,” he told her, holding open the back of an SUV with tinted windows. When she hesitated, he added, “It’s my boss’s vehicle. You’ll be okay. It’s surrounded by my team, and there’s no way anyone’s getting past them. When this is over, we’ll get you home safely.”
She hesitated once more, because she could never go home again. Not to any of the places she’d ever called home over the years.
Then, the tat, tat, tat of a semiautomatic boomed, followed by two more shots in quick succession, and someone let out a piercing scream.
Juliette spun toward the sound, dreading what she was going to see—who had gotten hurt because of her. But she never found out, because Andre shoved her into the SUV and dove on top of her.
The weight of him flattened all the air from her lungs, and the awareness she’d felt earlier when he’d simply had his hand on her waist multiplied, making her skin seem to buzz wherever it touched his. Even though he was simply protecting her, she was suddenly keenly aware of how long it had been since someone had held her.
She tried not to squirm and prayed she wasn’t flushed deep red as he spoke into some kind of communications device she realized went from his ear to a microphone at his neck. Then just as quickly, he was helping her up.
She felt dazed, still trying to catch her breath as he told her, “It’s over. All of your colleagues are okay.”
“What?” The word came out breathy and filled with disbelief. How could it possibly be over that fast? And how could everyone