The moment that Gemma Hanson opened her front door, she heard something she didn’t want to hear.
Silence.
There were no pulsing beeps from the security system. No flare of the bead of red light on the panel, warning her that she had ten seconds to disarm it or the alarms would sound. That meant someone had tampered with it.
The killer had found her.
The fear came, cold and sharp like a gleaming razor slicing through her, and it brought the memories right along with it. Nothing though, not even the fear, was as scalpel sharp as those images that tore into her mind.
She dropped the bag of groceries and the gob of keys she’d been holding, and Gemma grabbed the snub-nosed .38 from her purse. Just holding the weapon created a different kind of panic inside her because in the back of her mind, she knew that it wouldn’t be enough to stop him.
No.
This time the killer would get to her. This time, he would finish what he’d started a year ago and make sure that the ragged breaths she was dragging in and out were the last ones she would ever take.
She forced herself to go as still as she could. Tried to steady her heartbeat, too, so she could listen for any sound of him in the small house. It wouldn’t do any good to run. She’d learned that the hard way the last time he’d come after her—because running had been exactly what he’d expected her to do.
Maybe even what he’d wanted her to do.
It had been a game to him, and he’d been ready. Good at it, too. That’s how he’d been able to fire three bullets into her before she’d barely taken a step.
“Where are you?” Gemma asked, still standing in the doorway. A whisper was all she could manage with her throat clamped tight, but the sound still carried through the quiet house. Too quiet. As silent as the grave.
He didn’t answer, no one did, so Gemma tried again. This time, though, she used his name.
“Eric?”
She got out more than a whisper with that try. Her voice actually sounded a whole lot stronger than she felt, but any strength, fake or otherwise, wouldn’t scare him off. If Eric Lang had any fears, Gemma had never been able to figure them out, and uncovering that sort of thing was her specialty.
Had been her specialty, she mentally corrected.
These days, she didn’t teach criminal justice classes and didn’t assist the FBI with creating criminal profiles for serial killers like Eric. Instead, she input data for a research group, a low-level computer job that the marshals had arranged for her. The only talent she had now was getting easily spooked and having nightmares.
And speaking of being spooked, every nerve inside her went on full alert when she heard the sound of the engine. Gemma automatically brought up the gun as she’d been trained to do. She forced herself not to pull the trigger though. Good thing, too, because it wasn’t Eric. However, it was someone who shouldn’t be here.
Sheriff Kellan Slater.
Gemma instantly recognized him even from this distance and behind the windshield of the unfamiliar blue truck. Of course, it would have been hard not to notice Kellan. The cowboy cop was tall, lanky...unforgettable. Gemma knew because she’d had zero success in forgetting him.
Kellan got out of his truck, but he stopped when he spotted her .38, and he pulled out his gun in a slick, fluid motion. “Is Eric Lang here?” he called out.
That didn’t ease her thudding heartbeat. Even though she hadn’t seen Kellan in the year since her attack, Gemma hoped this was his version of a social visit. Not that they had any reason to be social, now that the hurt and blame was between them. However, if he hadn’t come here to find out how she was, then perhaps he’d tell her that she was imagining things. That her WITSEC identity hadn’t been compromised, that no one had actually tampered with her security system and that she was safe.
But Kellan wasn’t giving her much of a reassuring look.
With his gaze firing all around them, he hurried onto the porch, automatically catching on to her arm and pushing her behind him. Protecting her. Which only confirmed to her that she needed to be protected.
“Is Eric here?” Kellan repeated.
Gemma knew this was going to make her sound crazy. “I haven’t actually seen him since the night he attacked me, but someone turned off my security system.” She swallowed hard before she added the rest. “I sensed he was here. And I think he’s been watching me. He found me.”
Those last three words had not been easy to say, and they’d had to make their way through the muscles in her throat that felt as if they were strangling her.
Even though Kellan hadn’t given her much reassurance before, she waited for some now. But he didn’t give her any. “Are you sure you just didn’t forget to set the alarm when you went out?”
Gemma wanted to laugh, but it definitely wouldn’t be from humor. “I’m positive.”
Even though she was living her fake life with a fake name that the marshals had given her, all the steps didn’t mean she was safe. Gemma knew that, and it was why she was obsessive about taking precautions. Not just with arming the security system but carrying the .38.
“Do you know for sure if anyone’s actually inside the house?” Kellan pressed.
Gemma shook her head, and she was about to explain that she’d stopped in the doorway. No explanation was necessary though. Because that’s when Kellan glanced down at the floor where she’d dropped her groceries and keys. It was the kind of sweeping glance that cops made, and while Kellan didn’t exactly look like most cops, he was a blue blood to the core. A third-generation sheriff of Longview Ridge, Texas—their hometown.
Of course, he’d only gotten that sheriff’s badge after his own father had been murdered, and she knew Kellan would have gladly given it up to have his father back.
“Stay right next to me,” Kellan insisted, and he stepped into the small entry. The moment they were both inside, he motioned for her to shut the door.
Gemma did, and while she kept a firm grip on her gun, they stood there, listening. With her body sandwiched between Kellan and the door. The back of him pressed against the front of her.
It stirred different kinds of memories.
Of