CHAPTER ONE

6 months later.

 

He was there.

I could feel his eyes on me as I watched my life go up in flames. He’d already taken so much from me and now he was taking this, too. What more was there for him to ruin? Hadn’t I been punished enough?

Swallowing down the sob that wanted to break free, I scanned the crowd of people outside my gallery. I recognized a few. Mary-Ann from the deli down the street. Barney, the owner of the bar I frequented. A few neighborhood residents.

No sign of him.

But I knew he was there in the shadows. Waiting. Watching. Admiring his handy work. A loud cracking sound slashed through the air, followed by audible gasps. My gaze snapped back to the gallery in time to see the building’s roof cave in.

My head spun, my legs turned to jelly. I knew I was going down, but I was helpless to stop it. Support came from one of the firefighters who wrapped an arm around my waist to keep me upright. “You all right, ma’am?”

No, I wasn’t all right. Tears filled my eyes as I bared witness to the firemen doing their best to tame the dancing flames. It didn’t matter anymore; there was nothing left of my blood, sweat and tears. It had taken me years to build the gallery up to where it had been. Artists from around the world wanted their paintings and sculptures featured with me. And now…I had nothing.

“Ma’am.”

Slowly, I turned toward the man next to me, his face etched with concern.

“I’m fine.” I wrapped my trembling fingers around my throat. Not only did my voice sound distant and scratchy, but it was painful to talk.

“Is there someone I can call for you?”

With a shake of my head, my focus turned back to the smoldering building. It wasn’t like I didn’t have anyone to call; it was more a situation of me not wanting to burden them. My parents and brother lived a few towns over, and I knew they’d be here in a heartbeat. The problem was Adam. My brother was still recovering from a major accident. I’d seen what it had done to my parents. I couldn’t add to their worries.

There was not a doubt in my mind that Kenzie, my very best friend, would jump in her car and drive through the night to be with me. But she was a newlywed. A chance encounter had led to her running into her old college boyfriend. To say that sparks flew was an understatement; they got married three weeks later.

A shudder ran through my body. Eyes narrowed, I scanned the crowd again, hoping to catch a glimpse of the man who had ripped my world apart. A man who thrived on tormenting me from the shadows, leaving me to wonder whether he was nothing more than a figment of my imagination.

“Ma’am?”

Reluctantly, I dragged my gaze from the onlookers and focused on the fireman standing beside me.

“There are some officers here,” he said carefully. “They’d like to ask you a few questions.” All I could do was nod and allow him to lead me to two uniformed men.

I had no idea how long I stood there and answered question after question. Or why, when one of the officers asked if there was someone who wanted to hurt me, I lied and said no. The only thing I was certain of was that my life wasn’t mine anymore.

I almost choked on the sob that tried to work its way up my throat.

By the time the two officers climbed in their patrol car, the street had cleared. It was only me, my burned down building and him. Like I had done so many times tonight, I scanned the area again. “I know you’re there.”

Nothing but darkness answered me.

“What more do you want?” What more can you possibly take? No rustling, no reply. I wanted to scream in anger, frustration, and – this was hard to admit – fear. The moment I finally couldn’t take it anymore, shaky legs carried me to my car.

It was well after midnight when I walked into my house. A long breath blew out of my lungs as I leaned back against my closed door. With my eyes shut, I tilted my head back, finally giving in to the tears.

My gallery was gone. It didn’t matter that I had insurance; money couldn’t replace the art that hung on my walls or the intricate sculptures that were displayed on my floor. I couldn’t even think about how many clients I was going to lose over this.

Swiping my hands over my eyes, I pushed off the door and padded to my kitchen. What I needed was a mug of hot chocolate and a plan. I couldn’t live like this anymore. If you could call what I’d been doing for the past five months living.

I pulled ingredients from the cupboard along with a pot from below the sink. A few minutes later, I wrapped my hands around a steaming mug of chocolatey goodness. As I savored that first sip, my mother’s words rang in my ears: ‘No matter how dark the cloud, it will still have a silver lining. Sometimes you just have to look really hard to find it.’

Oh, how badly I wanted to be a kid again, to crawl into my mother's lap and let her soothing words wash away my hurt.

But I couldn't steal that from Adam now; he needed it way more than I did. Mug in hand, I checked the locks on the back door before I made my way to the living room. A sense of awareness slivered down my spine. Slowly, my gaze traveled over my two loveseats, the fireplace, and the TV unit.

My heart hammered against my ribs as I approached my coffee table. I could have been mistaken, but I was almost positive that I hadn’t left my magazines spread out. The loud whooshing in my ears was almost deafening as I scrambled to flick the light switch.

Frantically, my eyes bounced from corner to corner. It only took seconds for me to find that there was no one in my house except me and my overactive imagination. I turned to head upstairs but stopped abruptly when I spotted my uncovered easel.

Since the start of this whole ordeal, I hadn't been able to draw, let alone paint. One thing I was absolutely certain of was that my easel had been covered when I’d left the house. I distinctly remembered the pang of hurt that'd flooded through me as I had run my fingers over my veiled passion.

Caution had me taking slow strides toward my painting spot, placing my mug on the coffee table along the way. I balled my trembling fingers into tight fists at my sides, willing the lump in my throat to go down.

My brow furrowed the instant I finally reached my destination. Nothing looked out of the ordinary. My brushes and paints were still as I’d left them, the half-done sketch still clipped to the wood.

Is this how it feels when you lose your mind?

I looked around my little living room again and I swear I heard the crickets mocking me. Usually, all I needed to do was close my front door to shut out the world outside. Unfortunately for me, my demons had learned how to pick locks. The space that had always been my refuge now felt like my prison.

I wanted — no, needed — out.

As I raced up the stairs and yanked my suitcase out of the closet, I tried my best to convince myself that I wasn't running away. By the time I drove past the city limits, I still wasn't sure if I believed that.