Beth was going to die.

At least according to the nervous weatherman on her flickering television screen. An image of what was supposed to be Florida wavered in and out, except it was barely visible beneath the swirling mass of a Category 5 hurricane named Sabrina, which seemed to have a vendetta against the sunshine state. She never once sidled away from Florida but came head-on while gaining strength like a warrior preparing for battle.

Before the first gust of wind swept over the land, the governor put Florida on a state of emergency. Authorities advised everyone to board up their houses and leave. If you didn’t, you were practically signing your death certificate.

Beth Kennedy didn’t have family and had nowhere else to go for safety. Then her car decided to break down, leaving her stranded at home. Apparently, it was conspiring with Hurricane Sabrina for her demise. She boarded up all the windows; stocked up on batteries, bottled water, and canned goods; and was going to hunker down to wait out the storm. Anyone who planned to do this was either stupid or crazy, this again from the nervous weatherman. And she didn’t like it when someone called her stupid.

Crazy? Perhaps. Stupid? No.

Outside, gale force wind was punching the sides of her house as rain pelted the boards protecting the windows. The roof above her head groaned as if in pain. She doubted her fence would last much longer.

She peeked out the window next to the front door, which was shaking violently in its frame. The street beyond was littered with debris, her neighborhood was empty, and the town she called home was ghostly. She was probably the only person in all of Florida who hadn’t left.

Beth strained to see through the horizontal rain. At first, she thought she was seeing things, but there was no mistaking the blue car fighting against the fierce wind and rain. It was going too fast and swaying dangerously from side to side. She watched helplessly as it lost control and slammed into a tree a couple of houses down. The hood crumpled up like a crushed soda can.

Her mouth dropped open in shock. She pressed her nose against the glass, searching for any sign of movement within the car. There was none.

Without a second thought, she tugged on her raincoat, bothered with a few buttons, and then wrapped her hand around the cold doorknob. She could feel the violence outside vibrating through the metal.

She took a deep breath to brace herself and wrenched the knob. The instant the door was cracked open a gust of wind shoved its way through, yanking the door out of her grasp and slamming it into the wall. She stumbled back when the wind collided into her chest, knocking free the breath she had sucked in seconds before. Her hands groped for the slick doorknob and she had to use all of her strength to wrestle the door closed.

An invisible hand plastered her into the hard wood, grinding her spine into it. She pushed forward and pulled herself along the length of the concrete wall; she practically had to claw her way.

When she stepped beyond the wall, wind slashed at her and rain hit her like liquid bullets. Her maple hair flipped over her face, wrapped around her neck, and whipped her cheeks. Walking down the driveway was a war between the steep decline and the gusts eager to see her face-plant into the cement. She reached the bottom without toppling head over feet, waded through the water flooded at the foot of the driveway, and began to make her way to the wrecked car.

The sky above was a thick, whirling mass of gray clouds. It looked angry. Wet leaves and pine needles blanketed the road and water flooded the ditches, creating two rivers on either side of the black pavement. Pine trees were bending in every direction as the wind ordered, nearly snapping them in half.

She passed one of her neighbor’s houses. The mailbox had been ripped from the ground and was nowhere in sight. She trudged on with her shoulders slumped, her head down low. Suddenly, a huge gust swept down the road and plowed into her back. She fell.

Her knees cracked against the pavement. Rain and dirt soaked into the fibers of her jeans, and the palms of her hands skid over the road. Then a large branch dropped with a rustling thud inches in front of her. She stared at it with wide eyes. The wind flew over her, grabbed the broken branch, and dragged it all the way to the end of the road.

Realizing how close she had come to losing her head, she glanced over her shoulder to check for more flying debris, and then shoved to her feet. The elements fought against her the entire way to the car.

Her palms were stinging and her knees felt bruised, but she didn’t pause to catch her breath. She peered through the rain-streaked window. The driver was slumped over the steering wheel, unmoving. Praying the driver was okay, she beat her fists against the slippery window.

“Hey, are you okay?” She pounded her fists harder. “Can you hear me?”

The driver began to stir. She watched the person’s head lift, ever so slightly, and roll over the steering wheel until they were looking at her through the window.

A man’s face peered at her, and she saw a gash on his forehead. His eyes were foggy as he tried to focus. A second later, his eyelids lowered.

Beth cursed. She tried the door handle, but it didn’t budge. She inched to the back door, knowing she had to unlock the front to get him out. Her eyes ticked from the window to her already aching hands. If she were Superwoman, she would be able to punch it out and save the day, but she wasn’t. She glanced up and down the road, unsure of what to do. Then her eyes landed on the bricks that used to surround her neighbor’s, now missing, mailbox.

She faced the wind. Instead of thrusting her forward, it shoved her back. She lowered onto all fours and crawled to the bricks. They were so deep in the wet earth she had to claw one out with her nails. She pulled the brick free, as the mud made an awful sucking sound, and stuffed it into the pocket of her raincoat.

The pounding rain quickly washed away the mud from her fingers, and she crawled back to the car with the brick weighing her down. When she finally reached the car, Beth had to grab the slippery bumper to pull herself to her feet. Then she positioned herself before the window, clutched the muddy brick in her hand, and wielded it with all her might. She was afraid the window wouldn’t break, but it shattered with the blow, spraying shards of glass all over the backseat of the car.

Seeing the wet glass sparkling on the seat, she stripped off her raincoat and dropped it over the cushions to avoid cuts. In that short amount of time, the rain soaked her shirt and plastered it to her body.

She placed her palms on the roof of the car and lifted her legs into the opening. Her palms slid over the wet metal. She would’ve slipped if the soles of her sneakers hadn’t stepped onto the rim of the window in time. She quickly slipped through the hole and onto the back seat.

Wind rushed in after her, but compared to the atmosphere outside of the car, it was a lot calmer. She climbed between the two front seats and onto the passenger’s side.

She shut off the engine and stashed the keys in her pocket. Beside her, the unconscious man didn’t move. He wore jeans and a black T-shirt, the cotton stretched over his back, and she could see his back rising and falling with each breath he took. That was a good sign.

She tentatively laid her hand on his shoulder. “Excuse me. Can you hear me? I need to get you out of here. It’s not safe.” To prove it, the car rocked back and forth on its wheels. When he didn’t respond, she lightly shook his shoulder to rouse him.

He groaned, mumbled something she couldn’t understand, and then turned his head to her. His hair was the color of dark chocolate. The gash on his forehead, where his face had met with the steering wheel, looked mean. A bruise was already swelling and coloring his cheek.

“Hi,” she said softly. He blinked at her. In doing so, she focused on his eyes and noticed they were violet. She licked her rain-moistened lips. “My name is Beth Kennedy. What’s your name?”

He frowned for a second. Her own eyes, a shade darker than her hair, implored him to recall his name. “Donovan Goldwyn.”

Beth smiled at him. Her face was gleaming wet, water dripped off the ends of her hair onto her lap. “Hello, Donovan Goldwyn. How many fingers am I holding up?”

His violet eyes focused on her fingers. “Four,” he answered. “And I really hope you’re not holding up two.”

She chuckled. “No, you’re right. Can you move?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’ll help you.” She braced her hand on his shoulder and gently pushed him away from the steering wheel. She heard a pained breath hiss between his teeth. “I know you don’t want to move, and I don’t blame you. But if we stay here, we’ll die.” She unclasped the seatbelt, eased it carefully away from his ribs, and unlocked the door. “Don’t try to get up. I’ll be right back.”

She pried open the passenger’s door and jumped out. Muddy water swallowed her feet, her shoes squished uncomfortably. She had to use her body to force the door shut, and while leaning into the car, she made her way around to the driver’s side. With the door open, she squatted down to talk to Donovan.

“We’re going to swing your legs out first. You’ll have to shift your body. Are you ready?” He nodded and lifted his left leg out. When his boot touched the asphalt, she slipped her arm around his waist to help him rotate. As he turned, she swiftly lifted out his other foot. “Okay, you’re going to stand now. I’ll help you.” She counted to three.

Donovan bared his teeth and growled in her ear as she pulled him to his feet, absorbing most of his weight. She would’ve fallen straight back if not for the door catching her and holding her upright.

Going back to her house took twice as long as it did to get to the car with the rain flicking her skin and splashing into her eyes, and the vengeful wind yanking her arms and legs, tripping her feet, ramming into her chest, and jabbing her in the face. She endured it all on top of supporting a full-grown man with a possible concussion. Every step she took felt like five.

After much effort, they finally reached her driveway. She lifted her head to the wind, thinking it was over, but she was wrong.

A rock the size of her fist was bouncing down the road at fifty miles per hour. The air caught it and chucked it at her. She braced, shut her eyes, and tilted her head away. The force of the hit against her shoulder threw half of her body backward as she cried out in pain.

Seeing nothing but blinding white light, she fell to her knees, bringing Donovan down with her. Tears got lost with the rain on her cheeks. Currents of electricity burst from her collarbone to her fingertips. She seethed between her teeth, trying to breathe through the pain. Her shoulder bone was screaming, and her broken skin stung.

Rain beat on her back and head. Wind howled triumphantly. Above her, the circling plumes of clouds were turbulent.

Hurricane Sabrina, the crazy bitch, was swatting at the coast with her chubby arms, and her wide ass wasn’t even straddling Florida yet. This was just the beginning, and Beth already felt defeated. To her, that was unacceptable!

She struggled to her feet, struggled even more to get Donovan to his, and tugged him up the driveway. She had barely turned the doorknob when it flew out of her hand and banged against the wall with such velocity chunks of plaster showered the hardwood floor, which the wind immediately swept away.

Beth propped Donovan against the couch. He swayed unstably, but she had to let him go to close the door. Her attempt succeeded part way. On the other side, the wind was vehemently trying to keep it open. Her left arm was numb and useless. She didn’t have enough strength to push the door closed with one shoulder, so she dropped onto the floor, firmly planted her feet onto the wood, and shoved with all her might, incorporating every muscle in her legs.

A gust hit the door, applying all of its air particles into its effort against her. She slid backward on the hardwood floor. Grinding her teeth, she put her hands behind her and thrust her legs out. The door banged shut, sending shock waves up her legs to her hips.

She collapsed onto the floor, panting. For several seconds, she felt paralyzed with exhaustion. She would’ve stayed like that while Sabrina raged, but she heard something hit the floor a few feet away. Her eyes sprang open to see Donovan. He had stumbled into the coffee table, knocking off a flashlight, and tumbled onto the couch.

“Shit,” she mumbled and shot to her feet. She was by his side in a flash. Her damp hands cupped his face lightly, and her maple eyes scrutinized the blood and bruises.

“I’m going to have to clean this,” she told him. She retrieved a fully-equipped first-aid kit, a hand towel, and a bowl of warm water. “I’m going to clean the blood away first.”

Donovan nodded.

With gentle sweeps, she cleaned away the blood coating the side of his face. She dipped the red-stained cloth in the bowl of water, rung it out, and continued the process.

All the while, Donovan’s violet eyes were on her. It was unnerving.

“Do you remember my name?” she said.

“Beth.”

The way he said it sent chills down her spine. She averted her eyes to the cut on his forehead. “Do you know where you are?”

“I assume we’re in your house.”

“State? City?”

“Florida,” he answered. “I don’t know what city. I live further south and got a late start evacuating.”

“Didn’t you hear it was dangerous to leave now?”

She nearly added “you moron.” Luckily, she caught herself in time.

“I guess I thought it wouldn’t be so bad.”

In the background, the weatherman was droning on and on about the dangerous weather conditions. No kidding!

Beth rummaged through the first-aid kit for sterile cotton balls and peroxide. “This is going to sting,” she warned.

“I know what peroxide does,” Donovan stated.

With a raised brow, she touched the medicine-soaked cotton ball to the nasty gash on his forehead. Despite his claim, Donovan flinched and took in a sharp breath.

“What were you saying?”

Donovan squinted at her. “I guess it’s worse than I thought.”

“Well…” She leaned closer to examine the cut and droplets of water dripped off the ends of her wet hair onto his chest. “It doesn’t look too deep. I don’t even think you’ll need stitches.”

She looked down at him, her gaze connected with his, and she sat back quickly. “I think there’s adhesive strips in here that’ll help keep it closed.” She searched for them. “It’ll hurt though because I’ll have to pinch the wound together.”

“Just do it.”

Beth quickly pinched the gash with her fingers and applied two strips as he made animal-like sounds. “This’ll help take the edge off.” She gave him pain reliever and held a bottle of water to his lips. “We should get you out of these wet clothes. Do you think you can stand?”

“Won’t know until I try.”

She took his arm and helped him up. “Are you dizzy?”

He stood still. “No.”

“Are you nauseous?”

“No.”

“That’s good. I don’t think you have a concussion. Can you walk?”

“Sure.” She was reluctant to release him though as she led him to her bedroom and told him to sit on her bed. He shook his head. “I don’t want to get your bed wet.”

“It’s fine.” She gave his shoulder a light push that took his feet out from under him and he sank onto the sage-green comforter.

Her bedroom was warm and peaceful. On the wall across from her four-poster, king-sized bed was a giant landscape painting of a beach at sunset. A sailboat navigated over the horizon and pretty shells lined the shore. Underneath the painting was a long chestnut dresser where Beth was crouched with her hands buried in the contents of a drawer.

She pulled out a folded pair of basketball shorts. “Unfortunately, this is all I have that you can wear. The good thing is they’re large.” She handed him the shorts and a towel. “You better change before the lights go off.” On cue, the lights flickered. She gave him a flashlight. “If you need anything, call my name.”

“I will. Thank you, Beth.” She nodded and shut the door at her back. The lights dimmed as she made her way down the hall.

On the television set, which was fighting to stay alive, was breaking news. She caught bits and pieces of it as she emptied the bowl of blood-tainted water and threw out the cloth. It was about a high-speed chase that had occurred about a half-hour ago. Beth shook her head. Apparently, Donovan wasn’t the only idiot driving around during a hurricane.

She went back into the living room and began replacing all the medical supplies into the first-aid kit. Behind her, a reporter was explaining that the driver of the car was believed to be a murder suspect.

“The name of the—”

The lights flashed, prompting Beth to snatch up her flashlight.

“Donovan Goldwyn.”

Her fingers went cold around the plastic tube as ice frosted her veins. She straightened her spine and turned stiffly to the television, her heart wasn’t beating in her chest. On the screen was the picture of the man who was right now changing in her bedroom. Above it was a caption in bold letters that read—SUSPECT.

She gripped the flashlight in her frozen fingers. Her heart thudded fearfully. She stared into the immobilized violet eyes through the glass.

“Oh my god,” she gasped.

She had brought a murderer into her home!

Right at that moment, there was the loud pop of a transformer blowing and all the power drained from the house, casting her into total darkness. Her heart rocketed up to her tonsils. Pitch-blackness pressed against her wide eyes, her lungs tightened in fright. Within the house, there was no sound except for the drumming of the rain on the roof and the angry slaps of wind on the house’s exterior.

Light, she thought in panic and remembered the flashlight she clutched. She switched it on and pounced at the battery-operated lantern sitting atop the dead TV. Bright, white light flooded the room and illuminated Donovan who was standing behind her, starring at her like a carnivore on the hunt. She immediately sensed him and spun about. His violet eyes gleamed in the bright light.

“Beth—” His voice was deeper than before.

She pointed the flashlight at him as if it were a light saber. “Stay the hell away from me!” She sidestepped around the coffee table toward the front door. She thought about running to her neighbor’s house, using the key under the doormat, and barricading herself inside.

“I can’t believe I rescued a murderer.” Her breath expelled in fear. “Are you going to kill me?”

“Let’s see…” Donovan tilted his head. “If I told you no, you wouldn’t believe me anyway.”

At that, Beth chucked the flashlight at him, aiming for his head, and sprang toward the door. The flashlight grazed his ear as fear and blood pounded in Beth’s. She couldn’t hear the snap of splintering wood or the loud wail of falling timber.

She grabbed the door handle. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Donovan coming at her. She let the door fling open, and she threw herself onto the front step. She thought she was free, but then Donovan’s arm looped around her waist and he yanked her into the air.

As they flew backward, a pine tree fell across the front of the house. Thick branches slammed onto the spot Beth had been and poked though the doorway as they landed on the floor in a bone-jarring collision.

Beth blinked at the green needles and thick nest of branches that completely blocked the doorway. Then, without wasting another second, she jabbed her elbow into Donovan’s stomach. He grunted, but he didn’t release her. She started to thrash wildly.

“Beth, stop! If I wanted you dead, I wouldn’t have saved you just now.” His arms locked around her to silence her struggles.

“You would’ve if you wanted to kill me yourself!”

“Beth, do you realize you can’t go anywhere?”

She had, but her survival instincts were telling her to fight. She tried twice as hard to get free. Therefore, she bit his hand.

“Damn it, Beth!” He rolled until he was on top of her and pinned her down. “I am not a murderer! I have never murdered anyone in my life!”

“And I’m supposed to believe you?” She bucked beneath him.

“Stop!” He grabbed her shoulders. “I don’t want to…” She flinched in pain and a whimper escaped her lips. “…hurt you.”

She watched his eyes lower to her left shoulder. She held still, debating whether or not she should bite him again, as he tentatively pulled down the collar to her shirt and looked at the ugly bruise she knew was already blooming in purples and reds.

“Jesus,” he whispered. Their eyes met. “Look, I am not a murderer. I can explain what you saw on the news.” His gaze lowered to her bruise. “And I definitely don’t wish to hurt you. Please believe me.” His eyes begged her.

“Looks like I have no other choice. Now get off me!”

“You’re soaked to the bone.” He stood up, his hand reaching out to her. She looked at it critically then got up on her own. “You should put on something dry. Do you have ice?”

She pointed toward the kitchen. “There’s a cooler full of ice.”

“I’m going to make you an icepack, go change.” She was skeptical. “I am not going to hack you into pieces with a knife from your own kitchen,” Donovan added dryly.

“In that case, I guess I can relax,” she replied sarcastically and retreated down the hall to her bedroom. She wanted to lock the door but knew it would be useless. Donovan had a football player’s build and could easily bust it down.

As she stripped off her clothing, the air transformed her skin into gooseflesh. When she dropped her wet jeans onto the floor, Donovan’s keys plopped beside her feet. She snatched them up. Not wanting to return them to Donovan, she stuffed them into the pocket of the jeans she tugged onto her damp legs. While favoring her left arm, she pulled a gray tank top over her head and rubbed the towel over her hair to soak up the rain that continued to fall off the tips.

Her eyes were busily ticking around the bedroom, searching for a weapon. The towel slipped from her hand and drifted to the floor. In one leap, she was at her dresser with her hand on a metal candlestick holder. It was of a nice weight and, if she swung with the right amount of force, it could crack open a skull, which was the idea.

She hurried to a window, tossed aside the sheer curtain, and quietly pushed up the glass. On the other side was a piece of plywood that creaked with each slap of wind. She flattened the bottom of her sneaker on the middle of the board and pushed with all her might. The center caved slightly but it didn’t budge.

“Shit.”

She placed the base of the candlestick holder on the edge of the window frame where she knew a nail was. Her shoulder was sore, each movement sent hot electricity down her arm, but she ignored it and shoved the metal roughly into the wood. Her muscles screamed and burned, but she didn’t dare stop. The nail screeched as it slid a centimeter out of the plywood. She employed her muscles and bit her lip from the strain, drawing blood. The nail loosened slightly. However, there were a dozen more and her strength was waning.

“Why did I use so many damn nails?” she cursed aloud and doubled her efforts.

Behind her, the bedroom door opened soundlessly and Donovan stood in the entrance. He stalked to her.

Beth moved the candlestick to the location of another nail, hoping to pry several of them halfway out of the wood to create enough give so she could push the wood away from the frame and squeeze out. It was too much to hope for though.

She heard a soft footfall directly behind her and whirled around, wielding the heavy candlestick holder. Donovan caught her wrist in his hand before she could bash in his head. Not missing a beat, she thrust her knee up to ram it into his groin. He anticipated the move and cupped the back of her knee in a tight grip that halted her attempt to cripple him. Then in a swift movement, he swept her off her feet, flattened her back to the bed, straddled her, and pinned her arms above her head.

“Do you really think you’re safer outside with Hurricane Sabrina than inside with me?” Donovan demanded. She would’ve given him an answer, but he didn’t wait for her to reply. “I am not a killer! An hour ago, I walked in on my brother’s murder.”

Her brain had to reconfigure to understand the words he had said. “What?!”

“I am being framed for my brother’s murder.”

She squinted suspiciously at him. “By whom?”

“By the cops who were chasing me.” He exhaled to explain. “My brother is a detective in Internal Affairs. A few days ago, he called me and said he had been threatened because of the case he was investigating. He gave me his journal, said he wanted me to have it in case something happened. My brother wanted to make sure they wouldn’t be able to destroy the evidence he had collected which reveals dirty cops in the department, including the names of the two cops who were threatening him.

“This morning, I received a message from him. He knew they were following him and were going to do something before Sabrina hit. I went to his house and walked in on his murder. Two men were standing over his body holding their batons. They had taken turns beating him.” He paused. Beth saw his jaw clench in anger.

“Of course, they weren’t too happy when I barged in,” Donovan continued. “They came after me but I ran, jumped into my car, and drove as fast I could. The streets were empty, making it easy for them to follow me, but thanks to Hurricane Sabrina, I was able to get away. A power line fell right behind my car, nearly crushing it, and stopped their pursuit. I was cutting through the cities, trying to find somewhere to hunker down, and ended up losing control of my car. The last thing I saw before I blacked out was that damned tree. What happened next you already know.”

Beth stared at him as she let everything he said sink in, aware Donovan was studying her as closely.

“If I let you go, will you start fighting me again?” he wanted to know.

Beth thought about that. A few seconds later, her bloodless fingers loosened on the candlestick holder. He took it from her raw fingers and tossed it onto a feather pillow. Then his eyes returned to her hand. She flinched when he stroked the pad of his thumb over the ravaged heel of her hand.

“Looks like you need doctoring,” he said. “That reminds me…” He moved off her and retrieved the icepack from her nightstand. “You should use this before it melts.”

She took it. “Thank you.”

Her eyes lowered to his bare chest. She couldn’t tell herself he didn’t have a great body because he did, but it was the purple and green bruises across his chest from the seatbelt that drew her attention.

“You’ve got some impressive bruises yourself.”

He glanced down. “Surface bruising, nothing’s broken.”

Lucky you, she thought while placing the melting icepack on her discolored, swollen shoulder.

“Come on, we need to clean the cuts on your hands.”

She followed him reluctantly. On the way to the kitchen, she noticed he had managed to close the front door. A bed of pine needles now littered the entrance.

She let Donovan play doctor to her and noted he was extra tentative with her mediocre wounds. He stroked a clean cloth with mild soap and bottled water over her scraped palms to clean away the grit. When beads of blood were forming, he splashed peroxide onto the cuts. Her hands jerked and she hissed as bubbles sizzled. She figured it was payback for what she had done to his cut. Then he massaged a layer of antibacterial cream over her hands, stroking each of her fingers one at a time. In spite of her best efforts, she couldn’t stop the chills she felt with each touch, and she was relieved when he finally released her.

“Let me look at your shoulder.” He removed the icepack she held to her shoulder and shook his head. “You have more battle wounds from taking on Hurricane Sabrina than I do with my head-on collision with a tree.”

“What’s even more ironic is I got them by rescuing a man who might yet kill me.”

He frowned at her. “Beth—”

“I know,” she interrupted. “At the moment, I don’t believe you want to kill me, but less than ten minutes ago I did.” She snatched the icepack from him and went into the living room where she sat down in one corner of the couch.

He followed her and took a seat at the other end. They were both silent while Hurricane Sabrina unleashed her anger on Florida.

Fifteen minutes passed before Beth broke the silence between them. “So, where’s your brother’s journal?”

Donovan turned to her. “It’s in the glove compartment of my car.” Her head snapped in the direction of where his car was mating with her neighbor’s tree. “Yeah,” he snorted. “I realized that.” He shook his head. “The book may be destroyed, and with it, the evidence that proves my innocence.”

“If I had known, I could’ve gotten it for you.”

“But you didn’t know.”

A moment later, Beth sighed and faced Donovan. “How long was your brother in Internal Affairs?”

“Fifteen years.”

“Wow. I imagine fifteen years in I.A. resulted in a lot of threats.”

Donovan glanced at her sharply. “Too many threats to count since cops despise I.A. investigators with a passion.”

“They wouldn’t have to if they never did anything wrong,” she pointed out.

“Exactly, but there are cops out there who think they can get away with anything because they have a badge and a car with blue and red lights.”

“What sort of incriminating evidence about those two officers is in your brother’s journal?” Donovan looked at her as if she were speaking a different language. “Oh come on!” She tossed the rapidly melting icepack onto the coffee table. “You can’t expect me to believe you didn’t read it, especially since what’s inside it can get you killed if those cops find out you have it. You were putting yourself at risk and you wanted to protect your bother, so of course you read it. And considering our current situation, I think I have a right to know too.”

She stared him down until he relented. “My brother believed the man in charge of evidence knew who was stealing the drugs stored in the department, so he questioned him. A week later, that man turned up dead. The day before they killed him, he went to my brother and admitted he caught the two officers stealing cocaine, and they threatened him if he told anyone. He signed a statement. That, in itself, is motive if the two officers found out about what he did.”

“And his signed statement is in your brother’s journal?” Donovan confirmed with a nod. “Why didn’t he give it to his superior?”

“He was forced to drop the case, but my brother didn’t want to give up. Somehow, they found out my brother had a statement from the man they threatened and they killed him for it.”

Beth looked into his eyes. “They killed your brother to silence the last person who could pin them with a crime…or they thought he was the last person until you barged in and caught them committing murder. Now you’re the last person.”

What she didn’t say was he was the next person on their list to kill.

“I have more evidence than they could possibly imagine,” he said. “My brother fixed his house with security cameras. Even if they found the cameras outside and disabled them, there are still the ones hidden inside the house, which are part of a separate system. While they murdered my brother, those cameras were recording them.

“When this hurricane lets up, I’m going to get the tape and take it to the police station. If the journal doesn’t survive, at least I can prove my innocence with that.”

Silence stretched between them.

Wordlessly, Beth got up and went into the kitchen, returning with a small bag of baby carrots. She resumed her spot on the couch, selected a bright orange vegetable, and snapped off a piece with her teeth. Then she held the bag out to Donovan; it was her way of offering a truce.

“If your brother is in I.A., then what do you do?” Beth asked while she dug out another carrot.

“I drive monster trucks.” Beth’s eyebrows shot up at that. “Believe me,” he said. “I see the irony considering I wrecked a car with normal-sized wheels.”

She tried unsuccessfully to hide her smirk. “Though that is funny, my reaction was for the fact you don’t look like a monster truck driver.”

“But I look like a murderer?”

She leveled her gaze with his. Her stare was unflinching. “Anyone can be a killer. There is no physical trait that distinguishes murderers from the rest of society.”

“You’ve got me there,” he murmured.

“Tell me about your brother,” she coaxed.

Donovan settled back more comfortably. “He was ten years older than me and was my hero from the time I was born. All throughout my childhood, I thought he was the coolest man in the world.”

“What about your father?”

“My father was a worthless drunk. He managed to get himself killed when I was five. Our lives were all the better for it. Ryan did double duty as my brother and my father. He helped me with algebra, taught me to hunt, fish, and drive. He even gave me the sex talk when I was a teenager. He always put me first, always came to my aid, which is why I was so shocked when he called me for help. I knew it was serious when he was putting his life into his little brother’s hands.” He went quiet then.

Beth gave him the last baby carrot and her sympathy. “He sounds like a great man.”

“He is…was.” He amended the last word with sad eyes. Then he turned his eyes to Beth. She saw they were no longer full of grief but anger. “So am I?”

She frowned at that. “Are you what?”

“You were asking me those questions to figure out if I am a killer. Have you decided yet?”

She stared into his violet eyes. Could a man with eyes like his be a killer? She jerked her shoulder in a shrug and winced in pain. “Shit.” She cradled her shoulder in her hand and glanced at the icepack that was drowning in a puddle of water.

“I need to get more ice.” She laid her hand over the pack and froze when Donovan’s wide hand covered hers. Her eyes flicked to his and they gazed into each other’s eyes for a long time.

“It’s okay,” Donovan told her, softly. “I’ll get the ice.”

Beth pushed herself deeper into the corner of the couch, curled her legs beneath her, and rubbed her arms. Those eyes, she thought. She never knew a locking of eyes to be so physical, so intimate, so sexual. It had felt like sex and left her bewildered, even excited. Hurricane Sabrina hit the boarded window next to her, making her jump. It was as good as a bitch slap to knock sense back into her.

Donovan returned and sat down next to her, their legs touching. He tenderly placed the icepack on the purple and green explosion on her shoulder. Maroon specks, like shrapnel, shot out from the heart of the blast and a sickly yellow glare surrounded it. Their eyes latched instantly.

“You don’t have to do that,” she told him.

“Yes, I do.” His insistence silenced her argument. “Since you asked me questions, can I ask you some now?”

“It’s only fair,” she replied.

Donovan adjusted the icepack on her shoulder. “What do you do for a living?”

She looked him in the eye. “I teach self-defense classes.”

“Well, that explains a lot. You’re feisty and deceptively strong. God knows if a real murderer ever does try to kill you, he won’t succeed.”

“Thank you. I take my work seriously.”

“I can tell. Do you have family here?”

She shook her head. “No family. I’m an only child, never knew any cousins. Both of my parents are dead.”

“I’m sorry. How did it happen?”

“My mother died three years ago from an inoperable brain tumor. It was slow and terrible. I wish I never saw her like that, because now I am plagued by that image of her, not of the beautiful woman she had been before the diagnosis.” Her throat became thick with unshed tears that were rising up from her heart.

“My father died a month later. Nothing was physically wrong with him. All anyone could tell was he died of a broken heart.” Two fat tears rolled down her cheeks. She dashed them away quickly.

“I’m so sorry, Beth.” Donovan’s hand caressed her arm. Then he caught her off guard with his next question, “Do you have a boyfriend?”

The salt drops in her eyes dried up instantly. “No,” she answered. “I was engaged, but I broke it off over a year ago.”

“Why?”

“Because the bastard was cheating on me during the four months we were engaged. When I found out, I broke his jaw then pawned my engagement ring.”

“What man in his right mind would want to cheat on you?” Donovan’s question drew Beth to look into his eyes. “I mean, you are gorgeous,” he explained.

Beth’s mouth peeled open in surprise.

“You’re amazing. I doubt any other woman could do what you did today.” She didn’t see his hand move because she was staring into his eyes, but she did feel his fingers slip up her neck to her jaw. “How could any man want to touch any woman’s skin but yours?” Her heart tripped as his thumb cruised over her jaw line and his fingers cupped her chin. “Why would any man not want to kiss your sweet lips?” He dipped his head and she stopped breathing. His mouth brushed over hers lightly, as if he were testing her. The soft contact electrified her lips and they quivered apart to admit him.

His hand framed the side of her face and his mouth molded around hers. She could taste the sweetness of the baby carrots on his lips and something else, something dangerous. Her brain was telling her to pull back, to stop him. You could be kissing a murderer, your potential murderer! But what he was doing felt too good. Her lips were melting into his, and he was drinking them like water. She sank into the kiss and let it take her away on its wings. Her right hand lifted and she combed her fingers through his rain-softened hair. A reluctant moan of surrender slithered up her throat as her mouth opened and her tongue slipped silkily against his. In the deepest recesses of his mouth, she tasted his distinct flavor and it was addicting. She couldn’t get enough of it. She was getting drunk. But like any alcoholic, she didn’t want to stop drinking.

Her brain was whirling around dizzily in her head. She felt as if she was floating high above Hurricane Sabrina. The need to be back down on Earth, on solid ground, became desperate. A whimper sounded at the back of her throat and she broke the kiss.

Donovan traced her flushed lips with the tip of his finger. “That man is an idiot,” he claimed. His voice was husky, his eyes a deep midnight purple.

“Well, I agree with you.”

Slowly, all of her senses returned, and she realized her skin was becoming numb beneath the icepack Donovan still held to her shoulder. The sensation was equivalent to a thousand icy needles pricking her skin. “Um…if you don’t take the icepack off my shoulder, I’m going to get frostbite.”

“Oh.” He snatched his hand away and plopped the icepack on the coffee table. Then he bent forward and blew hot breath onto her numb bruise. His lips lightly touched her damaged flesh, like the wings of a butterfly.

Her hands balled into fists from the heat of his breath and the burning in the pit of her stomach it ignited. His mouth moved over every inch of the large bruise, warming it breath by breath.

Her heart was thudding against her chest as Hurricane Sabrina’s fists pounded on every window. She was sure Donovan could feel it vibrating in her shoulder blade, but she didn’t want him to know what he was doing to her.

She lifted a balled hand, pressed it to his shoulder to push him back, and quickly stood up out of his reach. She moved to the window and touched the cold glass.

Hurricane Sabrina was beating the board on the other side; she could feel the vibrations against her palm. The rain drumming on the roof sounded like rocks, not drops of water, and the wind was desperately trying to rip the house apart.

She removed her hand from the glass. “I don’t think my house is going to survive Sabrina’s wrath.”

“It might,” Donovan said.

“I should’ve found some way to leave,” she whispered to herself, but not quiet enough.

“If you had left, I would’ve died out there.”

As you probably deserved, she thought but didn’t voice.

Instead, she said, “This storm is going to last for hours, we should find some way to entertain ourselves.” Donovan’s eyes gleamed; she pretended not to know what he was thinking. “Do you like card games?”

“Sure.”

Beth brought out a deck of cards and they sat across from each other at the dining room table. They played every card game they knew. She taught him how to play Speed and he taught her how to play Gin Rummy. They laughed and teased each other, and she quickly forgot she was supposed to think he was a killer.

An hour later, with Sabrina straddling the state of Florida, Beth and Donovan were in the middle of a heated poker game with a heap of jelly beans in the middle of the table. Beth pinched a red one between her thumb and index finger and popped it into her mouth.

“That was a thousand dollars you just ate,” Donovan informed her.

She smirked at him. “I can afford it.” Indeed she could, for she had a large pile of red jelly beans she had won with her last hand.

“Yeah, well, I’m going to win them back,” he declared.

She flicked her eyes at the three kings and two aces in her hand. “You can try,” she challenged.

“All right, hot shot.” He shoved all of his candy into the pot. “I’m all in. What do you got?”

She kept her hand close to her chest. “You first.”

Donovan’s violet eyes bore into hers and she returned the stare. The whole house seemed to lean toward the center in anticipation. Even the ceiling dipped low to peek at their cards.

A deep groan touched their ears and pulled their eyes to the ceiling above them. Time stalled as they listened to the creaking of the house and the monstrous moan of ninety mile-per-hour wind.

Suddenly, a transparent claw ripped away a strip of ceiling, creating a gap that wind and rain invaded. Beth’s cards flew right out of her hands and the mountain of jelly beans scattered to the ground. Donovan shot to his feet. With one hand, he grabbed the battery-operated lantern. With the other, he grasped Beth’s hand and pulled her out of her chair. The wind ate away at the ceiling and followed them as they ran down the hallway.

Donovan kicked open the bathroom door and yanked Beth inside. She hurried to the tub, stepped over the ledge, and sank into the deep porcelain ditch. The first ridiculous thought that rushed through her terrified mind was “I should’ve grabbed some jelly beans.”

He slammed the door in Sabrina’s face and locked it. After he set the lantern on the counter, he hunkered in the tub next to Beth. His arm automatically came around her, and fear had her nestling into the side of a relative stranger.

The door trembled in its frame.

On the other side, the sounds of banging and shattering was deafening as pictures crashed to the floor and items tumbled off furniture. Sabrina was ransacking Beth’s house.

“We’re going to die, aren’t we?” Beth said aloud.

“Don’t say that.”

“You may not be a murderer, but I am still going to die.”

Donovan’s fingers snatched her chin and turned her to face him. “We are not going to die. I promise you!” He possessed her mouth with a soft fierceness that was as effective as a calm scolding. It took seconds for her lips to respond to his, and when they did, the kiss intensified.

They touched tongues, molded lips, tasted, and enjoyed. Beth’s battered hands roamed up Donovan’s arms as his mouth moved to her neck. He gently slipped the strap of her shirt from her shoulder and his lips fluttered over her bruise, down her arm to the tattered heel of her palm.

Her fingers grazed his swollen cheek. Then her hands cupped his face, and she brought her lips to the gash on his forehead. She planted kisses around the edge of the gauze, but her lips didn’t stop there. They continued to travel over his face, to his temple where his pulse beat like a drum in a rock song, over his bruised cheekbone, and then to his waiting mouth.

He wrapped his arms around her, shifted her onto the bottom of the tub, and settled on top of her. “If I am going to die,” he told her. “Then I’m going to spend my last moments making love to you.”

She peered into his eyes. She wanted the same thing, but it took a moment for her brain to understand her feelings and realize it too. She nodded consent as her hands slid over the defined plains of his back and grasped his wide shoulders.

“I want—” She stopped when Donovan unzipped her jeans and slipped them off her hips. She bit her lip when he revealed her long legs and kissed the flowering bruises on her knees. Her body quivered as his hands caressed her pale, gold skin from ankle to hip. Then his fingers slithered beneath the lace that hugged her intimately.

“What do you want?” He implored her to finish her thought.

“I want my toes to curl one last time before I’m toes up in a coffin. I want my cry to be louder than the wind howling outside.” She looped her legs around his waist. “I want you.”

They made love while Sabrina attacked the house like a scorned, jealous ex-wife out for revenge.

****

Beth stirred awake to find herself lying in Donovan’s arms. She lay still, trying not to wake him. She could hear his breathing steady and deep, but she couldn’t hear Sabrina’s destructive exhales outside.

Could it be over? she wondered with relief.

Wanting to check it out herself, she peeled her body away from Donovan’s and stepped out of the tub. Being as quiet as she could, she slipped on her jeans and sneakers. She touched the doorknob tentatively, not wanting it to rattle, and eased the door open. Her shoes stepped into an inch of water on the other side of the threshold.

She quietly closed the door behind her and stood motionless in the hall to make sure Donovan hadn’t heard her leave. When the door didn’t open to reveal his handsome face, she shuffled away, sloshing water with each step. Rain had fallen steadily through the damaged roof, soaking everything inside her house. She turned her head up to the tear that snaked across the ceiling, a sheet of gray clouds bandaged the sky.

She made her way to the radio, turned the volume to low. The noise that came out of the speaker was full of grumbling static, but she was able to catch the words “eye” and “Florida” and concluded Sabrina’s eye was over them, watching the city like a hawk searching for prey.

She switched off the radio then turned to the front door. If Donovan’s car was still intact, Sabrina would have fun rolling it up and down the road as soon as her giant eye passed over. She would destroy the car, but she would also ruin the journal. Beth couldn’t let that happen.

She spared a glance at the bathroom then moved to the front door with water sloshing at her feet. When she tugged it open, branches fell into the doorway. She used her tattered hands to snap them in half and create a hole she could burrow through.

Then she pushed her jean-clad leg into the prickly pine needles and shoved her way into the corpse of the fallen tree.

Branches clawed at her, scratching her skin and grabbing her clothes. She squinted her eyes to protect them from the pine needles brushing her cheeks. As she fought through the tree, she didn’t see the branch in front of her before it dragged its jagged tip across her chest, slicing it open. She stifled a cry and nearly tripped on the wide tree trunk at the same time.

Desperate to get out, she bulldozed through the thick greenery, gaining cuts up and down her arms, and stumbled out onto the concrete path. Her eyes widened at the sight she saw there.

Rain had engulfed the road, transforming it into a river that lapped at the tops of the tires of Donovan’s car. Debris littered her front yard. Among the mess were roof shingles, broken branches, and a dented stop sign. The tall wooden fence that had surrounded her house was lying flat on the ground.

“Shit,” she hissed and stared up into Sabrina’s giant eye. With a snarl, she hurried down the driveway. She didn’t even falter when she came to the standing water. She waded right into the stream. The water rose past her knees, making it hard to walk, but she pushed her limbs and reached Donovan’s car quickly.

A second later, she was climbing through the same window she had crawled through before. In the passenger’s seat, she pulled on the handle to the glove compartment, but it didn’t open. She threw her head against the back of the seat.

“How could I be so stupid?” She demanded of herself. “Keys. Where are the damn keys?” She distinctly remembered taking them out of the ignition and stuffing them into pocket of her jeans, the jeans she had taken off.

“Real smart!”

But wait! When she took off the wet jeans, the bundle of keys had fallen out and she had picked them up. She hadn’t wanted to give them to Donovan, so she hid them in the pocket of the jeans she was wearing. She didn’t recall hearing a rattling thud when Donovan threw her jeans out of the tub. She also didn’t remember feeling the lump inside the pocket when she put them back on.

With a silent prayer, her hand pounced into her pocket. She dug into the cave of lint and unearthed a jingling key ring. “Oh thank goodness!” She fiddled with the keys, stuck a little silver one into the shiny lock, and with a sigh, opened the glove compartment. Angels could’ve started singing for right there, safe and sound, was a leather-bound journal.

Looks like mine, she mused as she took it out.

She stiffened when she saw what she uncovered. A gun. She swallowed hard as her chest tightened. She could think of two reasons why a person would have a gun. The first was for protection and the other was for murder.

Without thinking twice, she grabbed the gun and clambered back out the window. She stood in the water a moment, staring at her house, and thinking about the man inside it who she had made love to moments ago.

Knowing that curiosity killed, she turned to the trunk of the car. She couldn’t stop herself when she slipped the journal into the waist of her jeans and sprang onto the trunk. She shoved another key into the lock, wrenched it viciously, felt the trunk pop, and flung it open.

The stench that wafted out was sickening. She stumbled back while covering her mouth and nose with her hands. Inside the trunk was a blue tarp smeared with blood and bundled within the thick plastic was a corpse.

“Oh my God!” Her heart threatened to burst in her chest. She was horrified at what she saw. Her stomach rolled and vomit began to make its way up her esophagus.

“I didn’t want you to see that.”

She whirled at the sound of Donovan’s deep voice. At the same time, she cocked the hammer on the gun and pointed the barrel at his chest. Her anxious finger nearly fired it.

“Too late,” she told him.

Donovan’s eyes dropped to the gun in her hands, which she handled expertly, then rose back up to her steady eyes. “So you still think I’m a killer, do you?” He nudged his chin at the weapon she held. “That gun isn’t loaded.”

Her eyes flicked down to the gun. In one swift movement, she kicked out the cylinder. It was empty. She lowered the gun to her side, but kept a firm grasp on it, figuring it could still be used as a blunt-force object.

“Why do you have a gun in your car that’s not loaded?”

Donovan shrugged. “For insurance. A mugger wouldn’t know it’s not loaded. You didn’t even know it.” He indicated to the blue tarp. “And that is a dog.”

“A dog?” She shifted away from the open trunk as if the thought of a dead dog was more gruesome than a dead person.

“When I was cutting through a neighborhood, I hit a dog. I didn’t want to leave it there so I wrapped it up in the tarp. I planned to bury the poor thing in my backyard before the storm got too hectic, but then that tree got in my way.”

“Yeah, blame everything on the tree,” she grumbled.

“Actually, I’m thankful for that tree, because it brought you into my life.” Beth frowned at him. “You don’t believe me, do you?” She didn’t answer.

Sighing, Donovan moved around her and lifted a corner of the blue tarp, revealing a golden tail and hind legs. After a second, he covered it again.

She looked away, then met his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

He shook his head. “No apology needed.”

She handed him the gun, though, because she knew he did need an apology and she figured handing over the gun was as good of a sign of trust as any.

He stuck the gun in the band of the basketball shorts, bringing Beth’s eyes to his lower abdomen. She tore her eyes away to look at the sky. The clouds were rolling in. “We probably don’t have much longer,” she said. “How fast can you dig a hole?”

“Pretty fast.”

“Good. We’re going to give the pooch a proper burial before Sabrina starts swinging again.”

Donovan lifted the stiff animal out of the trunk and followed Beth to the backyard where he dug a hole next to a bed of flowers. She helped him settle the dog into the hole and used her sneakers to shove dirt over the grave. When they were patting down the wet mound, Sabrina sneezed. Wind lashed at their bodies and rain splattered onto their skin. They ran to the front door, dived through the burrow of pine needles, and back into the house.

Donovan took Beth’s hand and led her to the bedroom. “You managed to get more wounds,” he explained as he ushered her to the bed.

“They’re small scratches,” she told him as she sat down on the edge of the bed and kicked off her muddy shoes.

“Small. Really?” The tip of his finger glided above the deep slash across her chest.

She looked down. Her shirt was soaked with blood. “Damn.”

“That’s what I thought,” he said and popped open the first-aid kit. “I have to take off your shirt though.”

She nodded approval and he slowly pulled the cotton up her body. When he tugged it over her head, her brown hair fluttered around her bare shoulders. He stroked a wet cloth above her breasts to clean away the blood and tree sap. He also cleaned the numerous cuts on her arms, applied a bandage here and there, and layered thick gauze over the slash on her chest.

“You look as though you fought in a battle,” he said. She laughed. Her laughter came to a halt in the middle of her throat when Donovan took her chin with his fingers. “I’m beginning to wonder what you look like without cuts and bruises all over your body.”

Inside, Beth’s emotions were a raging storm. Outside, Sabrina was throwing a fit.

“Donovan, I teach women how to protect themselves, how to be careful, and what to do if they are in a dangerous situation, or with a man who could potentially harm them.

“You are a perfect example I would’ve given, and I would’ve told them to run far away from you as fast as possible. But I find myself not taking my own advice. I mean, you’re a suspected murderer, you fled from the police, and you killed a dog. Despite that, despite all of that, I believe you and I trust you with my life.”

“Thank you.”

He cupped her face and dipped his head, but he didn’t kiss her, so she took the last step to prove she meant what she had said. She closed the gap between their lips and pulled him down on top of her. Minding her shoulder, she switched their positions and grinned down at him.

“You’re very welcome,” she said.

****

Sometime later, Beth cracked open her eyes, awakened by the silence looming outside. When she pulled her aching body into a sitting position, Donovan wobbled out of his black dream.

“Why are you getting up?” he said groggily.

“I think Hurricane Sabrina got tired of knocking Florida around. It’s quiet.” She stole the sheet from the bed, wrapped it around her body like a dress, and sinking her feet into several inches of water, headed toward the dresser for clean clothes.

Favoring his ribs, Donovan sat up as Beth riffled through the clothing in a drawer, her back to him. When Beth turned back she saw him at the end of the bed, lifting the shovel high above his head.

It came down fast, striking hard.

The impact caused Beth to freeze with surprise. Two feet from where she stood the shovel penetrated the hardwood floor, severing a snake’s head. As soon as she saw the black, yellow, and red snake, she pounced onto the bed behind Donovan.

“Oh my God!” She grasped Donovan’s shoulders in fear. She knew by the colors of the snake it was poisonous. Donovan had saved her life. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Then she peered at the shovel and a frown developed on her face. “Where’d you get that?”

“I had it when we came in.”

“Oh.” Glancing down at the beheaded snake, she was grateful. “I am terrified of snakes,” she announced as a shiver raked her body.

“Well, I don’t like spiders, so I’ll kill all the snakes and you can squash all eight-legged bugs.”

She laughed. “I…” She stopped the next two words from tumbling out of her mouth. She couldn’t possibly love him. Not after a handful of hours, most of which she had spent thinking he was a murderer. She smoothly swapped out those two potentially dangerous words with, “wonder how the snake got in. There must be an opening somewhere.”

“Let’s check it out.” He tugged on his wet jeans and Beth put on a dry pair of shorts.

During the last two hours, the water had risen to a foot inside her house. Cards floated on top like fall leaves on a pond. Pieces of wood, strips of insulation, and chunks of plaster blanketed every surface. But what they saw when they entered the dining room was more shocking, as the entire screened-in porch had been ripped away and was now plastered against the side of the house next door. All that remained was the cement slab. Sabrina had kicked in the sliding glass door with her giant foot. It had fallen into the dining room where it shattered into large shards.

“That explains how the snake got in,” Beth murmured while mourning her beloved porch.

“I need to get to my brother’s house,” Donovan stated as he frowned at the decimated porch. “If by any chance it’s still standing, I need to get the security footage.”

Beth nodded in agreement. “I forgot something in my room, I’ll be right back.” She hurried to the nightstand, opened it, and took something out that she hid behind her back. Then she grabbed the shovel. Donovan lifted a brow. “It came in handy once already,” she explained. “I say we take it just in case.”

“Okay.” Donovan took it and led her outside.

The world was calm again. Behind the fast-moving clouds, the sky was blue and the sun’s face was visible, but the outcome of Sabrina’s tantrum was evident. The river of her bitter tears had expanded into a sea, making an island out of Beth’s house.

Together, they inched around the front yard where the water came within a yard of the garage door. Across the street, Donovan’s car was nearly submerged.

“Damn it,” Donovan cursed. “I’m going to have to swim or make a raft to get to my brother’s house.”

“Or you could use my canoe,” Beth offered.

Donovan turned to her. “You have a canoe?”

She jabbed a thumb over her shoulder at the crumpled garage door. Donovan looked and smiled at the head of a canoe that was peeking out at them.

“I love you,” he claimed and began to climb up the garage door.

Beth stared after him. Did he mean it? Did he love her? Or did he just love her for her canoe? Feeling confused, she helped heft the canoe off its rack and over the water until they were hip deep. Donovan pulled his body into the canoe and looked at Beth. “You’ll be safer here. I’ll come back for you as soon as I can.” He planted a kiss on her lips and began to row away. Beth blinked in shock. Then she grabbed the back of the canoe, halting its forward motion.

“You are not leaving me here,” she told him. “From the moment I pulled you out of your car, we’ve been in this together. I am going with you, whether you like it or not.” Her eyes dared him to say she couldn’t go.

He smirked. “All right.” He helped her into the canoe and they paddled away together.

The sun was warm on their shoulders, the air still as if Sabrina had sucked all the wind out of the atmosphere. They glided down the middle of flooded roads as if they were navigating a course through intersecting rivers, but on either side of these rivers were houses. Few stood undefeated, many showed battle wounds, and occasionally, there were casualties. Beth sympathized for the families of the fallen houses and said a silent prayer they would all be able to move on after they grieved their loss.

After a while, sadness forced her to stop looking at the houses around her and to study the water. It was murky and filthy—leaves, pine needles, newspapers, beer bottles, and soda cans floated on top. Every now and then, they passed bobbing trashcans similar to ocean buoys. The sun reflected off the small waves formed by the canoe, making it appear as though fragments of broken mirrors swam on the surface.

Beth was pretending they were vacationing in Africa, drifting down the Nile when Donovan rotated around and blindfolded her eyes with his long hand. Startled, she grabbed his arm.

“What are you doing?!” A splash of water forced her to recall the oar she had let go of, which was now outside of the canoe. “Shit, the paddle!”

“Leave it,” Donovan told her.

Beth laid her hands over his. “Donovan, what’s going on?”

“There’s a dead body floating in the water ahead. I don’t want you to see it.” He lowered his voice. “I don’t want the image of a dead person to be imprinted on your brain like it is mine.”

Understanding, she stroked his arm. “Okay.”

“Lower your head and cover your eyes. Don’t look until I tell you to look.”

She ducked her head in her lap and pressed the heels of her hands to her closed eyelids. She could tell Donovan was paddling fiercely, because the canoe’s speed picked up fast. When Donovan finally bid her to uncover her eyes, she slowly lowered her hands, blinked the fuzziness from her site, and squinted to block the harsh sunlight until her eyes could heal. As they did, her curiosity rose like a fever; it became so powerful she snuck a peek over her shoulder. All that was visible of the dead body were the toes of two black boots.

She turned and put her hand on Donovan’s shoulder. “Thank you.”

He didn’t stop paddling. “I’m looking out for you.”

With one paddle, he propelled the canoe to the outskirts of the city and through a small neighborhood out in the boondocks. When they stopped, Beth looked up at a brick house.

“This is my brother’s place.” He handed her the paddle and swung himself out of the canoe. “Stay here.” Beth scowled at him. “Please, Beth, it could be dangerous. I’ll be right back, I promise.”

“Fine,” she relented. “But if you’re not back in five minutes, I’m coming in after you.” She lifted her wrist to show him the watch she wore. “Starting from the time you turn around.”

All of a sudden, Donovan cupped her face and claimed her mouth, kissing her with a passion that stunned her. She blinked at him speechlessly when he pulled back.

“Start timing,” he said and turned his back to her. She watched him trudge up the driveway and go inside the house.

Minutes crawled by as she sat anxiously in the rocking canoe. She had no idea what was going on inside the house or if Donovan was in danger. That’s absurd, she thought, the street is flooded and the city is deserted. But she couldn’t stop herself from looking up and down the street nervously, expecting someone to sneak up on her or tip the canoe out from under her. Every wave caused her stomach to jitter. Every noise made her jump. Post-Sabrina, the city was a corpse—frightening and full of secrets hidden beneath debris and rainwater.

Her hands sweated profusely on the handle of the shovel. She didn’t think she could wait anymore in the canoe, but she forced herself to stay. Donovan will be back any second with the footage, she told herself.

Then the sound of a gunshot and something breaking catapulted her heart into her throat. “Donovan,” she gasped, and before she could calculate the consequences, she hopped out of the canoe with the shovel in her hand and hurriedly sloshed her way up the driveway.

She peered cautiously into the living room window to see a police officer clobber Donovan on the side of his head with a hefty fist. Her heart seized when Donovan crumpled to the ground and the officer stood over him, sneering.

“Buck and I dumped your bother in the river not too far from here, but with all the flooding, he’s probably halfway to Puerto Rico by now, becoming fish food,” he taunted. “And now it’s your turn!”

Beth watched helplessly as the officer jumped onto Donovan, pinning him beneath the water. Knowing she had to help him, she moved away from the window. With all the loud splashing, she was able to sneak into the house, right behind the officer. She lifted the shovel and swung it with all her might. The metal scoop slammed into his back, flinging him off Donovan.

She was moving toward Donovan when the officer wobbled to his feet, locked an arm around Donovan’s neck, and pointed a gun at her. “Put the shovel down now!”

She slowly lifted one of her hands from the handle then tossed the shovel away. When she moved to take a step back in retreat, her right foot stepped on an object lying underneath the water. Risking a quick glance, she saw the barrel of a pistol beneath her sneaker. She didn’t know how it got there and she didn’t care. She flicked her eyes back to the officer as his head turned from the submerged shovel back to her.

“Who the hell are you?” he demanded.

“Leave her out of this, Chewy,” Donovan growled between his teeth.

“She got herself into this when she hit me with a damn shovel,” Chewy shouted. He glared at Beth again. “Now who the hell are you?”

Beth flinched. “I…” She paused for a fraction of a second to adjust her reply. “I have what you want. I have his brother’s journal.” She glanced at Donovan’s wide eyes. “It’s out in the canoe. I can get it for you.” She went to turn, but froze with a spine-jerking flinch when Chewy fired the gun. Water flew into the air a few inches from where she stood.

“Don’t move,” Chewy shouted at her. “You’re going to back out of here one step at time. If you do anything stupid, I’ll blow a hole through your boyfriend’s head.” He pressed the muzzle of the gun to Donovan’s temple.

With her hands in the air, Beth slowly moved one foot back at a time, her right foot dragging the gun along the ground and all the way down the driveway to the canoe.

“I have to turn around to get it,” she explained. “When I raise my hands, all I’ll have is a leather journal.”

“You better or it’s a bullet into Goldwyn’s brain.” He motioned for her to get it.

She kept all of her movements slow and cautious even as she held up a black, leather-bound journal. The two men in front of her had opposite reactions. Chewy looked triumphant while Donovan looked betrayed. His eyes cut into her like lavender blades. She swallowed against the pain.

“Give it to me!” Chewy held out his hand for the journal.

Beth stretched her arm out, but before he could grab it, she heaved the journal down the road.

“No!” Chewy released Donovan and lunged for the journal as he shot a stray bullet at Beth. It punctured the top of the canoe where her head had been before she dived into the water for the gun at her feet.

Chewy rescued the journal from its watery grave. He opened it eagerly, but the vivacious grin on his face dissolved. He flipped through a few pages to find poems and lyrics. “What the hell is this,” he roared and spun around to point the gun at them. A loud pop sounded. Then silence.

The three of them stood in a triangle, none of them moving. Then blood began to trickle down Chewy’s nose from his hairline. His eyes were ghostly spheres in his face. It took a moment for his body to register his brain was dead before he fell into the water, dropping the journal.

Beth lowered the gun she held. “That was my book of poetry, asshole!” She faced Donovan. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, but where’s my brother’s journal?”

She rummaged in the bottom of the canoe and took out a second journal identical to the one that was now at the bottom of the flooded road. “I had one like it that I used to write poetry in for fun,” she explained, as Donovan made sure the book he held was indeed the real thing. “I figured it would be a good idea to bring mine along as a fake.”

Donovan smiled at her. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

“You can make it up to me later,” she told him with a wink.

An hour later, they reached the police station. Donovan climbed out of the canoe and held out a hand to assist Beth. She looked up at him curiously. “You want me to come?”

“Of course, we’re in this together, remember?”

When she was standing in front of him, he pulled her to his body and kissed her with gratitude and something far more than gratitude.

“This may sound crazy,” he whispered in her ear. “But I love you, Beth Kennedy.”

She eased back to look into his eyes. What she felt from his lips and heard in his voice, she saw in his lavender eyes. Love—it was true, beautiful, and rare.

“I love you, too.”

Hand in hand, they entered the police station.

A word about the author...

Chrys Fey is the author of the short stories The Summer Bride and Fallen. She created the blog Write with Fey to offer aspiring writers advice and inspiration. She lives in Florida, where she is ready to battle the next hurricane that comes her way.

Visit her blog at:

www.writewithfey.blogspot.com

and find her on Facebook.