Gigi lay on her back staring at the popcorn ceiling. Though it was after 10:00 p.m., sleep wouldn’t come for a while.
She never used to be like this. Gone were the days of crashing when her head hit the pillow. Nope. She could take all the magnesium and drink all the chamomile tea in the world and she still wouldn’t pass out at a reasonable hour.
Running for your life and hiding in witness protection did that to a person.
Was Todd hiding? If the cartel had caught and killed him, the U.S. marshals hadn’t told her about it. And since she had no access to a phone or the internet, she really had no clue what was going on in the world.
Damn her ex-fiancé anyway. She was in this stupid mess because of his stupid ass, and who knew how long it’d be before she left stupid Wyoming.
Forever probably.
Todd had skimmed millions from the Mexican cartel he’d been working for and she’d paid the price. Her food-blog business had burst like a balloon stabbed with a pin and her family was left wondering if she was even alive. Her quaint little prison didn’t even have a streaming service. Without the distractions of TV, social media, and work—creating recipes and food art—she had a lot of time on her hands.
Her bedroom was in the new addition, just off the kitchen. Outside her bedroom was a short hallway that led to the back door. Joe’s room was beyond the living room, at the front of the house.
The wind picked up, rattling something. Gigi pulled the musty-smelling quilt up to her nose and shuddered. There were always weird noises in the small old farmhouse in the Laramie Mountains. The hundred-year-old walls practically screamed their objection to her presence. Although Wyoming wasn’t that bad. Kinda pretty, actually. Joe’s farm was about twenty minutes from Castle, which was close enough to be able to get what they needed but far enough to be out of the public eye.
She sighed.
I’m alive. I’m breathing. Be thankful, goddammit.
It wouldn’t be included in a book of affirmations, but it sometimes did the trick.
Creak.
Gigi’s hair stood on end. Was that a floorboard?
Get a grip. It’s just the wind.
Or maybe some critter that inhabited the land. Besides, she didn’t have much to worry about. U.S. Marshal Joe Jefferson might be well into his sixties, but the dude was built like an ox and trained every morning. If he couldn’t keep her alive, no one could.
Joe was nice enough, just a little distant. In rare moments, her dry sense of humor made him crack a smile. He’d given her free rein to roam the property and work out in his gym, a converted outbuilding with weights, a punching bag, and a few machines. She’d made use of the space because really, what else was there to do? She was in the best shape of her life with no hot guys to show it off to. One guy in particular.
Girl. Don’t go there.
Creak
Gigi bolted upright. The bedsprings squeaked. A scream stabbed the center of her throat. That time she was certain the noise was from a floorboard.
Her heart beat in triple time, whacking her eardrums with ferocity. Slipping her hand underneath the pillow, she closed her fingers around the knife she’d been gifted. She blinked in the darkness, willing more light into the room. It didn’t come. Someone—maybe Joe?—was walking through the house.
But Joe wouldn’t sneak around in the dark.
The air was thick with foreign energy, making her senses crackle in warning. She peeled back the covers, and the rustling sound they made was as loud as a racoon in a garbage can to her ears.
She wanted to scream to alert Joe, but he always told her, “Whatever you do, don’t scream. They’ll find you faster.” She had to get out of the house. Her sweatpants and T-shirt felt like ten-pound weights as she stood. Terror tasted like liquid fire on her tongue. She moved closer to the door.
Maybe she was hallucinating. Cabin fever and paranoia surely weren’t a good mix. If—
Crack!
The sharp blast of a bullet split the air, making her surge to her toes. She let out a scream and then slapped a hand to her mouth.
“Hot zone!” Joe screamed their code phrase. It meant she had seconds to get out of the house before it all went to shit. She bolted from the room.
She heard fists crack on bones. Glass crashed. Fear gnawed at her heels. The slap, slap, slap of her bare feet on the wooden floor echoed in the small space. It took all her self-control not to scream again.
With the switchblade open, she tore toward the backdoor. She threw her gaze over her shoulder, her chest cinched with the need for oxygen. A man raced toward her through the kitchen. Gigi let out a grunt as he slammed into her, shoving her against the wall. Her cheek pressed against the cool plaster. His hand on her neck and his weight against her back prevented her from making another noise.
Ice coated her veins.
“We found you, bitch,” he snarled next to her ear.
Tears hit her eyes. He gripped her hair and pulled her away from the wall. The light shining through the window of the back door—escape painfully close yet so out of reach—illuminated a piece of metal in his hand.
He wrenched back her head, exposing the column of her throat. The roots of her hair burned as if they’d been lit with a match. She winced and gave a haggard cry.
Gigi’s life flashed before her eyes as her brain worked at hyperspeed, anticipating the cold metal slicing through her flesh. A burst of adrenaline scorched her veins.
Not today. She wasn’t dying like this.
She jammed her elbow backward and into his ribs.
“Oof,” he hissed. The hand holding her hair loosened and she whirled around and plunged her switchblade into her attacker’s abdomen.
Blood spurted. He gurgled in pain, grasping his midsection. Warning bells screeching in her head, she flung herself down the short hallway. She yanked open the door after unlocking the deadbolt and sprinted into the grass. The blades tickled her feet and the October wind cooled her flaming skin.
Fear told her to sink to her knees. Told her there was no use running. He’d find her. But she wouldn’t give in. Her muscles ached and her chest screamed as she pushed herself across the expansive lawn, waiting for a bullet or a hand to send her to her death.
The knife heated her palm as if it’d been coated with acid. She gasped and panted as she pumped her arms and legs. She needed to get out of sight. If she ran across the field to the woods, she’d have a shot at losing him but would have to wander in the forest for miles before reaching a road or any sign of help. She’d cut her assailant good, but not enough to stop his pursuit. The other side of the property was her best bet. A thicket of trees separated Joe’s yard from the neighbor’s farmland.
She’d get to the outbuilding first. If she could make it there and then to the strip of pine trees before he found her, she might survive—for now.
She couldn’t think about tomorrow. Couldn’t acknowledge that the cartel had found her in witness protection and that if she wasn’t safe here, she wasn’t safe anywhere.
Nope. Not going there tonight. She shoved that thought firmly from her mind and skidded around the dry, sun-kissed wood of the outbuilding. Sticking close to the wall, she moved to the small enclosure protecting bundles of cut wood. Reaching behind the stack, she yanked out the black backpack Joe had stowed there for emergencies.
The door to the house squeaked open. She gasped and moved closer to the wall, hiding her body behind the wood. A man stood dressed in black from head to toe. Even his face was concealed in a black ski mask. Agitation vibrated her nerve endings as she forced herself to stay low and watch.
A gun weighed down his right hand. His left cradled his abdomen. A white towel had been tied around his waist. Even from here she could see the tension in his large, fit body. Only about fifty feet separated them. Not nearly enough. She might be in top-notch shape, but judging by his size and physique, he’d outrun her. He’d be slower in his injured state, but maybe not slow enough.
He took a step forward, as if he could smell her fear on the wind. Her stomach bottomed out, hysteria hot and volatile against its lining. A sound snapped his attention to the right, and he veered in that direction, toward the woods.
Now was her chance. Keeping close to the wall of the outbuilding, she moved toward the trees.
Tears stung her eyes as she stared at the house that’d been her home for the last four months. Joe. Her heart ached at the thought that he’d died protecting her. He was either seriously injured or dead because there was no way that soldier of a man would rest, no matter how injured, while she was in danger.
She sucked back the emotion that threatened to surge forward. She had to follow Joe’s orders.
It was the only way to stay alive.
She entered the thicket, taking great care not to sway the branches too much. She moved a few rows deep then pivoted in the direction of the road. The backpack pulled down her shoulders. Joe had filled it with provisions, water, and cash and had instructed her to put clothes and comfortable shoes inside the bag as well. Before, she’d thought him ridiculously paranoid.
Now, not so much.
A sob made her throat itch. She sucked it back. With her hand still wrapped tightly around the switchblade, she moved down the narrow row of dirt. Pine needles tickled her exposed arms and neck, making her skin tingle and burn. Her pulse pounded against her temples.
She took a deep, shaky breath. The noise made her wince, but if she didn’t bring in more oxygen, she’d pass out.
Bugs hissed and cicadas called, so damn loud she was afraid they were alerting the predator as to where to find her. That’d be her luck. Insects turning against her. If she survived this, she’d buy a lottery ticket.
Smoothing her thumb over the wooden handle of the blade brought fresh tears to her eyes. Memories assaulted her. Four months ago, she’d had only minutes to say goodbye to her twin sister, Ivy. The agents had been waiting to whisk her away from everything she knew and loved and into witness protection.
Then there’d been him.
The nonchalant asshole who consumed her dreams and still held a piece of her heart. He’d stood in front of her, his green eyes intense, his freshly shaven jaw unrelenting and . . . angry. At her or the situation, she’d never know. Regardless, she’d just wanted to throw her arms around him. To ask for his protection and not the government’s. To ask him to take her away from the danger. Would he have? Maybe, maybe not.
He’d curled his fingers into the pocket of her pants and tucked his switchblade there. “Don’t trust anyone. Call me if you need help.”
Then he’d turned away.
Well, August. I need help. I need you.
The snap of a twig caught her attention. She froze, her mind suddenly a million miles away from where she’d left her heart. Her gaze panned the skinny giants around her. Angst buzzed through her like a drug she couldn’t shake.
A dark figure crossed the yard. He moved slowly, like a cat about to pounce on a mouse. He hadn’t spotted her yet. His body was angled toward the part of the thicket she’d entered, about forty feet behind her.
The road wasn’t far. She could almost smell the asphalt.
If she ran, she might make it.
If she stood still, he’d spot her.
Indecision warred through her. A honk sounded in the distance. A semitruck. Often, they honked to warn wildlife. She wet her lips. That was her sign. If she ran fast enough, she might be able to flag down the driver.
Tightening her fingers around the switchblade, she summoned every ounce of strength from the Universe and sent a prayer skyward.
She took off.
The branches swished and snapped as she weaved through the trees. Her breath hissed in and out of her nose, the scent of dirt and pine heavy in the air.
A glance behind her showed the man in hot pursuit. His left hand gripped his wound but his legs moved like a cheetah’s.
The road came into view. Gigi let loose a powerful scream as she broke through the foliage—damn Joe’s advice when the killer had her in his sights.
Bright headlights barreled down the pavement, but she didn’t slow. She leapt onto the road and jumped and waved her arms over her head. “Help!”
The semi driver laid on the horn and the brakes screeched as the truck came to a roaring halt. A man poked his head out the window. “Lady! You okay?”
“Help me, please!” Her voice trembled almost as much as her limbs.
The older man nodded. “All right, then. Get in.”
She ran around the front bumper, which was almost as tall as was, as he shoved open the passenger door. Gigi jumped in and slammed the door. The scent of cigarette smoke and onions permeated the air, but sheer desperation made the smell sweet to her senses. “Go! Please. Someone’s after me.”
The driver’s eyes widened. “Who? Do you need me to get out?”
“No. Please.” Delerium sent tears streaking down her cheeks. “Drive. He’ll shoot us both.”
“Okay, okay,” he muttered. He shifted into drive and the vehicle lurched forward.
Gigi stared past the driver, out his window, searching the darkness. There he was, the killer, standing there like a dark monster with a willowy army behind him.
He lifted his hand and dragged his thumb along his neck.
He’d find her again.
* * *
August Hick stretched out on the hotel bed. What a fucking week. A few hours ago, he’d dropped off Boyd Sommers in Denver, and he still hadn’t recovered from the senseless time spent with that guy. If he ever got stuck bodyguarding Boyd again, he’d gladly put a bullet in his own head. Dude was beyond annoying, and if August didn’t value his job and reputation, he’d have happily hand-delivered Boyd to the drug dealers he’d pissed off in Seattle.
Instead, he’d done the impossible work of not killing the man himself while driving him across several states. August didn’t have the heart to tell him that if the drug dealers wanted him badly enough, they’d find him here. All Boyd had was enough cash to cover the fees and expenses of Backcountry Protection Services. Not enough to keep a bodyguard around permanently.
Ah, well. Not his shitshow.
It was almost 1:00 a.m., and after driving all damn day he was wiped. He’d showered and polished off his room-service meal earlier. Now all he wanted was to get some shut-eye before he made the trek back west.
Only sleep had been impossible for the last four months.
Since the day Gigi Hastings was whisked into witness protection, he’d barely slept a fucking wink. And the sleep he did get was restless. He’d usually wake up in a cold sweat.
Which didn’t make sense. They weren’t even a couple. Hell, he’d had a two-week fling with her a couple of years ago. They’d ended things when he went on a black-ops mission overseas. Things had been too fresh to make commitments, and when he got back a few months later, she’d been seeing someone else.
Shouldn’t have bugged him.
But it did.
August pinched his eyes. He knew better than to think about Gigi before bed. He’d either end up jerking off or worrying himself into a state of insomnia for hours. Neither would do him any good.
He clicked off the lamp. Darkness met him, but his mind buzzed with activity. He focused on taking deep breaths until his chest rose and fell naturally and his brain slipped into a semiconscious state.
Ring, ring
August sprang up at the sound of his phone. He scrubbed his face, wishing like hell he didn’t have to keep his ringer on while he was away for work. Grabbing the bright device, he squinted at the unfamiliar number. Who the hell was this? Better not be Boyd.
A glance at the hotel clock showed he’d slept for two hours. He swiped to answer. “Hello?” His voice was groggy and hoarse.
“August?” The small, barely-there female tone sent him shooting to his feet. His heart skipped three beats. Disbelief shook him to his core. “Gigi?” he whispered.
Even saying her name felt wrong. As if doing so would endanger her. She shouldn’t be calling him. She shouldn’t be on the phone with anyone. The cartel could be tracing her calls. She could be in danger now.
“Yeah. It’s me.” Her voice tripped on the last word.
His chest seized. It took everything in him not to break. Not to demand she tell him where she was and cross shards of glass and hell itself to get to her.
And damn if that wasn’t as scary as hearing her voice on the phone when she was supposed to be in hiding.
Fuck. He was in trouble already.