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  He yanked on his boots, clipped his firearm to his belt and grabbed his jacket. He laid it across her shoulders. “We’ve gotta get you into some dry clothes.”

  She stood and wavered, so he automatically scooped her up into his arms. “Are you okay with this?”

  “Y-y-yeah.”

  Which was a good thing because nothing could make him let her go. He went to the embankment, grabbed her messenger bag off the ground and strode across the back lawn toward the side gate. Alex avoided trekking through the house with Nicole in his arms. FBI agents would surely stop him, asking more questions, demanding answers.

  He didn’t have time for that. He needed to get her somewhere safe. Nicole had almost been killed while he’d stood not a hundred feet away. Thanks to his keen senses he’d heard the splash in the water that could have been the last movement she made in this life.

  Instead, he was carrying her shivering body in his arms. Thank You, Lord, for helping me find her.

  Now he had to make good on his promise that no one would hurt her again.

  “Were you staying at the lake house?” he asked.

  She shook her head that she wasn’t.

  “Did you rent a room in town?”

  She nodded that she had. She was back to nodding instead of speaking, which made sense considering she’d been so close to death twice now in the past few hours. Carrying her gently but firmly, he scanned the property as they headed toward the gate that led to the driveway.

  Just as he nudged the gate aside with his boot, the sliding door opened in back of the house and men’s voices drifted across the property. Alex focused on getting Nicole safely to his truck. Answers would have to come later, or even tomorrow, after she’d warmed up and Alex was confident she was out of physical danger.

  Which brought up the question of why she ran in the first place.

  “Why did you take off like that?” he asked.

  “S-s-scared.”

  “In a house full of cops?”

  She shook her head in dismissal, obviously not wanting to talk about it. Fine, they didn’t have to discuss her reasons right now but after she thawed out he was getting answers as to why she put herself at risk.

  Great, now he was starting to sound like the bully FBI agent.

  “What happened?” A short man with black hair, in his mid-fifties ran up to them. “I’m Artie, Edward’s driver. Is she okay?”

  “She will be. Please step back.”

  Alex placed Nicole on the front seat of his truck, adjusted her messenger bag in her lap and grabbed a wool blanket from the back. He covered her, carefully tucking the blanket around her shoulders.

  “Where are you staying?”

  “Harbor L-l-...”

  “Harbor Lights Inn on Main?”

  With a nod she closed her eyes. Alex buckled her seat belt and shut the door.

  “Is there anything I can do?” Artie asked.

  “Help the officers inside.” He rushed around the front of the truck, keeping an eye on the witness.

  The witness. That’s how he had to think of her or else he’d risk losing his edge. She was the key to finding Edward Lange’s killer and Alex couldn’t afford to be distracted by her natural beauty or vulnerability.

  “Donovan!” Agent Banks called from the front of the house.

  “Gotta get her safe!”

  “Was it the killer?”

  “Don’t know.”

  He jumped into the truck and peeled out of the driveway. “Harbor Lights is five, seven minutes away, tops,” he said to comfort her. “I know the owner, Mrs. Cavendish. She can help you change if you’re feeling light-headed. We’ll go back for your car tomorrow, okay?”

  No response.

  “Nicole?” He glanced across the front seat. She was unconscious.

  With one hand on the steering wheel, he touched her shoulder. “Nicole, open your eyes.”

  Her limp body slid onto the seat between them. He took a deep, calming breath. This was not the time to panic, yet the nearest hospital was a forty-five minute drive. He didn’t have that kind of time.

  She didn’t have that kind of time.

  He grabbed the radio off the dash. “Dispatch, this is Detective Donovan. I’ve got a medical emergency, suspected hypothermia, and need a closer alternative than Skagit Valley Hospital, over.”

  “Waverly Medical Center is open until nine, over.”

  “Can you let them know I’m coming?”

  “Affirmative. ETA?”

  “Two, maybe three minutes.”

  “Copy that.”

  He stroked Nicole’s shoulder, hoping the connection would snap her out of whatever haze she’d sunken into.

  “We’re stopping by the health center. They’ll get you warm and check you out. I’m guessing you’ve got a concussion,” he said.

  He gripped the steering wheel tighter at the thought of the killer stalking her in Edward Lange’s backyard. Alex couldn’t be sure it was the killer, yet who else would have been out there wandering the property?

  He glanced at Nicole and whispered, “What made you run?”

  Suddenly he needed to know everything about Nicole Desiree Harris, not only because she was their only witness to a brutal murder, but also because he refused to lose another innocent woman to the tragedy of violence.

  He’d make sure Nicole survived the brutal consequence of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  * * *

  Nicole opened her eyes and immediately closed them against the bright light. Her head throbbed, keeping a steady beat with her heart.

  “Nicole? I’m Doctor Wendell,” a female voice said.

  A doctor? Wait, where was she? She blinked her eyes open and squinted. A woman’s face came into focus, concern creasing her forehead. She looked as if she was in her fifties, with dark hair pulled back into a bun.

  Two more people came into view, strangers in scrubs.

  Memories of the time her monster father put her in the hospital flooded her entire body. They say your cells hold on to every memory. Nicole would attest to that, as she felt the familiar anxiety skitter across her nerve endings. Even back then no one would listen to her.

  No one could protect her.

  “Do you remember what happened to you? How you got here?” the doctor asked.

  A shudder ran down her spine at the memory. She was cold. Helpless. Struggling to call out for help.

  Her vision blurred.

  Unable to fight anymore.

  The lake pulled her down, swallowing her.

  Then she was yanked to the surface by firm hands.

  Detective Donovan’s blue eyes stared down at her.

  “Detective Donovan?” she managed to get out.

  “I’m here.”

  Nic turned her head toward the sound, and that’s when she realized her entire body was swaddled in layers of blankets. She actually wasn’t cold anymore.

  The detective stepped toward her bed. He hadn’t changed out of his wet clothes, but gripped a blanket around his shoulders.

  “You’re still wet,” she said.

  “We couldn’t get him to leave you long enough to change.” The doctor pursed her lips.

  Alex stepped even closer, his remarkable blue eyes focused and sincere. “You’re okay now.”

  “You promised I would be.”

  It was the first time that a cop had actually kept his word.

  “How do you feel?” he said, placing his hand on the blankets above her right arm. Even through the layers of cotton she could feel the warmth of his touch. How was that possible?

  “Okay, I guess,” she said. “Am I at the hospital?”

  “Medical center.”

 
“I’d like to determine if you fell unconscious from the head injury or the hypothermia.” The doctor pulled out a penlight to examine Nic’s eyes. “Okay, without moving your head, follow my fingers.”

  Nicole followed the doctor’s instructions as she tested her vision, hearing, memory and concentration.

  “Good,” the doctor said. “If symptoms develop, like trouble with short-term memory, we can schedule a CT scan.”

  “I’m hoping to head back to Seattle soon,” Nic said.

  “Is that where you live?”

  Nic nodded.

  “When you get there, check in with your primary care provider. Are you feeling light-headed right now?”

  “No.”

  “I don’t think it was the bump to the head as much as the hypothermia that knocked you out.”

  Or, try door number three: emotional trauma of nearly being killed twice in one night.

  “I guess you’ll need my insurance card.” Nic glanced around the room for her messenger bag.

  “I’ve already handled it,” Alex said to the doctor.

  “Wait, Detective Donovan—”

  “Alex,” he corrected Nicole. “I found your insurance card in your wallet and gave them the information. I hope that’s okay.”

  “Yeah, sure, fine.”

  She found herself shutting down, a little off balance that he’d taken care of her.

  Because you’re his star witness, that’s all.

  She leaned back against the pillow and released a quiet sigh.

  “Her blood pressure looks good,” the doctor said. “Vitals are normal. You’re a lucky girl, Nicole. Not everyone knows how to perform CPR properly. When you’re ready, Detective Donovan can take you home.”

  “Thanks.”

  The word home held no meaning for Nicole. It was a nebulous image of something she didn’t understand since she’d never experienced the true sense of home. Even her studio apartment on Seattle’s north side never quite felt like home. Maybe because she was always ready to pack up and flee in the middle of the night.

  The doctor and support staff left the small examining room, but Detective Donovan—Alex—did not. He reached for something on the counter and handed it to her: a coffee cup with a plastic lid.

  “This might help,” he said.

  “Thanks, but I don’t drink coffee.”

  “It’s hot chocolate.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope. They treat a lot of kids here.”

  She took the cup and he helped her sit up. This close, she couldn’t help but notice well-defined muscles spanning his chest through his soaked shirt.

  “You must be freezing,” she said.

  “I’ll dry off later.”

  “But you could catch cold.”

  “I’m taking care of you, remember?” he said with a smile.

  “Right.” She popped off the lid and took a sip of cocoa.

  Stepping back, he leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  “Why did you take off like that?”

  She ripped her gaze from his assessing blue eyes and studied her cocoa. This was too complicated to explain in three sentences or less.

  “You can trust me,” he said.

  Trust me, Nicole. I’ll fix this somehow. But Officer Wheeler didn’t fix it, and Nicole spent nine more years dodging fists and protecting her little brother and sister.

  “That bad, huh?” Alex said.

  “What?” She glanced up.

  “By the look on your face I’m guessing you haven’t had much luck trusting people.”

  “Cops especially,” she let slip.

  “Okay, now that deserves an explanation.”

  Instead, she shut down, wrapping both hands around the cup to warm her fingers.

  “You dated a cop,” he guessed.

  “That would never happen,” she muttered.

  “Now you’ve piqued my interest.”

  This man had saved her life. She owed him an explanation about why she vilified his occupation.

  “I depended on cops and they let me down.”

  “Cops, plural? What kind of sordid past do you have, Miss Harris?”

  He was teasing, but the story was far from funny. And not one she necessarily wanted to repeat to a stranger.

  “I could always do a little digging of my own,” he said. “What would I find? A string of broken-hearted police officers in your wake?”

  She pinned him with angry eyes. “My father beat us and every time the cops came to investigate I expected them to help, but they never did. Sure, a few promised they’d get us out of there but did they ever follow through on their promises?” her voice cracked.

  Alex touched her shoulder in a comforting gesture. “Take a breath. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

  But she couldn’t stop the rant. “He said I could run, but I’d never escape. I’d never be safe. And he was right. Another monster is after me and there’s nothing I can do to stop him from trying to kill me, too.”

  “Don’t talk like that. Hey.” He tipped her chin so she had to look into his warm blue eyes. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

  For a second she was lost in the sincerity of his voice and concerned expression. Then common sense slapped her back to reality. She turned away and studied her cocoa. “I’m ready to go now.”

  Out of the corner of her eye she could tell he watched her, assessing what to say next, if anything. No wonder he was confused. She was a powder keg, needy one minute and explosive the next, biting his head off when all he did was save her life.

  She took a breath and glanced up to apologize, but he’d already opened the door. “Doctor Wendell?” he called into the hallway.

  The doctor stepped into the examining room and looked from Alex to Nicole.

  “She’s ready to go,” he said.

  Dr. Wendell removed the IV and blankets. “Someone should check on her every few hours.”

  “I’ve got it covered,” Alex said.

  Meaning what? He was going stay close and protect Nic even though she’d been so incredibly rude to him? If only he hadn’t kept pushing her, trying to make light of her past. Yet how could he have known?

  “You’re all set,” the doctor said. “You can return the scrubs tomorrow.”

  “Thanks,” Nic said.

  Doctor Wendell left them alone. Nic shifted off the bed and Alex offered his hand for support. She automatically took it and warmth shot up her arm. Incredible. How could his hand be warm when he had to be freezing from the damp clothing?

  “You should get scrubs to wear out of here,” she suggested.

  “I’ve got extra sweatshirts in the truck. I’ll get one for each of us.”

  She realized they were still holding hands.

  And she didn’t want to let go.

  He must have read fear on her face—fear of depending on someone, fear of being let down again—because he slipped his hand from hers and opened the door.

  “Wait,” she said.

  He hesitated, but didn’t turn around.

  “Thanks,” she said. “And I’m sorry.”

  “You’re welcome, and there’s no need to apologize. I have a habit of poking around where I don’t belong. I’ll try not to let it happen again. Give me a minute to get the sweatshirts.”

  He stepped out and shut the door with a click.

  “I’m an idiot,” she whispered. After all, the detective just wanted to help.

  Yet her frazzled emotional state was understandable considering what she’d been through tonight. Besides being a witness to murder, she’d nearly drowned.

 
But she didn’t, thanks to Detective Donovan’s CPR skills.

  She leaned against the bright white wall and closed her eyes. What would happen next? Would federal agents whisk her away and detain her until she remembered something helpful? Would they be able to protect her from the killer who would surely try again?

  She had no confidence in the police, but for some reason she trusted Alex. There was something about his deep voice infused with truth and integrity that demanded trust. Whatever came next, she hoped he’d be a part of it.

  Someone knocked on the door. She figured it was Alex.

  “Come in.”

  The door popped open and a tall, bald man with a mustache, wearing a dark suit and aviator sunglasses flashed his badge. “I’m Special Agent Ted Maines with the FBI. You need to come with me.”

  “But—”

  “Please, ma’am. Time is critical. The killer eluded our search of the property. He could be anywhere, even in this medical center.” He motioned her out of the room.

  She stepped out into the hall and he led her away. Nic kept glancing over her shoulder in search of Alex.

  “Where are you going?” Doctor Wendell asked, speed walking to block them.

  “FBI.” He flashed his badge over his shoulder at the doctor.

  “You need to wait for Detective Donovan,” the doctor said.

  “No, ma’am, I don’t.” He pulled Nic down the hall toward the back exit of the medical center.

  This is why she hated law enforcement. They didn’t respect your feelings or opinions. They just took what they wanted. The agent shoved open the metal door and led her across the parking lot to a waiting SUV.

  “Where are we going?”

  Would she ever see Alex again?

  “Someplace safe.”

  A shudder raced down her back. There was no such place.

  “No.” She struggled against his grasp. “Let me go!”

  THREE

  Talk about stepping into quicksand. Alex blew it in there, questioning Nicole to the point where she’d broken down, confessing her brutal childhood. He was pretty sure she hadn’t meant to reveal so much about herself in one breath.