Bait. Samantha Keith

of him, the reasonable part, wanted nothing else to do with her. It was a small town, but he could avoid her. And if he couldn’t, he could leave and find another town to do his soul-searching in. Even if he’d signed a lease until the end of the month. He rubbed the pad of his index finger between his eyes. At thirty-three years old he was too damn old for this shit. Next time, he wouldn’t try to rescue damsels in distress. Who was he anyway? Batman?

      His headlights caught a yellow and black checkered sign—a dead end. He turned his truck around and stopped the vehicle. Regret churned inside him. He never should have shown his interest in her. But if he knocked on the door at this hour to explain, she’d scream the whole street down. He had to forget about her. She was making him crazy. He pulled away from the curb and headed back the way he’d come.

      Who the hell was he kidding? He couldn’t forget about her any easier than he could poke his eyes out. He was screwed.

      Chapter 2

      What an asshole. Who the hell did he think he was butting into her life? He’d been pleasant since he’d moved in, but he’d been right. She wasn’t interested in guys like him. Oh no. She had her sights set on different characteristics. Besides, he’d only been here two weeks. He couldn’t possibly be the guy she was looking for. Which made him no good to her. Until now, she’d tried to be polite, but screwing up her plan with Ryan had been crossing the line. And now he’d gone from annoying her to making her want to gouge out his persistent, overbearing blue eyes.

      She shoved the key in the door and turned the lock. The smooth piece of metal didn’t resist in her hand, nor did the lock click. Her brow furrowed. She’d left the door unlocked? That wasn’t like her. Nearly every citizen in Beaufort didn’t lock their doors, but in Boston, you’d be crazy not to. She swung the door open, flicked on the hall light, and shut the door behind her. It was eerie staying in Hanna’s old house since she’d disappeared. On one hand, she felt closer to her missing friend, and on the other, a constant pit of devastation sucked at her chest with every reminder of Hanna.

      Riley had been raised in Beaufort, but her family had moved away shortly after she’d started school in Boston. At least in the house that Hanna’s parents owned, she didn’t have to impose on anyone and she had her own space. Except for the apartment upstairs that was rented by Michael, one of the area’s dentists.

      The soles of her feet throbbed in her cowboy boots. She winced as she pulled her boots off and dropped them to the floor.

      Creak…

      The slow, gentle shift of the hardwood floors straightened her spine. She sucked her breath in through her nose and closed her hand around her keys.

      Someone was in the house.

      She swallowed. Her feet rooted to the spot and ice filled her veins.

      No. She was being paranoid. It was an old house full of creaks and groans. The sound very well could have come from upstairs where Michael lived.

      But it had sounded like her floors…

      She straightened her shoulders and strained her ears. Not another noise sounded. She locked the front door and turned toward the kitchen. She’d grab a glass of water, get into bed, and go straight to sleep.

      Moonlight streamed in through the kitchen window, shining through the sheer, white curtains. She groped for the light switch and the bright fluorescents lit the kitchen. She reached for the cupboard, snagged a glass and—

      The lights went out. Her pulse raged against her throat. She wheeled around, the glass wielded in front of her like a weapon. The soft rattling of metal sounded at the back door in the mudroom. It was a double dead bolt that always stuck and took a lot of maneuvering.

      It could be him…

      She couldn’t let him get away. Her purse lay at the front door, her phone tucked inside it. Her gaze traced the counter, but darkness concealed the object she sought. She fumbled along the laminate surface until her fingers grazed the smooth knife block. She set the glass down and pulled the butcher’s knife out. Its hard, silver sheen caught the moonlight as she moved swiftly for the mudroom.

      A tall, black-clothed form blocked out the light from the back door. She tightened her grip on the handle of the knife and poised it in the air, ready to stab if he moved.

      “Stop! Raise your hands or I’ll—”

      He turned and charged, his shoulder jabbed into her stomach, and she stumbled to the floor, the knife dropped from her fingers. A black hood fell low over his forehead, shielding his eyes. He crouched down and lifted the blade.

      No!

      He was going to stab her. She scrambled on her knees and stood on wobbling legs, waiting for the sharp penetration of the knife. She raced through the house. Her feet pounded the old wooden floors. Light from the streetlamp outside shone through the window of the front door, guiding her way. She clawed at the lock, panic made her movements clumsy. Heat blazed up her spine. He would be right behind her.

      She turned the lock and flung the door open. She bounded down the stairs and into the street. A scream tore from her throat.

      “Help!”

      Headlights coated her body, blinding her. Tires screeched across the pavement and the large face of a truck filled her vision.

      It stopped inches from her. Her chest rose and fell, heat scorched off the hood of the truck, branding her cold skin. Paralysis settled into her bones and her lungs ached for air. Hands closed around her upper arms, shaking her.

      “Riley! What happened?”

      She looked up to find wild, familiar blue eyes looking at her, but they didn’t register. She shook her head, grasping at his arms. “H–He’s in my house,” she wheezed. He kept his hold on her and craned his neck toward her large Carolina porch. Her eyes searched his face and recognition set in.

      “Ethan?”

      “Get in my truck and lock the doors. I’ll be right back.” He ushered her to the open driver’s door and she climbed in.

      She grabbed his bicep, and her hand didn’t even come close to circling it. “He has a knife.” The words tumbled from her lips, breathless and strained.

      “He’s going to need it.” Ethan shut the door and strode purposefully for the house. As he reached the sidewalk, his hand pulled something from the small of his back…its black metallic sheen stalled her breath: a gun. Her eyes didn’t leave him until he disappeared inside the dark house. Her body trembled in violent shakes and she pressed her hands to her temples.

      Someone had been in her house…

      Why?

      Cool air blasted from the vents, chilling her skin even more. She took one deep, shuddering breath, and then another. She had to call the police but there was no way in hell she was going in to get her phone. She wrung her hands on her lap and scanned the darkness through the windshield.

      The driver’s side door opened and a screech bubbled from her throat.

      “It’s okay, it’s me.” Ethan’s large hand clasped her shoulder. “Are you hurt? What the hell happened?”

      She licked her lips and her eyes swept behind him.

      “He’s gone,” he said softly.

      She loosened the hold on her fingers and her extremities tingled as blood flow returned. She swallowed. “I heard something when I came in but didn’t think much of it. I went to the kitchen for a glass of water and the lights went out.” Her voice trembled, and she took a breath to steady it. “I grabbed a knife and went to the back door where I heard him trying to get out. I confronted him and he knocked me to the ground. I got up and ran and—”

      “Okay, okay.” His soft tone silenced her and he reached in and pulled her out of the vehicle. “You’re shaking,” he said. His hands rubbed up and down her arms, heat ebbed from his body, making her ache to