Deception Lake. Пола Грейвс

      “Are you with him?” Mara asked, her voice shaking but her hand steady.

      “What?” he croaked, barely finding enough breath to answer.

      “Are you with him?” she repeated, keeping the pistol trained on him as she nodded toward the woods. Her hair was a mess from the pillowcase the man had tried to use as a hood, and her eyes looked bloodshot and wild. He had a feeling she’d put a bullet into him first and ask questions later if he so much as blinked his eyes the wrong way.

      “No. You didn’t see me trying to stop him?”

      Her lips pressed to a thin line. “Maybe you’re trying to trick me.”

      “I’m not trying to trick you.”

      She didn’t look appeased. “Get up.”

      He eased himself to a sitting position, wincing at the ache in his head. He felt something warm slithering down his scalp. “I think I’m bleeding.”

      She didn’t look interested in his self-diagnosis. “Why did you come here? Are you stalking me?”

      “No.” At her look of skepticism, he added, “Not intentionally.”

      “Why did you approach me at the diner?”

      He grimaced as she leaned toward him, bringing the barrel of the M&P40 even closer to his face. “Could you please put that thing away before you shoot me?”

      “Not a chance,” she answered in a flat tone. “Get up. All the way up.”

      He eased to his feet, aching tension knotting the muscles of his back and abdomen. “I’m definitely not with that guy. And I’m not a stalker, appearances to the contrary notwithstanding.”

      For a second the corner of her lips twitched. But he chalked it up to a nervous tic, because the last thing he saw in those sharp, watchful blue eyes was anything approaching humor.

      “You followed me here.” It wasn’t a question.

      “I did,” he admitted.

      “Why?”

      “To see where you were going.” As an explanation, his answer was pathetic. That it was also true was of little importance.

      “You’ve accomplished that,” she said in a flat tone. “Now leave.”

      There was a curious note to her husky voice, a hint of vulnerability peeking through the tiny crack in her mask of contemptuous calm.

      “Do you know who that guy was?”

      She didn’t answer, which he supposed was answer enough.

      “What are you involved in, Mara?”

      He waited for an angry glare. But it never came.

      “You need to leave. Now,” she said, her tone unyielding. But she lowered the pistol to her side.

      “Are you in trouble? Is there someone out there just waiting for me to leave to take another crack at you?”

      Her only answer was to turn toward the cabin door.

      Despite the throbbing pain in his head, he forced himself up the steps, reaching the door just before it snapped closed behind her. He stuck his boot into the narrowing breach, stopping the door from shutting.

      She glared at him through the narrow opening, but at least she left the pistol down by her side. “I said leave.”

      “I heard you.”

      “And yet you’re still here.”

      Guilt fluttered in the center of his chest as her expression grew hard and cold. Mara Jennings had never been hard or cold, even when she should have been. Her kind, forgiving nature had made her an easy mark for his pathetic neediness, and he’d come to depend on her being there, being willing to overlook his copious flaws, whenever he needed her.

      He supposed it was good she’d finally drawn a line he couldn’t cross. He just hated that he’d been the one to add that hardness and coldness to her sweet nature.

      “There’s still the matter of seven thousand dollars,” he said.

      Taking a step back, she let go of the door. Pressed by his boot, it swung open, and he took a step inside, his gaze taking in the small front room. What he saw nearly stole his breath again.

      The place had been completely wrecked.

      * * *

      THE TROUBLED LOOK on Jack Drummond’s face was the only warning she got. Following his dark gaze, she saw what she’d missed in her earlier agitation.

      Whatever else the intruder might have wanted, he’d made a shambles of her cabin. Ripped-up sofa cushions lay scattered about the room, fluffy clumps of foam and fiberfill stuffing littering the floor. Books had been pulled from the built-in shelves and discarded. A floor lamp lay on its side, the glass shade shattered.

      Every ounce of adrenaline seemed to drain from her body in a flood, leaving her boneless and despairing.

      “Who did this?” Jack’s deep voice rumbled up her spine.

      “Who do you think?”

      “But why?”

      She turned to meet his troubled gaze. “I have no idea.”

      Which was a lie, of course. She had a couple of pretty good ideas, actually. She just wasn’t sure which one was the right one.

      “Should we call the police?”

      Her nerves reawakened in a rattling jangle. “No.”

      “Your boss?”

      She thought about it briefly. Quinn would know what to do. But could she really trust him? She knew the man’s interest in her was anything but altruistic. He might be her boss, he might even have been her savior at a particularly dangerous time of her life, but he wasn’t her friend.

      She didn’t have any friends. Not anymore.

      “You need to go,” she said in lieu of an answer.

      “And what if that guy comes back?”

      “He won’t,” she said, even though she knew someone would come back eventually. The only thing of value in this cabin was her computer system, and it was locked behind about five levels of physical security. And even if someone had stolen the computers themselves, they’d have had one hell of a time trying to get past her digital security.

      She might look like an ordinary woman these days, but she wasn’t.

      She wasn’t ordinary at all.

      “Okay, if that’s what you want, I’ll go.” Jack’s voice was outwardly calm, but she heard a thread of discord vibrating just beneath the surface. “But I need just one more question answered.”

      She sighed. “What’s that?”

      “Why on earth do you think you owe me seven thousand dollars when you know as well as I do that I stole that money from you?”

      Her stomach knotted painfully. Well, hell.

      “Has something happened to you, Mara? You didn’t remember me right away today at the diner. You didn’t remember anything about the money. And right now you’re looking at me as if you’ve never seen me before.” He took a step closer to her, his movement slow and careful, as if he expected her to bolt.

      He wasn’t entirely wrong. Even now she could feel the muscles bunching in her legs, as if her body was instinctively preparing for flight.

      “A lot has happened,” she answered in a carefully neutral tone. “I lost my sister. I left everything I knew to make a new start. And I didn’t expect to see you here in Tennessee.”

      “That’s not an answer.”

      “It’s