High-Risk Homecoming. Alison Stone

her next breath filled her lungs.

       Dear Lord, help me.

      A hand clamped over her mouth, jamming her lips against her teeth. A firm arm steadied her, pressing her back against his torso. Heat radiated off his body. Panic and adrenaline surged through her veins. Pushing off the cement floor, she pressed against her attacker, but his rock-hard body forced the solid edge of the utility sink into her belly, making it impossible to move.

      Every inch of her scalp prickled with a kind of fear she had never known. The fear humans must experience right before something very, very bad was about to happen.

      “Don’t,” she mumbled against his hand.

      He pulled her tighter to him. Something sharp on his jacket dug into her back.

      “Please don’t...” she repeated, unable to see his face.

      His warm, uneven breath rasped across her cheek. “Where’s the package?” he grunted before a sense of urgency exploded in her. She wrapped her fingers around the handle of the paint roller and brought it up hard and fast. She slugged him in the head with the wet end of the roller.

      He backed off with an oomph and folded over, his black hood concealing his features.

      Ellie bolted toward the entrance to the shop. She tripped over his foot, but regained her balance by grabbing the doorjamb. She swung into the shop.

      Muttered curses sounded behind her. Terror charged every possible nerve ending. She ran forward, knees weak, as if she was caught in one of those nightmares where the ground swallowed each foot.

      Steps sounded fast behind her.

      This was no nightmare. This was real.

      Ellie lurched forward and slapped her hand against the panic button on the alarm control next to the front door, a feature her brother had insisted she install. A feature she had thought silly in sleepy little Williamstown, New York, where the biggest crime involved kids and graffiti and a hundred-year-old mill and angry parents who footed the bill for cleanup so junior wouldn’t have a police record.

      An ear-piercing, strident alarm sounded in the small space. She yanked open the front door. The redundant bells whacked the glass. She tripped over the lip in the doorway. She held out her hands to protect her face from the advancing concrete when two strong hands grabbed her forearms, steadying her.

      A scream ripped from her throat.

      * * *

      On the sidewalk in front of Gifts and More, Special Agent Johnny Rock grabbed Ellie Winters and steadied her. Holding her thin, trembling arms, he tilted his head to look into her eyes, but she was squirming, looking frantically behind her.

      An ear-piercing alarm split his eardrums.

      “Easy there. What’s going on? You okay?” He tore his eyes away from her delicate features and scanned the empty shop behind her, his senses heightened.

      Her eyes darted around wildly. “Yes, yes, I’m fine.” She yanked away from him, fear rolling off her in tense waves.

      “I’m not going to hurt you,” he reassured her. “What happened?”

      Her eyes landed on his and narrowed, something flickering in their depths. She seemed to shake herself. “Someone was hiding in my back room. He attacked me.” She lifted her hand absentmindedly to the back of her head. “He...he was chasing me and I...”

      “Tripped?” Johnny raised his eyebrows.

      “Yes, I tripped over the door frame.” Her forehead furrowed as if the blaring alarm was scraping across her nerves. Orange paint splotched the right shoulder of her T-shirt and more was spattered on her face. She pointed toward the back of the shop. “Someone’s in there.”

      “Stay here. I’ll check things out.” He gently took her forearms and placed her against the brick front between the gift shop’s door and the entrance to the bakery. “Don’t move.”

      She reached out, her fingers brushing featherlight against the back of his hand. “No, I don’t think you should. Wait for the police.” She winced against the harsh sound. “The alarm is tied directly into the police station. They’ll be here soon. I hit the panic button.”

      “I’ll be fine.” In the chaos, she probably didn’t recognize him and realize he was in law enforcement. Last time he had stepped foot in her childhood home more than ten years ago, he had been a friend of her brother’s. A friendship that had been doomed from the start because it had been built on false pretenses. Johnny hadn’t really been a seventeen-year-old transfer student. Johnny had been a twenty-two-year-old rookie cop undercover as a narcotics officer about to rock the tranquil town of Williamstown.

      A slam sounded from deep in the shop.

      “Stay here,” Johnny repeated. “I can’t let him get away.” If he hasn’t already. This might be the break in the case he’d been patiently waiting for.

      “I really don’t think—”

      Johnny held up his hand. “Stay here.” She flinched at his command. He hadn’t meant to snap at her.

      He stepped into the shop. Ellie had done a lot of unpacking since the last time he had casually strolled by to check on his target.

      With a muscle ticking in his jaw, Johnny pulled his gun from its holster under his jacket. From the doorway to the storage room, he had a clear view of the back exit. Cautiously, he stepped into the storage room. He strained to listen above the blaring alarm. He checked behind the desk, around some boxes and in a small closet. All clear. A paint roller and orange paint sat in a puddle on the floor as if someone had thrown the roller across the room.

      Whoever had been here was long gone. He twisted the handle on the back door and found it unlocked. He peered into the alleyway. Other than a large Dumpster and some trash cans, it was empty. He strode over and checked the Dumpster. The pungent smell of garbage clogged his nose, but there was no sign of any stowaway.

      The shop’s alarm went silent. He returned to the back entrance of the storage room to find Ellie standing in the doorway leading to the shop. She was using the top of her shirtsleeve to wipe at the paint dots on her face. “I turned off the alarm. Police should be here soon.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “He’s gone?”

      “Yeah.”

      “Well, thanks for coming to the rescue. The police should be here. You can go.” She crossed her arms and studied the gun in his hand. A mix of caution and concern pinched the corners of her mouth.

      “I’d rather wait for the police to arrive if it’s all right with you.”

      Ellie rubbed her forearms and narrowed her gaze at him, and seemed to look at him for the first time. Really look at him. A shadow of emotion crossed behind her eyes. An emotion he couldn’t quite read.

      Johnny scratched his forehead and decided he better identify himself. “I met you a long time ago. I was a friend of your brother’s.” Was being the operative word.

      “Johnny...Johnny Rock. Yeah, I recognized you as soon as my nerves calmed down and I realized my life wasn’t in imminent danger.” Her eyes grew dark. “What are you doing here? I thought you moved to Buffalo.” The brutal sting of accusation was evident in her tone, suggesting she wished he had stayed in Buffalo.

      Johnny tucked his gun back in its holster. “I’m an FBI agent assigned to the Buffalo office.”

      Ellie made a soft sound at the back of her throat but didn’t say anything.

      “I’m back in Williamstown to help my grandfather move.” It was the truth, but not the entire truth.

      Her perfectly groomed eyebrows shot up. “He’s selling the house on Treehaven Road?” A faraway look descended into her blue eyes and a smile curved her pink lips. “I always liked that house. I tried to paint it a time or two.”