Mountain Hideaway. Christy Barritt

she couldn’t make out the words.

      As the wind brushed her again, her nose tingled. It wouldn’t be too long before her ears, her cheeks and her fingers all went numb. So many things could go wrong right now.

      She squinted as someone stepped out the back door. The flashlight nearly caught her, but she tucked herself back behind the shed in time. As she saw the beam fade to the other side of the property, she stole another glance.

      The man on her deck was tall and broad. He wore a black coat—leather, maybe—and low-slung jeans. He didn’t look familiar but, then again, it was dark. Besides, the McAllisters had enough money to hire people to do their dirty work. Leo would never do this kind of job himself.

      The man stepped off the deck and walked around the side of the house. Her heart pounded in her ears as she waited for what seemed like hours. He circled the house twice. Shone his light into her car. Surveyed the area around the cabin.

      Then he started toward the woods near the shed.

      Tessa held her breath. No! Not back here.

      His footsteps stopped.

      Slowly, the sound faded, almost as if he was...retreating?

      She counted to ten before peering around the corner again. In the distance, she saw the light disappear into the woods. He was leaving.

      He was leaving!

      But why? Maybe he wasn’t one of the men after her. Maybe he was just a passerby whose car had broken down or a hunter checking out the area. Maybe he’d gotten lost on the winding road and had come looking for directions.

      None of those things sounded quite true, even in her own mind, but she couldn’t think too long.

      Once the light disappeared well out of sight, she hurried to the house.

      She’d forgotten her car keys. She had to grab them and get out of here. There was no time to waste.

      She shuddered as she scrambled over the crispy leaves across her backyard. She sprinted up the steps, mentally reviewing where she’d left them. She couldn’t risk turning the lights on. Relying on her memory, she rushed toward the kitchen table. Her purse was there.

      Had the man seen it? Had he looked inside and seen her license?

      Her hands trembled now. She snatched the bag, her gaze frantically searching the countertop for the keys. Thankfully they were right beside the coffeepot where she’d left them.

      She lunged toward them and felt the metal against her fingers.

      Now she just had to get out of here.

      Just as she turned, she sensed someone behind her. Before she could scream, a hand covered her mouth.

      And, for the first time in years, she prayed.

      * * *

      Trent McCabe hated to scare the woman—to scare any woman. But if he didn’t grab her now, she’d run. Then he’d never have any answers to the heavy questions hanging over his head.

      He couldn’t let her get away. There were too many reasons why it would be a bad idea.

      He kept one hand firmly over her mouth and his other arm locked her elbows against her body. He lifted her off her feet, and she kicked, flailing. But she wasn’t going anywhere. Trent would give her a few minutes and, once she was worn out from struggling, he’d try to talk to her. She’d left him with very few options.

      She fought against him, each jerk full of fight. He had to admire her for that. But he’d fought enough battles and had enough muscles and brawn to easily overtake her. She would wear out much sooner than he would. He just had to be patient.

      She paused and her chest heaved as if she was gulping in breaths. His heart lurched as he realized just how terrified the woman was. He’d never meant for things to play out like this. He’d just been so desperate to find her.

      “I’m not going to hurt you. I just have a few questions,” he murmured in his most calming, apologetic voice. “Quiet down.”

      His words had the opposite effect and seemed to propel her back into action. She began thrashing again, trying desperately to get out of his grip. This woman wasn’t going to give up, was she? She had more fight than he’d guessed.

      Trent stood there, waiting patiently. But he gave her credit for her efforts. She was giving it all she had.

      “Listen, your mom sent me,” he finally said.

      She slowed for a moment. Without even seeing her face, he knew the wheels in her brain were turning, were processing the information. That was a good sign.

      “I’m going to move my hand from your mouth so we can talk. Okay?” he soothed as a tremble began shaking her muscles.

      She remained where she was, her breathing too shallow for her own good.

      “Okay?” he repeated.

      Finally, she nodded her head.

      One of his hands slipped back down to his side. She remained eerily still, not saying a word but unable to run. He waited for her to speak.

      They said good things came to those who waited, and the saying had proved to be true more than once in his life. Though it had also proved deadly. He hoped that wouldn’t be the case now.

      “My mom’s dead,” she finally said, her voice just above a whisper.

      “No, she’s not. You and I both know that.”

      “Let me go. Let’s talk like two humans.” Her voice shook with emotion, yet based on the tight cadence of her words, she was trying to control her fear.

      Guilt flashed through him. He hated for this to be his only means of talking to her. His mom had raised him better than this. But what else was he supposed to do? Drastic situations called for drastic actions.

      He had his doubts, but he realized that acting as if she was his captive wouldn’t get him very far. Hesitantly, he released his clamp across her arms. “Fine. Let’s talk.”

      As soon as she was out of his grasp, she darted to the kitchen counter and grabbed a knife from the butcher block. She held it in front of her. Even in the dark, Trent could see the desperate gleam in her gaze. “Step back.”

      He raised his hands. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

      “You break into my home, practically take me hostage and then tell me your intentions are golden? I don’t think so.”

      “Don’t forget that I also let you go,” he reminded her, willfully trying to gain her trust. He knew he could easily work that knife from her hands, but he’d scared the woman enough already. “I didn’t want you to run away. That’s the only reason I grabbed you like that.”

      “Justify it however you want. You need to get out of my house. Now.” She pointed toward the door with her knife.

      “I just want to talk. Besides, this isn’t your house, is it?”

      She held the knife higher, her chin rising in stubborn determination. “I thought I made myself clear. Get out. Now.”

      Trent took another step back, hoping the woman would realize he didn’t want to hurt her. He couldn’t blame her for doubting that. “Your mom has been searching for you.”

      The dark concealed her face, but he sensed her shoulders slumping. “Like I said, my mom is dead.”

      “You and I both know you’re lying, Theresa.” He watched her face as he used her name. He only wished there was more light so he could see. Any of the small hints she might offer to prove he was telling the truth were erased by the darkness.

      “That’s not my name.” Her voice shook even harder. “I’m Tessa Jones.”

      “Your name is Theresa Davidson.” She was thinner now. Her hair was long and