Yuletide Suspect. Lisa Phillips

weren’t going to work, so why would it work with someone else?”

      “Why would it not?” She hated that he thought this. She had to change his mind. “Of course you can be happy.”

      “And waste months—maybe even years—trying to find out? I’m done with relationships. Otherwise I’d have figured it out by now.”

      “Plenty of people find happiness in their thirties.”

      “Yeah? Like you?”

      Liberty wanted to say something. Instead she just closed her mouth. What was there to say? Relationships were great, but she wanted more for Tate than she could give anyone, and a man who didn’t realize the demands on Secret Service agents would never understand her life. It wouldn’t work, and since Tate was gone from her life, she hadn’t even been looking. She had thought he was her future, but that wasn’t the path God had set before her.

      A car engine revved.

      Liberty spun around to see a truck round the corner over where Tate had pointed out the road. The vehicle rumbled fast over the ruts of debris, right toward them.

      Tate set one hand on her stomach and moved her back so he was in front of her. Liberty glanced around the breadth of his shoulders. “It’s coming right for us.”

      “Give me the backpack.”

      She did so, and they started to run. But before Tate could get it open gunshots exploded the dirt around them.

      “Freeze!”

      Liberty halted. Tate slammed into her, backpack first. He dropped it and slid his arms around her. She lifted her hands.

      “Both of you, in the truck.”