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Nowhere to Run
BY ELLE KENNEDY
Chapter One
Brooke Tanner's head snapped back from the force of the blow. Blood
spurted from the corner of her mouth when her husband's gold
championship ring, studded with small rubies, snagged against her lip.
The gaudy ring shone in the light bathing their spacious kitchen.
Andrew's high school football team had won the state championship
decades ago, yet he still wore the thing like a badge of glory.
Forget about the damn ring! He's going to kill you! Fight back.
Swiping the sleeve of her sweater over her mouth, she tried to stumble to
her feet, but her husband was suddenly on top of her, his rock-hard
thighs straddling her chest, pinning her to the pristine white tiles.
She didn't even recognize the enraged face looming over her. His brown
eyes were red, his classically handsome features twisted in anger.
Andrew's fist came down toward her face. She blocked it with both
hands, tears streaming down her cheeks. He growled, yanking on one of
her wrists. A jolt of pain streaked up her arm. Disbelief smashed into
her. She still couldn't shake off the shock—how was this happening?
"Damn it, Brooke! Stop crying! Don't you get it? I love you."
Love? No, this wasn't love. It couldn't be.
2
Andrew was breathing hard, his broad chest heaving from each ragged
pant. He had her trapped on the kitchen floor, but now his fists were
uncurling and his hands dangled at his sides. Brooke tried to draw air
into her lungs, but her husband was a big man—six-one, two hundred
and twenty pounds. She couldn't wiggle out from his hold, let alone take
a breath.
When he noticed her gasping, he shifted so that the pressure of his
muscular body was now weighing down on her belly. She sucked in
oxygen, refusing to look at his face. From the corner of her eye, she saw
a flash of silver.
The knife.
Andrew had knocked everything off the cedar work island after she'd
quietly told him her plans to leave. The onions she'd been dicing now
covered the floor like little pieces of confetti. The orange cutting board
had slid underneath one of the tall-backed chairs around the kitchen
table. But the knife… It was within her reach. All she had to do was
stretch out her arm and—
"Look at me."
His big hands cupped her chin, forcing eye contact. Andrew's rage had
dimmed, his brown eyes now shining with remorse and more of that love
he claimed to feel for her.
"I'm sorry, baby," her husband murmured, desperation clinging to his
voice. "I lost control. You shouldn't have made me angry, okay? You
shouldn't joke about things like leaving me."
She opened her mouth, about to tell him she'd been dead serious when
she'd calmly informed him of her intention to file for divorce. But she
held her tongue. She knew now he'd kill her if she said she was leaving.
3
"You know I'm not a wife beater," he continued, shaking his head in
irritation. "I've never hit you before, and I'll never hit you again—as
long as you continue to honor the vows we said to each other."
That was true—he'd never hit her before tonight. And damn right he
would never hit her again.
For five years she'd endured Andrew's subtle taunts, his jealousy and
control issues, all his passive-aggressive forms of emotional abuse.
She'd made excuses for it at first, but she was done making excuses. As
far as she was concerned, she'd run out of choices the moment he'd
unleashed that first left hook into her jaw.
"I'm going to get off you now," Andrew said softly. "And then we'll
clean up this mess together, baby. I'll help you clean up your face, too,
okay?"
"Okay," she whispered.
His gaze was intense as it searched her face. "You're not going to leave,
right, Brooke? You're going to stay right here where you belong?"
She managed a weak nod.
A smile lit his face. The same beaming smile he'd donned when they'd
stood at the altar exchanging vows. His thighs relaxed, loosening their
hold on her lower body.
Brooke forced herself to wait. She took another breath.
Andrew slowly shifted as he started to rise.
Now.
Before he could react, her arm shot out, fingers connecting with the
wood handle of the sharp kitchen knife. As he realized what she was
doing, Andrew let out a roar. But he wasn't fast enough. His arm came
4
up in a desperate attempt to shield himself just as Brooke stuck the blade
into his chest.
Chapter Two
Two Months Later
Serenade, North Carolina
"Here you go, folks. Two orders of fish and chips, side order of onion
rings and two iced teas," Brooke announced as she set the hot plates in
front of the middle-aged couple sitting in her booth. She placed their
drinks on a pair of bright red coasters, then smiled and hurried back
toward the pick-up counter of the diner.
The smile faded the moment she was no longer facing the patrons. It was
getting harder and harder to keep up the pleasant expression. Especially
now that she knew she had to run again.
But oh, how she wanted to stay. When her car had broken down on the
outskirts of Serenade, North Carolina, she'd planned to ditch the vehicle,
hop a bus and continue her journey south. But those plans had changed
once she'd gotten a good look at her surroundings.
Serenade was the most beautiful little town she'd ever seen. Nestled at
the base of the mountains, it boasted lush forests, clear blue lakes and
spectacular views. Not to mention a quaint Main Street, picture-perfect
houses and the friendliest residents she'd ever encountered. It was the
5
kind of place you wanted to call home. The kind of place where folks
said hi to you on the street, where children raced by on their bicycles,
where the sun was always shining.
For the first couple of weeks, Brooke had kept a low profile, refusing to
meet anyone's eyes, or utter more than a few sentences to anyone she
met. But soon she'd gotten caught up in Serenade's spell, infected by the
genuine goodness of the people who lived here.
Now she had this waitressing job at Martha's diner, a small cabin she
was renting on the McCarthy property. She even had a few friends. In
Baltimore she'd had zero friends—Andrew had made sure of that. God,
she wanted to stay.
"What are you still doing here?" Martha had just waltzed out of the
kitchen and spotted Brooke behind the counter. "Your shift ended an
hour ago."
"I know." Brooke shrugged. "Didn't feel like going home yet."
Martha grinned. "Is McCarthy giving you trouble?"
She shook her head. "Evan is a perfect gentleman."
A perfect, gorgeous gentleman, she almost added.
Martha was evidently a mind reader, because the grin widened, causing
the wrinkles around her mouth to stretch. "Handsome, too," the older
woman continued. "And quite smitten with you."
To her embarrassment, Brooke felt herself blushing. Smitten? No, Evan
McCarthy wasn't smitten. Definitely interested, though, which was why
she was determined to keep her distance. Evan might be renting her a
cabin—and letting her pay for it in cash, to boot—but she couldn't let
that man's dimples and sexy gray eyes affect her.
She was still a married woman, after all.
6
She clenched her teeth at the memory of her husband. A part of her
wished Andrew had died in the kitchen that night after she'd stabbed
him. But she was no murderer, and she hadn't been trying to kill him,
only incapacitate him so she could flee to safety. And she'd succeeded—
with the fleeing part, anyway. But safe? Oh, no. The news she'd received
this morning made it clear that she would never be safe, not if Andrew
had anything to say about it.
"Evan is handsome," Brooke said, relenting. "But I'm still not
interested."
Martha's brown eyes softened. "You can't grieve for your late husband
forever, honey."
Can't run from him forever, either….
Swallowing, Brooke untied the red apron around her waist and handed it
to her boss. Martha might have saved her ass by giving her this job, but
that didn't mean Brooke was about to confide in the woman. She
planned on remaining the mysterious widow who'd drifted into town one
summer morning. Not just for her own protection, but for that of those
around her. Who knew what Andrew would do to the people who were
unwittingly helping Brooke hide from him?
"I think I'll go home after all," she said, edging away from the counter.
"I've got some reading to catch up on."
With a quick goodbye, she bounded out of the diner, feeling Martha's
perplexed gaze burning into her back.
Outside, Brooke inhaled the late afternoon air, then took off walking.
Her car had been towed to a shop, but she'd told the owner to take it to a
junkyard. She didn't have the money to get it fixed, and she couldn't risk
selling it because her husband's name was on the ownership. Her license
and credit cards were hidden in her cabin in case she needed them, but
7
she knew Andrew could track her if she used her real identity. She was
no longer Brooke Tanner—she went by Brooke Talbot now.
When she was a few blocks from the heart of town, she drifted into a
small park and sank onto a wrought-iron bench, then reached into her
pocket for the paper she'd tucked there. Swallowing, she unfolded the
sheet and read it again. It was an article from the online edition of the
Baltimore Times that she'd printed out at Serenade's public library.
She stared at the paper and saw her own face staring back at her. Along
with Andrew's.
Her pulse sped up as key words popped out at her. Mentally unstable…
A danger to others… If anyone has seen my wife… Hotline…
The headline was the worst of all.
Police Captain Searches for Wife After Brutal Attack.
Chapter Three
Evan McCarthy was having a beer on his porch when his new tenant
strolled up the dusty path. His pulse kicked up a notch, the way it always
did when Brooke Talbot was around. He didn't know what it was about
the woman, but she never failed to elicit this strange wave of desire
inside him.
And she wasn't even his type, damn it. She was too skinny, her breasts
too small. Her chin-length brown hair was too short—hardly anything
there to run his fingers through. Her features were more interesting than
beautiful, and sure, she had flawless creamy skin and great eyes, moss-
8
green surrounded by sooty black eyelashes. But she was as skittish as a
mouse. More secretive than a CIA agent. Pricklier than a thorn bush.
Yet her mere proximity drove him wild.
"Hey," he called as she came near. He held up his beer bottle. "Want to
join me for a beer?"
Brooke shook her head. No surprise there. She seemed to be making a
conscious effort to avoid him.
"Come on," he coaxed. "You just walked all the way here in this heat.
Have a cold one."
He had no idea why he was pushing her. Truth was, he was in no
position to get involved with anyone. His life was a mess, had been for
six months now, ever since his business partner took off with all the
money in their account. Evan was still cursing himself for trusting that
scumbag Scott Wiley. The two of them had formed their adventure tour
operation out of college, and back then, Evan had needed Scott—and
Scott's cash. But Evan had gotten a bad vibe about the guy from the get-
go, and it was now painfully clear that he should have heeded his
instincts.
Instead, he'd ignored the warning bells, too eager to get the business off
the ground, and the results hadn't been pretty—the IRS coming after him
for back taxes that Scott had neglected to pay when he'd been handling
the books, and now the FBI sniffing around, suspecting him of tax fraud.
It'll be all right. You'll fix this.
He clung to the reassuring thought, refusing to consider the alternative.
He had enough to pay the mortgage on this property for at least six
months, and more money would come in once he finished out the
summer season. And there was the cash he got from renting out the
cabin to Brooke. When he'd met her at the diner two months ago and
9
heard she was looking for a place to live, he'd realized that having her as
a tenant would solve both of their problems.
But now that she was living there, he was experiencing a different sort
of problem. A hot, uncomfortable one.
He didn't miss the way Brooke's gaze darted toward the small A-frame
cabin that stood a couple hundred yards away, then back at him. He
watched as she bit her bottom lip, as those incredible green eyes filled
with dismay.
And then she walked toward the porch.
Evan blinked. Okay, now he was surprised. He was so accustomed to his
tenant shooting down every invitation that he had no idea what to do
now that she'd finally accepted one.
As she climbed the rickety wooden steps, Evan reached into the cooler at
his feet and pulled out a beer bottle. He offered it to Brooke, who
reached out, grasped the bottle and unscrewed the cap. She leaned
against the wood railing ringing the wraparound porch and eyed him
warily. "Thanks," she murmured.
"No problem." He swallowed to ease his dry mouth. "How was work?"
"Busy." She shrugged. "Martha said the tourist rush lasts until the fall."
"Yeah, summer's pretty busy around here."
"What do you do in the winter, then? I can't imagine there's a big
demand for adventure tours in the snow."
"You'd be surprised," he answered. "I've got a dozen bookings already. I
usually take groups up the mountain for winter expeditions.
Snowmobiling, skiing, climbing. For me, business is booming year-
round."
10
And hopefully it stayed that way. Otherwise he was unbelievably
screwed.
"You should come with me one of these days," he found himself saying.
"Do you like white-water rafting? There are some pretty decent rapids
around here." When she just shrugged, he said, "Skiing then. Do you
ski?"
Her expression grew shuttered. "I'm not big on the outdoors."
Evan smothered a sigh. "What are you big on, then?"
She gave another shrug.
"I'm serious, Brooke, what do you do for fun? You've been here for two
months, and I still don't know a thing about you."
"There's not much to know. I'm pretty boring actually." Before he could
press her, she set her half-finished bottle on the railing and edged toward
the porch steps. "I've gotta go. Thanks for the beer."
Evan opened his mouth to protest but she was already gone, dashing off
the porch and practically running toward her small cabin.
The sigh he'd been holding slipped out. "Who are you, Brooke Talbot?"
he muttered to himself.
The muffled sound of the cabin door slamming met his ears. It should
have been discouraging, but all it did was harden his resolve.
Lord, what was the matter with him? From day one, his head had been
shouting at him to let it go, to stay away from Brooke and focus on
warding off bankruptcy. And yet his gut kept urging him to get to the
bottom of it, find out what was troubling the woman. Those haunting
green eyes of hers triggered some sort of weird emotional reaction inside
him. Every time he looked at her, he felt the need to protect her.
11
Protect her? Damn, he couldn't even protect himself these days.
Still, he'd been fighting this ridiculous inner battle for days—stay away,
get close. But he couldn't stop thinking about her. He was growing
incredibly tired of obsessing over this mysterious woman who refused to
provide him with a single detail about herself.
Maybe the beer was messing with his head. Or maybe he just needed a
distraction, a way to take his mind off the perilous position his business
was currently in.
Either way, he planned on getting some answers from Brooke. Tonight.
Chapter Four
Evan McCarthy was too gorgeous for his own good. Brooke's heart
thumped wildly as she stepped into her cabin and shut the door behind
her. She wished she weren't so attracted to that man. But how could she
not be? With that messy sandy-blond hair, sexy gray eyes and lean,
muscular body, Evan was a walking fantasy. Athletic, outdoorsy,
easygoing. Everything about him teased her senses—his looks, his raspy
baritone voice, his clean, earthy scent.
She shouldn't have had that beer with him. Should have continued to
keep her distance. But the need to get out of her own head, even for a
few minutes, had been too strong. She was tired of being scared and
paranoid, tired of looking over her shoulder and pretending to be
someone else.
With a sigh, she put Evan out of her mind and kicked off her sandals.
The cabin she was renting was small, consisting of a cramped living
room, a miniscule kitchen and a bedroom with a private bath. It wasn't
much to look at, either—weathered hardwood floors, shabby furniture.
12
But it was clean and cozy, and the property was surrounded by
wilderness, providing a perfect place to lie low.
But for how long?
She chewed the inside of her cheek as she headed for the bathroom to
draw a bath. How long could she keep running? She'd hoped that
Andrew would simply give up and file for divorce after she left, but the
article in the Baltimore paper told her that her husband would not rest
until he got her back.
Sinking into the tub, Brooke let the hot water soothe her aching muscles,
but it did nothing to ease her weary mind. She couldn't hide forever. She
knew that.
"A lawyer," she mumbled to herself.
So she could file for divorce like she had planned originally? As if
Andrew would ever let that happen. He'd see her dead first. He'd already
given proof of that.
"A new identity," she mused.
Right, because procuring one of those was so easy. And with what
money?
"Suicide?" she asked herself.
A hysterical laugh bubbled in the back of her throat. No, that wouldn't
happen, either. She valued her own life far too much to end it. But
Andrew would end her life for her if she didn't figure out a plan. But
what the hell could she do? Andrew Tanner was a respected police
captain. He'd won medals for bravery. His staff kissed the ground he
walked on. The people he protected worshipped him. Nobody would
believe her if she tried to tell them that their hero was an emotionally
abusive bastard. That he'd beat up his wife when she'd told him she
wanted to leave him.
13
Besides, Andrew would never let the truth come out. He was too proud,
too arrogant. He wanted the perfect wife, the perfect house, the perfect
life. And he'd told her numerous times what he would do to her if she
left—kill her, or have her committed.
Sighing, she shifted in the bathtub, just as a faint knock sounded from
the front door. Wrinkling her brow, Brooke got out of the now lukewarm
tub, dripping water all over the floor. She grabbed a terry-cloth robe,
slipped into it, and headed out to the hall.
Wary, she walked to the window and peeked out from behind the
curtains. Her wariness faded into relief when she saw Evan on the porch,
wearing faded jeans and a white T-shirt that clung to the rippled muscles
on his chest.
The relief promptly turned to unease as she opened the door. "Wh-What
are you doing here?" she stammered.
"I ordered us a pizza." He slanted his head. "You like pizza, right? I've
seen the delivery guy walk up the path a few times."
"What…you… Why?"
"Why did I order a pizza?" He cast her a charming smile. "Because we're
having dinner together."
Chapter Five
Evan was always up for a good challenge. That was probably why he
made his living as a wilderness guide—the satisfaction of tackling a new
14
rapid, climbing a new mountain. Brooke Talbot, however, might be the
biggest test of all.
She stood there in her robe, staring at him as if he'd grown horns. "We're
having dinner?" she echoed.
Like it always did in Brooke's presence, his brain snapped into lecture
mode, telling him to scrap this foolish plan and get out of there, but he
forced himself to stay put and see his plan through.
"Yep." His eyes swept over her robe, resting on the droplets gathering at
her collarbone. "Why don't you get dressed," he suggested. "I'll just
make myself comfortable on the couch."
Brooke gaped at him as he brushed past her and entered the cabin. He
flopped down on the sofa and shot her an expectant look. "Go on," he
prompted.
She blinked. Then spun on her heel and headed for the bedroom. He
took her absence as an opportunity to glance around the room, and he
wasn't surprised to find that she hadn't done a thing to put her own
personal touch on the cabin. She'd only had one duffel bag when she'd
moved in, and in two months she evidently hadn't amassed any new
belongings.
When she stepped back into the main room a few minutes later, she
wore a pair of black leggings, a loose red tank top and a wary
expression.
"This isn't a good idea," she announced. "I like you, Evan, but I'm in no
place to get involved with anyone, even on a friend basis."
"Because you're still grieving for your late husband?"
"Yes."
15
"I don't think your husband would begrudge you a friend, Brooke. You
look like you need one. And God knows I do."
Indecision battled across her face, mingled in with a flicker of curiosity.
After a moment, she joined him on the couch, sitting all the way at the
other end. "Why do you need a friend? You seem like you have no cares
in the world."
He hadn't planned on confiding in Brooke. Coming here was supposed
to be about her, about figuring out why all his instincts started to hum
whenever she was around, why the need to help her refused to leave
him. And yet, when he opened his mouth, he found himself telling her
everything, giving her a play-by-play of all the ways his life sucked at
the moment—his bastard of a former partner, the IRS, the FBI, the threat
of bankruptcy—everything.
"I paid the taxes," he finished gruffly. "And the IRS is off my back now.
My lawyer convinced them that I had no idea what Scott was up to."
"Oh, Evan, I'm sorry," she murmured.
"Me, too." He shrugged, though it felt good to confide in her. "Well,
lesson learned. Always trust your instincts. I had a bad feeling about
Scott when we met in college, but I ignored my gut."
I'm not ignoring it now, he almost said, but held back the words. No
matter how much his brain told him to keep his distance from this
woman, the overwhelming urge to discover her secrets, to help her, was
too powerful to ignore.
But then the pizza guy knocked on the door, putting an end to the
conversation. Evan paid for the pizza and brought it over to the coffee
table, while Brooke grabbed some plates and napkins from the kitchen.
Then they settled back on the couch, munching on their respective slices.
"You've got sauce on your chin," he told her, grinning at the sight.
16
She swiped at her jaw with a napkin and missed.
"Here, let me." Leaning forward, he gently wiped her chin. Her sweet,
flowery smell reached his nose, making him inhale deeply, and his gaze
moved to her mouth, to those plump pink lips that always seemed to be
frowning or nibbled on by her teeth.
A current of electricity coursed through him. For the first time since
they'd met, Brooke's shielded expression melted, revealing a glimmer of
unmistakable heat.
She wanted him, too.
The realization sent his pulse into a gallop. He could kiss her. Just lean a
few inches closer and kiss her.
But he resisted the impulse. As much as he desired this woman, he'd
come here for answers. So he pulled back, his gaze still locked with
hers.
"What are you hiding from, Brooke?" he asked. "What's got you so
scared?"
Chapter Six
Brooke tried to control the rampant thudding of her heart. For a second
there, she'd thought Evan was actually going to kiss her. And her body,
traitor that it was, had actually responded. Her thighs were still
trembling, her palms damp and tingly.
But he hadn't kissed her, and the abrupt question he'd hurled at her
caught her off guard.
"I'm not scared," she lied.
17
Evan looked unconvinced as he dropped his half-eaten pizza slice on his
plate. "Whatever you say."
"I'm not. And I'm not hiding," she insisted.
"Then why won't you tell me a single detail about yourself? Where did
you come from, Brooke? Where did you live before you came to
Serenade?"
"Norfolk. I lived there with my husband. After he passed away, I needed
a change, so I got in the car and wound up here."
"You just got in the car and drove away," he repeated, looking
unconvinced. "That seems rather extreme."
He wasn't buying any of it. She could see it on his face. But that was the
story she'd told everyone else in town. She had to stick to it now.
"It was extreme," she admitted, "but I just had to get out of there.
Everywhere I went, everyone I saw, it reminded me of An— Andy."
She wasn't lying about that, and Evan must have sensed her distress,
because his gray eyes softened. "I think I believe you."
"There's no reason for you not to," she shot back.
"Okay. What else, then? Were you waitressing in Virginia, too?"
She shook her head. "No. No, I was a chef. I worked at one of the finest
restaurants in the city."
Until Andrew had forced her to quit… A couple of years into their
marriage, he'd decided that he didn't like her being away from home. She
suspected he didn't like her spending time with the mostly-male kitchen
staff.
"Sounds cool." Evan grinned. "Maybe you can cook for me sometimes. I
barely know how to turn on the stove."
18
Cook for him? As nice as it sounded, Brooke realized she had to stop
this before it got out of hand. Evan was gorgeous and attentive and
utterly sweet, but she couldn't lead him on. And she couldn't fool herself
into believing that they might have a future.
"Look, you're a great guy, Evan," she said softly. "But I'm not ready to
date. I'm not even in the frame of mind to maintain a friendship with
anyone. I appreciate everything you've done for me." She gestured to the
pizza box. "And I appreciate dinner. But…I think you should go now."
"Brooke—"
"I'm serious," she said, harsher than she'd intended. "You need to go."
Regret filled his eyes. "I see."
With stiff shoulders, Evan rose from the couch. Brooke stood up and
followed him to the door, refusing to look at his muscular chest, his taut
backside, his disappointed face.
"I'm sorry if I came on too strong," he said roughly. "I didn't mean to
overstep. It's just…you say you don't want a friend, but I think you need
one. If you change your mind, I'm here for you."
And then he was gone, his tall, athletic frame bounding across the
yellowed grass toward the main house.
Brooke forced herself not to watch him walk away. She closed the door,
then moved back to the couch on heavy legs. Her heart pounded as she
realized just how close she'd come to kissing Evan.
Oh, God. She had to control this attraction. Getting involved with
anyone was a bad idea. She was still married. She was lying about who
she was. And she needed to get out of town, now, before someone
stumbled across that newspaper article and informed her husband of her
whereabouts.
19
Because if Andrew found her, this troubling attraction to Evan
McCarthy would be the least of her worries.
Chapter Seven
Brooke showed up an hour early for her shift the next day, after pacing
the cabin all morning and trying to figure out a plan. The best she'd
come up with was hopping a bus and heading down to Florida, but she
knew she'd only encounter the same problems once she got there. A new
identity seemed like her best option, but that meant she needed to get her
hands on some cash. A lot of cash.
When she strode into the diner, a familiar female voice stopped her
before she could head for the back room. She turned and found Teresa
Donovan sitting in one of the red vinyl booths. Teresa grinned and
waved, beckoning for Brooke to join her.
After a moment of indecision, Brooke made her way to the booth. She
had an hour to kill, and no matter what anyone else in town thought of
Teresa, Brooke actually enjoyed the other woman's company.
"Hey, hon," Teresa said as Brooke slid into the seat across from her.
"Why so glum?"
Brooke forced a smile. "I'm not glum. Just not in the mood to work
today."
Teresa beamed. "Then call in sick. Let's drive to Raleigh and get our
nails done."
She had to laugh. "I can't call in sick. Everyone just saw me come in. I'm
sitting in my place of employment, healthy as a horse."
"Party pooper." Teresa punctuated her remark with a pout.
20
Another laugh slipped out. She knew most of the other townsfolk
despised Teresa Donovan, but Brooke had yet to figure out why. Teresa
might be a tad spoiled, and definitely arrogant, but her larger-than-life
attitude was contagious. She oozed confidence and spontaneity. And
she'd always treated Brooke with nothing but kindness and respect.
"How's Evan?" Teresa asked as she reached for her coffee cup. She took
a long swallow, then set down the mug. "As sexy as ever, I presume?"
Teresa's silver eyes twinkled, and Brooke wasn't sure whether to frown
or smile. Teresa's reputation around town was no secret. Brooke had
heard many rumors that Teresa slept around and had cheated on her ex-
husband, multimillionaire and real estate developer Cole Donovan.
Brooke hadn't felt comfortable asking Teresa about the rumors or
digging for details about the woman's marriage, but she suspected there
was more to it than everyone else believed.
"Evan is doing fine." Brooke bit her lip. "He came over for dinner last
night. I think he wanted it to be a date, but I set him straight."
Teresa narrowed her eyes. "Now why would you do that?"
"Because I'm not interested in him. I told you, I'm not over my husband.
I'm not ready to see anyone else."
The other woman seemed to ponder that, then broke out in a wide smile.
"I can't say I'm not pleased to hear that. I could try and convince you to
swoop Evan up, but I've had my sights set on him since the day he
moved to town."
A surprising arrow of jealousy pierced through Brooke's gut. She didn't
know why, but the thought of Evan and Teresa together made her
stomach clench. Focus, Brooke. You have bigger problems….
"One of these days he'll come around," Teresa was saying. "He insists
he's busy with his business, and I understand how important success is to
a man, so that's why I haven't pushed him."
21
Brooke looked up absently. "What?"
"You're not listening to me, are you?" Teresa's features creased with
concern as she clasped her hands together on the checkered tablecloth. "I
know something's wrong. I can see it on your face, Brooke."
"Nothing's wrong," she lied.
Teresa sighed. "You know, you can trust me. From the moment we met,
I saw the shadows in your eyes. Something has you scared, Brooke."
Scared. Evan had seen the same thing. Apparently she wasn't as skilled
at masking her emotions as she'd thought.
Teresa reached across the table and gripped Brooke's hand. "Trust me,"
she urged. "Let me help you."
Brooke swallowed.
When she didn't say a word, Teresa gently squeezed her hand. "Trust
goes both ways, huh?" the raven-haired beauty said with a sigh. "I want
to help you, but you need to let me in. So how about this? I'll go first. I'll
trust you with my secrets, if you'll trust me with yours."
Chapter Eight
Brooke was about to protest, but the vulnerability flickering in Teresa's
normally confident gaze threw her for a loop. She was unable to do
anything but lean back in the booth and listen.
"I know everyone in town thinks I'm some big slut," Teresa began, her
voice cracking on that last word. "And I guess maybe I am. It's true—I
do sleep around. I just… I get lonely, you know? Have you ever been
22
surrounded by people, yet felt so unbearably lonely that you just wanted
to lash out?"
"Yes," Brooke whispered. Oh, she knew what that felt like. Every dinner
party she'd gone to with Andrew, every law enforcement function and
parade and medal ceremony, her husband had been at her side, yet she'd
felt so completely alone she'd wanted to cry.
"That's how I felt all my life," Teresa confessed. Her eyes darkened to a
stormy gray. "My dad ran out on us when I was five, my mother was a
drunk, my older sister was overcome with bitterness and still is. And
then I met Cole, and I thought life would be different." She gave a
cheerless smile. "I had a husband, a man who claimed to love me, a man
who said I was the most important thing in his life. But he lied. Cole was
always gone, off on some business trip. He didn't spend any time with
me. We were newlyweds, and all he wanted to do was work."
Well, he couldn't become the president of a successful real estate empire
without hard work, Brooke almost pointed out. But she held back.
"I was bored. And lonely." Teresa swallowed. "And I cheated on him.
Call me heartless if you want, but I was weak. I just wanted someone to
love me, you know? I didn't want to be alone."
Teresa picked up her coffee cup. "So that's it, my sordid tale. You think
I'm confident, that I have everything? That's a lie. I'm still the same
insecure little girl who cried when her daddy left. I'm an adulteress, just
like everyone in Serenade thinks. And I'm lonely. Still so damn lonely."
Although she didn't agree with Teresa's decisions, Brooke couldn't help
but feel for the woman. If anyone had told Brooke that she would stab
her police captain husband and go on the run, she probably would have
laughed in their face. But it had happened. That decision might have
been a good one, or a very grave mistake, but she'd done it. And that
meant she couldn't judge Teresa Donovan, not unless she judged herself.
23
"It's your turn," Teresa said softly, still clutching Brooke's hand. "Tell
me what's got you so scared."
"I can't," Brooke whispered.
"You can. Look, I know this might not mean much, since we only met a
couple of months ago, but I'm your friend, Brooke. I'm here for you if
you need me." She paused. "And I can help you. Cole and I might be
divorced, but I've got half of his money. I've got his connections."
Brooke's resolve began to waver. It was no secret that the woman had
received a windfall from the divorce. Teresa did have money. A big pile
of it. And a new identity for Brooke wouldn't even make a dent in it.
But trust a stranger? A woman she'd only just met?
"Let me help you," Teresa said quietly.
Brooke clamped her teeth over her lower lip, torn. Then, as her hand
shook relentlessly, she reached into her purse and removed the
newspaper printout.
Without a word, she handed it to Teresa.
Chapter Nine
Brooke's chest felt a million times lighter as she emerged at the end of
the path leading to Evan's property. It was dark out, but the moon was
full, illuminating the grassy clearing. As she walked, she didn't even
notice the ache in her feet. Her shift at the diner had been a busy one, but
confiding in Teresa had been so liberating that she didn't even feel sore.
I can help you.
24
Those had been Teresa's parting words, and Brooke believed her. Teresa
had been so sympathetic when Brooke told her about her abusive
marriage. And Teresa had told her she knew someone who dealt in
documents, ordering Brooke not to do anything until she got back to her.
With a spring in her step, Brooke kept walking, her entire body
overcome with gratitude. Teresa Donovan had the money and resources
to get Brooke far away from Andrew, and that notion, that incredible
notion, flooded her with joy and relief.
As she neared the main house, she suddenly realized that Evan was out
on the porch again. Her eyes sought his in the moonlight. With a tired
smile, he lifted his beer bottle in an awkward toast, then broke the gaze.
Guilt moved through her chest. She remembered how harsh she'd been
with him last night, telling him they couldn't be friends, asking him to
leave. But she'd been so panicked after seeing that newspaper article,
terrified by the knowledge that Andrew would never stop looking for
her.
You should apologize.
Before she could question her own actions, she headed for Evan's porch
and climbed the steps.
"Hey," she said, fidgeting.
"Hey." His voice was husky. Deep and sexy. But there was a pained note
in it.
A flash of white caught her eye and she glanced down, spotting a
crumpled piece of paper on the cedar floor. "What's that?"
"A reminder that my life is still as messed up as ever." Noticing the way
her forehead wrinkled, he let out a sigh. "The FBI was kind enough to
inform me that I'm still a person of interest to them. They'll, and I quote,
'be keeping an eye on me and my business dealings.'"
25
Sympathy constricted her chest. "I'm sorry, Evan."
He took a long swallow of his beer. "Nothing to be sorry about. You
didn't send the letter."
"There is something for me to be sorry about," she burst out. "I feel
awful about yesterday. I didn't mean to be so rude."
"I understand." He shrugged. "I probably came on too strong."
"No, you didn't. I was just having a bad day." She hesitated. "It was
actually really sweet of you to buy me dinner."
After a second, his mouth curved. "I am a pretty sweet guy."
When she smiled back, Evan raised his eyebrows. "Was that a smile? I
think that's the first time I've ever seen you do that. I figured maybe your
facial muscles didn't work that way."
Now she laughed. His brows shot up higher.
"A laugh?" he said in mock incredulity. "Now I know something's
wrong."
"Nope, everything is right," she answered.
"Oh, really? What happened?"
I'm going to be free.
"I just…had a really good day."
Evan stood up and strode to the cooler by the door. "In that case, we
need to celebrate." He pulled out a bottle and held it out to her.
Brooke stared at it, then lifted her gaze to his handsome face. God, this
man was so hard to resist. Yesterday she'd acted like a total bitch to him,
and rather than holding a grudge, he was shooting her that lopsided grin
26
and handing her a beer, despite the fact that he was obviously upset
about that letter from the FBI. And the way he was looking at her… It
was as if he truly saw her. As if he viewed her as a woman rather than a
prop.
To her husband, that's all she'd ever been.
She wasn't sure if it was the massive dose of relief pumping through her
veins, or maybe the full moon made her lose her mind. But, rather than
twist open the beer, she set the bottle on the railing and took a step
closer to Evan.
His throat worked as he swallowed. "Brooke?"
She didn't answer. Simply moved closer, so that they were standing less
than a foot apart.
She moistened her lips and met his eyes. "This is probably the most
foolish thing I've ever done, but…"
Lifting both hands, she cupped his stubble-covered jaw and pulled his
head down for a kiss.
Chapter Ten
Evan's muscles turned to jelly as Brooke's soft, warm lips pressed
against his. The kiss caught him by total surprise, but his primal male
instincts knew exactly what to do. All coherent thought drained from his
mind—the letter from the FBI forgotten, his confusion about Brooke and
her secrets gone. His hands found their way down to her slender waist,
tugging her against him. Her small breasts collided with his chest,
sending a bolt of heat right through his T-shirt to sear his skin.
27
He had no idea what had come over her, but he wasn't about to
complain. Truth was, he needed this. Needed the welcome respite that
her mouth gave him.
He deepened the kiss and she parted her lips for him, welcoming his
tongue. As his pulse drummed in his ears, he explored her sweet mouth,
while his hands caressed the small of her back before drifting lower to
cup her firm behind.
Brooke whimpered as their tongues danced. She wrapped her arms
around his neck, rubbing her lower body against his, until he was harder
than granite.
"What's come over you?" he rasped against her lips.
"I don't know," she murmured back. She kissed him again. "It's just been
so long, so long since anyone has kissed me like this."
Her shaky words made him pull away. "Your husband…he didn't…you
two didn't kiss?"
Her dark green eyes, glazed only seconds before, sharpened into focus.
"No. I mean, yes. He did. We did." She was suddenly edging toward the
railing. "But he was sick for a long time. More than a year. He didn't
have the energy for anything by the end."
She was lying to him again. Damn it, it was always one step forward,
two steps back with this woman. Last night, her fear had been
unmistakable and it was still there tonight. She was struggling with
something. Running from something. He wished she would confide in
him.
"Let me take you on a date," Evan blurted out.
Her head jerked up. "What?"
28
"Let me take you out, Brooke. I know you said you weren't ready to get
involved, but this kiss confirmed that there's something between us. Or
that there could be." He stepped forward and grazed her cheek with his
fingers. "Trust me. Let me in and I promise you won't regret it."
She moved away from his touch, running a hand through her chin-length
hair. "I don't know, Evan."
"Yes, you do. You know you want to see what happens between us."
"Maybe if circumstances were different…maybe if…" She trailed off,
then cleared her throat. "I'm not who you think I am, Evan. A part of me
is…broken."
His heart squeezed in his chest, the forlorn note to her voice triggering
that spark of protectiveness again. Meeting her eyes, he slowly shook his
head. "You're not broken, Brooke. Maybe a little splintered, but the
pieces are there, ready to be put back together."
That seemed to startle her, prompting him to continue. "I see the strength
in you, Brooke."
"You do?" she whispered.
He nodded. "I can't imagine what you must have felt, losing your
husband, but it didn't break you. You're strong, and sooner or later,
you're going to realize that."
She seemed a bit dumbfounded, as if she couldn't believe what he was
saying.
"So what'll it hurt?" he said, his voice gruff. "One date won't kill either
one of us. Say yes."
She hesitated.
"What'll it be, Brooke—yes or no?"
29
He thought she would say no. He could see her lips forming the word.
But then her mouth opened and she said, "Yes."
Chapter Eleven
"You are the biggest idiot on the planet," Brooke chided herself as she
got dressed the following evening.
A date! What was she thinking? Why on earth had she said yes to Evan
McCarthy?
Because you like him.
Fine, so maybe she liked him, but that wasn't the reason she'd agreed to
the date. Deep down, she knew exactly why she'd said yes.
I see the strength in you, Brooke.
His words still floored her. Andrew had knocked her down so many
times she couldn't even remember what it felt like to be strong.
But…there was a time when she had been strong, when she'd relied on
that strength to survive the crappy hand she'd been dealt in life. She'd
thought she'd lost it for good, that the woman she'd once been had
disappeared during her years with Andrew.
But Evan saw that woman. He didn't see a Stepford wife, a woman he
could mold or toy with. He saw her.
And God, the way he'd touched her… The tenderness of his kiss, the
seductive swirl of his tongue. Every inch of his body had been hard, but
his lips had been soft, his hands so careful when he'd held her. She
wasn't used to that. Andrew had always been rough with her, right from
30
the start. Andrew's lips had been cold and unyielding. Andrew's touch
had made her feel scared, not safe.
Maybe kissing Evan had been a mistake, but from that one kiss, she'd
gained priceless knowledge. The realization that not every man in this
world was one she ought to fear.
Brooke clenched her fists and was surprised to find a cell phone in her
hand. When had she taken it out of the closet? She was only half-
dressed, the silky black shift she'd bought that afternoon resting on the
bed. While she'd been lost in thought, she must have somehow grabbed
the phone. As she stared at it, she suddenly realized what she had to do.
Lifting her chin, she headed back to the closet and rummaged around in
her duffel until she found the cell phone battery. She'd bought the
disposable phone after leaving Maryland. For emergencies, she'd told
herself. There was no GPS on it, but she'd removed the battery anyway,
just in case. Now, she slid the battery back in place, took a breath, and
dialed a number.
Andrew answered on the second ring.
Brooke exhaled. "Hi, Andrew."
Silence. Then "Brooke? Where the hell are you?"
"It doesn't matter where I am. All that matters is that I'm not coming
back." Her hand shook as she held the phone. "I want you to stop
looking for me."
Another beat, followed by a harsh laugh. "I don't give a rat's ass what
you want, you little bitch! Do you think you can just humiliate me,
attack me, and run away?"
"You attacked me first." Her throat burned. "And you've been attacking
me for years, maybe not with your fists, but abuse just the same. I'm not
31
coming back. I'll never come back. I'm just asking you to have the
decency to let me go."
He laughed again. "You're in no position to make demands. I've got
every cop in Baltimore looking for you. And I'm tracing this call as we
speak, so you've just made my job easier."
"You're not tracing anything," she said coolly. "It's seven o'clock on a
Friday. Which means you're at the gym. And I doubt you brought your
handy tracing equipment along on your workout."
Andrew didn't answer for a second and she knew she'd hit the mark. Of
course he'd gone to the gym. No way would her control-freak husband
alter his routine. He could preach to the media about the agonizing
search for his mentally ill wife, but she knew him better than they did.
Andrew sounded livid when he spoke again. "Get your ass home,
Brooke. I'm tired of these silly games."
"Just let me go." Desperation crept into her voice. "Let's end this
peacefully. I don't want to be with you, and I don't think you ever
wanted to be with me. So please, Andrew, let's end this."
"End it? I don't think so, bitch. This won't end until I have my hands
wrapped around your pretty little thro—"
She hung up the phone.
Chapter Twelve
"I think you've had enough," Evan said in a dry voice.
32
Across the booth, Brooke waved a careless hand, tossed her head back
and swallowed her fifth shot. Or maybe it was the sixth. Evan had lost
count. He'd also lost control of this date, obviously.
He'd known Brooke was upset the second she slid into his beat-up Jeep
Cherokee two hours ago. Not even the sight of her cute, short dress or
the red lipstick she'd carefully applied could hide her distress. She'd
chatted during the car ride to Sully's Bar, but he'd seen through that, too.
Something had rattled her, but for the life of him, he couldn't get her to
confide in him.
Now they were seated in a booth at the back of the dimly lit room, their
dinner plates had been carried away by the waitress, and Brooke was
proceeding to get blind-ass drunk.
Definitely not the first date he'd had in mind.
"My father never had enough," Brooke suddenly said.
Evan looked into her eyes and glimpsed the bitterness there. "He
drank?"
"Oh, yeah." Her jaw tensed. "And then he hit us. My mom and me. And
one day, he killed her."
He had no idea what to say. Shock had formed a vise around his throat.
And his heart squeezed so tight he thought it might burst.
"That's how I met my husband," she continued in a faraway voice. "He
was one of the cops who responded to my 911 call. He liked to remind
me how he saved me from my domestic troubles." She snorted.
"Domestic troubles—sounds so innocent, right? A drunken wife-beater
killed his wife in front of their teenage daughter. Isn't that more than
troubling?"
33
Evan was on his feet before she could go on. As his heart ached, he
helped Brooke up and wrapped his arm around her shoulder. "Come on,
let's get you home, sweetheart."
She looked ready to protest, but then her face collapsed, and Evan's heart
promptly cracked in two. "That's a good idea," she whispered.
He held her arm as they left the bar, leading her toward his car. After he
got her settled in the passenger seat, he rounded the Jeep—only to be
intercepted by Teresa Donovan, who'd just hopped out of a sleek
Mercedes.
Evan suppressed a groan. That woman was the last person he wanted to
see at the moment. The man-eater, he'd come to call her. Beautiful, yes.
But nasty.
"What's wrong with Brooke?" Teresa asked immediately, peering
through the windshield of his Cherokee.
"Brooke is…tired," Evan said evenly. "I'm going to drive her home."
Teresa tossed her long black hair over one shoulder, gray eyes twinkling.
"I have a better idea. Let's call her a cab and you and me can go in and
have a drink."
Chapter Thirteen
Evan hid his disgust when he noticed the seductive glimmer in Teresa's
eyes. "Thanks, but I'm gonna have to pass. I'm taking Brooke home."
Irritation etched into her beautiful features. "I can tell that she's drunk.
Let a taxi take her back and she'll sleep it off."
Evan headed for the driver's door. "Sorry, Teresa, but no."
34
Bloodred fingernails dug into the sleeve of his button-down. "Come on,
Evan," she said in a husky temptress voice. "How long are you going to
resist? You know there's something between us, we both feel it."
His restraint snapped like an elastic band. "Enough," he said angrily.
"How many times do I have to tell you I'm not interested?"
Her eyes flashed. "What, I'm not good enough for you?" she demanded.
Her gaze moved back to the car, back to Brooke. "You prefer that whiny
idiot with her flat chest and damsel-in-distress bullshit?"
Evan's shoulders went rigid. "Go back to your millionaire ex-husband,
Teresa. I've got enough problems already."
There was a deafening silence. And then she flounced off, her high heels
clacking against the pavement.
Evan released a calming breath as he watched her go. Damn. He
shouldn't have spoken to her like that, but Teresa always managed to
provoke him. He had no idea what a shrewd businessman like Cole
Donovan had ever seen in that woman.
And at the moment, he didn't care. He turned back to Brooke. Her
alcohol-induced confession had ripped him apart. He'd seen the shadows
in her face, but he'd never expected them to be that bad. That dark.
Swallowing hard, he slid into the driver's seat, then reached over the arm
divider and touched Brooke's silky-soft cheek. Her eyes were closed, but
he knew she wasn't sleeping.
"Was that Teresa?" she murmured without opening her eyes.
His jaw tensed. "Yeah."
"She sounded upset." Brooke made a move to unbuckle her seatbelt. "I
should go talk to—"
35
"What you should do is stay away from that woman," he cut in, stilling
her hand. "I know you think she's your friend, but she's not, Brooke.
That woman toys with people, uses them as pawns in whatever
manipulation game she's playing."
Her eyes opened, confused, but though she looked like she might argue,
she finally just sighed. And closed her eyes again. "Evan?"
"Yeah?"
"Do you think… Could you stay with me tonight? I'm scared to be
alone."
He stroked her cheek once more. "I'll stay," he said softly. And then he
started the car.
***
From the door of Sully's, Teresa watched Evan McCarthy's Jeep speed
away from the parking lot. Fury coursed through her blood, making her
hands shake and her pulse thud. How dare he talk to her like that? How
dare he? She'd been married to Cole Donovan, one of the richest men in
the country. She lived in a cliffside mansion that Cole had personally
designed for her. She had more money than Evan would know what to
do with.
Her body vibrated with anger as she remembered the way Evan had
looked at Brooke through the car window. His gaze had reflected such
tenderness, making it glaringly obvious that he cared deeply about
Brooke Talbot.
Brooke, who was on the run from her husband.
Just the memory of Brooke's sob story made Teresa want to roll her
eyes. What kind of woman let a man walk all over her like that? She'd
feigned sympathy during their heart-to-heart, all the while wanting to
36
laugh. If Teresa had been in Brooke's shoes, Andrew Tanner, police
captain or not, would have learned his place—and early on.
She'd only struck up this friendship with Brooke out of curiosity. She
always liked scoping out the new arrivals to Serenade, because really,
you never knew when you might need 'em. Within five minutes, she'd
pegged Brooke as dull and totally useless. Until she'd seen the way Evan
had looked at the woman one day in the diner. After that, getting close to
Brooke had been less about curiosity and more about the number one
tenet in Teresa's personal philosophy—keep your enemies close.
She'd wanted Evan McCarthy in her bed from the moment she'd laid
eyes on him, and it grated that he kept brushing her off at every
opportunity. His latest rebuff didn't annoy her as much as who he was
rebuffing her for. Evan needed a real woman, not a weak fool who
couldn't even keep her own husband on a leash. He needed someone like
Teresa.
Yet he'd chosen Brooke.
Time to take Brooke out of the equation.
A smile lifted the corner of her mouth. Yeah, it was definitely time to
wipe her hands of that boring twit.
Teresa reached into her purse and removed the article Brooke had given
her, then found her phone. Smile widening, she slid open the phone's
keyboard and punched in the number of Captain Andrew Tanner's silly
hotline.
Chapter Fourteen
By the time Brooke and Evan returned to her cabin, some of the alcohol
had left her bloodstream—leaving a rush of humiliation in its wake. She
37
watched as Evan unlocked the front door with the key she'd handed him,
wishing she could just disappear.
She couldn't believe she'd told him that stuff about her dad. About how
Andrew had "rescued" her. She should have cancelled the date the
moment Andrew had threatened her, damn it. But she'd needed to get out
of the cabin. And truth be told, she'd been looking forward to going out
with Evan, and she hadn't wanted to disappoint him.
"I'm sorry," she said quietly, following him into the living room. "I
didn't mean to spoil our date."
He led her to the couch and gestured for her to sit. "You didn't spoil
anything. I'm going to make us some coffee."
As she settled on the cushions and brought a plaid blanket up around
her, she listened to the sound of Evan puttering around in the small
kitchen. He strode back into the room a few minutes later and handed
her a steaming cup of coffee.
"Brooke…" His voice sounded rough, rusty. "I'm so sorry you had to go
through that."
She blew at the hot liquid to cool it, then took a slow sip. "It was a long
time ago," she finally said. "I survived."
Evan sipped his own drink before placing the cup down on the wooden
coffee table. "So your husband was a cop, huh? He sounds like a good
guy, for helping you through everything."
She was about to agree, but the words got stuck in her throat like a piece
of gum. She couldn't do it. Couldn't sing Andrew's praises anymore.
Their phone conversation had left her numb and empty. No matter how
far she ran, Andrew would keep looking for her, and one day…one day
he'd find her. Getting a new identity and starting her life over was a pipe
dream. She knew that now.
38
And sometime around her third or fourth vodka shot, she'd realized
exactly what she needed to do.
"Brooke?"
She turned her head to find Evan's gorgeous gray eyes searching her
face. "He wasn't a cop, Evan. He is a cop."
His forehead wrinkled. "What?"
"My husband is alive." A shaky breath exited her mouth. "He's been
alive this whole time."
"You're…you're still married?" Disbelief dripped from his voice.
For a second there she thought he would march right out the door, but
then his features relaxed and he let out a breath of his own. "Okay." He
sucked in some more air. "Okay, just start from the beginning. Tell me
everything, Brooke."
So she did. She told him about the way Andrew had swept in and helped
her put her life together after her father went to jail. How she'd married
him just out of college, despite the ten-year age difference. How she'd
stood by him as Andrew continued to get promoted, held his hand when
he'd been named captain of the department.
And then she moved on to the details of their marriage. Andrew's
possessiveness, his taunts about her childhood, his declaration that she
owed him everything for taking her away from it all. His demands of
perfection and insistence she quit her job just as she was starting to get
established. Then she described that fateful night, the night she'd told
Andrew she wanted a divorce, and Evan's lips twisted in a deep scowl.
When she told him about the beating, his hands curled into fists.
"So I ran," she finished. "I ran and I ended up here. I thought I would be
safe, that once I was gone, he'd cool off and eventually consent to the
39
divorce. But that's not going to happen." She inhaled slowly. "He'll see
me dead before he lets that happen."
Chapter Fifteen
Evan stared at Brooke's agonized face, then drew her into his arms. She
shuddered against him, and he felt moisture staining his neck. He let her
cry, stroking her silky hair, his chest aching at the feel of her thin, fragile
body clinging to him.
When she finally pulled back, a wry smile lifted her mouth. "Not what
you were expecting for the first date, huh?"
"Not at all," he confessed. But he wasn't angry. Only stunned. And a tad
apprehensive.
If what Brooke said was true, then the captain of the Baltimore police
department could bear down on them at any second. Her husband. The
word gave Evan pause, deepening his apprehension.
"What are you planning to do?" he asked.
"Go back." She sighed. "I realized tonight that he's never going to stop
looking for me. The only thing I can do is face him. I'll file a restraining
order if I need to—" She swallowed. "That is, if someone in the
department believes their hero boss actually attacked me. And I'll get the
divorce proceedings going."
Evan rubbed his jaw. "You said he'll commit you before agreeing to a
divorce."
"He doesn't have to agree on it." Her voice was stubborn. "I'll just have
to hire a really good lawyer, someone who can protect me."
I'll protect you.
40
He caught the words before they managed to slip out. Because really,
how could he protect this woman? He was barely coping with his own
problems. Andrew Tanner was an important man, and Brooke was his
wife. Lord, he'd gone on a date with a married woman. That was a first.
"I'd like to stay here for another couple of weeks, though," Brooke went
on. "I'd feel awful if I didn't give Martha two weeks' notice."
Evan faltered. He knew the correct response would be, of course you can
stay here. But those words refused to come out, too. Brooke had
admitted to stabbing her husband—what if there was a warrant out for
her arrest? He could be harboring a fugitive at this very moment.
A headache formed at his temples, making his head pound. If he let her
stay, he could be implicated in whatever crime those Baltimore cops
thought she'd committed. Whether she was being truthful or not, Evan
couldn't afford to get involved. He'd just avoided a stiff fine and
potential jail time after that crap with his former business partner. And
that infuriating letter from the FBI only reaffirmed the kind of trouble he
could be in if he didn't stay on the right side of the law. He needed to
remain squeaky-clean if he ever hoped to get his business back on track
and keep his house.
Guilt clamped around his throat as the selfish thoughts swarmed his
mind. Was it wrong, though, to be selfish? He'd only known Brooke
Talbot—Tanner, he corrected himself—for two months. And everything
she'd told him had been a lie.
But what he did know was that her rare smiles made his pulse race, that
she felt utterly right in his arms and that the day he'd met her, his first
thought had been, she's special.
Special enough to risk everything he'd worked so hard for? His very
freedom?
"I…don't think that's a good idea," Evan burst out.
41
Surprise flickered in her gaze. "What's not a good idea?"
"You staying here," he clarified. "I want to help you, Brooke, I truly do,
but I told you about all the trouble I've had, with the IRS, the Feds. I
can't get involved in this."
Her mouth fell open, then closed. Her surprise faded, transforming into a
cloud of hurt that brought another rush of guilt to his gut. But it was the
gentle understanding that did him in.
"You're right," she murmured. "I'm sorry, I didn't even think about what
this might mean for you."
"Brooke, I want you to know that—"
"No, don't explain. I'm not angry with you, Evan. I get it." With a sad
look, she reached out and touched his arm. "If I were in your shoes, I
wouldn't want me and my baggage around, either."
A lump rose in his throat. "Brooke—"
"It's okay," she insisted as she got to her feet. "Don't worry. I'll be out of
here tomorrow morning."
Chapter Sixteen
It took Brooke only twenty minutes to pack up her stuff. When she was
done, she picked up her duffel bag and headed out into the living room,
watching the morning sun stream in through the transparent curtains.
Her heart squeezed in her chest as she glanced around the space she'd
come to call home. She would miss it here. Not just the cabin, but
Serenade.
42
And Evan.
She honestly didn't blame him for not wanting to be involved in any of
this, but a part of her still wished he hadn't turned her away. Last night
as he'd left the cabin with a sag in his broad shoulders, she'd almost
dashed after him, pleaded with him to rescue her.
But she knew it wasn't a fair request, and she also knew it was time to
stop turning to others to save her. After her mother's death and father's
imprisonment, she'd relied on Andrew far too much. She'd allowed him
to become her rock, her savior. And in the end, he'd destroyed
something inside of her. Her strength. The girl who'd dived in front of
her mother's body and dared her father to beat her instead had vanished
after she'd married Andrew. She'd replaced one abusive man with
another, and it was time she broke the cycle.
From now on, she fought her own battles.
A smile tugged on her mouth as a feeling of pure liberation flooded her
body. Screw it. Screw Andrew. She was going back to Baltimore to slay
her own dragons.
The sound of a car engine caught her attention, but she resisted the urge
to walk over to the window. Evan was probably coming home. She'd
seen his Cherokee speed off the property an hour ago. He hadn't come
over to say goodbye.
She didn't blame him for that, either. Why should he bid her farewell?
She'd lied to him from the moment they'd met, led him on, gone on a
date with him without telling him she was married. He ought to hate her.
Brooke wanted to hate herself, too, but it was hard, especially when she
didn't regret the time she'd spent with Evan. She'd never met anyone as
incredible as him. He'd welcomed her into his home and his life so
easily, even after his trust had already been betrayed by someone close
43
to him. He'd believed in her. And he'd made her laugh—she couldn't
remember the last time a real laugh had left her mouth.
If circumstances were different, she knew without a doubt that Evan
McCarthy would be a man she'd be proud to call her own.
Brooke slung the duffel over her shoulder, took one last look around,
then flung the front door open.
And found her husband standing in the doorway.
A scream flew out of her mouth at the same time her husband offered an
ugly smirk.
"Hey, honey. I'm home."
Chapter Seventeen
As a jolt of adrenaline sizzled through her veins, Brooke tried to slam
the door in Andrew's face. He immediately wedged one black boot in the
doorway, then pushed at the door with his palms. Brooke went flying
backwards, dropping her duffel bag on the floor as she tried to regain her
balance.
Andrew strode into the cabin and glanced around, wrinkling his nose.
"This is where you're living? It's no better than that dump I rescued you
from."
"What are you doing here?" she blurted out. "How did you find me?"
He smirked again. "A friend of yours called the hotline and told me
where to find you."
44
She gaped at him. A friend? But who—
"A lovely woman by the name of Teresa Donovan," Andrew went on,
practically beaming at her. "Not a fan of yours, I presume."
Teresa? But Teresa had promised to— Brooke suddenly had a foggy
memory of Teresa standing by Evan's car last night, fury in her eyes.
She'd been too drunk to listen to what they'd been saying, but now that
she thought about it, there had been definite tension between the two.
Enough tension to prompt her supposed friend to betray her? Had
everyone been right about Teresa? Was the woman as evil as this entire
town claimed?
Shoving aside the pointless thoughts, Brooke met her husband's eyes. "I
don't want to fight, okay? Just go back to Baltimore and wait to hear
from my lawyer."
"Your lawyer?" He chuckled. "I don't think so, Brooke. We're going
home together, as husband and wife. And trust me, you'll be amply
punished for what you did to me."
"What I did to you?" A wave of anger slammed into her. For the first
time in years, the sight of his face didn't frighten her. And his sheer
nerve made her want to stab him all over again. "Our marriage is over,
Andrew. I was foolish enough to marry you in the first place, but I'm not
the same girl you saved all those years ago. I refuse to put up with you
for even another second."
"You refuse? You refuse?" He laughed again, and took a step toward
her.
She took a step back. Her gaze darted around, searching for something
she could grab on to, a weapon she could use against him. But suddenly
he had her against the wall, and his large hands were going for her
throat.
45
Brooke gasped and tried to pry his hands off, but he only squeezed
harder. "I've had enough of this crap, you little bitch. You're coming
home with me. Now. And you're going to be the little obedient wife that
you've always been—or do I need to teach you another lesson?"
"No," she choked out.
"Yes," he corrected, a malevolent glimmer in his brown eyes.
"No."
With a sudden blast of strength, she slid out of his iron grip and brought
her knee up. Andrew squealed when she made contact with his groin.
As he doubled over in pain, Brooke unleashed her elbow against the
crown of his neck, then flew across the room and tore out the door.
Chapter Eighteen
Evan's chest was heavy as lead as he drove along Main Street. The
realization that Brooke was probably gone by now made his throat
tighten, but knowing that he was the one who'd turned her away hurt
even more.
For some reason, he couldn't dispel the feeling that he'd made a huge
mistake, despite the fact that his ever-practical brain was practically
applauding him for the decision to walk away. Brooke might very well
be a fugitive. She'd stabbed a man. Lied about everything. And hers was
a messy situation he couldn't be dragged into, not now, not when he
needed to stay out of trouble.
Logically, it all made sense. Yet from the moment he'd opened his eyes
this morning, his instincts had been screaming at him. Shrieking like
46
damn sirens. Telling him that Brooke was in grave danger and that he
had to help her.
His foot shook on the gas pedal, making it difficult to drive. He was on
his way to the Home Depot, trying to distract himself from this latest
mess by picking up supplies to build that shed he never got around to.
But that relentless humming in his body refused to subside.
Go to her.
Those three words repeated over and over again in his mind. They
wouldn't stop, damn it.
He was halfway to the store when he finally couldn't stand it anymore.
He had to see if Brooke was all right. He had to. Maybe she hadn't left
yet. Maybe he still had the chance to make things right.
At the thought, he pressed down on the gas pedal. He did a quick U-turn,
then sped out of town, breaking every rule in the DMV handbook as he
hightailed it home. The frantic tugging at his gut only got worse when he
reached the end of his driveway and spotted the unfamiliar vehicle
parked in front of Brooke's cabin. It was the latest BMW on the market,
sleek and black—with Maryland plates.
Oh, crap.
Evan threw open the driver's door and practically hurled himself out of
the car, panic rising in his body as he hurried toward the cabin. When he
found the front door ajar, his heart sank to the pit of his stomach. A
black duffel bag sat on the floor, but there was no sign of Brooke. Or her
husband.
As Evan headed back to the porch, he pulled his cell phone out of his
pocket and dialed the number for the sheriff's department. In a hurry, he
explained the situation to the deputy who answered and frantically
demanded she send the sheriff. Then he hung up and took a breath,
looking around the yard. If Brooke and Tanner had headed for the road,
47
he would have seen them driving in. Which left the woods bordering the
west side of the property. Brooke must have made a run for it.
And Andrew Tanner had run after her.
Ignoring the panic pummeling into him like fists, Evan sprinted toward
the trees, his steps quick and sure. He knew this forest like the back of
his hand. Every tree, every rock, every clump of dirt. Shoving branches
out of the way, he ran deeper into the forest, his heart beating a million
times a second.
Lord, he had to find her. From everything Brooke had told him, Andrew
Tanner sounded like a total psychopath. A vicious maniac hiding behind
a badge. And a gun.
Evan's pulse kicked up another notch. He came to a halt and searched
the trees, but the woods were quiet. Too quiet. Sucking in a breath, he
forced himself to calm down, to examine his surroundings.
His gaze moved back and forth, studying, seeking… There. The leaves
to his left looked disturbed. He stepped closer, glimpsed a partial
footprint in the dirt and knew he was on the right track. He kept running.
A scream broke through the silence.
With a burst of energy, Evan emerged into a grassy clearing, then
skidded to a stop. Ten feet away, Brooke was lying flat on her back, her
face paler than snow. There was a man on top of her, a man with dark
hair and wild eyes.
And a pair of strong hands that were choking the life right out of
Brooke.
48
Chapter Nineteen
It all happened so fast. One second Brooke's vision was nothing but
black spots and hazy stars, and then she was gasping for air, drawing
much-needed oxygen into her burning lungs. Andrew was gone. Where
was he? Why was she hearing shouting?
She remembered running into the woods. She remembered Andrew
chasing her, knocking her to the hard ground. And then a wave of agony
streaking through her arm. The pain returned now, making her entire
body throb with pain. He'd broken her left arm, and then he'd gone for
her throat and her consciousness had blinked and began to recede.
But then…
As the oxygen kick-started her lungs, Brooke snapped into a state of
alertness, sitting up in time to see two men tumble to the ground in a
blur of fists and legs. Evan! She glimpsed his sandy-blond hair, heard
his deep voice as her husband went on the attack.
Brooke stumbled to her feet and dove toward the men. Andrew was on
top now, landing a nasty punch to Evan's jaw. Brooke saw the blood
pouring from Evan's nose and her heart thumped in fear. Ignoring the
pain shooting up and down her useless arm, she bent to grab a jagged
brown rock from the dirt, then staggered forward.
Andrew was shouting, "This is none of your business, you stupid little
assh—"
Her husband's words died as the rock crashed down on the back of his
head. The blow sent him into unconsciousness and he fell onto Evan's
chest, out like a light.
There was a deafening silence, and then Brooke was on her knees. "Are
you okay?" she burst out, helping Evan move out from under Andrew's
body. "Oh, God. Did I kill him?"
49
Wiping his bloody nose with his sleeve, Evan placed his other hand on
Andrew's throat and checked for a pulse. "No. He's alive."
With a groan, Evan got to his feet, pulling her up with him. "Are you
okay?" he asked in an urgent tone.
She cradled her arm to her chest. "He broke my arm." Her throat closed.
"He tried to kill me. God, Evan, if you hadn't showed up when you
did…"
The next thing she knew, she was in his arms, and he was stroking her
back with his big, warm hands. "It's all right," he said softly. "You're all
right now."
He pulled back slightly, remorse clouding his gray eyes. "I'm so sorry,
Brooke. I should have never asked you to leave."
Tears stung her eyes. "I'm sorry I put you in that position to begin with. I
should have told you the truth from the start."
"I knew the truth, Brooke. Well, I didn't know it, but I felt it." His breath
came out in sharp pants. "From the day we met, my gut told me I needed
to protect you."
A lump rose in her throat. "And you did."
His features creased with remorse. "I was almost too late."
"You got here just in time," she said softly.
He looked ready to argue, but a shout from behind put an end to the
conversation. Brooke turned to see Sheriff Patrick Finnegan burst into
the clearing, holding a gun in his hands. Two deputies in olive-green
uniforms tailed him, and the duo immediately hurried toward Andrew
Tanner's unconscious frame.
50
"What happened?" Finnegan demanded, his vivid blue eyes fixed on her
and Evan.
In a calm voice, betrayed by only a few wobbles, Brooke told the sheriff
everything. When she finished, he glanced at her husband's body, then at
Evan.
"You saw him strangling her?" Finnegan's voice was gruff.
Evan nodded. "He would have killed Brooke if I hadn't stopped him."
Finnegan nodded. "Anna," he called to the female deputy. "Try to wake
up the good captain. And then cuff him."
Relief flooded every inch of Brooke's body. "You're going to arrest
him?" she breathed.
The sheriff shot her a hard look. "Police captain or not, he'll be charged
with attempted murder. Don't you worry, Mrs. Tanner, he's going away
for a long time. That son of a bitch will never trouble you again."
Chapter Twenty
Evan kept a few feet of distance between him and Brooke as they
walked out of the emergency room. A white cast encased Brooke's left
arm, and her face was as pale as the plaster. He wanted desperately to
yank her into his arms again and never let her go, but the lingering guilt
moving through his blood stopped him. He still couldn't erase the
memory of Andrew Tanner's hands on Brooke's throat. He'd almost lost
her.
Not that he'd ever had her. Tanner was sitting in a jail cell at the
Serenade Police Station, which meant Brooke was free to go home to
Baltimore if she chose to. Both she and Evan would have to testify at
51
that bastard's trial—and there would be a trial. Patrick Finnegan would
make sure of that, and Evan had always respected and trusted the serious
sheriff. When Finn set his mind on something, he damn well made it
happen.
But Evan had more pressing matters to think about. He opened the
passenger door for Brooke then walked around and slid in beside her.
"Thanks for taking me to the hospital," she said quietly. Then she
laughed. "Actually, thanks for saving my life."
He swallowed hard. "Brooke, I know I said it already, but I have to say it
again. I'm sorry for the way I handled everything. I should have never—
"
"Hey." The fingers of her right hand were warm as she reached out to
stroke his cheek. "I think we've apologized enough. We both messed up,
but it's over now. Andrew can't hurt me anymore."
When he gazed into her dark green eyes, he saw nothing but serenity
reflected back at him. Along with a tiny glimmer of amusement.
"What?" he said thickly. "What are you thinking about?"
She ran her hand through her short brown hair and smiled. "I was
thinking you still owe me a date."
Evan raised his eyebrows. "That's rather presumptuous, don't you
think?"
The humor in her eyes dissolved. "Oh. You're right. That's probably a
dumb idea. I'm not even divorced yet, and I caused you so much trouble
already—"
He cut her off with a kiss. The second his mouth brushed over hers, that
same strange feeling he'd had the first day they'd met returned with full
force. She's special. Funny, how his heart had known all along, just as
his intuition had. And this time he'd listened to both.
52
If he'd just kept driving to the hardware store, if he'd ignored that
overwhelming need to get to Brooke, she wouldn't be here right now.
The thought, terrifying as it was, brought a rush of satisfaction. He'd
done good today. He'd followed his heart and his instincts and they had
led him here. To Brooke.
Pulling back, Brooke let out a sigh. "I mean it, Evan. I'm sorry for
involving you in all this."
Leaning back, he traced the curve of her jaw with one finger. "I thought
we were done apologizing." He smiled faintly. "And I think it's the other
way around. You owe me a date. I wasn't the one who got plastered,
remember?"
Her voice was dry. "I never could hold my liquor." She paused, then
sought out his gaze. "Do you mean it? You still want me around, despite
everything?"
"I've wanted you around from the second I met you." His fingers moved
to her mouth, teasing the seam of her lips. "I want to get to know you. I
want to get to know the real Brooke, the one who used to be a chef and
had the guts to stand up to the man who terrorized her."
She swallowed. "You do?"
"Stay in Serenade," he said gruffly. "Stay here, in the cabin, in the main
house if you'd like. Just stay so we can see this through."
Her green eyes darkened with pleasure. "I think that's the best idea I've
heard in a long time." She halted again. "By the way…I lied to you
before."
He arched a brow. "Another lie? I'm intrigued."
"When I said I wasn't big on the outdoors." She shot him a sheepish
look. "I love the outdoors. And I'm an advanced skier. Put me on any
black-diamond trail and I'll kick its ass."
53
Evan stared at her for a moment, then threw his head back and laughed.
So she was a top-notch cook and a black-diamond expert. "Why am I
not surprised?"
Smiling, she leaned closer and brushed her lips over his cheek. "Stick
with me, McCarthy, and I'll keep surprising you."
He turned his head so that their lips were inches away. "I look forward
to it."
THE END
