she’d blinked to take in the rest of her surroundings, which appeared to be a cottage-like room, small but warm. A fire crackled in a fire place set into one wall.

There was a glass of water on the bedside table. She picked it up and sat up to take a drink without even thinking. Her mouth was so dry…

As soon as she sat up, Jack was there in the doorway. Annabelle swallowed the clear liquid as her mind raced and she stared at the man who stared back at her.

It had taken her a moment to remember what had happened, and hence, figure out where she now most likely was.

But when she did, she dropped the glass and it tumbled down the bed side to land and shatter on the hard wood below.

They’d been arguing for over an hour since. In the interim, Annabelle had managed to get out of bed and get dressed and now her black boots paced out an agitated distance on the polished wood planks in the cottage bedroom.

“You would never hurt me, Jack?” Annabelle asked then, her tone changing. “You would never hurt me? You mean… you would never lie to me or put me in mortal danger or jam a needle into my vein when I didn’t do what you wanted me to do?” She asked, her gaze narrowed, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Jack stopped what he was doing. She stared at his back.

“What about Teresa Anderson?” she asked, then.

He straightened. Annabelle continued, talking softly at his back. “Did you hurt her, Jack?”

Jack Thane slowly turned around. His blue eyes glittered in the fire light.

Annabelle swallowed again and went on, almost as if she couldn’t stop herself. “I remember, four years ago, when I took the job with Max… You tried to talk me out of it. Something about wasting my talents.” She stopped, blinked her eyes a few times, and licked her lips. “But it wasn’t that at all, was it?” she asked.

Jack took a very slow, very careful step forward. His expression was unreadable, his eyes burning holes through her soul. But she simply took a step back and continued.

“The truth was you didn’t want me working for Max because you never wanted me to find out that you’d killed my boss’s wife.”

“Bella, listen to me-”

“No,” she shook her head, and took another step back just as he took another toward her. “Not this time, Jack. Not a thing you can say in that beautiful voice of yours – not a single sentence you can mutter – except ‘I didn’t kill Teresa Anderson’ will work this time.” Annabelle found herself up against the door. On instinct, she felt for the knob behind her.

Jack stopped where he was and held very still. The tension in the air between them grew thick. Annabelle felt dizzy.

“You can’t say it, can you?”

A muscle ticked in Jack’s jaw. His posture was rigid, his expression hard. Annabelle had never seen such a look on his face. What was it? Pain? Fear? Anger? Resolution?

Whatever the look was, it was cold.

She shivered. Tears gathered in her eyes, un-welcome, but un-stoppable. “You drug me up? You keep secrets from me?” She shook her head and a tear streamed down her cheek. “I don’t even know you anymore.” She turned the knob behind her and Jack’s gaze narrowed. “I honestly don’t know if I ever did.”

She spun then and yanked the door open, shooting through it to run down the hall and into the den. Jack allowed her the head-start. His body could have stopped her immediately. If he’d wanted it so, she’d never have made it into the hall. But something in him hesitated. Some part of his mind paused, holding him back. For just a second. Enough time for her to make it out of arm’s reach and into the study, where Sam and Cassie were seated at the low wooden table, sharing a cup of tea.

Sam stood as Annabelle raced by him and toward the back door of the English cottage. Jack was hot on her heels.

Sam’s arm shot up, his hand grabbing Jack by the shoulder as the younger man made to brush past him.

“Let her go, Jack.”

“Get out of my way, Sam.” Jack growled through gritted teeth, turning a hard look on his old friend.

“Go after her now and you’ll end up pushing her further away.” Sam’s voice was low, his tone steady and meaningful. His words cut through the red haze of fear and anger surrounding Jack’s perception. He wondered at them. Sherry had told him, only a few hours ago, that letting it go too long would only make things worse. Who did he believe? The man who was his best friend or the woman he barely knew?

“I’ll go talk to her for you,” Sam finished, slowly lowering his arm.

Jack’s mind raced. His heart ached. He wanted nothing more, at that moment, than to go after Annabelle and hold her – shake her until she could only shut up and listen to what he had to say. Let him explain.

Memories assaulted him. Sam’s gray eyes may have filled Jack’s vision, but behind the iron doors of his consciousness, there was only darkness…

Darkness, and a convenience store and a wrist watch that read 11:24p.m.

From his vantage point across the street, he watched patrons pull in and out, filling up on gasoline and junk food and a numb, tired sort of late-night social interaction. It was his fourth night in this location, this exact same spot, carefully watching the building’s comings and goings. He’d learned the pattern by night two. And now it played out for him like a piece of music, each note struck in turn, a rhythm whose beat he’d carefully memorized.

And then, as his contact had promised, his mark arrived. Thursday evening – Right on time.

Jack’s gaze narrowed on the Toyota Forerunner as it pulled into the lot and parked. The driver got out.

Dr. Anderson was Jack’s mark. Dr. Teresa Anderson.

Upon sighting his mark, a shot of ice raced up Jack’s spine and settled, cold and unwelcome, at the base of his skull. His heart thudded hard against his rib cage. His palms began to sweat beneath his black leather gloves. Nausea roiled in his belly. It was an entirely unwelcome sensation, and one he’d never felt before.

His target looked up at the night sky, a puzzled expression on her pretty features. The street light she normally parked under was broken. Jack had seen to that.

His breathing became shallow. What’s wrong with me? He asked himself. You can do this. But, it was his first female assignment. And being faced with the living, breathing thing was much different from studying her two-dimensional photograph in a manila folder.

He glanced down at the gun on the seat beside him. It seemed to gaze back up at him, black and heavy and silent. Taunting.

He swallowed and looked back up at his mark. He’d been paid well. He had his orders. He’d never fouled an assignment before. Not once. He always got the job done, no questions asked.

He swore softly under his breath.

This time was different.

In a few minutes, Dr. Anderson came back out of the store and headed toward her vehicle. Jack picked up his gun and opened the driver’s side door.

Teresa Anderson glanced up at the sound of a car door opening. The parking lot across the street was awash in darkness. Long, deep shadows dominated the grounds, plunging parked cars into colorless obscurity.

She searched the darkness for the source of the sound. No movement caught her eye. A shiver raced through her, sudden and alarming. How did the wives tale go? When someone steps on your grave…

She turned back toward her car and broke into a brisk walk. The night air was hot and muggy. Sweat trickled down her back. Her air conditioner beckoned. She thought of home and the dinner that was probably waiting. Her son. She wondered how his game had gone. Absently, she wondered whether Max had remembered to take the camera.

Jack moved, silent and unseen, a black cat slipping through the darkness, until he was two car lengths away. And then he stopped, raising his gun. Two shots was the deal. One wounder, one killer. Take the purse and run. An unfortunate tragedy. A person in the wrong place at the wrong time. A mugging gone wrong.

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