Cyndi sucked in a breath and tucked her necklace safely back below her collar. “He can't hurt you anymore,” she whispered, hoping that saying the words aloud would make them feel truer. The man was dead, and she couldn't bring herself to be sorry.

The room seemed to mock her with its pristine white decor. The only color was artful splashes of red, deemed “the latest thing” by the decorator her father had hired to do her room. Cyndi had always hated the room, but she hadn't been consulted. Her opinion hadn't mattered.

She had to get out of here. Her heart was pounding, her breathing was fast and shallow, and she was beginning to feel lightheaded. Turning from the dark reminders of her past, she fled, slamming the door behind her.

Pounding down the stairs, she tore open the front door and raced toward her car. She slid on the slick leaves and tried to catch herself. Her foot twisted and she threw out her hand to break her fall as she felt herself go down. She cried out, hitting the ground hard, and scraping her hand on some twigs and rocks. Breathing heavily, she lay there for a moment and assessed the situation. Nothing seemed broken or permanently damaged. Carefully, she rolled onto her knees, cradling her hand against her chest. It was bleeding, but the cut didn't seem to be too deep.

Pushing herself to her feet, she staggered to her car, her purse bumping against her hip. She yanked the door open and slid into the safe confines of her vehicle. Behind her, the house was lit up like a beacon. All the lights were on downstairs and she could even see the hall light from upstairs. The front door was gaping open.

"Great.” She rested her head against the steering wheel and took a deep breath, then another. Her heart was still racing, but she felt slightly better.

She jumped and struck her head, yelping in pain when her phone suddenly rang. Swearing, she grabbed her purse and rummaged around inside until she found it. “Hello."

"Are you all right?” The voice, no-nonsense and female, came across the line like a comforting caress. “Cyndi?"

"I'm fine, Aunt Verna.” She hesitated, knowing the other woman didn't believe her and would wait until she spilled her guts. “Okay, so I'm not fine."

"Where are you now?” She could hear the concern in her aunt's voice.

"I'm just outside the house.” She bit her bottom lip and stared at the light spilling out the front door. “I've already been inside."

"I can be there tomorrow."

Cyndi shook her head before she remembered that her aunt couldn't see her. She really was rattled. “No. I'm okay with this. It's something I have to do myself. You know that."

Her Aunt Verna sighed. “I know it, child, but that doesn't mean I have to like it."

"The room is the same,” she blurted out.

"What?"

"My room. It's exactly the same as the day I left. It's as if he just closed the door and left it that way.” She tapped her fingers against the steering wheel and jiggled her leg up and down. When she realized what she was doing, she made herself stop.

"That's just...” Her aunt's voice trailed off.

"Sick,” she offered.

Her aunt chuckled. “I always said your father was one demented bastard."

"I know, and this is just one more thing that proves it. I'm staying here.” Although her intention all along, saying it aloud, now that she was here, solidified it.

"You sure that's wise?"

"Maybe not, but it's what I have to do. I'll call you in the morning."

"Keep your phone close to you all night and call me if you need me."

Cyndi could feel her aunt's concern. “I will,” she promised. “Love you."

"I love you too, Cyndi. I might just come on up there in a week or so for a short vacation."

Cyndi laughed. “Give me a some time to get the place in order first."

"Okay,” the older woman replied. “But I won't wait long."

"I know.” Cyndi began to relax as she listened to the sound of her aunt's voice. Verna Mitchell had been married years ago, but her husband had died tragically in a car wreck only one short year later. They hadn't had any children and Verna had never remarried. She'd taken Cyndi under her wing, protecting and nurturing her as if she was her own child.

They chatted for another minute or so before Cyndi ended the call. Climbing back out of the car, she went around to the trunk. Her hand was stinging something fierce and she glanced down at it. It was definitely bleeding and she'd gotten blood on her sweater and her jeans. “Wonderful,” she muttered as she dragged her two suitcases out of the trunk. Picking up the first one, she hauled it to the front door.

Ten minutes later, the last box was inside and she closed the door, sealing herself inside the house for the night.

Chapter Three

Shamus was in an upbeat mood as he strode into Jessie's the next morning. Usually, he grabbed a bite to eat at home or stopped by his sister Dani's place for breakfast. This morning, he'd awoken with a need to go to Jessie's—just in case Ms. Cyndi Marks decided to drop by.

She'd been on his mind most of the night. He'd tossed and turned for hours and, when he did sleep, she'd even invaded his dreams. It wasn't every day a beautiful, intriguing stranger came to Jamesville.

He said hello and nodded to a few early folks like himself who were all perched on the stools lining the counter, and slid into a booth in front of the window. His sister-in-law Shannon, who was Jessie's niece and worked at the diner, strolled toward him, coffee pot in hand, before he'd even finished sitting.

"Morning, Shamus. We don't usually see you here this time of day.” She smiled as she filled his coffee cup.

As she leaned in front of him, he dropped a quick kiss on her cheek. “Morning, Shannon. Woke up this morning and felt like something different."

She laughed, her long, reddish braid gleaming in the morning sunlight. He liked Shannon, a lot. She was a big reason why his brother Patrick had moved back to Jamesville. She also made Patrick a very happy man. Like his brother, she'd had her share of problems, but together, the two of them had worked things out and were building a life together. Now, they'd been married for a year.

"Jessie's in the kitchen whipping up batter for blueberry pancakes.” Her eyes twinkled as she tempted him.

"Sold.” He picked up his coffee and drank down a large swallow.

"Good enough. I'll tell her they're for you.” With a quick grin, Shannon was gone to attend to the other customers.

Shamus leaned back and stretched his legs out beneath the table. Jessie would put a little extra on his plate. She always did. Shamus had gotten to know Jessie really well a little more than a year ago. He'd stayed with Jessie when Shannon's ex-husband had been released from prison and was terrorizing her. They'd all been afraid that her crazy ex might target her family, which meant Jessie. Shamus had moved in to help protect the older woman, while Patrick had moved in with Shannon.

Things had been tense there for a while, but now, Patrick was back in Jamesville and had joined the local sheriff's office. Then two months ago, when Sheriff Tucker had retired, Patrick had taken over as sheriff of Jamesville.

It was good to have his brother back home again. They'd grown apart during the years Patrick had lived and worked in New York, but in the year he'd been back, they'd regained the closeness they'd shared as boys.

His sister Dani was still happily married to Burke Black after all these years. She loved being a mother and a wife, but had still found time to carve out a career for herself writing children's books. Over the years, she'd published more than a dozen.

Life was good. He had a family he loved and was close to, a job that challenged and satisfied him, and as of yesterday, he had a woman who had more than piqued his interest.

Shamus picked up his coffee and sipped, allowing the mellow liquid to flow down his throat. There was nothing quite like the first cup of coffee of the day. He needed the kick if he was going to get much work done today. He hadn't slept well last night. Dreams of a woman with tousled, brown hair and clear blue eyes had kept him tossing and turning for hours.

He groaned as his body responded. Within seconds, he had an erection and had to shift in his seat to get comfortable. He hadn't reacted this quickly to a woman since he was in his teens.

He'd had a series of dreams last night. The most vivid had started innocently enough. Much like yesterday, he'd stopped to help her with a flat tire.

"Trouble, ma'am?” He leaned in through the open window of her car, catching a glimpse of cleavage as she leaned forward to turn off the ignition. The tight, red sweater she was wearing accentuated her lush curves.

"Just a flat tire. I can handle it.” Her full lips were as red as her sweater, ripe for kissing.

"I figure you can handle just about anything."

She gave him a coy smile, tilting her head to one side. Her bangs fell over one eye and he had to fight the urge to push the lock of light brown hair away.

He cleared his throat. “I'll take care of this for you.” Hurrying around to the trunk, he got jack, tire iron, and spare and carried them all to the front of the car.

The car door opened and one long, stocking-clad leg came into view, quickly followed by another one. He swallowed hard, his jeans uncomfortably tight as the rest of her followed. Lord have mercy. He began to sweat as she shut the door with a bump of her hip and closed the gap between them. She was wearing a short, tight, black skirt made of some stretchy material that clung to her hips and thighs like a second skin.