Amy gripped the gun in trembling fingers, crouched behind a downed tree. She knew that voice.

      It was Noah.

      Relief rushed through her, but hot on its heels was the realization that she couldn’t be certain she could trust him. Right now she wasn’t certain she could trust anyone.

      She bit her lip. Seeing her brother’s face on the TV, and then hearing the car out front, she’d fumbled with the remote before dropping it. There had only been time to grab the gun and run out the back door. No panic to cloud her thinking, which meant she was already outside running across the frozen grass of the lawn before she even thought to get shoes. Now that the adrenaline had dissipated she could think straight.

      Amy stood. She held the gun in front of her and gingerly wandered in his direction. “Noah?”

      Even if he meant to hurt her, she could shoot him. Right? Okay, probably not, given their history. She tried to act strong, but it wasn’t like she could actually get over the fear that liked to paralyze her. She’d thought her days of facing down her brother were over.

      Now all that had come rushing back with one word.

       Escaped.

      “Amy!” He trotted over as she made her way to him. The look of worry on his face helped. He scanned her, head to toe. “You ran outside with no coat, and no shoes?”

      Only then did she realize that under the sleeves of her shirt gooseflesh prickled her skin. She had a short-sleeved T-shirt on over a long-sleeved undershirt. That was something, at least. But with skinny jeans and wool socks, it wasn’t much protection against the frigid temperatures.

      “There was no time,” she argued. “I thought you were Jeremiah.” She would have left that spot where she’d been hiding and run deeper into the brush if it had been anyone but Noah. She didn’t even trust the marshal assigned to her case.

      His gaze softened further. “Let’s get you inside.”

      She nodded. Her socks were wet, making her toes numb. “I just put a pot of coffee on.”

      “We can turn it off before we leave.”

      She glanced over at him, slowing her pace. “I’m not leaving.” He wasn’t just here to brief her? She’d assumed he would hang out here until her brother was caught. Make sure nothing happened to her.

      Amy shivered at the idea that her brother might actually find her. Didn’t Witness Security—which most people knew as the witness protection program—have measures in place to keep that from happening? It was hard to believe that in a matter of hours after escaping from federal custody, her brother would be able to locate her and reach her doorstep.

      She didn’t want to ask, but had to. “Is there something I don’t know?”

      Noah said, “Let’s get inside. You’re shivering.”

      “I’m not all that worried about being cold, considering there’s a murderous maniac on the loose.” Even after all this time she didn’t like referring to her brother that way. But there was little point in refusing to accept reality.

      She stepped inside, and he shut the door behind them. “You have a bag ready?”

      “My ‘go’ bag?” That was for emergencies. “Is Jeremiah on his way here?”

      Noah lifted one shoulder. “The truth is we have no idea where he is. So the quicker you can get a coat, shoes and your bag, the faster we can get out of here. There’s a safe house set up.”

      “This was supposed to be my safe house.” She had to say it. Even though arguing was futile, she had to voice those things. Tiny flashes of defiance against everything Jeremiah had put her through.

      Yes, it had been her choice to testify against him. But it had been the right thing. Otherwise who knew what destruction he would’ve caused in the end? Or how many lives might have been lost.

      He’d told her he was trying to find a job so he could get on his feet, and properly support his son. She’d gotten him a cell phone on her plan so prospective employers could contact him. A few weeks later, when he hadn’t said anything to her about any interviews, she’d looked at his texts on her online account.

      That was when she’d discovered the truth. Jeremiah had been transporting drugs and guns for a cartel.

      It had broken her heart. What else could she have done when feds showed up at her doorstep except turn everything over to the FBI?

      Amy got clean socks and put a pair of boots on. She added a sweater, even though she was going to put her thick coat on. Gloves and a scarf. A hat. She’d gotten used to Colorado winters, and loved the chill in the air, but the cold set in fast no matter how “used to it” she was. Her “go” bag had a packet of those hand warmers in it, the ones she liked to slip inside her gloves when she went snowshoeing.

      “Ready?” Noah had two insulated tumblers out. He replaced the carafe and topped one tumbler up with cold water—he took his coffee black. Amy got her bag while he put milk in hers and screwed the lid on. He walked out of the kitchen. “No sense wasting good coffee.”

      He handed one tumbler to her, leaving one of his hands free. She shot him a look. “How do you know I don’t buy the cheap stuff?”

      They headed for the door, and she saw his shiver. “Don’t even joke about that.” Car keys jingled against the tumbler as he walked. At the front door, he waved her to the side. No smiles.

      She knew the drill.

      Noah pulled his weapon out. She’d stowed hers in her “go” bag just in case she was caught alone. In her experience, US Marshals tended to get mad when a protectee tried to help them do their job.

      He toed open the door and scanned. “It’s clear.”

      Amy felt the hairs on her neck flutter. She stepped outside, then glanced