ABOUT THE AUTHOR

      Lynnette Kent began writing her first romance in the fourth grade, about a ship’s stowaway who would fall in love with her captain, Christopher Columbus. Years of scribbling later, her husband suggested she write one of those “Harlequin romances” she loved to read. With his patience and the support of her two daughters, Lynnette realized her dream of being a published novelist. She now lives in North Carolina, where she divides her time between books—writing and reading—and the horses she adores. Feel free to contact Lynnette via her Web site, www.lynnette-kent.com.

      This book is dedicated to all the wonderful workers at

       Harlequin Books who type and copy and proofread pages, who design and illustrate covers, who run the machines that put pages together, who fill and ship boxes and perform countless other tasks I’m not even aware of…in other words, the people who see to it that my stories get into print. Thank you!

      Contents

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

      Chapter Eleven

      Chapter Twelve

      Chapter Thirteen

      Chapter Fourteen

      Chapter One

      Chris Hammond had never thought of himself as a stalker.

      But he needed to get another look at the face of the woman who’d entered the coffee shop just as he was leaving. They’d danced together on the threshold for a few seconds, trying to get out of each other’s way. He’d backed up, finally, and held the door open for her. With a quick smile and a “Happy Holidays,” she’d headed inside as Chris stepped out onto the sidewalk.

      Now he turned toward the wide front window to find her again. The service counter ran across the back of the room, so all he could see of his quarry was an auburn ponytail fanned over the back of a heavy gray coat appropriate for the subfreezing mountain weather.

      Maybe the hair had triggered his memory. A long time ago he’d known a girl with a mane in that same polished mahogany color, with the same extravagant curls. He’d been a kid then, but coming back to Ridgeville, North Carolina, had brought those days closer to the surface.

      That’s why he hadn’t been here in over a decade.

      Chris didn’t think the hair was the only resemblance, though. Something about her face had seemed familiar enough to stop his heartbeat for a second or two. He wanted to be sure he was wrong about recognizing those hazel eyes, the lightly freckled cheeks and pointed chin. Then he could finish grocery shopping for his granddad with a clear head.

      So he lingered in front of the adjacent hardware store next to the coffee shop, waiting for the woman and hoping like hell she wasn’t meeting a gaggle of friends for an hour’s gossip over coffee. He’d have frozen to death by then, despite his new down-filled jacket. His last assignment, in equatorial Africa, had left him with a poor tolerance for cold.

      Every time the bell on the shop door tinkled, he glanced that way from beneath the lowered brim of his baseball cap. Six times he was disappointed, but seven had always been his lucky number and proved so yet again—he saw the gray sleeve of her coat as she pushed the door open.

      He tipped his hat back, wanting to get a good look as she approached. The coffee place was the last business at this end of Main Street. Surely she would come his way.

      Instead, the woman walked straight to the curb, showing him only her profile. She checked both ways for traffic before stepping into the street, but he missed seeing her full face because that one glimpse of her tip-tilted nose and full lower lip had left him gasping for air, like he’d been sucker punched.

      Such a likeness couldn’t be an accident. What the hell was going on?

      Using instincts refined by ten years spent in war zones around the world, Chris followed her. Chaos had replaced logic in his brain. He knew only two things. One—dead people did not come back to life. He’d seen enough of them to be absolutely certain of that. So she couldn’t be the person he thought she was. But just in case…

      Two—he wouldn’t get a decent night’s sleep until he made damn sure he’d never met this woman before.

      WITH EVERY PASSING MINUTE, Jayne Thomas became more convinced. And concerned.

      She was being stalked.

      She’d noticed him first at Beautiful Beans, when she was going in as he came out. Well, what woman wouldn’t notice him? Big, but not in the least fat, graceful yet at the same time unquestionably male, with piercing blue eyes and light brown hair curling at his temples and the nape of his neck. A respectable stubble of beard shadowed his square chin and sensual