Chapter 4

      Chloe curled up under the covers, her eyes sandy from lack of sleep. The room should have felt restful, for this was where she’d slept most of her teenage years—but too much had dramatically, tragically changed.

      Someone had murdered Jack, she was sure of it, but she had no proof. She’d tried talking to the police, but they couldn’t—or wouldn’t—help. They’d treated her like a kid too young for grown-up worries. It pushed every one of her buttons. Still, how could she blame the cops? All she had to go on was Jack’s character and the suspicious behavior of his buddies.

      In the dark quiet of the bedroom, she surrendered to pain and loss, letting the pillow muffle her sobs. She just couldn’t grasp the fact that she wouldn’t see Jack again. Ever. For as long as she drew breath. But it wasn’t just grief she felt. Hot, frustrated anger sliced along her raw nerves. She wanted to act, to avenge, but she didn’t know how.

      Chloe sniffed and rolled over, the sheets sticking to her hot skin. Outside the window, wind hissed through the trees, making a lullaby of the restless breeze. Chloe’s mind ticked on.

      Suspicion just wouldn’t stop clawing at her. She knew she was right to speak up, but other people reacted like she was a hysterical freak—even Sam Ralston. Once she’d asked him about Jack’s accident, it had been like talking to a wall, his handsome face wiped of expression.

      Oh, well. At least stone-faced was a change from broody or bossy, which seemed to be his other settings. Too bad he had a magnetism that turned her insides to pudding. Yeah, right. A broody, bossy blank wall with gobs of animal magnetism. Every girl’s dream.

      She had worked long enough in the marriage business to know what she wanted in a man: dependable, home-oriented, quiet and sensible. None of her family’s nasty competitive streak. An independent business owner or middle-ranking executive would be perfect. Solid, but not flashy.

      Chloe pulled the blanket under her chin. Someone who likes gardening and country fairs.

      Not Sam Ralston.

      She rolled over again and froze.

      What was that? It wasn’t a sound so much as the sense of the air being displaced. As if something had passed in absolute silence. Chloe held her breath, listening.

      The wind soughed outside. Almost beyond her range of hearing, she could hear the clock on the grand sweep of stairs chime half past midnight, and then the house was still once more. Logic said she’d been imagining things. There was no one there.

      And yet every nerve ending strained with apprehension. A bead of sweat trickled down the small of her back, making her shiver.

      She heard a faint exhalation of breath.

      Not her own.

      Someone’s in the room with me!

      Without moving a muscle, she scanned the darkness. The bedroom curtains were partially open, admitting just enough moonlight to separate one blob of furniture from the next. Opposite the foot of the bed, the wedding dress hung on the wardrobe door like a filmy ghost. She wasn’t about to leave the dress unattended, but having it near made her feel closer to Jack so she’d left it there for the night. She suddenly wondered if that had been a wise thing to do.

      Beside the tall wardrobe lurked a darker shape, and it was slowly moving. Like a stain, it crept across the white cloud of the dress, making the garment shift. The moonlight caught the crystal beads, making the bodice glitter with shards of cold light. Chloe heard the soft rustle of silk, and then the dress seemed to bob in the air.

      Someone was stealing it. Outrage sparked through her, followed by flat-out disbelief. She was right there, mere feet away! Why would anyone risk her catching them? And who knows I’ve got it?

      Aunt Mavis? Her hand snaked out from beneath the comforter, finding the switch of her bedside lamp.

      “Don’t.” The male voice was hard and cold and not one she recognized.

      The sneering tone made her more defiant than smart. Chloe swore under her breath and flicked the switch anyway.

      She felt the rush of air as the figure lunged across the room. The china lamp exploded as it hit the floor. Chloe yelped in surprise, instinctively rolling away to avoid the spray of shards. Rough hands grabbed her by the back of her nightgown, forcing her facedown on the mattress.

      “Don’t,” the voice repeated, the sneer turning to something more sinister.

      Chloe panted in fright, her face turned away from her attacker and pressed hard into the bed. He had her arms pinned behind her back at a painful angle.

      Let go of me! she screamed in her head, but somehow the words couldn’t find her tongue. She was paralyzed, the man’s hot breath stroking her skin as he chuckled, long and low.

      “Can I trust you not to move?” he said.

      It was then she felt the cold kiss of a gun muzzle against her spine. She sucked in a stuttering gasp. She felt his lips brush her ear. “I’d rather not shoot. I’d rather leave without attracting attention. Get it?”

      “Y-yes,” she whispered, feeling a hot sting as tears filled her eyes. She squeezed her eyelids tight, stifling a sob. She wanted to scream so badly, but her voice had abandoned her. She’d taken self-defense classes, but the gun trumped any tricks she knew. She’d never been so terrified in her life.

      She felt a sudden weight on her back as the thief straddled her, pinning her arms with his body and squeezing the air from her lungs. Her head was turned to the side, but it was still hard to breathe. Chloe struggled, gulping air that stank with her attacker’s sweat.

      She sensed him grabbing a pillow off the bed. A moment later, the cool cotton muffled her face,