Chapter Two

      Natalie was getting home from work at two o’clock in the afternoon rather than two o’clock in the morning. Only seven hours of work rather than fourteen. She smiled wryly as she put the key into the lock of the beach house door. Practically a vacation.

      And damn it, she was going to enjoy the beach. This house. Not let it make her feel panicked and trapped like last night. The sun was shining outside and she was going to revel in it. She’d fight the darkness tonight when it arrived.

      She dropped the smaller backpack, the one she took with her everywhere, on the ground inside the bedroom door and opened the larger one resting next to it. She hadn’t unpacked any of her clothes here at the beach house, but then again, she didn’t have anything unpacked even when she stayed in her apartment. She’d trained herself to be ready to leave at a moment’s notice.

      And if she was tempted even for a second to let her guard down, to unpack and get comfortable, all she had to do was stretch her arms out over her head and feel the ache in her shoulder from where Damien had dislocated it not once but twice during their marriage.

      Or go up on her tippy toes and feel that one ankle couldn’t support her because of how it had broken when she’d fallen down the stairs, courtesy of her husband’s shove.

      Burn marks on the inside of her arm. Scars from restraints on her wrists and ankles.

      And the fact that she still couldn’t stand the snow.

      Snow would haunt her until the day she died.

      She ripped off her cleaning uniform of khaki pants and solid navy polo shirt, threw them over the back of the couch and put on a tank top and shorts. Damn it, Damien wasn’t here. Couldn’t hurt her. There was no snow. There was only California sunshine and a view of the beautiful Pacific Ocean. He would not steal this from her like he’d stolen so much. She would sit out on the deck and do nothing.

      She was successful at that for all of ten minutes.

      The knock on the door had her bolting from her lazy sprawl in the hammock, her heart a hammer against her ribs. She looked at the front door, then at the stairs that led from the deck down to the street below. Should she run?

      Her backpack was still inside. If she ran, she would have to leave everything behind. Money. Clothes. It wasn’t much, but it was all she had.

      The knock came again as she fought to decide what to do.

      Damien wouldn’t knock. She calmed a little as the words flowed through her. If Damien had found her he would not be knocking politely at the door.

      This wasn’t even her house. Chances were it was someone for the owners. Easy to get rid of. She walked inside to the front door, collecting herself.

      As soon as she opened the door she knew she’d made a mistake.

      Everything about the Asian man and smaller blonde woman, both dressed in carefully cut suits, screamed federal agents. Natalie should’ve chosen to take the stairs at the deck, to get out while she could. Leaving behind everything would’ve been better.

      She forced herself to breathe at an even, normal pace. She eased the door more slightly closed, hoping if she needed to slam it and run she’d be able to.

      “Can I help you?”

      “Natalie?” The woman, four or five inches shorter than Natalie, with hair almost the same color blond, spoke.

      “I’m sorry,” Natalie said, avoiding the question. “This isn’t my house. I’m just house-sitting for a friend.”

      Oh, crap, Natalie realized she didn’t really know anything about the owners. She had their names written down somewhere on the instructions Olivia had given her, but didn’t remember them offhand.

      “But you’re Natalie, right?” the woman asked again softly. The man moved slightly closer to the woman, almost as if he was going to step in front of her to protect her if she needed it. Like Natalie was going to jump out at her kicking and clawing. That was the last thing he needed to worry about.

      She had to stay calm. “I think you have me confused with someone else. Like I said, this isn’t my house, but I promise I’m not here illegally.” She inched the door farther closed.

      The woman just reached down into her bag and pulled out a photograph, sticking it directly in front of Natalie’s face.

      Fear closed around her throat. It was a shot of her and Damien on their wedding day, smiling at one another. Natalie’s hair had been much longer, her cheeks fuller, her smile genuine.

      She felt the room begin to spin.

      “Whoa, are you okay?” It was the man this time. He pushed the door open and grabbed Natalie’s arm before she could fall. “Just take a breath, all right? We just want to ask some questions.”

      Natalie’s knees couldn’t hold her anymore and the guy helped lower her to a sitting position on the floor leaning back against the wall next to the door. Both he and the woman took advantage of Natalie’s moment of weakness to enter the house, closing the door behind them.

      “You shouldn’t be here,” Natalie said again. “This isn’t my house.”

      The two people looked at each other, the man giving the woman a slight nod. Some sort of secret agent code, for sure. Then they both looked back at her, squatting down so they were closer to her, eye to eye.

      “I’m Andrea,” the woman said. “And this is my husband, Brandon.”

      No last names. No credentials. Natalie didn’t want to push, but at least they weren’t reading her her Miranda rights.

      Of course, the afternoon was still young.

      “I’m sorry, I’m not feeling well,” Natalie finally responded. “I appreciate your help, but I’m going to have to ask you to leave. Like I said, this isn’t my house and I had express