THREE

      “You’re sure that you don’t know the perpetrator?” Deputy Sheriff Randal asked for what seemed like the thousandth time in the ten minutes since they’d returned to the kitchen.

      Tessa wasn’t sure what response he wanted, but apparently it wasn’t the one she’d been giving. She gave it again, anyway, tapping her fingers against the stained wood of the old dinette table. “I never saw his face, Deputy—”

      “Call me Logan. Most people around these parts do,” he cut in, offering a quick smile that didn’t meet his eyes.

      “I don’t know who attacked me. If I did, I’d tell you.”

      “Sometimes victims want to protect their attackers.”

      “I’m not protecting anyone.” But in a way, that was exactly what she was doing. She was protecting Daniel, his legacy, his dream. Their dream.

      She bit her lip, torn between the need to do that and the need to tell Logan everything that had happened in the woods—including the words that had been whispered in her ear.

      “But, you are hiding something.”

      She was. That was the problem.

      “I—”

      The front door opened, cutting off the truth before Tessa could reveal it.

      Logan cocked his head to the side and frowned, pushing away from the table, his hand dropping to his firearm. “Stay here. I’ll see who that is.”

      Even if she’d wanted to, Tessa didn’t have the energy to follow him from the room. Her neck hurt. Her head throbbed. Her elbow ached.

      And she was more scared than she’d been in a long time.

      She rubbed the bridge of her nose, closing her eyes and trying to imagine a scenario where the attack had nothing to do with her past.

      I remember. Do you?

      She did. Every moment of the nightmare that she’d survived and every bit of the secret she’d been charged with. Could she tell the sheriff about one without telling him about the other?

      Footsteps sounded on the hardwood floor, masculine voices mixing with the quiet hum of the refrigerator. She wanted to say goodnight to Logan, climb in bed, close her eyes and pretend that everything was the same as it had been when she’d gotten up that morning. Unfortunately, that wouldn’t solve her problems. She’d learned that the hard way, ignoring all the little hints that Andrew had let slip because she hadn’t wanted to believe that he was anything other than upright and trustworthy.

      It had cost her the only man she’d ever loved. It had cost Daniel his life. She couldn’t let it cost any more.

      She shoved away from the table, wishing she could push away the memories. She just wanted to forget and move on, but no matter how long or far she ran, she couldn’t escape the past.

      She grabbed the kettle from the 1920s stove and filled it with tap water. A cup of tea wouldn’t sooth her nerves, but she needed to keep her hands busy, keep her mind occupied. If she didn’t, she might sink back into the abyss she’d fallen into after Daniel’s death. The dark well of grief and anger had nearly destroyed her. It had taken everything she’d had to pull herself out of it. Her faith had suffered, her relationship with God floundering as she wrestled with nightmares and fear. She couldn’t allow herself to go back there.

      “Tessa,” Logan said as he walked back into the kitchen with Seth. “It seems like you left a little bit out of the story you told me.”

      “What’s that?” she responded, reminding herself that Logan couldn’t know what had been whispered in her ear. But that didn’t stop her heart from thumping hard. One revelation would lead to another, and that was a path she wasn’t sure she could take. Not without risking everything she and Daniel had worked for.

      “The delivery you received this morning?” Logan prodded.

      “It was nothing.” She glanced at Seth, found that she couldn’t drag her gaze away. He didn’t look apologetic. But, then, she hadn’t expected him to be that any more than she’d expected him to keep what had happened that morning to himself. She wanted to be angry, wanted to feel betrayed, but she’d have probably done the same if she’d been in his position.

      “There aren’t many people who would say that if they received a package with a giant spider in it,” Logan said, pulling her attention back where it needed to be—on him, the conversation, the questions that she needed to answer. And, the ones she couldn’t.

      “I’m not most people.”

      “Apparently not, because most people would be happy to give me the information that I need in order to help them,” Logan said as he settled into a chair.

      “I am happy to give you the information. It’s just...things are complicated.” She turned away from the men and pulled mugs from the cupboard. “Would either of you like coffee or tea?”

      “I’d rather have answers,” Logan replied.

      “Okay.” She took a deep breath, willing her voice to remain steady as she pivoted, nearly bumping into the rock-solid wall of Seth’s chest.

      He stood just inches away, his coat open to reveal a blue button-down shirt tucked into black pants. He must have come from work to deliver the envelope.

      “Do you want me to leave?” he asked quietly.

      She almost told him that she did, but he’d gone out of his way to help her and she couldn’t bring herself to send him away. “Whatever you want to do is fine.”

      She moved past him and sat across from Logan. “My husband was murdered five years ago today.”

      Logan stiffened, but he didn’t speak.

      Tessa knew he was waiting for her to continue, but she didn’t know what else to say—how much to reveal, how much to keep hidden.

      “I’m sorry, Tessa.” Seth broke the silence, his tone gentle, his eyes the color of the sky at dusk—deep azure blue, and almost glowing in his tan face. There was something in those eyes, something that she’d lost so long ago she’d stopped believing she’d ever find it again.

      She blinked, and whatever she thought she’d seen was gone.

      “We were missionaries to Kenya,” she said. “An insurgent group attacked the village we were ministering to. Twenty people were killed or wounded. Daniel was one of casualties. So was his brother, Andrew.” Five years of recounting the tale had given her practice saying what needed to be said, but the words still made her throat raw and her chest tight.

      “Why didn’t you mention this before?” Logan jotted something in a small notebook.

      “I didn’t think it mattered.” Didn’t want to think it mattered, anyway. She pulled her hair from its ponytail and gathered it back in, keeping her hands busy so she didn’t give herself away.

      “Everything matters,” Logan said, jotting something else in his notebook.

      She