To my wonderful editor, Susan Litman, with appreciation for all that you’ve done.Thank you so much!

Acknowledgements

      I’d like to thank the following people for their help: Destry Labo for answering my questions about Las Vegas; John K Barrett, for his information about guns; Mary Jo Archer for her usual super help; and, as always, Judith Sandbrook, critique partner extraordinaire. Thank you all!

       Chapter 1

       H e was watching her again.

      Fear razored through her belly like the slash of a switchblade—swift, hot, deep. It rippled through her awareness, stripped away her composure, shattering the illusion of safety she’d so desperately built.

      Leaving her weak, defenseless, exposed.

      No. Amanda Patterson wheezed air past her strangled throat, pressed her palm to her rioting heart. She wasn’t weak, not anymore. And she refused to be vulnerable again.

      She jerked her gaze past the line of stretch limos, inhaled deeply to steady her nerves. Cars idled by the casino on the gridlocked Strip, their horns blaring, stereos booming. Neon lights beckoned and flashed. Andpeople streamed past, an endless parade of humanity—laughing, fearless people out to have fun on a warm April night.

      She let out her breath, eased the death grip she had on her wrist, forced her shoulders to relax. She was imagining things. Wayne wasn’t watching her. He wasn’t even in Las Vegas. Her exhusband was in Maryland, in prison, exactly where he belonged.

      She was safe. Safe. She was thousands of miles away from Wayne, rid of him forever. She was in a new house, getting a new job, starting a new life.

      Her sister, Kendall, finished paying the taxi driver and flashed her a smile. “Ready to rock?”

      She dragged in another breath, tugged up the corners of her mouth. “You bet.”

      Kendall tilted her head. Her thick, honeybrown hair slid over her sculpted dancer’s arms. “What’s wrong? You’re not worrying about Claire already are you?”

      Her sister knew her too well. “No, of course not. Mrs. Schmidt seems great.”

      “She is great. And you warned her about Claire’s allergies a dozen times. So stop worrying. Claire will have a great time. Mrs. Schmidt will spoil her to death.”

      To death. Amanda’s heart squeezed. Dread shivered through her veins, but she shook off the gloomy thought. This was ridiculous. She was safe. Her three-year-old daughter was safe.

      And she wasn’t going to let her old fears ruin her new life.

      “Then what is it?” Kendall probed. “It better not be Wayne because if you’re going to let that creep—”

      “It’s not him. And I’m fine, really,” she lied, embar-rassed to let her sister know how rattled she was, how hard it was to quell that horrible feeling that he was spying on her, controlling her, even after all these months.

      Kendall studied her with those perceptive hazel eyes. Then her mouth softened. “Nothing’s going to happen. You know that, right?”

      “Right.” She wouldn’t let it. No matter how badly she’d mucked up the past, she owed her daughter a safe and stable life. Heck, she owed it to herself. She’d endured a hellish marriage, the terror of being stalked.

      Now she was done with the past, done with the paranoia and fear—and on to a much better life.

      She straightened her shoulders, tugged the hem of the tight red minidress Kendall had insisted she wear and tried for a lighter tone. “But getting arrested for indecent exposure isn’t exactly what I need right now. Are you sure this dress is legal?”

      Kendall tossed back her head and laughed, her trademark exuberance drawing the gazes of passing men. “Mandy, this is Vegas. The place where anything goes.”

      “Yes, I know, but—”

      “But nothing. That dress is fabulous—although I still say you should have lost that ugly purse.