TWO

      Jonna hadn’t missed Ian’s skill in taking the man down. He’d been ready to march the man right up the beach and call the authorities—she’d seen it in the determined stance of his shoulders and the resolve on his rugged features. And he’d nearly succeeded. Did he have a military background?

      But the ocean had had different plans for both men, tossing them like they were nothing more than driftwood. Fear for Ian’s life had corded her neck. She couldn’t let the ocean take him, and had willingly risked her own life to pull him out before it was too late. Nothing heroic on her part—just a balancing of the scales. She owed him for saving her. He hadn’t hesitated going after the guy to protect her, and without his quick action, she might be dead now.

      She needed to be more alert. More prepared. From now on, she’d jog with her Sig, Max, like she should have to begin with. In fact, she’d take Max everywhere.

      Aware Ian studied her, Jonna led him to the door that connected her garage to the main lodge, hoping she could escape to her own private cabin on the south side of the structure without encountering her guests. A short enclosed walkway connected the cabin to the lodge, for which she was grateful, especially on an occasion like this when she was chilled to the bone, but she wished they would have connected the garage to her cabin as well. To enter through her private entrance outside the lodge, she’d have to go out into the storm again.

      Hands trembling, she accidentally dropped her keys on the concrete floor.

      Ian snatched them up, beating her to it, and handed them over. Their fingers brushed.

      His blue eyes had grown dark and piercing, more gray like the storm outside. “Are you okay?”

      The intensity of his gaze unsettled her and she hesitated before responding. “As soon as I get out of these wet clothes I’ll be better.”

      “Same here. Let’s meet in the common area after we change,” he said. “We can wait for the sheriff’s department together.”

      She nodded her agreement. “The deputy in the Windsurf Substation can get here faster than someone coming from the county sheriff’s department, which is just under an hour away, even if the storm slows him down a little. Unless he’s assisting someone else, which could very well be the case in this weather.”

      Ian on her heels, she hurried through the door, wanting to retreat before he could see just how the incident on the beach had shaken her. The adrenaline was beginning to crash. Not good. She had to hold it together for a few more hours.

      Inside the lodge, she could see her guests clinging to big mugs of coffee or hot chocolate and enjoying baked goods. Her employees often baked up muffins, or they purchased breakfast foods from the restaurant next door to the lodge for those guests who didn’t want to venture out into the storm to eat at the restaurant for a bigger menu.

      Everyone was focused on the panoramic windows overlooking the storm’s wrath and nature’s spectacular display.

      Good, she could slip away and gather her composure.

      Before she turned the corner that led to the short walkway to her cabin, Ian touched her arm. She hesitated, then slowed but kept her back to him. Couldn’t he just go to his room and change? Leave her be?

      “Someone just tried to kill you. Be careful, Jonna. I’m worried about you.”

      “You don’t expect me to find an attacker in my room, do you?” She’d teased, but the possibility corded her throat with a measure of fear.

      Ridiculous. She shrugged off the apprehension.

      “I could check it for you first.” His voice held genuine concern.

      If only that didn’t warm her to her toes. She turned to face him and tossed him an easy smile, hoping she could hide her fear. “You don’t have to worry about me. I can—”

      “I know. You can take care of yourself.”

      He’d finished the sentence for her, but she read all too easily the doubt in his searching blue eyes. And what he didn’t say.

      The guy had gotten away. If he had targeted her specifically, he could come back and attack again at any time. Who was he? Was it the Shoreline Killer? Or maybe the man who’d shot and left her for dead in Miami?

      If it was the man from Miami, would she recognize him if she saw him, considering that much of what happened had been lost in the recesses of her mind? Some of her memories of that incident were as clear as Ian standing before her now. But she couldn’t remember the face of the man who had shot her.

      Maybe...maybe it had nothing at all to do with what happened in Miami, and the man on the beach this morning really had been the Shoreline Killer.

      Ian had saved her today. Protection poured off of him. She had the sudden urge to go to Ian and let him wrap his arms around her. To be held and comforted and protected. But Jonna shoved the unbidden thoughts away and stood taller. She walked backward, willing herself to want nothing more than to feel the door to her cabin—her safe haven—against her back.

      “I’ll meet you ten minutes in front of the fireplace, okay?”

      “See you then.” He waited until she’d walked the rest of the length of the enclosure and opened and closed her door.

      Jonna snuck a glance through the peephole. He lingered a few more seconds and then disappeared around the corner.

      Pressing her back against the door, she calmed her pounding heart. She rushed to the side table and opened the drawer. Withdrew Max, then searched her cabin just to be sure she was alone. Chop Suey, her big tabby cat—a Maine Coon—snoozed on the top of the maroon thrift-shop armchair next to the window, without a care in the world, oblivious to the tension rolling through Jonna.

      She wanted to collapse on the sofa. Too much had happened in the last hour, not the least of which was one of her guests turning out to be a hero.

      He’d booked a room in the main lodge a little over a week ago, and since then, she’d found herself looking at him now and again. Taking in his strong features and lithe physique. His thick, mussed black hair that hugged his collar. She’d imagined running her fingers through that hair, and then scolded herself for the silly fantasy. She shouldn’t have these entirely too-personal thoughts. She couldn’t allow herself the luxury of a relationship. But she kept wondering if there was a Mrs. Brady. Or if he waited here, expecting a close friend to show up. She shouldn’t be having those kinds of thoughts about one of her guests.

      She learned her lesson a couple of years after Aunt Debby had bought the