Chapter Two

      With a frightened cry, Annie slid to the ground, raised her arms to protect her head. Through the haze of her terror, she heard the shuffle of feet. A grunt. A curse.

      Opening her eyes a slit, she found a second man in the alley, brawling hand-to-hand with her attacker.

      Touching her swollen lip, she scooted farther away from the men who battled in the shadowed alley. She cringed as the newly arrived man landed a solid blow to her attacker’s gut. Her assailant responded with a resounding punch to the other man’s jaw.

      Annie curled into a ball, trembling as fists flew. She squeezed her eyes shut and plugged her ears. She’d seen and heard enough violence in recent months to last her a lifetime. Her ex-husband’s abuse was an all-too-present memory that haunted her every day.

      Hot tears leaked onto her cheeks, and she conjured a image of her children, Haley and Ben. She prayed she’d survive to see them again. Please, God.

      Her kids were all that mattered. The reason she worked the exhausting waitress job at the diner. Her reason to persevere. Her reason for leaving Walt sixteen months ago, despite the horrifying weeks that followed as her abusive ex hunted her, terrorized her, nearly killed her.

      A loud, pained shout jolted her out of her protective shell, and she peeked out at the scene unfolding before her. Her assailant was on the ground, the second man rubbing his knuckles. As he stepped back from his opponent, the second man moved through a shaft of light from a streetlamp.

      And Annie glimpsed a face she knew from the diner. A regular.

      Her gasp drew the man’s attention.

      She searched her memory for his name. John? Jacob? No—Jonah.

      “Annie, are you all right?”

      In those few seconds of Jonah’s distraction, her assailant snatched up the envelope and ran from the alley.

      “The package!” Panic wrenched Annie’s chest.

      Jonah pursued the thief to the end of the alley but apparently decided against a footrace. Instead, he walked back toward Annie, wiping blood from his nose with the sleeve of his shirt. “Are you hurt?”

      “He took the envelope,” she said, her voice quivering. A sinking disappointment crushed her chest. Though grateful to be alive and to have had Jonah’s help, she dreaded what Hardin would do when he discovered she’d lost his package. Peter Hardin was no gentleman, and she doubted he’d be forgiving about her screwup. She buried her face in her hands as fresh tears puddled in her eyes. “He’s going to fire me. I know he is. Oh, God…”

      Jonah crouched in front of her, and she jolted when he stroked a hand down her arm.

      Raising a wary gaze, she scrunched a few inches farther away from him. He may have scared the mugger off, but she’d seen his skill with his fists. Experience had taught her to give violent men a wide berth.

      “Hey, come on now.” The low, soothing rumble of his voice lulled her. “You won’t lose your job. It’s not your fault you were mugged.” His dark eyebrows drew into a frown, and his tone hardened. “If anyone is to blame it’s that bastard Hardin for sending a woman into this neighborhood alone in the middle of the night.”

      Jonah flexed and balled his hand. Annie’s mouth dried, the stolen envelope temporarily forgotten as she focused on the more immediate threat—the man fisting his hand before her.

      Taking a deep breath, she eyed Jonah’s clenched fist. “Wh-why are you here?”

      He cocked his head slightly and lifted a corner of his mouth. “I’d have thought that was obvious. I followed you when you left the diner.”

      So her sense had been right. Her pulse sped up. “Why? What do you want?”

      He raised his hands, palms out. “I only wanted to keep an eye on you. I figured something like this might happen and…” He sighed. “I’m only sorry it took me so long to catch up once the jerk grabbed you. I should have stayed closer, but I didn’t want to spook you if you saw me following you.”

      Annie furrowed her brow skeptically. “So you were following me to…protect me?”

      He grunted. “I heard Hardin tell you to make the delivery, knew the neighborhood…” He glanced away for a moment and swiped at the blood beading under his nose again. “I oughta wring the jerk’s neck for putting you at risk this way.”

      “No!”

      Her vehement protest snapped his gaze back to hers. “Oh, I won’t. I’m not interested in being arrested for assault.” He held his hand out to her. “Can I help you up?”

      Annie hesitated, staring at his large hand. His knuckles were swollen and raw, his palm toughened by calluses. That hand had packed a powerful punch to her assailant.

      “Annie?”

      Her gaze darted up to his. In the harsh shaft of light from the streetlamp, she studied his face. His bloody nose had a bump at the bridge, as if it had been broken before. A thin, silvery scar bisected his dark eyebrow, and a red blotch on his jaw hinted at a future bruise, courtesy of her attacker.

      Yet despite all these visible signs of past and recent fights, his lopsided grin and warm green eyes spoke of a softer side to this man.

       “Keep the change.”

       “Let go of her.”

      Did she dare trust him? He had come to help her. Or so he said.

      “If you wanted to protect me…” She paused, second-guessing the wisdom of challenging him on his story. Challenging Walt had earned her more than one beating.

      “Go on.”

      She took a fortifying breath. “Well, why not just walk with me? Why follow me?”

      He rubbed a hand over his battered jaw. “Fair question.” He tugged up the corner of his mouth. “If I had offered to walk with you or drive you to the drop-off address, would you have accepted?”

      “I—” She lifted her chin. “Well…probably not. All I know about you is that you like lots of milk in your coffee—skim, not whole—and that you usually sit at the counter. First seat, facing the door.”

      His grin was a tad smug. “That’s what I thought.” He offered his hand again.

      This time, after a brief hesitation, Annie placed her hand in his and let him pull her to her feet. The warmth and strength of his fingers, curled around hers, sent an odd shiver through her. How could a touch be both comforting and unnerving at the same time? The size of his hand, swallowing her smaller one, sent a tingling awareness through her. His height dwarfed her five feet four inches, and he had more strength in one arm than she had in her whole body. Like Walt had.

      Jonah had the power and skill to crush her if he chose.

      Her