THREE

      Dylan’s words settled over the room like a dark thundercloud. An ominous silence ensued between them.

      Bear shook his head and emitted a low whistle. “Things are getting a little too dicey in here for me. You two work this out. I’ll be outside the door making sure everything’s set.”

      After Bear stepped outside, Angelina sat on the edge of the bed. She looked into Dylan’s eyes and tried to find answers to her unasked questions. She sighed. She didn’t trust him. She didn’t believe he could keep her safe but she realized, for right now, there wasn’t a thing she could do about it.

      “What do you have planned?” She grimaced and again fingered the bandage wrapped across her forehead as a lightning bolt of pain grabbed her. “How long do I have to stay here?”

      “Not long. I’ve already put things in motion to have a safe house ready as soon as you’re discharged.”

      “And if I don’t want to go to a safe house? If I don’t want to cooperate?”

      Dylan didn’t respond. The hard glint in his eyes did the talking for him.

      Once there had been warmth and gentleness in Dylan’s demeanor. Though she understood his coldness and distance, it still surprised her and she wished for just a flash of that former warmth.

      “Are you certain it was my father who killed Maria and shot me?”

      “I doubt whether your father was the actual shooter. He’s too smart to dirty his hands a second time. But did he order the hit? What do you think? You are the only person standing between him and a date with a lethal injection.”

      “Sometimes it’s hard for me to believe my father is trying to have me killed.” She shrugged. “He’s my dad. What kind of dad tries to kill his own daughter?” She didn’t know what hurt more, the physical pain of her injuries or the emotional pain of trying to deal with the current situation. “When I left protective custody, I thought Dad would believe I’d changed my mind about testifying and would no longer pose a threat. It’s why I felt safer staying in this area.” Her shoulders sagged beneath the weight of the truth. “I was wrong.” She gazed up at him. “Maybe about a lot of things.”

      “Why, Angelina?”

      She knew his question wasn’t about her father or her decision to remain in Atlantic City. She saw all of the pain, confusion and anger in his eyes. His question was about them.

      Three years ago their relationship had been new and exciting. Their time together in protective custody cemented the friendship they’d shared as kids and laid the foundation for something more meaningful as adults. They spent nights talking in front of the fire about shared interests and goals. Their many walks on the grounds of their hideaway led them to discover a mutual love of nature. Angelina believed there might be a possibility of a future together. Until the note exchange made her lose her faith in him.

      Dylan wore his emotions on his face and she knew this reunion wasn’t easy on either one of them. She could see how he struggled. Part of him tried to put on a professional air and act as though the past hadn’t happened.

      But the other part of him...

      When he looked at her, she saw his pain. Yet the anger in his face was tempered by the gentleness of his touch. She knew he wondered if what they’d shared had been real or merely a ploy. She wondered the same thing of him.

      But none of it mattered now. She couldn’t give him answers she didn’t have. It had been another time and place. A moment of stability in a world of chaos. A safe haven.

      But real?

      The only thing real anymore was that Dylan McKnight was law enforcement and that meant he couldn’t be trusted.

      Angelina rubbed her face with her hands. “I need to get out of here. I need to get away...” Her voice trailed off.

      “Angelina, you saw your father murder your neighbor, a man you knew very well. I don’t care if he’s your father or not. I can’t believe you’re hesitating about testifying after what you saw him do.”

      When she spoke her words were merely a whisper. “You don’t understand.”

      “Explain it to me.”

      Her eyes challenged him. “I hated what he did. It made me sick. It made me scared. Of course, I wanted him punished. I still do.”

      “Then why did you run?”

      Wetness welled in her eyes.

      “I wanted to live! I didn’t believe you or anyone else could keep me safe. It was stupid...and selfish...and...and...” Agony sliced through her body. “Because I only cared about myself, my best friend, the funniest, most wonderful individual I have ever known, is dead.” Her voice cracked on a sob.

      “Maria’s death is not your fault.” Dylan fisted his hands at his sides almost as if he had to fight to stay where he was and not come closer or offer her comfort.

      She swiped a hand at the tears streaming down her cheeks. “Isn’t it? If I hadn’t been such a coward, if I’d stayed and testified against my father, Maria would be alive today. How is that not my fault?”

      “I’m sorry you lost your friend. But you can’t blame yourself.”

      “It tears me up inside to know my father is guilty of murder, that all the things said about him being a crime boss are true. He sheltered me from the truth my entire life. He acted just like everybody else’s dad. He kept that part of his life totally hidden from me. I honestly didn’t know. I didn’t.”

      Dylan nodded his understanding but didn’t interrupt.

      “Do you have any idea how difficult and painful it is for me to know my father probably has a hit out on me right now. My father! The man I’ve trusted and loved my entire life has hired someone to kill me!”

      If I can’t trust my father, who took care of me after my mother died, how can I ever trust any other man? No matter how much I may want to, how can I ever trust you?

      She clasped her forehead in her hands almost as if she could hide her thoughts from him.

      “I hate what he’s done!” She spat out the words. “So many nights I prayed for God to bring him to justice.” She balled the sheet in her fist. “But God didn’t answer my prayers.”

      Bitterness spilled over in her words.

      “I grew up believing God is a forgiving God. I don’t want God to forgive this time, Dylan. I want vengeance.”

      Dylan’s shocked expression gave her pause. “God insists we forgive others and leave judgment to Him. Pray. He’ll help you through this.”

      “God has no place in my life anymore. I stopped believing in Him and the idea of forgiveness years ago.”

      “Don’t give up on God, Angelina. He hasn’t given up on you.”

      If only she could believe it. She changed the subject.

      “When do I have to testify?”

      “Monday. Less than a week away.”

      A week. She doubted she’d still be alive in a week.

      “After you testify, the running will be over. You’ll have your life back. You’ll