FOUR

      New security system.

      New windows.

      New locks on the doors.

      Everything secure thanks to Personal Securities Incorporated. The owner, Ryder Malone, had made sure of it. Catherine had met him while she was in prison and had been surprised to see him again, but he knew his job and he did it well, working with an efficient team.

      And with Darius.

      Darius.

      She shoved the name and the man from her mind, refusing them the same way she refused the panic that edged up and threatened to spill out.

      Locked in.

      Locked up.

      But all the locks and windows and security systems in the world couldn’t make Catherine feel safe. She paced her room, the heat of the day still thick in the battened-down house. Sweat trickled down her neck, and she pulled at her tank top, tugging damp cotton away from sticky skin, aching to go outside and sit on the front porch, let the evening air cool her, breathe in a little of the freedom she’d thought she’d never have again.

      Now she had it, but fear held her prisoner.

      She hated it.

      Hated the weakness in her that had her pacing the room instead of walking down the stairs, punching the code into the security system and going outside. Her heart thumped and stuttered at the thought, and she walked to the window, looked out over the front yard.

      The full moon bathed the yard in golden light and cast long shadows across the grass. The whitewashed picket fence stood stark against the gray-black landscape, the gate closed just the way it had been since the last security team member had walked through it. Dark hair gleaming in the sunlight, T-shirt clinging to broad shoulders and firm muscles, his limp barely noticeable as he closed the gate and walked away.

      Darius.

      There in her mind again.

      She shoved him out again, because he was just a man who’d happened to be in the right place at the right time to save her. But he was still just a man, and men couldn’t be trusted.

      She’d learned that the hard way.

      She didn’t plan to repeat the mistake.

      Her heart thumped again, her chest tight and aching.

      She needed fresh air.

      Now.

      She opened the window, stuck her head out to take in great gulps of cool air. Late August in Pine Bluff and the scent of evergreen and grass hung heavy in the still night. She’d craved this during her years of incarceration, and she wouldn’t deny herself now. No matter the fear.

      She closed the window, eased open the bedroom door and crept down the stairs, bypassing the two steps that creaked and walking softly across the foyer. The hiss of Eileen’s air conditioner would probably drown out any noise, but Catherine was careful anyway, punching in the security code to turn off the system and stepping out into the chilly night.

      Freedom.

      It tasted sweet and fresh and clean, and Catherine lifted her face to the moonlight, let it dance across her face. At moments like this, she knew that God was there, just a prayer away, and she was tempted to reach for Him, try to recapture the faith she’d had before she’d been accused of murder, before she’d been betrayed by the man she’d loved, before her life had come crashing down around her, all her dreams crashing with it.

      “Please, don’t take Eileen from me. Not yet,” she whispered, her only answer the gentle breeze that rustled grass and leaves.

      She leaned against the porch railing, silence settling around her as deep and thick as the darkness.

      A car engine drifted on the breeze, the sound growing louder with every heart beat. Coming closer.

      Headlights splashed on the dirt road, and Catherine jumped back, nearly falling into the open doorway in her haste.

      Close the door!

      Turn on the alarm!

      Her hands shook, but she managed to do both, her heart pounding frantically as she ran up the stairs, looked out her bedroom window again.

      A car idled in the driveway, lights off now, doors closed. No hint of light from the interior. No telling who the driver was.

      She could imagine, though.

      Could picture the same masked figure that had stood at the edge of the yard, chased her to the road and toward Darius’s house. Put his hands around her neck.

      She shuddered, grabbing her cell phone and dialing 911 as the car door opened and a dark figure climbed out.

      * * *

      Darius eased around the side of Catherine’s house, approaching from the back rather than the front, hoping to catch the car’s driver by surprise. He could have brought his truck, but that would have warned the guy off before Darius got a good look at who he was dealing with.

      The bushes near the corner of the house provided perfect cover, the full moon laying thick shadow against golden light. Darius hugged the edges of the porch, tensing as a door closed and an engine revved. Leaving?

      Surprised, he stepped out from the shadows, let the driver see him standing in the moonlight, his gun held loose in his hand.

      Black Toyota. Tinted windows. No way to see the driver, but the car pulled away so quickly, he was positive the driver saw him.

      Good.

      He wanted the guy to know that Catherine wasn’t alone with Eileen. She had a neighbor who was keeping his eye on things. He tucked the gun back in his shoulder holster, and jogged up the porch steps, phantom pain shooting up from his phantom calf. He’d moved too quickly too many times today and his thigh muscles ached, the stump beneath his knee throbbing.

      The porch light went on, spilling onto the newly painted whitewashed wood. No hint of the bloodred words that had been there earlier. Darius had made sure of that.

      He thought about ringing the doorbell, but Catherine and Eileen were probably asleep, and he didn’t want to wake them. Not yet. He surveyed the door and windows. Everything locked up tight just the way it should be. No hint that anything untoward had happened.

      He retraced his steps, this time veering to the left and the driveway where the car had been parked. Packed earth left no evidence. No tire marks. No tread. Nothing that would help trace the car.

      A lock clicked,