At the sight of her ambulance’s side door yawning open, Sherri Steele tripped to a stop. This afternoon was headed the same way as the unsettled June weather. Stormy. Again.

“What’s the holdup?” her partner groused from the other end of the stretcher straddling their patient’s threshold.

She motioned with her chin for him to pull the stretcher holding the elderly gentleman back into the small bungalow. “I think we have company.”

She’d closed the ambulance’s door, but in this quiet retiree neighborhood locking it hadn’t seemed necessary. Before her partner could ask more questions, she whispered a quick prayer for protection, slipped out and padded toward the rig. Protocol demanded that a paramedic call the police if she feared for her safety, a practice she’d been a stickler about ever since her former partner had gotten himself killed, but the last thing she needed on her record was a nuisance cry-wolf call if it turned out to be nothing more than a curious kid inside. Maybe one of the neighbors’ grandkids. Or worse. No one at all.

Her finger tensed over the radio’s call button. She’d take a quick peek and if she saw anyone over four-six, she’d call it in.

“Get back in here with the patient and let me look,” her partner hissed from the bungalow.

She put her finger to her lips and waved him off as she melted against the side of the ambulance to shield herself from the view of whoever was inside. The guys would never let her live it down if she turned tail and it turned out to be nothing. Please, God, let it be nothing.

The hair on the back of her neck prickled. Someone was definitely in there. She drew in a deep breath and glanced through the opening.

A lanky teen with unnaturally black hair stood at the wall-mounted cabinet, jabbing at the lock with a screwdriver. He slammed his fist into the steel and cursed.

Sherri jerked back out of sight and fumbled with the button on her radio. That was no curious grandkid.

The next instant she was yanked off her feet and hauled inside the truck. The kid spun her around and pinned her to the wall, the butt of his hand crushing her larynx. Drug-crazed eyes locked with hers. “Open it!”

“Okay,” she mouthed, unable to get a breath past the pressure on her throat.

He slowly eased his hold, looking as if he wasn’t sure he trusted her. His heavy-lidded, gauzy blue eyes seemed vaguely familiar, which shouldn’t have surprised her in a town the size of Stalwart, Washington. But it rattled her more than ever. Maybe someone really was behind the bad things that only seemed to happen on her shift.

He shoved her toward the cabinet.

Making a show of thumbing through her keys, she depressed the call button on the radio and spoke as loudly and clearly as she could make her quaking voice cooperate. “We don’t carry narcotics on board the ambulance.”

“You’re lying!”

At least he didn’t seem to know that the four vials of morphine she carried for patients with extreme pain were on her person at all times. And she didn’t dare tell him that the rest of the good drugs were in the trauma bag, still with her partner and the patient inside the house. The last thing she wanted to do was give their hip-fracture patient a heart attack.

With any luck this kid was crashing so fast that in another few minutes he wouldn’t be able to put two and two together. By now her partner would have called the cavalry. She just had to keep the kid from going ballistic on her until they got here.

He grabbed her ponytail, twisted it mercilessly, and shoved her face into the cabinet. “Open it!”

Pain ripped through her scalp, exploded in her nose. Screaming, she rammed her boot heel into his kneecap.

He doubled over with a roar, but the grip on her hair only intensified.

Gritting her teeth against the torturous pull, she jabbed the keys between her fingers and swung. Her fist connected with his cheek.

Her partner charged up to the open side door. “Let her go!”

With lightning speed, the kid maneuvered her in front of him like a human shield. His arm tightened around her throat as he snapped open a switchblade. “Stay back!”

Dan, her six-foot, barrel-chested, former-army-medic partner, came to a dead halt at the foot of the door. His arms shot up, patted the air. “Okay, kid. Take it easy.”

Straining to pull in a full breath, Sherri stopped struggling.

Blessed sirens split the air, the sound screaming closer. But the sound made the kid shaky. Real shaky. “Tell them to stay back or I’ll cut her. I swear I’ll cut her.”

A whimper escaped her throat as she winged a desperate plea heavenward.

“Look at me,” Dan said in a soothing tone. “You don’t want to do this.”

“Don’t tell me what I want,” her captor seethed, pricking the tip of the knife into her cheek. “Nobody cares what I want.”

A sheriff’s deputy stepped in front of her partner. “I care.”

The kid’s hold on her neck loosened a fraction, and Sherri dared to breathe.

“You don’t care. You left.” The teen’s arm around her neck went rigid again, his knife poised dangerously close to her carotid. “You left and didn’t come back!”

The deputy pulled his stun gun and painted the teen’s shoulder with the laser beam. “Drop the knife, and let her go, Eddie.”

“Or what? You’d shoot your own brother?”

Sherri’s heart jolted. This was his brother?

The deputy’s arm wavered. “I can’t let you hurt Sherri. You know that.”

Something about the way he said her name sounded achingly familiar.

His tortured gaze flicked her way, sending an unexpected flutter through her chest.

She gasped. “Cole?” When had he gotten back to town? Become a cop?

He winced at her breathless question and didn’t meet her eyes.

She hadn’t seen him since he’d left for college seven years ago. And never came back.

Not once. Not to see his brother. Not to see his father. And definitely not to see the three-years-his-junior neighbor girl who’d been nursing a colossal secret crush on him.

Eddie’s hold around her neck eased mercifully, but Sherri still struggled to pull in a full breath as her gaze clung to Cole. He was as tall as she remembered. But his brown hair was shorter and a shade darker. His chest broader. His voice deeper. And his eyes…

Those soft gray eyes that had once sparkled with mischievous teasing now brimmed with a tangle of apology, regret and despair.

She swallowed a rush of emotion.

“I wasn’t going to hurt nobody,” Eddie muttered, gesturing toward the cabinet with his knife. “He said the stuff was in here. Said it would be easy to lift.”

Cole edged closer, his stun gun still fixed on his brother’s shoulder, dangerously close to her own. “Who said?”

“The guy. The guy!” Eddie waved his knife as if Cole should know.

“Drop the knife, Eddie.”

“I just needed a fix.”

“I know.” That telltale muscle twitch in Cole’s cheek gave her an odd pang of reassurance. “But I can’t help you if you don’t drop the knife.”

“You don’t wanna help me!” Eddie shoved her into Cole’s line of fire and broke toward the rear door.

Thrown off balance, she tumbled out the side opening, right into Cole’s arms. They closed protectively around her, his legs already in motion. And for a few blissful seconds she felt fifteen again. He rushed her away from the ambulance and coaxed her onto a porch step.

Her patient’s porch step.

Remembering the poor gentleman who’d been in so much pain when they arrived, she lurched to her feet. “We need to transport our patient.”

Cole urged her back down. “It’s okay. Another ambulance is en route.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, the tenderness in his gaze making it difficult to breathe.

She forced herself to inhale a deep breath, but with it came his distinctive, spicy scent. A scent that had whisked her into silly happily-ever-after fantasies more times than she cared to remember. Memories assaulted her of the sweet kiss and soul-stirring hug they’d shared after she’d played paramedic and treated the swollen, bloodied knuckles he’d gotten taking out his anger on the wooden fence between their yards. She squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn’t let him inside her head again and definitely not her heart.

At a sudden painful pressure against her cheek, she jerked back, her eyes popping open.

Cole’s lips dipped into an apologetic frown. “Your cheek is bleeding.” He held out a bloodstained tissue.

She accepted it from him and pressed it to the wound, cringing at what a wreck she must look. What was she supposed to say? Good to see you after all these years. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she settled for, “Thank you for getting me out in one piece.”

He cradled her jaw in his palm and coaxed the muscles to relax with a soothing brush of his thumb. “You were amazing back there.”

She stiffened, not wanting to acknowledge how something inside her came alive at his touch, at the admiration in his gaze.

Dan hurried toward her, trauma bag in hand.

But Cole didn’t budge. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, and she had the uncomfortable feeling he was apologizing for a lot more than his out-of-control brother.

1. Tell us a little about yourself and how you came to be in the midst of such suspense.

I’m a widowed, single dad and firefighter. I met Kara when I caught her running away from a suspicious fire. We’d had a series of arsons in the area and when I spotted her, I thought I’d finally caught the culprit. Of course, that hope proved to be short-lived.

2. Tell us about the woman you’re protecting, Kara Grant. What was your first impression? When did you know it was love?

She’s amazing. She could have turned a blind eye to the crime she saw, but she didn’t. She gave up everything—her family, her job, everything—to enter witness protection. And even with someone targeting her, she resisted accepting my help for fear of the danger she’d put my son and I in. It took me awhile to accept that what I was feeling for her was love. But when she recited a silly romantic line from the Titanic and I realized that I felt the exact same way about her, I guess I knew.

3. What strengths/skills do you have? What is your greatest weakness?

Before she died, my wife used to say I had a hero complex. I can’t standby and not help when I see someone in trouble, so I guess I’m a lot like Kara in that respect. My cousin would say that I tend to make decisions based on what I think is best for others, rather than asking how they feel. I’m not sure that’s so bad. People don’t always act in their own best interests and I don’t want them to pay the price for choosing to act in mine.

4. What scares you?

The thought of letting another woman down.

5. If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?

What I’m trying to change is to listen better and to see what people aren’t saying…and probably should be saying.

6. Where are you in your faith at the start of your story?

I took my faith very seriously, but I couldn’t forgive myself for letting my wife down.

7. Where are you in your faith at the end of the story?

I realized that sometimes God’s greatest blessings come as a result of our darkest moments. Like the songwriter says, “sometimes it takes a thousand sleepless nights to know He’s really there.”

8. What is the one thing you would never do?

Turn my back on someone who needs my help.

9. What do you hope people will learn from your experience in this story?

Don’t let your fears cause you to let a second chance at love slip through your fingers.

1. Tell us a little about yourself, Kara, and how you came to be in the midst of such suspense. 

My real name is actually Nicole Redman, but after witnessing what looked like a man buying a baby while out for a jog in the park in my hometown of Boston, bad guys tried to kill me with a parcel bomb and the police sent me into witness protection. I was quietly biding my time as the rechristened Kara Grant, nighttime janitor, living across the continent in a small town outside of Seattle, until the bad guys found me and set fire to my new home. That’s how I met firefighter Jake Steele.

2. Tell us about Jake.  What was your first impression? 

My very first impression, was not good, I’m afraid. When he spotted me running from the scene, he thought I’d set the fire and grabbed me none too gently. But once he realized his mistake, he was very gentle and protective and had the sweetest, lopsided smile, even if he was annoyingly insistent that I go to the hospital when it was the last place I wanted to go.

3. What are your strengths and weaknesses?          

I guess my determination to do the right thing no matter the personal cost. My boyfriend in Boston warned me to not go to the police after I witnessed what I was sure had to be the sale of a kidnapped child, saying it would only lead to trouble, but I couldn’t not speak up. Thankfully, I’ve always been fairly self-reliant as well, which helped me a lot once I was placed in witness protection, although Jake would probably say that was my weakness, since I was so resistant to letting him help me.

4. What’s your greatest fear? 

At first it was that after everything I sacrificed, the child would still not be found and returned to his parents, but once Jake got involved in helping me, it became that my troubles would endanger him and his son.

5. What do you think about your spiritual life?

When I was forced to take on a new identity, God was all I had. As much as it felt, with all these bad things happening, that God didn’t care, He kept me safe through each incident. And if all these things hadn’t happened, I probably never would have met Jake.

6. You’ve got a scripture at the beginning of the story.  Tell us why this scripture is significant.       

When I learned I would have to move across the country and cut off all contact with my friends and family, I clung to this scripture with all my might: “If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea, even there your hand will guide me, your right hand will hold me fast. If I say, ‘Surely the darkness will hide me and the light become night around me,’ even the darkness will not be dark to you; the night will shine like the day, for darkness is as light to you.”

7. What do you admire about the hero?

His persistence when I resisted his help. His protectiveness even when it put himself and his son in danger. And his faith. No one has ever prayed for me before like he did, asking God to show me what I should do and to show him how he could help me. He had to know that I wasn’t being completely honest with him, but he didn’t push me away.

8. Why could you never see yourself ending up with the hero?

My life isn’t my own. Kara Grant is not who I really am. And I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone who I was. Being with me, puts Jake and his son in danger and I couldn’t live with myself if I brought them to harm or had to uproot them from their family here in Washington State, because the bad guys have found me and I have to be moved again.

9. What do you hope people will learn from your experience?

To do what’s right even when it hurts and trust God to work it all out according to his plan and purpose.

• Large tin of pumpkin
• 4 eggs
• 1 cup vegetable oil
• 1/3 cup water
• 1 tsp vanilla
• 2 Tbsp pumpkin pie spice
• 2 Tbsp allspice
• 2 Tbsp cinnamon
• 1 Tbsp ground nutmeg
• 2 1/2 cups sugar
• 3 1/2 cups flour
• 2 tsp baking soda
• 1 tsp salt

Combine first nine ingredients in a large bowl with an electric mixer. Next, blend in remaining ingredients. Pour into lined muffin tins or 2 greased loaf pans. Bake 20 mins for muffins; 1 hour and 10 mins for loaves at 350F, or until top springs back when touched or toothpick comes out clean.

Fills the house with the scrumptious fragrance of Thanksgiving.

Jake Steele squinted through the smoky haze surrounding the house, his skin prickling with the sensation of being watched. There. In the hedges. It had to be their arsonist. This fire had all the signs of being deliberately set. Jake motioned to his partner Davis, and they started for the hedge.

The face disappeared, swallowed by the drizzly darkness.

Counting on the suspect wanting to avoid the street, Jake beelined to the backyard. Sure enough, a lone figure skulked along the property’s edge. This pyromaniac was going down.

Jake and Davis closed the distance fast, the commotion of the other firefighters masking the thump of their heavy boots. “Where do you think you’re going?” Jake grabbed the guy’s arm.

The scream that met his grip was no guy’s.

Jake turned his flashlight on their culprit, and her panicked brown eyes blindsided him. His grip loosened.

She twisted and squirmed, pounding her free fist against his chest and kicking uselessly at his legs. “Let go of me.”

“Fat chance,” he said, tightening his grip again. Never mind the tears streaking her sooty cheeks. Men hadn’t cornered the market on arson jobs. And with five suspicious fires this side of Seattle in the past nine weeks, he wasn’t about to let her out of his sight until he found out exactly what she knew about this one.

She went limp, her fight gone. “You’re hurting me.”

His gaze shifted to the arm he still held, the only part of her he’d touched as he’d let her wear herself out pummeling his chest. His heart pitched. “You’re burned.” He jerked his thumb off her blistering flesh, sickened that he’d hurt her further.

His partner directed a flashlight at her arm. The underside was flaming red from wrist to crook.

Cupping her elbow with just enough pressure to prevent her from escaping, Jake gentled his tone. “Are you burned anywhere else?”

“I’m fine.” She tried to tug free of his hold.

“You’re not fine.” Megadoses of adrenaline had to be shooting through this spitfire for her to not so much as wince at the pain that had to be blazing up her arm. “This is a serious burn. It needs to be dressed.”

She visibly shrank at his insistent tone. “My friend’s coming for me. He’ll take care of everything.”

Right. If she thought he was about to let her walk away, she’d clearly burned a few brain cells along with that arm. Being careful not to cause her any more pain, he steered her toward the street. “You can wait for your friend in the ambulance.”

As they came around the now-smoldering building, she dug in her heels and darted terrified glances every which way. “No, please.”

Jake caught his partner’s attention and jerked his head toward the sheriff’s car.

Davis nodded and jogged off.

Jake angled his flashlight just high enough so he could study her heart-shaped face without blinding her. How had he ever mistaken her for a guy? She didn’t look much younger than him—late twenties, maybe. Her damp hair, flattened by the rain, skimmed her shoulders, but she was all girl—and very afraid. He’d expected to see fear over getting caught, maybe regret. Not— “I want to help you,” he said, his voice cracking at her terror.

Her watery brown eyes searched his as if she desperately wanted to believe him. “I can’t go out there,” she whispered.

The rattled pitch of her voice tugged at his heart. He tilted his head, softening his expression. “I’m Captain Jake Steele with the Stalwart Fire Department. What’s your name?”

“Ni—” She coughed, the crackly sound rattling through her limbs. “Kara. Kara Grant.”

He didn’t believe her, but nodded anyway. The cough had all the signs of an attempt to buy enough time to come up with an alias. “Did you set the fire, Kara?”

Her eyes flared. “What? No!” She made another useless attempt to jerk free of his grip as the sheriff and Davis rushed toward them. “Sheriff, this firefighter won’t let go of me!”

“She needs medical attention,” Jake growled.

“He thinks I set the fire! When I’m the victim here.”

“Wait. You live here?” Jake’s surprise pitched the question a couple of octaves higher than he’d intended.

“What do you think?” She cradled her wounded arm.

“Lady, you were running away. What do you think I thought?” His department had been called in to assist this neighboring town’s volunteer department. He hadn’t caught the name of the missing victim. Her name.

The sheriff radioed the news to the chief. The firefighters who’d been searching for her inside soon emerged from the house.

Kara gulped. “They were all looking for me? I’m sorry, I didn’t realize.”

“Didn’t realize?” Jake ground his teeth to reel in his tone. “My men were putting their lives at risk while you watched from the bushes. I have a five-year-old boy at home who doesn’t need to lose another parent.”

“I—” Her expression crumpled. “Please, no one was hurt, were they?”

Jake let out a pent-up breath. “No.”

The sheriff cleared his throat. “I still need you to answer a few questions, and I think you’ll be more comfortable doing that in the back of the ambulance than a squad car.”

Her breathing quickened. “Okay, yes. You’re right. Of course.”

Since she’d stopped complaining about his hold on her elbow, Jake guided her toward the ambulance. As they stepped into view of her neighbors huddled in their yards, their Thanksgiving dinners forgotten, Kara clung to his coat. Jake scanned the crowd, looking for anyone suspicious. A bulbous-nosed man stood alone and seemed particularly intent on the firefighters’ actions.

“It’s the tenant,” a woman exclaimed.

A young man cut across the yard and raced toward them. At Kara’s sharp inhalation, Jake instinctively angled his body to block her from view.

The guy raised something in his hands. A camera.

“It’s okay. It’s just a reporter,” Jake said, shifting back.

But at the camera’s flash, Kara buried her face against his coat. “Please, just get me to the ambulance. Please.”

His conscience pricked at her sudden trust, or maybe the way she trembled against his chest. He curled a sheltering arm around her. “Sheriff, I think those questions better wait until after the paramedics check her over.”

Jake pulled back just enough to see Kara’s face. His initial assumptions weren’t adding up. He scrutinized her breathing, her eyes, her skin, for signs of assault, shock, something that would explain why she’d run from help.

Besides the obvious—fear of getting caught.

 #

A section of roof crashed to the ground, spewing black smoke and debris into the air, and over her car. Kara forced herself to draw deep breaths, to release them slowly. The paramedics were bound to insist on taking her to the hospital, and she couldn’t let that happen. Especially now that Jake’s suspicions had confirmed her worst fears. The fire was no accident.

The taste of smoke turned acrid in her mouth. Deep down she’d known the fire was meant for her. That’s why she’d called the marshal overseeing her protection the instant she’d gotten out of the house. She shook her head. And then she’d almost let her real name slip to the overprotective firefighter. Thank goodness, Mrs. Harboyle had been away at her daughter’s for Thanksgiving.

Kara’s vision blurred. Her landlady’s home was destroyed, along with sixty years of memories, and it was all her fault.

“Hang on,” Jake’s husky voice whispered through her hair, an instant before his hands spanned her waist and hoisted her onto the back of the ambulance.

Her breath caught. Oh. After the way she’d fought him back there, she hadn’t expected him to be so nice.

He ditched his hat on the end of the rig, and his sandy brown hair, damp with perspiration, curled over his forehead. “You okay?” he asked, his sweet, lopsided smile not helping her breathe any easier.

Pressing her palm to her chest, she sank onto the gurney. Listen to her. She shouldn’t be noticing a guy’s smile. Never mind how her heart had twisted when he’d mentioned his motherless son. No one wanted a relationship with a woman with a price on her head.

Kara startled at the touch of a petite brunette beside her, and scrambled to catch up to the questions she was spewing.

“I think she’s in shock,” Jake said, his deep voice quieting her frayed nerves.

He seemed genuinely concerned. Could he be someone she could trust? Maybe. Except the marshal had warned her not to trust anyone. Not even the police, because a smart bad guy would pretend to be on her side, pretend to want to help her, pretend to be taking her to safety just long enough to get her somewhere secluded and then slit her throat.

She gulped, sliding her hand up to her neck. Stick to the rules, the marshal had said, and she’d be okay. They’d never lost a witness who stuck to the rules.

So how would Deputy Marshal Ray Boyd explain the fire?

She pushed away the female paramedic’s stethoscope. “I have to go.” For all she knew, the paramedic worked for the adoption ring, too. She glanced from one blocked door to the other, her heart racing. Anyone here could work for it. Be waiting for the chance to finish her off.

“It’s going to be okay,” the paramedic soothed in the kind of voice Kara used to use with her kindergarten students. “I can quickly dress this wound and then the sheriff can ask his questions. Okay?”

The sheriff, right. Kara wiped sweaty palms down her slacks. She needed to stay calm. If they thought she was in shock, the sheriff might insist she go to the hospital. And it would be way too easy for her attacker to get to her there.

“Kara?” the paramedic’s voice filtered through her frenetic thoughts.

“I’m sorry, pardon?”

“I asked on a scale of one to ten, how bad is the pain in your arm?”

“Oh.”

Jake stood at the rear door, watching her, his warm blue eyes radiating concern.

She ducked her head. The pain was bad, really bad, but if she admitted that, they’d dope her up and send her to the hospital and she’d miss her meeting. The marshal might not find her.

“Kara?” The paramedic split open what looked like a ketchup packet. “How bad?”

Kara shrugged. “Not bad. Honest. A four maybe.”

The paramedic clasped Kara’s wrist and started squeezing the packet over the wound.

Blinding pain streaked down her arm. “Ah!” She jerked from the paramedic’s grasp. Bandages tumbled to the floor.

The paramedic swiped at the gel that had spilled from the packet onto her leg. “I’d better give you something for the pain,” she said through gritted teeth.

Kara thrust out her arm. “No, really. That’s not necessary.” Nausea churned her gut. She swallowed hard. “I’m sorry. You just surprised me.”

The woman raised her eyebrow and slanted a glance at Jake, with a slight shake of her head.

Kara tried not to wince as the paramedic dabbed the remaining gel around the blistered portions.

“Most of the burn is first degree,” the paramedic explained as she wrapped a bandage around the arm.

Kara swallowed again and again. Why had the marshal suggested a place so far away to meet? With her car covered in debris, not to mention blocked in the driveway by fire engines, she’d have to walk, and…

“These blistered portions are second degree,” the paramedic went on. “I’m afraid they’re going to hurt a lot more than a four before they get better.”

Yeah, they already did. A black haze slid over Kara’s vision.

“Are you okay?” Jake sounded really concerned.

She teetered, reached out blindly to stop herself from toppling off the gurney.

Jake lunged toward her. “She’s going to faint!”

The next thing she knew, her cheek was pressed against his solid chest, his arm wrapped protectively around her. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

For a few blissful seconds, she lingered in his protective embrace—the kind of embrace Clark should’ve wrapped her in three months ago.

She sucked in a quick breath and straightened, dismissing the memory. She’d made her choice and so had he. Jake’s arm dropped away, and she shivered at the chilly damp air that rushed into its place.

“I’m guessing you’ll want those painkillers now?” The paramedic doused the bandage in saline.

The cooling flow took the edge off the pain. “Uh, maybe just a couple of acetaminophen.”

Empathy brimmed in Jake’s eyes. “You’ll have to forgive my cousin. She needs to work on her bedside manner.”

Kara chuckled, bringing that heart-fluttering smile back to Jake’s lips. She sighed. She would’ve liked the chance to get to know him. But by tomorrow, Kara Grant would no longer exist.

Another paramedic appeared at the back doors, where the now-missing sheriff had been. “Ready to roll?”

“Roll?” She pushed on the gurney to slide off. “No, I’m fine. I don’t need to go to the hospital.”

Jake’s hands dropped to her shoulders, pinning her in place. “You almost passed out. You’re going to the hospital.”

Kara was about to argue, offer to sign anything they needed to let her leave, then she caught sight of the reporter angling for another photograph, and said, “Okay, let’s go.” If by some miracle, the adoption ring wasn’t behind tonight’s fire, her picture in the paper would seal her fate. A haircut, dye job and colored contacts may have transformed her from a long-haired, blue-eyed blonde, but there was no disguising her heart-shaped face.

 #

One good thing Kara learned en route to the hospital was that the coffee shop where she was supposed to meet her handler was only two blocks away. All she had to do was convince the doctor she was fine and get out before anyone tried to stick her with anything.

Except the triage nurse didn’t hold out much hope that she’d see a doctor anytime soon. “The fog caused a huge traffic pileup,” she said. “Every E.R. bed is full, and I’m afraid it may be some time before we can even transfer care from the EMT. We need to give priority to the most critical patients.”

“Yes, I understand,” Kara said, fishing for an out. “Perhaps I should just wait to see my own doctor tomorrow.”

“I don’t think that’s wise,” the paramedic—Sherri, she’d said her name was—piped up. “You have no home to go to. And besides the sheriff is coming here to interview you.”

“Okay, then.” The nurse recorded all Kara’s pertinent details, and then directed Sherri to wheel her into the hall to wait until her care could be transferred.

Not good. She could be stuck for hours waiting for a bed, never mind waiting to see the E.R. doc. “You really don’t have to stay with me,” Kara said to Sherri after her partner wandered off to do paperwork and restock their rig. “You must have other calls to get to.”

“No, not until the hospital takes over your care. That’s the policy.”

Kara sat up. “If you just need the gurney back, I can sit in the waiting room.” She felt silly lying on the thing anyway.

“That’s not how it works.”

“Oh.”

Sherri hitched her hip onto the edge of the gurney. “So how long have you known my cousin?”

“Your cousin?”

“Jake.”

“Oh, the firefighter.” Kara vaguely remembered him referring to Sherri as his cousin, although they shared little family resemblance. “Just since tonight.”

Sherri’s head jerked back as if she didn’t believe her. “Really? He didn’t act like it.”

Jake’s “It’s okay. I got you” replayed in Kara’s mind as she realized for the first time that he’d caught her, when Sherri had been closer, right at her side, even.

Sherri studied her intently, her expression unconvinced.

“Why don’t you grab yourself a coffee?” Kara suggested.

“I’m fine.” Sherri asked her about her family and job and Kara did her best to avoid giving direct answers.

Once more, Kara suggested Sherri get herself a coffee or bite to eat or a breath of fresh air, anything to get her away for a few minutes so Kara could slip out of the hospital. She needed to go before the bad guys figured out she was here. But the woman wouldn’t budge.

Kara readjusted her position on the uncomfortable gurney for the umpteenth time in two hours. “What happened to the sheriff? I thought he wanted to ask me questions.”

“I’m sure he’ll be here soon. Why don’t you try to get some rest?”

No, she couldn’t do that. It seemed as if every person who walked by looked at her oddly. Any one of them could be a goon of the adoption ring waiting for the chance to finish her off. She needed to get out of here. Somehow she needed to get word to the marshal, but with Sherri hovering so close, Kara hadn’t dared even to try to text him. “Um, Sherri? I need to use the washroom.” Why hadn’t she thought of that sooner?

Sherri smiled, her eyes crinkling as if she genuinely cared, so different from her all-business attitude back in the ambulance. “No problem. I can walk you there.” She led her to a single-stall facility.

“Uh, maybe you could find out how much longer the wait will be while I go.”

Sherri propped a shoulder against the hall wall. “I’m sure it won’t be much longer.”

Great, sneaking away is out. Kara shut the door and opted for plan B. She turned on the faucet and the fan and prayed the noise would muffle her voice as she dialed Ray’s number. Voice mail picked up on the fifth ring. What did she do now? It wasn’t like him not to answer.

A knock sounded on the door. “You okay?” Sherri called.

“Yes. Almost done.” Kara lifted her voice over the noise of the fan, and then cupped her hand around her mouth at the receiver. “Ray, it’s Kara. They made me come to the hospital and the sheriff wants to question me and… Please come get me if you can. Or I’ll meet you as soon as I’m released.”

Sherri knocked again. “They have a bed for you. You ready?”

Kara stuffed the phone back into her pocket, snapped off the faucet and fan, and jerked open the door. “Ready.”

Rather than return her to the gurney, Sherri led her to a curtained-off bed at the end of a long room lined with beds. “Here you go. Lie down here and the doctor will be in to see you soon.” Sherri nodded at the sheriff waiting by the bed then left. Facing the sheriff alone, Kara suddenly felt a whole lot worse than she had a minute ago.

A very efficient nurse wasted no time checking her vitals as the sheriff pulled up a chair and flipped open his notebook. Between his crisply ironed shirt, unflattering crew cut and the hard lines creasing his face, he reminded her of a drill-sergeant principal she’d once worked under—the kind of guy who didn’t let anything slip by him.

“Your pulse is very rapid,” the nurse scolded.

Yours would be too if someone was trying to kill you! Kara took a deep breath and willed it to slow.

“Tell me what happened,” the sheriff said.

“I was upstairs watching a movie in my room when my landlady’s cat started scratching my door and mewing frantically.” Kara dug her fingers into the sheets. Had she cost Mrs. Harboyle her dear companion, too? “Did the firefighters save the cat? It ran when I tried to pick it up.”

With a suppressed huff, the sheriff stopped writing. “A large, long-haired white cat?”

“Yes!”

“Yes, he was rescued. Please continue.”

“I turned off the TV and—”She squeezed her eyes shut as the panic crashed over her all over again. “That’s when—” Her breath came in short gasps. “I heard the crackling, smelled the smoke.”

The nurse touched Kara’s shoulder. “You’re okay now. Take deep breaths.”

Inhaling, Kara pressed her lips together.

“Did you hear anything downstairs before that?” the sheriff asked.

“It’s an old house. It creaks and groans a lot. I try not to pay too much attention.” She bit her lip. It wasn’t a lie, exactly. She did try not to pay attention, but with a death threat hanging over her head, every creak and groan made her jump. That’s why she’d turned on the movie, extra loud, to drown out the noises of the storm outside, and the one inside her head and heart. She was spending Thanksgiving alone, and couldn’t help wondering if she’d ever be able to spend another holiday with her family, as paltry as their celebrations had always been.

“How about outside? A bark? A car engine? Any kind of movement?”

She twisted her hands in the sheets and buried them in her lap. “No, nothing.”

“Were you home alone all day?”

“No, I work for a janitorial service.” The furthest thing from a kindergarten teacher the marshal’s office could find. And she missed being with kids so much. “I got home just after five.”

“Was the door locked?”

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t smell any smoke at that time?”

“No, I reheated leftovers and went to my room.”

“You didn’t check the other doors?”

“I did.” She gulped. She was always checking and double-checking the locks, because Mrs. Harboyle had a bad habit of letting out the cat and not relocking the door.

“And you didn’t hear anyone break in? See any evidence of a break-in?”

“No.” Kara’s throat constricted at the possibility that Mrs. Harboyle left the back door unlocked before her daughter picked her up. That the arsonist might’ve still been in the house when she got home.

The sheriff flipped over a page in his notebook. “How did you get out?”

She fixed her gaze on the sheriff’s badge. “I covered myself with a wet towel and tried to get downstairs, but—” The words clogged in her throat. The flames had moved so fast.

“That’s how you burned your arm?”

She hugged it to her belly and nodded. “I ran back to my room and jumped out the window onto the roof of the woodshed and from there to the ground.”

“Did you see anyone then?”

“A car stopped on the street and I hid in the bushes.” Her heart ratcheted in her chest at the memory—the fear that she’d escaped the fire only to face the man who’d set it.

“Our 9-1-1 caller. Yes, I talked to him. He said he pounded on the door. Why didn’t you show yourself? Tell him no one else was inside?”

“I—” she gulped “—I guess I was in shock.”

The sheriff drilled her with the same questions, phrased a dozen different ways, for what seemed like forever. Finally the nurse shooed him out to make way for the doctor. To Kara’s relief, he said he had all the information he needed for the moment.

By tomorrow, she’d be out of town and it would be the marshal’s problem to explain her disappearance.

The nurse returned with a tall, dark-haired doctor who immediately started into his own litany of questions as the nurse removed the arm dressing so he could examine the burn.

The more questions he asked the edgier Kara grew, but she couldn’t figure out why. There was nothing weird about his questions. Except…

He never actually looked her in the eye. Not once. Was he afraid she’d be able to read something there?

She muffled a gasp. What if the adoption ring was connected to organized crime and they had a hold over him, like that doctor on the TV show, and they’d ordered him to kill her?

She swallowed. Okay, get a grip. He could just be preoccupied. He wore a wedding band. Maybe he just got off the phone with his wife about a problem at home. He had to at least be a doctor, right? Otherwise the nurse wouldn’t have brought him in.

The doctor glanced at her now-bare wound. “That doesn’t look too bad.”

And it didn’t. Aside from a few blistery spots, she’d had sunburns that were worse.

“You can go,” the doctor said, turning to leave.

“I can?”

Someone stepped around the curtain on her other side, and she practically springboarded into the air.

The person glanced at her in confusion. “Sorry, wrong bed.”

Meanwhile the nurse hurried after the departing doctor. “Are you sure? Her BP is low. And look at her eyes. I’m concerned she’s still in shock.”

Kara blinked. What was wrong with her eyes? Aside from her overreaction to Mr. Wrong Bed.

The doctor stopped, and for the first time, met her eyes, for all of a fleeting nanosecond. “She’s fine.”

Kara swung her legs off the bed, not about to wait around long enough for the nurse to change his mind. Maybe it was her imagination, but the woman seemed a little too anxious to keep her here.

As Kara pushed aside the curtain to leave, the nurse trotted up carrying a hypodermic. “Hold on a second.”

“What— What’s that for? The doctor said I can go.”

“Yes, but he just ordered this to help with the pain.”

“I don’t need it.” Kara edged sideways, putting the bed between her and the needle-happy nurse. How had she not clued in to that maniacal glint in her eyes sooner? It was the exact same glint she’d seen in that goon’s eyes back in Boston, when he’d spotted her snapping his picture and pulled his gun.

An orderly popped a wheelie with a wheelchair at the end of her bed. “You the one who’s getting sprung?”

“That’s me!” Kara jumped into the wheelchair.

The orderly didn’t get three feet before the nurse rounded the bed with the needle. “She’s not going yet.”

“Yes, actually, I am,” Kara insisted, reaching for the wheels herself. “The doctor released me.”

The orderly hesitated.

“Let’s go,” Kara prodded, cranking the chair out of the nurse’s reach.

“Fine, take her,” the nurse relented, and the orderly snapped into action.

“Your ride waiting outside the E.R.?” he asked, wheeling her past the long row of beds and into the hall.

“Uh, no ride.”

He pulled the chair into an abrupt U-turn.

“What are you doing?”

“Taking you to the front doors. There’s a cab company across the street.”

As they passed the E.R.’s reception desk, she glimpsed the nurse talking on the phone and eyeballing her. What if she’d alerted a cohort to cut her off out front?

Spotting an exit sign at the end of the next side hall, Kara said, “Stop, I’ll get out here.”

“Oh, you drove yourself?” the orderly asked.

She shot a glance over her shoulder to see if the nurse was looking. She wasn’t. “Is that the back parking lot?”

“You got it.” The orderly accepted the detour easily.

Maybe too easily, Kara thought as they approached the exit—the uncomfortably dark exit.

“You want me to wheel you right to your car?” he asked.

“No!” Kara hauled down her voice. “Here’s fine. Thank you.”

Two seconds later, the orderly was already halfway back up the hall as she hovered inside the doorway scanning the poorly lit back lot. She dug into her pocket for her cell phone, except…did she really want to hang around here waiting for Ray if maniac nurse had called goons to nab her on sight?

Two blocks. She could run that in under five minutes. Clutching her phone, she yanked up her hoodie and plunged into the misty darkness.

The slap of footsteps on the wet pavement sounded behind her.

Heart pounding, she quickened her pace.

The sound got louder, closer.

Breaking into a sprint, she glanced over her shoulder. The shadowy figure behind her abruptly stopped. Whew, Kara breathed, and then slammed into a solid wall of muscle.

Powerful hands clamped around her upper arms. “I gotcha.”

The opening of Identity Withheld (November 2014) changed a few times in the draft stages (including the name of the heroine). I dropped the prologue (which was a different backstory than ultimately went into the book), because I felt that it was stronger to let the reader learn it as the hero did. My editor asked me to delete the fire rescue, since it wasn’t suspenseful.

So here’s how the first draft of the opening read:

A grizzled-faced man yanked the arm of a child deliberating over prizes at the restaurant’s exit. “Time to leave.”

“Hey, take it easy.” Nicole Rice herded her stray kindergarten students back to the game area for their end-of-school party and whirled around in time to see the disgruntled parent give his child another hard yank. “You’ll rip her arm out,” she blurted.

The man drilled her with coal-black eyes. Eyes so cold they sent a shiver down her spine. Then he stormed out with his kid in tow.

Five Months Later:

The marshal assigned to her by the witness protection program sat on the park bench outside Stalwart’s library, watching firefighters hosing down their rigs at the station across the street.

Nicole’s heart jerked at the sight of him. In the five months since she’d been banished to this tiny town on the outskirts of Seattle, he’d only ever checked in on her on the last Friday of each month.

Today was Wednesday.

Heart pounding, she slid into the seat beside him. His torn jeans and scruffy hair poking out from under his ball cap did little to incite confidence in his ability to safeguard her. She nervously brushed her bangs from her eyes, and smoothed what remained of the hair she’d been compelled to cut and dye. “What’s happened? Has the mob figured out I fingered that little girl’s kidnapper?”

“Shh,” Stewart hissed, his gaze sweeping the area. He calmly handed her a truck-stop coffee and then slung his arm over the back of the bench. “Tomorrow’s Thanksgiving. I’m taking a long weekend, so I thought I’d stop by early to check on you. How are you doing?”

“How do you think I’m doing?” she blurted at the inane question.

Across the street, a lanky firefighter’s attention snapped her way.

She ducked her head and reeled in her frustration. It wasn’t Stewart’s fault she was here. He was only doing his job. She peeled back the coffee cup’s plastic lid. “I’m sorry. It’s just that Thanksgiving was always a big deal for my family. I hate that I can’t be with them to celebrate, can’t even call them.”

“It’s for your own protection, and theirs.”

She let out a sigh. “I know.”

Schoolchildren scurried past, their cheeks rosy from the crisp late November air, colorful construction-paper turkeys clutched in their hands.

Nicole—Kathy, she mentally corrected, not yet used to thinking of herself by her new name—imagined the Thanksgiving party the students would have had at school today, and longed for another chance to be part of a school party, even one at Cheesy Monkeys.

She blew out a breath. That life was about as far removed from her new library technician job as Stalwart was from her Boston home. Some days she wished she’d never heard the Amber Alert on her car radio as she left the restaurant that June afternoon.

No, that wasn’t true. She was glad her tip saved the girl’s life. She just wished she’d never said anything to the man who turned out to be her kidnapper. “If wishes were horses, paupers would ride.” She shook her head. How many times had she recited the nursery rhyme to her students to encourage them to act instead of sitting around dreaming?

If only she were free to act…

Stewart squeezed her hand. “You could join me for the weekend if you like.”

Kathy jerked free of his grasp. “That would not be appropriate.” She gulped down her coffee, then sprang to her feet, crushing the cup in her hand. Not for the first time, she wondered if all witnesses placed in the program received monthly visits from their handlers. The friendlier Stewart got, the more she wondered. “I need to get back to work. They’ve asked me to lead story time this afternoon.”

He tipped up his ball cap and squinted at her. “Are you sure that’s wise?”

“Maybe not.” When she’d bitterly protested the mundane job of library tech they’d dreamt up for her, they’d drilled in the importance of doing nothing that might tip people off to the skills, hobbies, or associations she’d enjoyed in her former life, especially anything to do with teaching. Teachers’ registries would be the first place the mob would look for her, they’d said. “But it would’ve raised more eyebrows if I’d refused when the usual volunteer called in sick.”

“Just don’t make a habit of it.” Stewart chucked his unfinished coffee into the nearby trashcan. “Listen, I know this gig can be a tough haul, especially around the holidays. I’ll make a point of stopping by again before Christmas.”

“That’s not necessary. I’d be happy knowing the next time I see you is when the prosecution is ready for me to testify.”

He nodded, but a thought she could read all to well tightened his jaw. If she lived that long.

#

Before their fire engine rounded the corner, the pillar of dirty yellow-black smoke rising from the old two-story had Jake Steele pulling on his breathing apparatus. A gnarled oak towered over the front porch, its barren branches looking like a giant reaching through the haze to free the occupants. As their rig slammed to a stop, Jake prayed Mrs. Harboyle was already out. She’d lived in the place as long as he could remember, but twisted with arthritis now, she didn’t move too well.

He jumped from the rig and grabbed the attack line, honing in on the chief’s orders. An ancient TV aerial teetered at the corner of the roof, where two firefighters aimed their ladder to hack in air vents. A fan-shaped trellis, the plant twined around its arms shriveled and brown, unhinged from the wall beside the side door. Jake turned his hose on the flames licking out the ground floor windows as two firefighters hauled Mrs. Harboyle out the front door.

The old woman doubled over coughing. “My tenant’s still in there. You have to save her!”

“Where’s her room?” Jake shouted, motioning to his partner.

Someone on the street pointed to the second story. “There she is!”

A young woman—the one with the pixie haircut he’d seen outside the library—stood at the window with a cat secured under her arm, football style. She reached up as if unfastening the latch.

“No,” Jake yelled… too late.

She shouldered open the window, and hungry for oxygen, the fire leapt for the air. The woman disappeared behind a wall of flames and smoke.

Jake charged inside, his partner on his heels. The air on the main level was almost clear thanks to the open upstairs window wicking the smoke up the stairwell. The stairs had a striped runner down the center, secured at each step by a brass rod. Hauling the hose, Jake took the stairs two at a time. The hose couplings marked each step with a heavy thunk. In seconds the strength-sapping heat turned oven-hot.

Halfway up, his steps slowed. Sweat streamed down his spine.

A coupling caught on the bottom newel post almost ripping the unwieldy hose from his hands. Leo freed it and Jake heaved the hose up the final step, swept water over the plank pine boards, up the walls.

Drawing a deep breath from his air pack, Jake squinted through the bubble of his mask. Vinyl wallpaper peeled from the walls, landed on his helmet and shoulder in a sticky strip. He swiped at it, but it melted into a gloppy mess on his gloves. Clawing through the smoke, he struggled to orient himself to the room he’d last seen the woman. Too often things weren’t what they seemed in a fire. The walls, the floors blended into a mass of patterns. Overhead, the sound of axes hacking at the roof syncopated to the hiss of water.

“Miss?” he shouted, pushing at a bedroom door. The door budged only a few inches. “Miss, if that’s you, move back from the door.” He muscled the door open another foot.

This wasn’t the room. The window was closed. Thick smoke hung in the air, but the fire hadn’t yet licked through the walls.

“I’m here” came a tiny voice that caught him in the gut like a sucker punch.

Jake handed off the hose to his partner, and ducking below the worst of the smoke charged toward the sound.

She sat hunched by the window, a wet towel over her head and shoulders. “Is Mrs. Harboyle out?”

“Yes. What’s your name?”

She shifted, revealing a cat clutched in her arms. “Kathy.”

“Let’s get you out, Kathy.” Jake helped her up and hustled her—still clutching the cat—toward the door.

“I’m so sorry. Mrs. Harboyle wouldn’t leave without her cat. I—”

“It’s okay,” he hushed, needing her to save her breath.

Leo signaled him back inside the room, turning their hose in the direction they’d come. “The fire flashed over the stairs. We’ll have to take her out by ladder.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Kathy’s piercing blue eyes pleaded for forgiveness, her arms tightening around the bundle in her arms.

She was going to have to give it up if he was to get her down a ladder.

As if Leo had read his thoughts, he coaxed her into handing him the cat just as the ladder crew breached the window. With the roof now vented, the fire didn’t rush in. Jake lifted her through the opening where another firefighter waited to guide her down.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

And her gratitude, her surprisingly calm voice, squeezed his chest. She was one unusual woman. Or shock had so detached her from reality that she thought only of the trouble she’d caused by going after the cat and not how close she’d come to getting trapped inside.

Leo hitched a leg through the window next, but the cat streaked from his arms with a bone-chilling shriek.

“No!” Kathy froze on the ladder, lifted pleading eyes to Jake’s.

He turned back to the smoke-filled room as the chief’s voice blasted over the radio. “You’re out of time. Get out of there.” With the image of Kathy’s desperate blue gaze blistering his brain, Jake ignored the chief’s order and dropped to his hands and knees. What was he doing? He had a four-year-old son that needed his dad to come home tonight. He started to rise, but the flick of a white-tipped tail from beneath the bed skirt caught his attention. He lifted the fabric and scooped out the trembling creature before it knew what hit him.

The cat mewed pitifully.

“You’ll be alright, fella.”

“C’mon,” Leo yelled from the window.

An ominous groan rumbled through the attic overhead.

“Go, go, go.” Jake lunged over the windowsill just as hunks of plaster and balls of fire rained down on the room.

A cheer erupted from the crowd below.

He slid down the ladder with the squirming cat, and raced clear of falling debris.

Kathy beamed at him, tears tracing twin sooty streaks down her cheeks.

Oh, yeah, this was worth the reaming out he was bound to get from the chief after they knocked out this fire. Spotting Mrs. Harboyle sitting on the back of an ambulance, breathing through an oxygen mask, in no condition to take the cat, he transferred the little guy to Kathy’s welcoming arms, then peeled off his mask and gloves and returned her smile.

“Hey, look this way,” a female voice called from the crowd—a teenager with a camera pointed their way.

“No,” Kathy gasped and burrowed her face into his fire jacket, never mind that it reeked of smoke and was streaked with soot and melted vinyl, and she was squishing the cat.

“Hey, hey.” He gently clasped her shoulders, urging a few inches between them. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry.” She lifted panicked eyes to his—the kind of panic he’d expected back in the house, not now she was safe. She tightened her hold on the cat and jerked away. “I need to go.”

“Wait!”

She didn’t. She plowed through the crowd, her head low, looking like the last thing she felt was safe.

#

Kathy ducked behind the last fire engine and gulped in deep breaths. Oh Lord, please don’t let this be what I think it is.

Her chest cramped as she scanned the crowd. Was he here? Had he found her? She squeezed Bandit at the thought of how close Mrs. Harboyle and her cat came to losing their lives. That it could be her fault if the fire had been meant to smoke her out. Oh Lord, I don’t want to keep running. Please let me be wrong.

“There you are,” a deep male voice said, a hand clamping her shoulder from behind…

A couple of other scenes that were nixed at the planning stages, because they were a little too hearth and home for Love Inspired Suspense, whereas would have been fine for a straight romance, were showing the heroine in her job at the library reading to the children and a Thanksgiving dinner at Jake’s house, at which his former FBI brother, Sam, clues in to who she really is. In the end, I didn’t even have her new job be at the library.

My editor has a fun sense of humor, which gives me a good chuckle in the midst of edits. Such as in her suggested change for this line:

With one eyebrow quirked raised, the mayor slipped on his sunglasses.

Her reason for changing “quirked” to “raised”: “Quirked went from an unusual word to a plague among my authors…so I’ve declared open season on it.”

Although I make many, many changes to the manuscript based on feedback from my critique partners, the only major cut to the submitted manuscript by my editor was of a thread I’d highlighted as something I could cut to bring the length down to the required word count. We both liked the extra elements it introduced, but they weren’t essential to the story, so in the end we agreed to cut it. Below is the main part that was cut, which originally occurred at the church, before Kate and Tom returned to her house to look at the police file Tom had just received.

“Excuse me, Kate,” an elderly voice called after them. They turned to find Mrs. Pepperlea shifting from one foot to the other, wringing her hands. “Could you come to the teller’s office for a minute?”

She avoided eye contact, and Kate reflexively tugged together the unbuttoned collar of her blouse as if her body was as exposed as she suddenly felt.

“Is there a problem?” Tom asked.

“Uh.” Mrs. Pepperlea did another little box step. “Perhaps it’d be best if you come too, Detective Parker.”

Kate shot him a startled look.

Tom’s palm flattened reassuringly against her back as Mrs. Pepperlea led them to a small office off the sanctuary where Henry Crantz, Julie’s father-in-law, and Frank O’Brien, a retired sailor, sat at a table tallying the day’s offering. “What seems to be the problem?” Tom asked.

“These.” Henry handed Kate three twenty-dollar bills.

They were obviously counterfeit and she couldn’t stop a surprised gulp. Except the lift of Mrs. Pepperlea’s eyebrows said it had sounded guilty. “These aren’t mine!”

Tom pried them from her grip.

“They’re not mine,” she repeated. “I wrote a check. I always write a check.”

Henry passed her the envelope. “Your name was on the envelope.”

Kate gaped at her neatly printed name. “This isn’t mine. It’s a pew envelope. I always use a numbered one. Number forty-three. You must know that.”

“The point of the numbers is so we don’t know.”

Mrs. Pepperlea’s fingers took up the nervous shuffle her feet had been doing earlier. “I do recall seeing checks from you in the past,” she squeaked mouse-like.

Frank traced his finger down the ledger in front of him. “We didn’t receive a number forty-three envelope today. Did you make a donation?”

“Yes!”

“Okay.” Tom patted the air. “Obviously someone sitting behind us palmed Kate’s envelope and replaced it with this one.” Tom placed his hand on her shoulder. His solid grip slowed her runaway pulse. “I’ll talk to the ushers. Find out if they noticed any suspicious behavior.”

Mrs. Pepperlea sprang from her chair. “I’ll go catch them before they leave.”

Kate sank deeper in her seat. Great more people to whisper about her.

Tom squeezed her shoulder. “It’ll be okay. Someone’s probably just trying to take advantage of last week’s incident at the grocery store to score some quick cash.”

“He didn’t have to put my name on the envelope to palm another one.” She cringed at how whiny she sounded.

“That’s true,” Henry said. “It looks like he went out of his way to make Kate look bad.”

Alarm streaked through Kate’s chest. Like the letter to the editor.

The ushers shuffled in, led by Mrs. Pepperlea. “None of them saw anything suspicious,” she said. None of them made eye contact with Kate, either. One guy tugged nervously at his tie.

In full detective mode, Tom quizzed them about visitors and whether they could tell from which pew backs envelopes were taken.

Kate pictured the filled pews behind where they’d sat. Brian Nagy had been here. Lucetta, too. Both prime suspects in the counterfeiting case. Both people who had more than one motive for making her look bad. If Brian’s son told him about seeing her at the property, he’d be very motivated to smear her reputation ahead of any attempts to block sale of his mother’s property.

“One more thing,” Tom said as the other ushers turned to leave. “Could you empty your pockets, and show me your wallets and any other books or papers you’re carrying?”

The men now threw glances her way—irritated glances, making her face heat—but they complied without balking. Nothing turned up.

“Please don’t discuss this with anyone else, not even family members,” he said as the ushers filed out. Tom slipped the counterfeit bills and envelope inside his notepad. “I’ll take these into evidence and file a report. If there’s nothing else…” he said to the tellers still seated at the table.

“That’s all. Thank you.”

Tom coaxed Kate to her feet. “C’mon, let’s get you home.”

“Can’t we wait until everyone’s gone?”

Empathy brimmed in his pure blue eyes. “No one knows why you were called in here.”

Kate peeked around the door. “They’d easily guess. Don’t you think?”

“You have nothing to be ashamed of. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

The tenderness in his voice wrapped around her like a sweet embrace. “People are going to say you’re protecting me you know.”

He tucked Dad’s file under his arm, and looked so deeply into her eyes, her heart felt as if it were freefalling straight into his warm, strong hands. “And I’m going to keep on protecting you. Okay?”