Kayla Harris shoved the key in the lock of her office door and glanced one more time down the dark hallway. Streetlights lit a swatch of the wood floor through the window at the end of the hall. Cold fingered the back of her neck, a sensation that hadn’t let up all day. Not since that weird phone call this afternoon. It was probably all in her head that she’d been able to hear someone breathing on the other end.
Why did she have to forget that file? She should be home. Safe.
For eight years she hadn’t had a Secret Service detail to watch out for her, and not once had she thought she might need it—until right now. What was different tonight? The fear was probably all her imagination.
Kayla sighed, mostly at her overactive imagination, and turned the key. The door swung open before she could unlock it. She didn’t move, just stood in the hall and looked inside.
Footsteps. Heavy shoes on the wood of the stairs ascended to the second floor above the Main Street bakery in Samson, Virginia. The only entrance and exit for the second floor. The rental space was at the north end of Main. Quaint town, nice people who had the decency to—for the most part—not mention the things she’d done as a young adult.
Since she’d lived in the White House at the time, it meant that everyone in the country knew her story. A mother who had passed away from cancer, her father just reelected for his second term. Kayla had...gone off the rails, to put it pleasantly. But that was years ago, and she didn’t need to be reminded of the White House or those days so soon after her mother had passed.
It wasn’t hiding, living the small-town life. Not if everyone knew who she was. She’d spent her teen years tormenting the White House staff, the Secret Service—particularly the agents assigned to her—and her father with her wild ways. But that was years ago. Now she liked her quiet life of prenuptial agreements, wills and contracts. Most of which involved her sitting at her desk and not in a courtroom. Sure, it was an illusion of anonymity, but it was her life and she liked it.
And now this.
Someone was coming, and there was no time to run to the fire exit.
Kayla ducked inside and gripped the handle so it made no sound when she closed and locked the door. She pulled out her phone, clicked on the flashlight and shone it around. The fact that her office had been torn apart didn’t register. It couldn’t; there was no time.
Kayla wasn’t alone. That was all she needed to know.
She dialed 911. The operator answered, an older lady she’d met at church who said everything like it was and didn’t mince words. Her phone chimed. Low battery. Kayla opened her mouth to reply to the operator and heard those heavy steps in the hallway. The reply choked in her throat. Help.
Her office had been searched. Destroyed. Had they waited around for her?
Kayla’s heart pounded in her chest until she thought it might burst. She raced to the far side of her “lawyer desk,” the one her father had bought her after she had passed the Virginia bar. Her father, former president Jefferson Harris, would send a batch of Secret Service agents to protect her if she asked him to. But it would be too late.
Kayla crouched and hugged her jacket tight to her chest with her purse in her lap. Lord. She was a whole different person now than she’d been all those years ago, a “new creation,” God called her. She had peace with God. She needed some of that peace now.
A floorboard in the hall creaked.
She looked around for something to defend herself with, spotted an umbrella in the corner where she hung her coat and rushed to grab it. She couldn’t hide; she had to fight. Brandishing the thing like a weapon, Kayla waited as the sound of her own breath rushed through her ears.
The door handle twisted.
“Hey!” A man’s voice. But not from the other side of the door. This was farther away. The handle was released and the heavy steps pounded down the hall. A second set followed, giving chase to the far end. Bang. Bang. Glass shattered. Kayla dropped her purse on the floor and covered her ears as she stepped back until her shoulders hit the wall.
“Stop!” A man’s voice.
Then all she could hear was the thump of her heart in her chest. She lowered her hands. What was happening? Should she run? Call 911 again? Scream for help? Her phone lay on the floor by the desk, the screen lit but too far away for her to see if the call was still active.
Again, cold fingered the back of her neck. All too reminiscent of the night she’d snuck into a club so many years ago and had been slipped something in her drink. If Conner hadn’t found her, who knew what might have happened that night. But Special Agent Conner Thorne hadn’t thought his actions anything special. Just doing my job, Ms. Harris. She’d rolled her eyes, but inside, she’d been about to cry at the fact that he could be so impersonal with her. Especially when the feelings she’d had for the twenty-six-year-old Secret Service agent were anything but. Like a four-year age difference really made him “too old for her.”
Conner had been her first real crush. Her first real sense of what love might be. She’d never met anyone in college who brought out those feelings. Then he’d come along that last year her father was in the White House and she’d never met anyone else since who measured up.
More recently, Kayla had heard he’d been fired from the Secret Service. Something else she’d put behind her to add to the list of things she’d moved on from.
Still, thinking of him gave her peace. Thank You, Lord.
A shadow darkened the office doorway. The door was cracked only a few inches, but she saw it. The person pushed open the door slowly, hesitantly. A killer on the prowl? Kayla wanted to run to her phone, but was it worth the risk when the move might cost her her life?
After a deep breath, Kayla called out, “If you take one step in here, I’ll blow your head off!”
“You don’t like guns.”
That voice.
The light flipped on.
That face.
Kayla dropped the umbrella.
The lips on his scruffy face curled up at the corners. “Were you planning on skewering me with that thing? I’m having a bad enough day already.”
Kayla pressed one hand to her throat. “You scared me half to death with that cloak-and-dagger entrance, Conner Thorne.”
“Ah, so you haven’t forgotten me.” His lips broke into a smile. Conner Thorne. He still gave off that air of boyish charm, but there was nothing boyish about this man. Dark jeans, heavy boots, a button-up shirt and a leather jacket. His chocolate-brown hair needed cutting, and he badly needed to shave.
“You look like a thug.”
“And you look like a lawyer.” He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. “Though I guess that’s the point in both cases.”
“What are you doing here?” This was so weird. “Do you...live here in town or something?”
“Or something.” Conner glanced around the room. “Nice place. Nice town, too. I’ve been here and around for almost six months now.”
“Six—” She choked. “And you’re just coming to say hi now?”
He smiled again. “Not exactly.”
“Was that you in the hall?”
“I shot wide and chased him off. He ran down the fire escape