Which was why she’d packed up the bare necessities three weeks before Christmas, buckled her sons into their baby car seats and headed north toward the Dallas–Fort Worth metroplex with fierce determination. She hadn’t really had a plan—plans could wait, she’d told herself—but she knew she had to put herself out of reach of her in-laws until she had time to think things through. She’d thought she could lose herself in Texas’s second-largest metropolitan area.
But she wasn’t a criminal on the lam, and she had no idea how to go about getting a fake ID. Not to mention she couldn’t carry huge wads of cash with her in lieu of using her credit and debit cards. She had to withdraw money from the bank periodically—a bank account she’d opened with her real social security number and driver’s license.
She’d moved a week after she’d opened the new bank account—as she’d moved every time she got the feeling the McCays were getting close. But she hadn’t switched banks. She’d picked the Cattleman’s Bank of Fort Worth precisely because it had hundreds of branches throughout the DFW area, including small branches in grocery stores. And Holly had used many of them to throw the McCays off the scent...assuming they were still trying to track her down. But she had to assume that. She didn’t dare assume otherwise.
Which meant her time in tiny Rosewood, right next door to Granite Gulch, where Peg lived, had finally come to an end. Rosewood was so small she’d thought the McCays would never find her in this out-of-the-way place, since she was still paying cash for everything and varying which bank branches she was using to withdraw that cash.
She loved the small-town atmosphere here, and after she’d made friends with Peg at the Laundromat—thank God Peg’s washing machine broke down that day!—she’d started to feel at home. So she’d convinced herself she was safe. But for the past three days she’d had...well...the willies, she told herself, for lack of a better term. A feeling she was being watched. Followed.
It could be the Alphabet Killer, she supposed. But she didn’t think so. Either way was a disaster in the making, and she wasn’t going to stick around to find out for sure one way or the other.
Holly stashed two suitcases into the rear of her SUV, then headed back to the rooming house for another load.
She held the door to her room open with one foot as she picked up a box of toys and books, then tried to scream and dropped the box when a tall blond man in a black Stetson loomed in the doorway.
A large hand covered her mouth, stifling her voice, and all Holly could think of in that instant was No! No, she wasn’t going to be a victim. She wasn’t going to let herself be raped or murdered or—
She tore at the hand covering her mouth, but the man plastered her against the wall inside her room and kicked the door shut behind him. Then just held her prisoner with his body as she desperately tried to free herself. She gave up trying to fight the hand that muzzled her and went for his eyes instead. But he ducked his head, placing his mouth against her ear as he said in a deep undertone, “Stop it, Holly! I’m not going to hurt you—I’m trying to save your life. Peg Merrill’s my sister-in-law.”
She froze. Her heart was still beating like a snare drum, but she stopped fighting at Peg’s name. And when she did that, she realized the stranger wasn’t using her immobility to his advantage. She tried to ask a question, but the hand over her mouth prevented her.
“If I take my hand away, are you going to scream?” he asked, still in that same deep undertone. Holly shook her head slightly and was surprised, yet not surprised, when he did just that—he removed his hand. But it hovered near her face, as if he’d clamp it back in place if she screamed.
She swallowed against the dry throat, which terror had induced, then whispered, “Who are you?”
“Chris Colton. And yes,” he answered before she could ask, “Peg’s really my sister-in-law.”
“I don’t understand. Why are you here? Why did you force your way into my room?”
An enigmatic expression crossed his face, and he looked as if he was of two minds about answering those questions. “If I let you go, are you going to run for it? Or are you going to give me a chance to explain?”
A tiny dart of humor speared through her, despite the dregs of terror that still clung to her body. “You’d catch me before I ran three steps,” she said drily. “So I guess I have no choice but to listen to what you have to say.”
He surprised her again by laughing softly, but “Smart woman” was all he said. He took a step backward, then another and another, slowly. As if he was expecting her to make a break for it. But Holly wasn’t stupid. If he was there to kill her, she’d be dead already—her strength was no match for his. And if he was there to rape her, he’d never have let her go.
Besides, she’d felt the bulge of his gun in its shoulder holster when he held her pinioned against the wall, but he hadn’t drawn his weapon and used it against her. This meant he was probably telling the truth. Probably.
“I don’t understand,” she said again. “If Peg sent you, why didn’t she tell me she was going to? I was just there, and she didn’t say a wor—”
“She didn’t send me. Not exactly. And I know you were just at her house. I followed you there...and back. I’ve been following you for days.”
“Why?” She managed to tamp down the sudden fear his revelation triggered. So she wasn’t crazy. She had been followed.
He removed his Stetson as if he’d just realized he was still wearing it. Then ran his fingers through the hair the hat had flattened. “Because the McCays hired me to find you.”
“What?” She barely breathed the word.
His face took on a grim cast. “I’m a private investigator, Holly. The McCays came to my office a week ago. They spun me a cock-and-bull story about you, which I almost swallowed hook, line and sinker. Almost.” He looked as if he were going to add something to that statement, but didn’t.
“Let me guess. I’m an abusive mother, and they want to rescue Ian and Jamie from my clutches.”
“No.”
A wry chuckle was forced out of her. “Well, that’s a change. That’s the story they told the court when they tried to wrest custody of my boys from me after Grant died.” Curious, she asked, “So what was their story this time?”
Chris glanced down at the Stetson in his hand and ran his fingers along the brim. “You’re the trustee for the boys’ inheritance from their dad,” he said when he raised his eyes to meet hers again. “You wanted to use the money on yourself instead of for the boys’ benefit, and you took Ian and Jamie away from their loving grandparents so no one could call you to account. And you won’t let the McCays even know where you are...where the boys are. Won’t let them be a part of your children’s lives.”
Holly closed her eyes for a second, laughed again without humor and shook her head. “All of that is true, except for one thing,” she admitted. “I am the sole trustee. And I did run with Ian and Jamie—three weeks before Christmas, did they mention that?” Chris nodded. “And I haven’t told the McCays where we are...for a perfectly good reason. Because—”
“Because they’re trying to kill you.”
Stunned, Holly asked in a breathless whisper, “How did you know that?”
One corner of Chris’s mouth twitched up into a half smile. “Because I’m damned good at what I do, Holly. Because the minute I found out you were friends with Peg, I knew the McCays were lying through their teeth, and I wanted to know why. I hate lies and