Evie’s butt was numb.

Uncrossing her legs, she straightened in the wooden chair she’d swiped from the bar below and flipped to the next page. She’d read the same five pages three times in the past hour.

Every floorboard creek or distant door slam or explosive laugh distracted her from the warrior-beast battle playing out on the pages. She loved fantasy romance novels. So much fodder for the imagination.

She stared at the white door leading into Deke’s domain. According to Randi, Deke had been bunking in the spare apartment above Triple B since the MedTour had ended. Why stay in Steele Ridge? Why hadn’t he rented a place closer to Rockton? Had he found Dylan?

She’d asked the same questions over and over again, another reason she hadn’t finished a chapter. The natural light coming in from the fire escape window began to fade, and she had to hold up her book to continue reading. Pretty soon, she would have to go in search for a switch for the bare bulb outside Deke’s door.

Or call it a day. No telling when he would return. If he returned at all.

If what Reid had surmised about Deke’s true profession proved to be true, she doubted he had any normalcy to his life. She still couldn’t believe it. In the span of a single conversation, she’d learned the guy she’d obsessed over for years wasn’t who she thought.

Her cerebral conservation writer was a bullets-and-bones Jarhead. Okay, so he wasn’t a Marine, or even in the military, but he was freaking black ops. His work was more like Reid’s than Britt’s. Did Britt know?

What would it be like to lead a double life? To have to lie—or prevaricate—all the time?

A door below squealed open, then clicked closed. This one sounded louder, not muffled by walls and people. Could it be the one leading up to Deke’s apartment? She waited for telltale signs she was no longer alone.

After a few breath-stealing seconds, she caught the heavy weight of a man’s step. Just one. The confirmation that Deke had arrived made the flock of hummingbirds in her stomach flare to life.

She stood, laying her book on her chair seat. Would he be surprised to see her? Angry? Indifferent? Please Lord, not the latter. She could work with any reaction except apathy.

Unable to wait him out, she strode to the top of the staircase. “Hello?” The light from the window only reached a third of the way down the stairwell. Deke remained in shadow. “I know this is a bit of a surprise, but we need to talk.”

He paused, one boot in the light. The rest of him appeared as a gray silhouette against a black backdrop. She frowned. Her gaze traced the outline of his body. Her breath caught.

She’d spent years memorizing every angle, every plane, every perfection and imperfection of Deke Conrad. The man on the staircase wasn’t her Deke.

“Sorry,” she said with a self-conscious laugh. “I thought you were someone else.”

The stranger said nothing. Just stood there, staring at her. Alarm bells skittered along her spine, awakening her to the precariousness of her situation. She had nowhere to go. Deke’s locked apartment hovered behind her and the silent stranger loomed before her. The fire escape was her only viable option, but she’d have to fling herself out the window to have any chance of eluding danger.

Trapped.

“Can I help you?”

Rather than answer, he began climbing the stairs again. Methodical. Predatory.

She backed away. “Who are you?”

Creepy Guy continued his quiet ascent. His hand slid beneath his jacket.

Self-preservation kicked in, and she dove for her purse. Ripping it open, she searched the bottomless pit for the pepper spray Reid had insisted she carry after their discussion earlier.

The spray had been a concession, a compromise. Otherwise, her brother would have stuck to her like gorilla glue until the Rockton murder was solved.

She shoved aside wallet, makeup, deodorant, tampons, pens, notepad, and things she should have removed months ago, but couldn’t locate the damn pepper spray.

“Shit! Shit. Shit, shit, shit!”

Her heart socked the wall of her chest. Once. Twice. Three-four-five times. Blood rushed to her head and breathing became a chore.

Not now!

She needed her wits. Couldn’t afford to be debilitated by a panic attack.

A jean-clad leg appeared on the landing. Attached to the leg was a long, muscular body and a handsome, youthful face. Her attention riveted on his eyes. Long lashed, green, dead of emotion.

Her fingers wrapped around a cylindrical-shaped object and she aimed it at Creepy Guy. “Stop. Don’t make me use this.”

His gaze shifted to her hand. Unconcerned, he continued his slow stalk, a pistol menacing at his side.

Still struggling for every breath, she fought to stay upright and conscious. She aimed the pepper spray at his face and pressed.

Nothing happened.

She tried again.

Nothing.

She opened her hand, palm up, confused. The fear faded long enough for her to realize she’d tried to defend herself with a tube of mascara.

It was her last rational thought before Creepy Guy lifted the arm holding the gun.