Springfield, Illinois

Lincoln Medical Center

Abigail was beyond exhausted. She couldn’t sleep. Her body hurt everywhere. And she couldn’t stop thinking about Axel.

It was Tuesday morning now. It seemed odd to realize that all these things—the call from Mrs. Philips, the trek to the barn, the hitman—had all happened in such a small window of time. She’d been in this damn hospital longer than she’d been with Axel, running from the killer. But it felt like a lifetime.

She pulled herself up and scratched around the edges of the bandage on her thigh. It itched like crazy where the wound was, but they kept telling her if she scratched at it, she would tear the stitches and that would require more time in this hospital bed. They assured her the wound wasn’t as bad as it had originally appeared. There’d been a lot of bleeding, suggesting a major blood vessel had been nicked. But it turned out that she was just a bleeder. The bullet was right near the surface and it didn’t take but a minute for the surgeon to find it and remove it.

She was going to have a nice scar, on her thigh and her forehead, but her life had never been in serious danger.

That was easy for them to say! They hadn’t been out there, hadn’t heard that man’s voice, hadn’t seen the insane look in his eyes.

Her thoughts were such a jumble she wasn’t sure she would ever have a coherent thought again. She’d wanted to call Ali and apologize for what had happened during dinner, wanted to apologize for the truck. She wanted to call Karen and ask her to check on the animals for her if she could. She wanted . . . there were so many things she needed to do, but she couldn’t. First, there was no phone in her room. Second, her thoughts were so full of Axel that she couldn’t think of much more.

How could he speak to her the way he had? She saw the concern in his eyes, knew that he was truly worried about her. But then he gave her this line about how they can’t be together. What the hell was that? Was he kidding her? Talk about bad timing, let alone the insult of suggesting she’d taken his behavior to mean something it wasn’t. If it wasn’t what she thought it was, then what the hell was it?

But then she recalled his insistence that he could have any woman he wanted, and that made her sick to her stomach. Was he out there, right now, in the arms of someone else?

She wanted to smack him. But, mostly, she wanted him to come see her so that she could know that he was all right, so that she could see a familiar face. She wanted him to come to her so that she could touch him and feel his touch on her.

She just . . . she wanted him.

And she hated herself for that.

It wasn’t like she hadn’t been dumped before. But she had really believed there was a connection with Axel.

The door opened and her imagination had Axel walking in, announcing that he’d changed his mind. But it wasn’t Axel

“Ms. Rains? I’m Daniel Williams with Mastiff Security,” the first man said, approaching her bed side politely. “We’ve come to move you to a safe house.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Safe house?”

“Yes, ma’am. We’ve been told you’ve been briefed on the fact that the hitman who was pursuing you is still on the run. Until that is resolved, we’ll be keeping you in a small apartment the firm keeps for just this sort of situation.”

Abigail sat up a little straighter on the bed, tugging her leg up along with her. “I haven’t been properly discharged.”

“We’ve spoken with your doctor. He has approved the move.”

“Just like that? What about—”

“Mastiff is handling all the details, Ms. Rains. We just need you to come with us.” He held up a small duffle bag. “You’ll find clean clothing in here. If you’ll get dressed, we’ll go now.”

She shook her head. “What about Axel? Where is he?”

“Mr. Kinkaid has been released from the hospital. He is safe and well, but that’s all we can tell you.”

“Why? Why can’t you tell me where he is?”

“Privacy concerns, ma’am.”

Abigail felt sick to her stomach. He’d left the hospital without bothering to come by and see her? Was he even working her case anymore? Had he just totally washed his hands of her?

“I need to go home. I have responsibilities—”

“Ma’am, we have our orders. You may speak with our boss after we get you settled, but first, you have to come with us.”

He appeared patient, this man, but she could hear the exasperation in his voice. She studied them all for a moment, these three men, gauging her options. She could insist on going home. There wasn’t much they could do about it if she did. But then she’d be on her own, back where she started and she wasn’t sure she wanted that. Besides, she’d likely never see Axel again that way. That wasn’t an option she wanted much to entertain.

She slowly swung her legs over the side of the bed. “You gentlemen might want to turn your backs until I get into the bathroom. There isn’t much coverage to these gowns.”

All three immediately turned, moving so quickly it almost reminded her of a military drill she’d seen in countless movies. She limped across the room to the bathroom, holding the small duffle close to her chest. Once the door was closed, she leaned against the sink, gritting her teeth as pain shot through her thigh. This damn bullet wound might not have seemed serious to the doctors, but it hurt like hell to her.

When the pain began to subside, she looked at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were puffy from the medications and the crying, her skin pale from the stress of the last few days. Staring into that face, she could almost understand Axel walking away. He’d seen her at nothing but her worst since the moment he met her.

But he’d wanted her when she was panicking in the path of an insane killer. Was it just that he couldn’t handle the normal, everyday stuff? Was that his real problem?

Maybe he preferred pleasure when it was coupled with danger.

She slowly opened the bag and removed a pair of jeans and a soft, pink blouse that both still had the tags on them. There was underwear, too, that made her wonder who’d picked it all out. And shoes. There was a brush and simple toiletries as well.

Abigail slowly dressed, brushed her teeth, and dragged the newly purchased brush through her tangled hair. She looked somewhat presentable by the time she was done, but still not up to her normal appearance. But, again, she figured it would take a while before she was ever anything like normal again.

The three men were still standing in her hospital room, their backs turned to the bathroom door when she opened it. The leader, Daniel whatever, turned when he heard her step out.

“Ready?”

She shrugged.

Kind of cool. But then they were in the back of an SUV and no one was talking.

She sat back, her hand resting on the bandage she could feel through the new jeans, watching the city rush passed outside the windows. The storm clearly didn’t hit as hard here in Springfield, or it had melted quickly. The streets were wet but clear, no sign of plowed snow anywhere she looked.

Abigail was a regular in Springfield, often driving the forty minutes to do her shopping or to pick up something special ordered for the farm. She was familiar with most of the major streets downtown, but she didn’t recognize the residential area they were taking her to. All her friends were back in Virden. She didn’t have a reason to travel these streets.

The apartment, it turned out, was a block from a small, family oriented park. The building itself was three stories, fully enclosed. They drove into an underground garage and parked next to the elevator in a fire zone. The two men who weren’t driving encouraged her to get out of the vehicle and escorted her to the elevator, one on each side of her. She wondered what they might do if the hitman suddenly appeared there in the parking garage. Would they engage in a gun battle? Or would one of them charge the man while the other got her into the elevator?

Not that it mattered. No one jumped out at them from the shadows.

The apartment in question was on the third floor—no jumping out the bedroom window here—a small place with a teeny living room/kitchen combo and a smaller bedroom/bathroom combo. One of the men gestured for Abigail to take a seat on the couch.

Still, they didn’t talk.

“I need to make a phone call. Is there a phone here I could use?”

They both ignored her, clearly preferring to walk around and check the closets and cabinets for someone hiding in those teeny spots. She watched, feeling like a fool. What kind of mess had she gotten herself into, anyway?

Daniel whatever his name was walked in, stowing a cell phone in his back pants pocket.

“I need to make a call,” she said, jumping to her feet at the sight of him and that phone.

“I can’t allow that.”

“Why not?” she demanded, outraged at the mere suggestion.

“Because you are here under our protection. If you make a call, you might reveal your location to the person we’re trying to keep from you.”

“Just a two-minute call. I need to make sure the animals on my farm are being cared for.”

“I’ve been told that issue had been taken care of.”

“By who?”

His eyebrows rose, and she could see hesitation that suggested he was struggling to keep his temper under control. He took a deep breath and studied her face for a long second.

“Ms. Rains, you have to trust that we’re working in your best interest here. We are doing our best to make sure you are not injured again, that a madman doesn’t come after you again. But the only way we can do that is if you do what we say.”

“I need a phone!”

He grunted. “Please, Ms. Rains, take a seat on the couch. We have rules—”

“I don’t want to talk about rules and whatever you might have for me to see! I want a phone. I want to know what the hell is going on back at my farm! I want to know if I even have a farm to go home to!”

Daniel sighed, suddenly coming at her and lifting her off her feet. She cried out, shocked by this manhandling, but the other two didn’t seem surprised. One of them smirked. The other just looked at his fingernails like it was just another day at the office.

“Stay in this room until you’re ready to cooperate,” Daniel said, setting Abigail on the edge of the bed in the small bedroom. Then he retreated, slamming the door behind him. And then she was pretty sure she heard a lock engage.

She got up and tried the doorknob. It was definitely locked.

“You son of a bitch!” she screamed. “You can’t keep me here against my will!”

But, apparently, they could.