Three days after the fire, the doctor tells me in an overly cheery voice that I’m well enough to go home. Apparently, he’s forgotten that I have no home. Brock took that from me, along with any sense of security.

For the last two years, I’ve been looking over my shoulder. I could feel someone watching me. I knew it was him, but the police couldn’t do anything. Without witnesses or any way to corroborate my story, their hands were tied.

But not anymore. Now that he’s burned down my house, they should be able to do something to help me.

As I walk into the police station, several cops turn to look at me. I’m wearing the same soot-covered clothes I wore into the hospital. The nurse had offered me a fresh pair of clothes, but I’d refused them. If Brock was watching the hospital, I wanted him to know that he couldn’t scare me. I’m not afraid; I’m pissed off. How dare he burn down my house.

“I want to file a report,” I tell the closest officer.

“For what?” His snappy, rude tone stokes my anger.

“Attempted murder.” I’m louder than necessary, but now I’ve got his attention, as well as the attention of everyone else in the station.

“Ella?” The cop who came to the hospital steps out of one of the offices that line the walls.

“Officer Blackhawk, I’d like to file a report.”

“Come into my office.”

He ushers me into a small room. It would be claustrophobic, but a glass wall separates the room from the rest of the station, and a large window gives it an open feel. I glance out into the darkness. Brock could be watching.

I return my attention to the room. Files are piled up on the desk in several neat stacks. A login page glows on a computer screen. Officer Blackhawk slides behind his desk and taps the keyboard furiously for a second.

“I already started the report. I just need to take some additional information.” He looks up and scrunches his nose. “Didn’t the hospital offer you a change of clothes?”

“They did, but I didn’t take them. I couldn’t let Brock see that he affected me.”

“You think he set the fire and that he was watching the hospital?”

“Yes to both. He wants me dead.”

“Why?”

“Anger, jealousy, greed. He hates that I finally grew a spine and left his abusive ass.”

“I couldn’t find a history of domestic violence in his past. A few parking tickets, but other than that, he’s clean.”

“He’s a liar and a master manipulator.” I shift uncomfortably in my seat. “And I never had the courage to report him while we were married.”

“But you tried afterward.”

“Yes. I tried to file reports several times.”

“For?”

“Stalking. But the cops said there wasn’t enough evidence.”

“The Memphis police department, correct?”

“Yes, I moved to Blues Town to hide from him.”

“I’ve requested whatever they have. The state crime lab is working on fingerprints. Fortunately, we do have your ex’s prints on file because he worked for the county.”

“He’s unemployed now. He hasn’t been able to hold down a job in years.”

“Was there ever alcohol involved? Drugs?”

“Booze for sure, but I don’t know about drugs, although sometimes I wonder.”

“Do you have a place to stay or a number where we can reach you?”

“My phone still works. It was in my pocket when the fire started.” I lay my hand over the bulge in my pocket. It’s the only lifeline I have left.

“Where will you be staying? Do you have friends or family in the area?”

“I haven’t figured it out yet.”

“There’s women’s shelter in town. If you need a place to stay, I could drive you over there.”

“I guess that’s my only option.” My voice is weak, helpless. It’s embarrassing. Before I met Brock, I was a strong, self-assured woman. He stripped that away along with my freedom. But now I’m free again, and I’m not going to let him beat me again. Not physically, not mentally.

“Take a seat over in the waiting area. I’ve got one more report to file and then we can take off.”

“Thank you.”

“Just doing my job.” He smiles.

I take a seat in the waiting area. The cop who’d initially glared at me comes out from behind his desk.

“Can I get you anything? Coffee? Water?”

“Coffee would be great.”

“Cream? Sugar?”

“Both.” Why the hell not? With everything else going on, I might as well indulge.

He returns and puts a steaming mug in my hand. There are two names scrawled on the side of it: Hanny and Tommy.

“Your kids?” I ask.

“Yep. Twins.” He grins. “They just turned ten last week. If you need anything else, holler.”

“Thanks.”

I take a sip of the overly acidic sludge. Cop coffee. It’s not the first time I’ve had it. Hopefully it will be the last time.

As I wait for Officer Blackhawk, I can’t help but wonder what I’m going to do next. I don’t have any friends or family in the area. After everything I’ve put them through, I can’t show my face at their homes anymore. I’ve tried running before, but he’s always found me. It’s a nightmare that will never end.

A deep, sexy voice cuts through my dark thoughts. It’s the fireman—Logan. He’s joking around with the cop who gave me coffee.

Logan’s at least 6’3”, taller than my ex but only by a few inches. Short black hair ends at the nape of his neck. A navy-blue t-shirt stretches across his muscular back. Ripped triceps flex as he relays the story about saving me from the fire. I only catch a few words over the persistent din of other conversations. He’s at least ten feet away, but he may as well be standing right next to me because heat rolls through my body.

He turns and looks at me. His eyebrows knit together before he smiles. A flash of something I can’t define was there and gone in an instant. I’m usually very good at reading people because I had to read my ex all the time. What kind of mood was he in? Was he about to hit me? Did I need to duck?

“You look good—I mean, rested. Didn’t they give you new clothes?”

“Are you following me?” I try to keep my tone teasing, but it comes out accusatory.

“No. My brother works here. He’s a cop.”

“He was nice. Gave me coffee.” I nod my head toward coffee cop.

“Oh, that’s not my brother. Jeff Blackhawk is my brother.”

“Officer Blackhawk?”

“He’s handling your case.”

“Right. I just spoke with him.”

“Are you waiting to finish giving a statement?” he asks.

“No. He’s going to drive me to the women’s shelter.” A fresh wave of shame rolls over me. This is what my life has become. Uprooted. Dangerous. I don’t belong anywhere anymore.

“Don’t you have family you can stay with?” he asks.

“I don’t want to bring them back into this.” My voice cracks. I study an intricate pattern in the carpet.

“Let me go talk to my brother. I’ll be right back.” He takes off at a clipped pace.

I shouldn’t let my gaze linger on his tight ass, but those jeans. It’s criminal. He shouldn’t be allowed to wear them without a warning sign.

When he reaches the office door, he turns and flashes a quick smile.

Oops. Busted!

I smile and look away. Ogling a man is the last thing I need to be doing right now. Until I can find a way to make Brock leave me alone, men are off limits. Sexy or not, I can’t drool all over this fireman. I don’t care how big his hose might be.

I stifle a giggle. It’s ridiculous to find any humor in this moment, but if I don’t laugh every once in a while, I’ll never stop crying.

Rising voices draw my attention. Logan is pacing around his brother’s office, gesturing wildly. I pull my legs up to my chest and wrap my arms around my knees. Arguments trigger tremors. I shudder as a wave of fear crashes through me. I’m in a police station. I’m safe. No one can hurt me here, but I’m still petrified. Why do they look like they’re about to tear each other’s throats out?

Maybe I should leave. I’m sure I can find the women’s shelter on my own.

I check to be sure my phone’s still in my pocket. It’s dead. I need to charge it, but I’ll figure it out later. Right now, I need to get away from this place.

No one seems to notice as I head toward sliding doors that lead to the parking lot. I’m outside, sucking in cool night air. A halo encircles the moon. High clouds drift aimlessly across the sky. I know the feeling well.

In the last two years, I haven’t been able to stay in a place longer than a few months. I’m so sick of running, but if I don’t, I’m dead. He almost killed me a few nights ago. It won’t stop until either the cops get off their asses and do something or I die.

“Where are you going?” Logan rushes out of the station.

“I can walk.”

“It’s cold, and you don’t have a jacket.”

“I’ll manage.” I always do.

“Let me drive you.”

“I’m fine.” It’s a lie I’ve told too many times to count.

“The shelter’s on the other side of town. It will take an hour to walk there. Let me drive you.” He flashes a disarming smile. I can’t say no to a face like that. Chiseled features. A strong jaw. It’s as if he’s been carved from granite. But he’s not cold. Warmth radiates from his eyes. They’re not cold and dead like Brock’s.

“I guess it would be okay since your brother’s a cop.” I follow him to a huge black truck. “Although I guess you could kill me, and he could cover it up.”

“You have a twisted sense of justice.”

“Justice.” My laugh is sharp, bitter. “Justice is for movies. In real life, the bad guys get away.”

“That won’t happen as long as Jeff’s handling your case. If your ex left even a single hair, the forensic team will find it.”

“I’m hoping for fingerprints.” I climb into the cab. He closes he door and runs around to the other side.

“That would be the best option.” He slides into the driver’s seat.

“What were you fighting about?”

“What do you mean?”

“With your brother.”

“Oh… well…” He starts the truck and grips the wheel. “I wanted to offer you a place at our house.”

“You live together?”

“Yeah. We’re both single and never home, so no point in paying extra rent. It lets us save up for when we do decide to get married. Although with our schedules, who knows when we’ll even have time to date.” He shakes his head. He pulls onto the main road that cuts through the center of the small town.

“Why would you want to offer to help me?” I ask. “Is that something you two typically do?”

“Nope.”

“But you would for me?” I cock my head and study his profile. A strong, roman nose adds to his appeal. The sudden urge to trace my fingers down it makes me sit on my hands.

“I would.”

“Why?”

“Because…” His jaw clenches. “Because I don’t like to see fear in your eyes. We could keep you safe.”

“Wouldn’t I be safe at the shelter?”

“They do the best they can, but ex-husbands, boyfriends, fathers, they show up from time to time.”

“So, it’s not safe?”

“If the alternative is living on the streets, then yes, it’s safer than that, but my house would be safer.”

I’m silent while I consider his offer. His brother’s a cop. He’s a firefighter. They’ve been nothing but nice to me. But… they’re still strangers. I don’t know what to do.

“Do you still have my card?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“If you need me, call me.”

“My phone’s dead.”

“Charge it while we drive.” He motions toward the car charger.

By the time we arrive at the women’s shelter, my phone is fifty percent charged. It’s not ideal, but as long as I leave it off, it should hold the charge until I can figure out my next step.

As we pull up to the shelter, a woman holding a baby strides past the truck. Desperation in her eyes and hunched shoulders speak to her despair. She enters a gray building that looks like a prison. There are even bars on the windows.

“Why are there bars?”

“To keep people out.”

I swallow. This doesn’t look like a safe place at all. Living on the streets might be better, but I have one other option. I could go home with him.

I study him out of the corner of my eye. He’s sitting sideways, watching, waiting for me to make a choice.

“God, this is so stupid,” I mutter.

“What?”

“I’m actually thinking of going home with you.”

“I promise we’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe.” He reaches for my hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. Sadness darkens the corners of his eyes. “I promise.”

“Promises don’t mean anything,” I whisper.

“They do when they come from me.”

I know it’s crazy, but I believe him. The sincerity in his tone convinces me to take the risk. At least at his house I won’t be caged like an animal. His brother’s a cop. He’s a fireman. They don’t let psychos take those jobs, do they?

After one last glance at the shelter, I make a decision.

“Take me home—to your house,” I quickly amend.

It’s not my home. I don’t know why I said that, but he doesn’t seem to have caught on. He nods and puts the truck in gear.

As we pull onto the dark interstate, I wonder if I’ve finally lost my mind. I’m trusting a complete stranger to keep me safe. But I do have one thing going for me, I’m good at reading people. The only thing I read in Logan is a desire to help. It’s in his blood.

But there’s something else too—a subtle sadness that sparks at the oddest moments, as if he’s endured a similar pain. I shouldn’t be intrigued by it, but I am. I want to know who hurt him and why. He’s a mystery just waiting to be solved. And although unlocking his secrets is the last thing I should be trying to do, I can’t help it. There’s a fire burning between us, and I need to know what sparked it.