Chapter One

Rex gave his last gasp along a narrow Missouri highway winding through the Ozark Mountains.

Hanna Lowrey steered her faithful companion to the side of the road, coming to a stop in front of a sign reading, WELCOME TO WHISPER LAKE. POPULATION 3847.

There wasn't a single house or building in sight.

The rolling, green countryside was thick with walnut and oak trees, leaving only glimpses of the pale, ghostly skeletons of the occasional sycamore. Insects hummed in buzzing choruses from inside the shadowy woods. The air was hot and thick enough to walk on, leaving Hanna's skin sticky and damp. Her heavy sigh stirred the air inside the truck, bringing with it the scent of old vinyl, rust, and an impending storm.

She patted Rex's steering wheel. "Don't worry, boy. We'll get you all patched up as good as new."

She and her old Ford truck had spent the last ten years together. He'd been her chariot during her last two years of high school and a brief, awkward stint in college. He'd been her workhorse through three moves. He'd been her safe harbor from four shitty jobs, a metric crap-ton of bad first dates, and one catastrophically failed business venture with a side of romance gone tragic. And since her untimely eviction in Cincinnati, he'd been her home. He was old, tired, and ready for retirement, but she refused to give up on him now. All he needed was a little R&R and a mechanic who appreciated his rugged beauty and faithful service the way Hanna did.

Night was closing in, and the fireflies had already begun making their appearance. With no choice but to walk into town, Hanna got out of Rex, slung a duffel bag filled with the bare essentials over her shoulder, locked up every other worldly possession she owned in the truck, and headed into town.

Thick, humid July air clung to her skin. The smell of lightning was on the breeze, and the warning rumble of thunder echoed overhead inside heavy, gray clouds.

With no idea how far she might have to walk to find a mechanic, she tried to convince herself that it was a good thing that her duffel bag was so light now. But since it contained what was left of her cash and clean clothes, it was a hard sell, even for an optimist like herself.

Three months. That's how long it had taken her to find steady work outside of Cincinnati, and in that time, she'd run through nearly every penny of savings she had. If not for the garage sale she'd had before being kicked out of her apartment, she wouldn't have had enough gas money to make it this far.

If she couldn't get all the way to Oklahoma City and the job that awaited her there….

She shook her head and refused to let herself think about that. She would make it. There was no other choice.

Hanna squared her shoulders and drew in a fortifying breath.

This was an adventure—a chance to enjoy a nature walk on a warm summer evening. It was not a horrifying string of events that would ultimately lead to her bloody death by an ax-murdering yokel. One day she would tell her kids about this story and laugh.

Of course, getting to that point meant not breaking down in a mass of debilitating tears now.

With her chin held high so it wouldn't tremble, she walked for another half a mile. So far, there was no sign of Whisper Lake, and she began to wonder whether or not this town was here as advertised, and if so, where the heck was everyone? All she'd seen were trees, bugs, rocks and more trees. Not a single one of the nearly four thousand residents had driven by her, which, as she considered it, was probably a blessing. Everyone knew that the ax-murdering yokels came out about the same time as the mosquitos. And those little bloodsuckers were definitely out in force.

Hanna came around the next bend just as the dark sky opened up on a crack of thunder. A curtain of rain fell over her, breaking the muggy heat and soaking her to her skin.

She used her body to shelter the duffel bag as much as possible so she'd have something dry to wear, but it was a futile effort. Within minutes, the bag grew heavy as it soaked up rainwater, and she gave up trying to save it.

Frustration and anxiety bore down on her, shaking her resolve. Maybe it was better to go back to Rex, lock herself inside and wait until morning. She had a comfy sleeping bag in the bed of the truck under a mostly watertight camper shell. There was a cooler stocked with bread and peanut butter, and now she had a refreshing shower to wash away the stress of the day. What more could a girl need?

She'd still have to make this walk in the morning, but at least she'd be able to do it in the light of day, when the ax murderers were all asleep, digesting their prey and dreaming their demented dreams.

Headlights bounced off of the trees up ahead, gleaming on wet bark and leaves.

She went instantly tense, thoughts of bloody axes and being buried alive dancing in her head.

Her internal optimist busted free of her clenched muscles, and she spoke aloud so she wouldn't feel so alone. "This is a good thing. People mean civilization. Civilization means mechanics. Mechanics mean Rex will be saved. I won't lose the job before I even start."

As the car cleared the curve, she could see that it was a truck just like Rex, only thirty years newer and several rust spots fewer. It veered onto the wrong side of the road where she walked and slowed to a stop on the shoulder a few yards in front of her, forcing her to either walk right by it or turn around like a coward.

Ax murderers didn't drive shiny new white trucks. They drove dingy vans with no windows and blood dripping out of the tailpipe. Right?

If Hanna was going to die today, she was going to do it with her chin held high. So rather than turn around like a sissy, she kept walking, keeping out of arm's reach of the driver's window.

As she stepped off the paved shoulder, her feet sank in mud several inches deep. Cold, gritty liquid sloshed between her toes.

Lovely.

The truck's window rolled down to reveal a stunningly handsome man. He had short, black hair and the palest green eyes she'd ever seen. His jaw was square and covered in a fine, dark stubble. His lips were full enough to make any woman jealous, and when he displayed his gleaming white teeth in a smile, Hanna finally learned what it meant to feel like she might swoon.

He propped his tan arm on the dripping window frame and looked her up and down.

"Need a lift?" he asked with a slight, knowing grin.

This was how all the best murderers started. A handsome man. A little small talk. And bam. Next thing she knew, she'd be clawing the inside of a coffin, buried alive. And—because she didn't smoke and was too poor for a cell phone—she wouldn't even have a convenient light source to show her where to scrape, like the people in all those movies did.

Her voice shook with anxiety. "No, thanks. Just out for a little walk."

She adjusted the bag on her shoulder so it was tucked a bit more behind her, out of sight. Nearly everything of value she owned was in there, and she couldn't stand the thought of it being stolen.

He lifted an inky brow and suppressed his grin. "In this weather?"

"I like the rain. But thanks for stopping." Hanna started walking again, breathing a sigh of relief that she'd lived through such a dangerous encounter.

Before she'd even cleared the truck's taillights, he backed up. "You really shouldn't be out here. It's getting too dark to see well. You could get hurt."

"I'll be fine," she said as she kept walking. "How much farther is it to civilization?"

"Another mile."

It would be fully dark by then, and she had no flashlight. "But the sign.…"

"The town technically starts a mile that way, but it doesn't really get going for another mile behind me." He gave a casual wave of his big hand. "It's a local border war thing from years back. But I'm happy to give you a ride."

A charmer, she thought, one who is used to getting his way.

Been there. Done that. Never again.

"That's okay. You're on your way out. I don't want to be a bother." Rain tickled her nose and ran down between her breasts. Her hair was knotted into a crooked bun, but that was starting to get waterlogged and heavy, too. She could feel the weight of it sagging just behind one ear.

She probably looked like hell, but that wasn't necessarily a bad thing when trying to deflect the attentions of rapist, psychopathic, serial-killing yokels.

He backed the truck up slowly, keeping pace with her. "It's no bother. Besides, I'd never be able to enjoy the rest of my night if I knew you were out here alone on the road."

"I'm not alone," she lied in a squeaky voice.

The man sighed. "I know your mama probably taught you not to hitch a ride with strangers, but I'm not going to hurt you."

"Isn't that exactly what you'd say if you were planning to hurt me?"

All men hurt women. Eventually. Even if he didn't want to kill her, there were worse things he could do.

He sighed. "You're not going to make this easy on me, are you?"

"To the contrary, I'm making it as easy as I can. Just drive off. No muss, no fuss."

A thick layer of mud seeped in over the top of her tennis shoe. She felt it ooze down along her skin, grinding grit against her already cold, chafed flesh.

Another heavy sigh escaped his lips, and then she heard his cell phone beep as he dialed. "Hello, Sheriff. It's Nate Grace. There's a woman out here on the highway just east of town. She looks a little suspicious to me. Out in the rain with no coat or umbrella, refusing aid. Perhaps some kind of mental disorder. I'm going to bring her in for her own safety."

He waited for a response, then thanked the sheriff and slid his phone back into his shirt pocket.

"Bring me in for my own safety? What the hell?" Outrage sparked beneath her skin, driving away the chill that had begun to grow there.

Nate shrugged. "I forgot to mention that the sheriff is my cousin. And that I can't stand to leave a woman in need alone on a highway in the dark." He put his truck in park. The emergency flashers went on, and then he stepped out into the mud.

He wasn't dressed like an ax murderer. Instead, he wore a neat white button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to reveal thick, tan forearms. As the rain soaked it, the fabric clung to the kind of muscles usually reserved for the cover of fitness magazines. His jeans were worn but clean, hugging his muscular thighs like they never wanted to let go. Not that she blamed them. The man was definitely a tasty treat for the eyes.

The cowboy boots on his big feet were high end—snakeskin accents with intricate stitching and details. At least they used to be high end. Now that they were coated with a thick layer of ditch mud and decomposing leaves, she wasn't sure they were worth much at all.

He was tall, confident, and sporting a stubborn streak so wide, you could probably see it on satellite. He didn't rush forward, grabbing her with those giant hands of his. Instead, he stood there, watching her while the rain soaked him.

"Are you going to come easy, or do we have to do this the hard way?" No anger, just an easy acceptance of the facts.

A little spurt of indignation made it out in her snippy tone. "I don't know you. Despite your little phone drama with the sheriff, I have absolutely no mental issues. All I want is to be left alone so that I can make it into town by dark and find a mechanic to tow my truck. I really don't think it's too much to ask for you to go on about your business and leave me to mine."

She started walking, hoping he'd take it as a dismissal.

Instead, he went right along with her, backing up to keep her in sight.

"You're a woman. You're alone. It's raining and dark. If you don't see that this is a bad situation just looking for a chance to get worse, then there are definitely some mental issues in that pretty head of yours somewhere."

Hanna came to a halt and stared at him. "You could be the worse."

She knew he was, she just didn't know exactly how. Stealing, lying, cheating, shattering her dreams into a million jagged pieces…it was the male playbook.

He went still. "Excuse me?"

"You said things were looking for a chance to get worse. That could be you, and I'm not too floored by your good looks to realize that."

"My name is Nate Grace. I told you I wouldn't hurt you. A Grace's word is his bond. So, I ask again. Easy way or hard way?"

"If this verbal battle in the pouring rain with you is the easy way, then what the hell is the hard way?"

"The easy way is you getting in the truck under your own steam. The hard way is I toss you over my shoulder and shove you in the truck for your own good and that of my fellow townspeople."

Hanna backed away, unsure if she was more pissed or afraid. "You have no right to manhandle me."

No anger showed on his face, but she could hear his frustration creeping into his voice. "And you have no right to put a black spot on our town name by getting yourself killed when one of our upstanding citizens or some tourist heading to the lake accidentally hits you in the dark."

She hadn't thought about that—she hadn't considered that she'd be the one to ruin someone else's life by being in a bad place at an even worse time.

She didn't want to be hit by a car, but even more, she didn't want to be the reason someone else suffered in guilt for the rest of their lives, wondering why they hadn't seen a young woman walking along the road in the rain.

His voice dropped to a low, coaxing tone. "Now please. Get in the truck and let me take you somewhere safe."

Hanna had known men like this before. They didn't give up. They didn't relent. They were tireless, fearless machines set on getting what they wanted. And right now, Nate wanted her in his truck.

She was tired. Wet. Cold. She had no money for a cab, no phone to call one. She was at the mercy of the elements, and apparently, this stranger.

With what little fight she had left in her, she gave him a dead-level stare. "If you murder me, I promise I'll find some way to come back and haunt you for the rest of your life."