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Then the cold mouth of a gun presses between my shoulder blades, and full panic hits me like a freight train.

My stomach lurches. My knees almost buckle. When I open my mouth to scream, no sound comes out. My vision narrows, then blurs, like the edges of the room are folding in on me. My skin prickles again with the sensation of being completely, violently at his mercy.

“Don’t scream,” he says quietly. “Don’t run.”

He’s not angry, it seems. He sounds calm. Almost…patient.

But my body isn’t. It’s screaming at me to save myself.

“I’m gonna let you turn around slowly. I meanrealslow. And keep your hands where I can see them.”

I manage to nod, but it’s a struggle.

When I turn, I’m expecting to see a greasy stranger, some meth’d out, cracked out drifter with beady little eyes and tattered clothes. I’m not prepared for…him.

He’s at least six feet tall. Probably more. Broad shoulders. He’s dressed in all black, but there are no tatters to be found. His eyes are sharp, deep, and unreadable, a rich golden brown that slices right through me. His jaw is squared like it was chiseled with granite and dusted with stubble. His full mouth is set in a firm line.

I shouldn’t notice how handsome he is, but I do. My brain stumbles and stutters at the cognitive dissonance before I remind myself I’m in danger.

“I’m not here to rob you,” he says. “I’m here because your husband hired me to kill you.”

I blink as time slows to a crawl.

The words don’t even make sense at first. They bounce around in my skull like rogue basketballs.

I blink again and manage to croak out, “What?”

“I was supposed to kill you tonight, but I changed the plan.”

The plan. The plan to kill me.

My brain finally reconnects to my body and I bolt.

Up the stairs, two at a time. To where Brett keeps his guns.

I hear him curse and follow, his heavy black boots pounding on my stairs as he chases me. The thudding matches the beating of my heart and follows me down the hall and into the master bathroom where I slam to door and twist the lock with shaking fingers.

The lock won’t stop him, I know, but it buys me some time.

I almost fall into the master closet, but I manage to locate the small safe. The first boom against the door startles me so badly, I scream. I’m expecting the second one. My fingers try and fail to key in the code to unlock the safe, but there’s still hope. There’s a biometric mechanism.

I stab at it with my thumb as the booms get louder and closer together. Tears fall when there’s no beep, no recognition of my fingerprints. The safe hates me and wants me dead, too.

BOOM!

The door crashes open with a violent crack.

I scream as he storms in, but he’s not rushing me like I expected. He’s standing there…staring…studying me. Like he doesn’t want to hurt me. It’s odd.

“Sable—“

“Please,” I sob. “I have two children. Girls.” I inch backwards until my back hits a rack of dresses. My entire body is trembling.

He lowers the gun. It’s still in his grip, but it’s no longer aimed at me. I don’t feel any better, though.

His dark eyes roam me curiously, and something about it feels strangelynotscary.

Finally, his deep baritone reaches my ears again.