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He’d almost blown it. Adrianne was an odd mixture of curiosity and courage, wrapped up in a shroud of fear. Who or what was she afraid of? Not that he cared, beyond what it meant for him and the job he’d been sent to do. Between their supposed chance meeting—which had been anything but—and the sensation in his body alerting him, there was no doubt her soul was the one he’d been sent to reap.

So be it. He could dig up some compassion without getting too attached. He’d had thousands of years of practice. He’d have to drop his guard slightly to fulfill the terms of his father’s task. It would be a delicate balance, but the alternative wasn’t acceptable. He’d get his life back, no matter what it took to accomplish it.

Pushing his empty plate aside, he propped his elbows on the table. “What happened? What sent you running home?” Chances were good it had some bearing on her pending death.

Several more tendrils had escaped the messy bun on the top of her head. He wondered how long her hair would be when she released it from the clip anchoring it. It was a thick mass of brown. Not one solid color, but a mixture of darker tones with a single streak of light on one side. Her chocolate-brown eyes held secrets, ones he had to gain her trust to uncover.

She shrugged and shoveled a large chunk of pie into her mouth, leaving a tiny bit of fluffy meringue clinging to her upper lip. His entire body tightened. He wanted to lean across the table and lick it from her mouth, savoring both the sweetness of the treat and the lushness of her lips.

What was wrong with him? He enjoyed women of all shapes and sizes, loved wining and dining them and finding mutual pleasure when they expressed interest. Never had he been so drawn to a particular one. It was disconcerting.

Was this another ploy by his father? Even as he had the thought, he dismissed it. The old man had curtailed some of his powers, the extent of which was still a mystery, but manipulating Samael’s emotions defeated the purpose of the exercise—learning to show compassion.

In self-defense, he leaned against the creaky faux-leather seat and drank the last of his coffee. Time to take a step back and gain some perspective. Death wasn’t imminent. There was time to get a grasp of the situation and determine his next move.

Adrianne picked at the remainder of the pie with her fork, flaking the crust into smaller pieces. “Costs a lot to live in the city. Lots of competition for positions.” She shrugged. “Just didn’t work out.”

What she was saying was all true, but it wasn’t either of those things that sent her running. Their acquaintance was limited, but she’d already shown she didn’t back down easily. An icy knot formed in his stomach.

“What about you?” She pointed her fork at him. “What’s your story?”

After considering his options, he chose to go with a version of the truth. “My father decided he didn’t like the way I was running my end of the family business and decreed I needed an unscheduled forced vacation, a get-back-to-my-roots deal. I was dropped in the middle of nowhere with no phone, no credit cards, and limited cash.”

Her jaw dropped, and her eyes widened. “Are you serious?”

“Yes. The old man doesn’t approve of my modern way of doing things.”

“Working with family can be tough, but to do something like that—” She shook her head. “I guess you’ll call a friend to pick you up?”

Did she sound disappointed, or was he projecting, hearing what he wanted to hear? “Not an option, not if I don’t want to lose everything I’ve worked my entire life to build.”

She gave a low, almost toneless whistle. “That’s harsh.”

It was his turn to shrug. “It is what it is. When it comes to the business, his final word is law.” Sam had been wheeling and dealing for millennia, loved the thrill of negotiating, of signing a satisfying deal, but no amount of fast talking or pointing out the pros and cons was going to get him out of the situation he’d landed in.

“What do you do?” She leaned forward.

While the family business was off-limits, he could share his personal interests. “I’m in real estate. Specifically, I buy or invest, primarily in hotels and casinos. I have a stake in many of the larger ones. I enjoy good food, don’t enjoy cleaning up after myself, and find gambling a pleasant way to pass an evening. I satisfy all my vices in one place.”

“I’ve been there, to Las Vegas. When I was in college a group of us went for a long weekend. Too many people and lights. It’s all so over-the-top.”

Feeling slightly affronted on behalf of his current chosen home city, he was compelled to point out the hypocrisy. “You lived in Chicago.”

“I guess, but even you have to admit Vegas is over-the-top wild. Don’t get me wrong. It’s a great place to visit. We had fun, but I couldn’t live there.”

A muscle in his jaw flexed. “It’s a good thing you don’t have to, then.”

“I’ve offended you. I’m sorry.”

He waved away her apology and smothered his irritation. “It’s not for everyone, but it’s home.” As mankind evolved, growing from small settlements to giant cities, he’d gone with them, embracing the changes. “And there’s more to Vegas than the glittering lights. Many families live and work far away from the Strip.” In fact, he’d been going to look at a property in one of those communities before he’d been hauled on the carpet by his father.

“I get the appeal, the excitement, the possibilities.” She caught a bead of condensation as it rolled down the side of her glass and absently rubbed it over her throat.

It wasn’t a practiced gesture done to entice him. No, she was all about the brief cooling respite from the heat. Even with the air-conditioning pumping, it was warm. Enthralled, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the path her index finger took from the base of her throat to her chin.

“I enjoyed the theaters, restaurants, and shops in Chicago.” She dropped her hand back down by her side. It took him a second to refocus on the conversation. “But it soon became all about work and survival. There wasn’t much joy to be found.”

That was an interesting choice of words— survival . There’d been the slightest intonation that hinted at a deeper meaning.

Lifting her glass, she downed what remained, gathered her purse, and stood. “What will you do? About your father’s ultimatum.”

“Find a cheap place to stay and a way to make money. I’m here until he decides I’ve cultivated what he deems necessary virtues.”

She hitched the strap of her bag over her shoulder. “You disagree with him.”

“I get the job done.” Being reminded why he was here wasn’t improving his mood. “Maybe not in the way he’d prefer, but he can’t complain about the bottom line.”

“There’s more to life than the bottom line.”

“At the end of the day, it’s all about success or failure. I’ve never failed, and I’m not about to start now.” There was more heat than he’d intended. His legendary cool had abandoned him. The expression of almost pity in her eyes had a muscle in his cheek twitching. The last thing he wanted or needed was some human’s sympathy. She was nothing more than a job. She’d be dead soon. None of her platitudes made a damn bit of difference.

“Good luck. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

“I assure you I will.” He’d acquired his target and was driving her away. Not exactly a winning strategy. He huffed out a breath. “I apologize for my outburst.”

Her lips tilted up into a tiny smile. “I get it. Nothing like family to push our buttons.”

That surprised a chuckle from him. “You’re right about that.” And his father knew exactly which ones to press. While all his sons lived with the pressure of their position, as oldest, he was keenly aware of the expectations heaped on his shoulders.

She leaned down so no one near them would overhear. “Thing is, we don’t always appreciate they mean well until it’s too late.”

His throat tightened. Did she have regrets about her granny? “It’s not like that between my father and me.” Or was it? No, his father had always been a larger-than-life figure. It’s not like he’d played catch with his sons or taken them fishing. They’d known from the time they were young that their paths were laid out for them by another, much greater force. There was no deviating from it. When you did, you got yanked back in line.

His present situation was proof.

She patted his arm. “Take care of yourself.” When he remained silent, she turned and made her way to the front counter to pay.

There was no way he could return the empty sentiment. No matter what she did to try to take care of herself, death was coming for her, and nothing could stop it.

…

She’d put her foot in it with Sam.

Talk about family drama. He might be convinced of his father’s motives, but she wasn’t so sure. His actions sounded like something her granny might have done—an intervention, tough love. If she’d lived, she’d likely have ordered Adrianne to come home or made the trip to the city to drag her there—if she’d realized what was happening.

Or maybe she was totally out in left field. Not everyone was as kind as her granny. Maybe Sam had every right to be angry.

Susie was waiting at the register when she got to the counter. “The pie was incredible.” Despite the tenseness of the conversation and the knot in her stomach, the combination of tart lemon and sweet meringue had been a real treat.

“Georgia Baker supplies our desserts. You remember Georgia? She went away to some fancy cooking school right after high school. Not sure where she ended up after that.” She frowned over that missing detail before waving her hand in the air. “Anyway, when her parents retired to Arizona a few months back, she moved home and started a business out of her kitchen, but she just opened a small shop.”

“Baker’s Dozen? That’s her place? I saw the sign. I hadn’t realized it was Georgia.” She’d been sticking close to home since she’d come back, both by necessity and design. Her and Georgia’s stories weren’t all that different—they’d both set out to conquer the world, in their own ways, and ended up back where they’d started.

“That’s the one. You should stop by.”

On impulse, Adrianne glanced at the table in the corner. “Add his lunch to the bill.” It would be her small contribution to Sam’s journey. Added to the ride she’d given him this morning, she’d done more than enough to help him out. Not even Granny would have been able to fault her.

Besides, it was only stubbornness keeping him here. He was an adult. If he didn’t care what his father thought, he could call a friend and leave Redemption anytime he wanted.

So could I.

A shiver of dread ran through her. Like someone walked on my grave. She gave herself a shake, ignoring it. He could leave whenever he chose, but there was nowhere left for her to go. She could run and hide in a big city, where she’d be another nameless, faceless person in the crowd, living in a tiny apartment, working twelve-hour days to afford it. But that wasn’t living. It wasn’t even really surviving. It was an endless, soul-crushing cycle of monotony that wore you down year after year. Here, she had the comfort of memories, a sense of home, of belonging.

And a heap of guilt , the little voice in the back of her head whispered.

Paying the tab, she left the diner, jumped in her truck, and drove the short distance to Mercer’s Market. Once a month, she made the trek to a larger center and stocked up on certain products at one of the bigger stores. For everyday needs, Mercer’s had a surprisingly good selection.

Note in hand, she hurried across the parking lot and into the inviting chill of the store. Wheeling a cart up one aisle and down another, she grabbed what she needed, all the while doing her best to ignore the feeling that she’d somehow abandoned Sam.

“He’s a grown man,” she muttered, tossing a box of cereal into the cart with a little more force than necessary.

“What was that, dear?”

Caught, she offered the older lady a sheepish grin. “Talking to myself, Miss Ida.” Ida Goldman had taught at the local school for almost forty years and was beloved by everyone. More than that, she’d been a dear friend of Adrianne’s granny.

“You spend too much time alone out on the farm by yourself. You’re far too young to spend so much time on your own.” She peered over the metal frames of her glasses. “Anne wouldn’t have wanted that.”

Adrianne had been named after her grandpa and granny, combining their names—Adrian and Anne. “My granny lived by herself for years and did fine, and I have Chester.”

“That cat is great company, but you need actual people to talk to. Your granny came to town several times a week, was part of the quilting society and book club, held positions on the local library and heritage boards, and had friends visit. Plus, she had a hired man to help with chores and the farm. You’re doing it all on your own. You rarely poke your nose out unless you’re running errands.”

While she appreciated the concern, it made her uncomfortable. She wasn’t about to drag anyone into her life when it might endanger them. Not until she was 100percent sure her troubles were behind her. A year was the benchmark she’d set. She was halfway there and ready to loosen the reins but had a ways to go yet before she’d relax.

“Honestly, I’m doing okay. I had help with the harvest.” From the same casual worker her granny had used for years, a retired man who supplemented his pension check with odd jobs. He’d brought his teenaged grandson with him. Between the three of them, they’d managed to get it done. “How are you faring with all this heat?”

The older lady pinned her with a stare, letting her know she was aware Adrianne was changing the subject but was willing to go along with it. “My old bones are used to the heat after all these years. It’s the cold they’re not partial to.” After a few more minutes of pleasant conversation, they parted ways.

Not wasting time, Adrianne grabbed everything remaining on her list and headed to the checkout. Transaction completed, she wheeled the bags out to her truck and loaded the perishables into an ice chest and the rest in the back. After returning the cart, there was nothing left to do but go home.

When she climbed into the driver’s seat, something crumpled beneath her. “What the heck?” She pulled the sheet of paper out from under her. “Someone must have left a flyer for something.” Although why they hadn’t slipped it under the windshield wiper was beyond her.

The black lettering blurred as she stared at it. Lightheaded, she closed her eyes and swallowed heavily. “Don’t pass out. Don’t pass out.” That would leave her vulnerable. This couldn’t be happening. She’d taken every precaution when she’d left her job and hadn’t told anyone where she was going. She’d even taken vacation time in lieu of giving notice at work, vanishing like a ghost.

But how untraceable was a person in this modern age of computers? Anyone with decent hacking skills might have found a reference to her and Redemption online, something from a childhood friend or perhaps the local school. Her granny had often posted on social media about the Little Lavender Company—the name of the business. She might have mentioned her granddaughter in passing. Adrianne didn’t list her name on the website, opting to use Chester’s picture and name as a contact. People enjoyed the photos of him alongside the products she sold. It offered a layer of protection for her identity, but not enough.

The paper was regular printer paper, available everywhere. The ink was from a Sharpie, equally as common. The Chicago police had found out that much. There’d been no way to trace them back to a source. There were no identifying fingerprints. Like the “gifts” the person had left for her, the notes were anonymous, even though the sentiments attached were anything but.

Blinking, she forced herself to read the note. YOU THOUGHT YOU COULD LEAVE ME. The stalker always wrote in all caps. I’LL FIND YOU WHEREVER YOU GO. YOU BELONG TO ME.

“You okay?” At the sound of the deep, masculine voice, she gave a small shriek and plastered her hand against her chest, wrinkling the paper further.

“Ohmygod, it’s you.” Heart hammering, she sucked in a deep breath. The last person she’d expected to see standing by her truck was Sam. He was the only variable in her life, the only new person. He’d lied to her. Anger burned away all fear and caution. She’d not only reached her limit, but she’d also rocketed past it.

She should stay in the vehicle and call the police. Instead, she shoved the door open, forcing him to take a step back. “Did you write this?” She jammed the paper against his shirt. “You think this is a joke? Some kind of sick game?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” His nostrils flared, and his eyes tightened as he grabbed the note and read it. “This is the reason you left Chicago, isn’t it?”

“You know damn well it is.” After all this time, it felt good to have a target for her pent-up rage, even as another, saner part of her warned she was making a huge mistake in confronting him. But she was tired of wondering if she’d left her troubles behind—which she clearly hadn’t—waiting for the other shoe to drop. Because part of her had been waiting for this moment.

His black gaze narrowed, and he grabbed her by the wrist. “Let’s go.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you.” She yanked free, curled her fingers into a fist, and let it fly. He caught her hand in his and held it easily, showing enormous strength. Where the heck was everybody? There were plenty of vehicles in the parking lot but not one person. Just her bad luck everyone was inside shopping.

She glanced toward the store entrance. Sweat made her T-shirt stick to her skin. It was early afternoon, not the middle of the night, for God’s sake, nor was she isolated, even if it currently seemed as though they were the only two people in the town. Surely, he wouldn’t do anything to her in such a public space.

“You won’t make it.” The chill in his tone filled her with dread.

Her bold actions suddenly weren’t looking so smart. She should have locked her door and driven straight to the police station.

“What do you want?” She’d never purposely hurt anyone in her life, had never wanted to until now. She hated the sense of being helpless, of having no control over her life as it unraveled around her. Squaring her shoulders, she tilted up her chin and met his furious gaze. She’d run from Chicago, from her life there. No one was going to take away her sense of home, of place, of security. Not this time.

“Believe it or not, to help you.” He bent down and picked up the note that had dropped to the ground in their short skirmish, shaking his head as he brushed off some dirt. “If there was any evidence on this, we’ve messed it up.” He held it out to her. “I didn’t write this.” He panned the area, as if searching for something or someone.

“I don’t believe you. I suppose it’s a coincidence the day I run across a stranger is the day I get a note from my stalker when I haven’t had any contact since I left Chicago.”

“I’m not sure it is random.” His voice was low, as if he was talking to himself and not her. He put a hand on the side of her vehicle and vaulted into the back. “Get in the truck.”

Hands on hips, she glared at him. “Where do you think I’m going with you?”

“Police station. You need to report this. You can also get them to run a check on me to prove I’ve lived in Vegas for years.” When she hesitated, he added, “I don’t stalk women. I don’t have to.”

Well, that put her in her place, didn’t it? But wouldn’t a stalker try to convince her he was safe, to get closer? Bottom line, Sam was a stranger. She didn’t even know his last name. There was no way to remove him from her truck physically. He was too damn big. The fact he wanted her to go to the police was a point in his favor. She didn’t like taking orders from anyone but planned to go there anyway. It would be stupid to not go just to spite him.

“Fine.” Face flushed—as much from fear and anger as the afternoon heat—she slid into the driver’s seat and slammed the door. The adrenaline rush subsided, leaving her lightheaded and more than a little stomach sick.

If Sam hadn’t left the note, who had?