Chapter Two
Paul McPherson wasn’t in the mood for visitors.
He’d arrived in Lost Lake a month ago for some much-needed rest and relaxation.
And wouldn’t you know it? A tornado hit town the next day.
His rustic cabin getaway had turned into a construction zone, unfit for any kind of vacation.
Instead of leaving, Paul had stayed in the wreckage, too stubborn to change his plans.
He’d also volunteered to do the remodel himself, and the owner had agreed.
Today he’d removed the kitchen cabinets.
Heavy lifting and hauling weren’t recommended for his injured shoulder, but he hadn’t stopped until quitting time.
Now he was dead tired, with a deep ache that radiated along his left side.
It spread outward, from the nape of his neck to the tips of his fingers.
He’d taken some over-the-counter pain medication with a swig of beer, cranked up the radio and hit the shower.
His brother, Kyle, had recommended an alternative remedy, but Paul hadn’t tried it.
He was skeptical of any medication that resembled gummy bears.
He had his pain-relief patches and the rest of a six-pack.
He’d handle the discomfort the way he always did—without complaint.
As long as no one bothered him, he’d get along just fine.
He’d hung his head and let the hot spray soothe his sore muscles.
Then he’d heard it.
A woman’s voice. Strong and strident, though what she’d said wasn’t clear. Water continued to course over his body, drowning out other sounds. He straightened, wiping his face with one hand. His heart began to pound in his chest, and he turned off the faucet with a twist.
Why would a woman be inside his cabin?
He pushed aside the shower curtain and stepped out of the stall, wrapping a towel around his waist. When he opened the bathroom door, the only noise that greeted him was Bob Marley singing about redemption.
Paul listened for several seconds, his body still as a statue.
Although he heard nothing out of the ordinary, the voice seemed to echo in his mind, like the remnant of a forgotten dream.
He couldn’t be sure the intruder was a woman, upon reflection.
He also couldn’t dismiss the sense of invasion.
Someone had been here, alone or with others, and they had spoken. He hadn’t imagined that voice. Had he?
Paul wasn’t prone to irrational fears or paranoid thoughts. At least he hadn’t been, before the trouble in Houston. Now he was a different man, a stranger in his own skin.
Instead of walking toward the front door in a towel, he crept down the hall in the opposite direction.
His service weapon was stashed in a lockbox underneath his bed.
He couldn’t afford to get caught flat-footed.
He yanked on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt before retrieving the 9mm.
The cotton fabric stuck to his damp chest, but his hands were dry enough to grip his gun securely.
Holding it with the muzzle pointed downward, he padded toward the back door.
The night air was balmy, with a light breeze coming off the lake that invited open windows, rather than A/C.
The Texas heat had been mild so far. Later in the summer, the days would be sizzling with little respite after dark.
Despite the pleasant ambience, Paul missed the city.
He’d grown accustomed to the noise of traffic at all hours.
Moving with stealth, he circled around the side of the duplex.
Pebbles and bits of grass clung to his bare feet as he skirted the side of the adjoining cabin, which was currently under construction.
When he reached the front corner, he paused with his right shoulder pressed to the wood siding.
A quick glance revealed that he wasn’t chasing ghosts.
There was a silver SUV parked across from his truck.
He memorized the details of the vehicle as he ducked out of sight again. He’d been instructed to lay low and avoid social interactions, which suited him fine. He assessed the unexpected visitor as a threat, but not a high-level one. This stranger was small, slim, and not even trying to be stealthy.
He darted from the corner of the house, head low, and took shelter behind his truck.
Then he hazarded another glance in the direction of the SUV.
Interior light from the cab of the vehicle illuminated the space, outlining the size and shape of his visitor.
His grip relaxed on the handle of his gun, because the body was definitely female.
Her leggings and tank top hugged a slender figure with nice curves.
The snug-fitting clothing left no room for a weapon.
He inhaled a slow breath of relief.
Instead of making his presence known, Paul remained silent.
He was curious about her purpose here. The woman stood at the open back door of her vehicle, bent forward slightly, as if retrieving something from the backseat.
She had dark hair, drawn into a messy ponytail atop her head, and she was wearing flip-flops that sparkled in the moonlight.
Then another blur of motion caught his eye, and he realized she wasn’t alone.
There was a second person in the vehicle.
A small, curly-haired person, with tiny kicking feet.
A child.
Paul recoiled at the sight of the miniature human in the car seat. The panic he hadn’t felt a moment ago surged within him now. He held the gun in a death grip and willed his galloping heart to quiet.
“Mommy, I saw a monster!”
Paul recognized dimly that he was the monster in question. He was lurking in the dark with a loaded weapon, ready to take aim at a defenseless woman. To make matters worse, he’d given away his position. He should have retreated at the first opportunity. He’d lingered too long to check her out.
Mentally kicking himself, he removed the clip from the gun and ejected the bullet from the chamber with a practiced motion.
He tucked the loose items into the pocket of his shorts and stashed the 9mm under the wheel well of his truck.
The child continued to chatter about the monster, and the mother turned toward him.
Paul emerged from the hiding space, his gut clenched with chagrin.
He’d already been spotted. He might as well show his face and stop scaring the shit out of innocent people.
The mother shielded her child as he approached. She gaped at him as if she expected him to bludgeon her.
He kept his distance, palms raised. “Can I help you?”
“My brother’s a cop,” she said.
Paul wasn’t sure how to respond to this pronouncement. “Okay.”
She lifted her phone in one shaking hand. “I’m going to call him right now.”
Paul didn’t argue, though he doubted she had service. This area was a dead zone for cellular roaming.
The kid in the car seat peered at him. “Are you a monster?”
“No,” he said easily. “I’m Paul Murphy.”
The woman made an attempt to call her brother.
Even in the dim light, he could see how beautiful she was.
She had an oval-shaped face, luminous brown eyes, and delicate features.
Although she appeared frightened, she stood her ground.
Her figure was even better from the front.
He stayed quiet and tried not to stare. Unable to connect her call, she dropped her arm and regarded him warily.
“I’m Vanessa Nava,” she said. “I have a reservation for Cabin 8.”
“Cabin 8?”
“Yes.”
Paul touched the center of his chest. “I’m in Cabin 8.”
“Were you in the shower just now?”
“I was.”
She studied him with trepidation, perhaps wondering why he’d gone from showering to prowling around in the dark in the space of two minutes. He offered no explanation. What reasonable excuse was there?
“I paid a deposit,” she said. “It’s non-refundable.”
Paul fumbled for relevant details. “The property changed hands recently. It also sustained tornado damage. I’m remodeling both cabins.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No.”
The child kicked restlessly. “I have to go potty!”
Paul fell silent again. He felt self-conscious and on edge, seething with negative energy. This pretty brunette was no threat to him, and neither was her kid. Even so, he needed them to go away as soon as possible.
Vanessa plucked the toddler from the car seat. Her body language communicated annoyance now, rather than fear. “Can my daughter use your bathroom?”
“It’s a ’mergency,” the girl said.
He wanted to say no. This was an emergency for him, too—a mental health emergency.
Since the incident in Houston, he couldn’t be around kids without panicking.
Mothers with kids were even worse. Vanessa Nava gave him an impatient look that warned of trouble to come.
He considered telling her the toilet didn’t work, but she’d just heard him in the shower.
She knew he had a functional bathroom, and she was determined to use it.
In his agitated state, he couldn’t think of a polite way to refuse.
“Please,” Vanessa said. “We’ve been in the car all day.”
Paul waved a hand toward the cabin. He could endure the presence of two harmless strangers for five minutes. “Go on in.”
She nodded her thanks and hurried forward with the child in her arms. She glanced at his bare feet as she passed by him.
It was an off-hand perusal, and she didn’t wrinkle her nose in disgust, but he felt awkward and uncouth.
Bits of grass and dirt covered his toes.
He’d dressed in haste, without drying off after his shower.
The cargo shorts and T-shirt clung to his damp skin. His neck heated with discomfort.
“I’ll stay out here,” he said gruffly.
Vanessa opened the screen door and headed inside.
Paul sat down on the front step, his heart still racing.
Another Bob Marley song started playing.
The chill vibe he’d been chasing remained elusive.
Maybe he should have taken those edibles his brother recommended.
Clearly, he couldn’t relax without assistance.
He considered retrieving his firearm from its hiding place, and transferring it to a more secure location, but he didn’t move.
He didn’t want to get caught with the gun in his hand again.
The last time he’d drawn the weapon, he’d used it with deadly force.
Renewed tension crept into his muscles as he blocked out the memories.
It was a chore to stay calm, to keep his mind clear.
The ghosts of Houston lurked in every corner.
Paul counted down from ten, and focused on the present. It dawned on him that the voice he’d heard earlier belonged to her. He’d left the door open, and she’d walked right in. He was lucky she hadn’t startled him while he was armed. His blood ran cold at the thought.
What if he’d fired at her? Jesus Christ.
He raked a hand through his hair, and ordered himself to stop obsessing about worst-case scenarios.
Nothing bad had happened. He’d acted weird and paranoid, but so what?
It wasn’t the end of the world. He’d never see this woman again.
He rubbed his sweaty palms on his shorts, wishing for the beer he’d left on the kitchen countertop.
As soon as these interlopers left, he was going to chug the whole bottle.
After a few moments, Vanessa reappeared with the child on her hip. Instead of stepping onto the porch, she lingered in the doorway, as if reluctant to come out. “We need to call the owner and get this sorted.”
Paul studied her with narrowed eyes. The stubborn tilt of her jaw was unmistakable. Vanessa Nava wasn’t going to leave quietly. He got the impression that she might refuse to let him back into the cabin now that she’d gained entry.
“There’s no phone,” he said. “And no Wi-Fi.”
“There’s no Wi-Fi?” she repeated in an incredulous tone.
Paul didn’t tell her the owner of the rental property was in Jamaica on a family vacation. He would be difficult to reach, even if they could call him. Sharing this news might send her over the edge, so he stayed silent.
“Do you have the owner’s phone number?” she asked.
“I do.”
“Get it.”
He wanted to laugh at her bold-as-brass command, but he didn’t.
Nor did he refuse. If he gave her what she wanted, she’d go away.
He rose to his feet, tugging his T-shirt away from his damp skin.
She watched him come forward. She was a slender woman, slightly built despite her curves.
Although he was a head taller than her, she didn’t appear intimidated.
The little girl had rested her head on the woman’s shoulder.
Paul avoided looking directly at the child, whose presence unsettled him as much as the mother’s.
He made the mistake of looking at Vanessa.
His gaze locked with hers, and a jolt of awareness traveled through him.
She had a lovely face, and a figure that would stop traffic, but there was something else about her that gave him pause.
The hard glint in her eyes, full of defiance and self-assurance, contrasted with her delicate features.
She looked like a fighter. She looked like the kind of woman who never backed down.
When Paul cleared his throat, and gestured toward the interior of the cabin, her expression changed from obstinate to begrudging. He had to get the phone number she’d demanded, and she was standing in his way. She shifted the child to her other hip and retreated a few steps to concede the space.
Paul turned sideways as he came through the doorway to avoid brushing against her, but he couldn’t avoid her scent.
He inhaled, without making any conscious effort to do so.
She smelled as good as she looked, like warm skin and silky hair and beauty products he could not name.
He also caught a hint of maple syrup, probably from the little girl.
The combination reminded him of rumpled bedsheets and cozy family breakfasts on Sunday morning. He felt the old, familiar pang of loss.
My brother’s a cop.
Paul realized, with a start, that her brother was Deputy Nava.
Paul had met him before. Nava was young and inexperienced, but he wasn’t dumb.
Paul made a mental note of their connection and filed it away.
She hadn’t mentioned a husband, which was telling.
Most married women would claim their spouse was nearby in a moment of fear.
Paul suspected she didn’t have one, based on her independent attitude and unaccompanied state.
Not that it mattered either way. Her relationship status was none of his business. He didn’t need to know her life story. He needed her to get away from him. This was his hideout, and he had to protect it. He couldn’t let a woman and child linger in his cabin.
It wasn’t safe here—because of him.