Escaping Peril (Refuge Cove #2)

Prologue

The city usually felt alive at night.

Naomi King loved that about New York—the bustling traffic, the glow of storefronts open late, and the comforting sense that even when you were alone, you weren’t really alone at all.

Tonight, all the activity felt muted—but she had no idea why. Maybe it was the rain or the unseasonable chill in the air. Maybe it was the hour.

She’d worked later than she’d planned.

She adjusted her coat as she walked, heels clicking against the sidewalk, her breath fogging faintly in the cold air.

Her meeting with Gio had gone better than she’d expected.

Much better.

She hadn’t been sure who to talk to about her discovery that fraud was taking place at the finance firm where they worked. But if she couldn’t trust the man she was dating, then who could she trust?

Gio had been equally as surprised—and concerned—when he saw the proof. Since he held a higher position at the company, he was better poised to take action with the information.

Going to him had been the right thing, and now it felt as if a weight had been lifted from her chest.

Gio had listened, his expression serious. You’re right to bring this to me. But we can’t say anything yet. Not until we know who we can trust. Let me do a little more research before we decide on a plan of action.

That had made sense. It felt like the responsible choice.

Naomi slowed at the corner, scanning the street before crossing. Something about the air felt . . . off. Not dangerous exactly. Just wrong in a way she couldn’t define.

She wasn’t used to feeling like this here.

Her apartment was only a few blocks away. She’d walked this route dozens of times, and she’d never once felt the need to look over her shoulder.

Tonight, she did.

It was probably just her adrenaline crashing after talking with Gio. It was the only thing that made sense.

She glanced behind her.

A delivery truck rumbled somewhere in the distance then turned away. The sound faded, leaving only the whisper of wind between buildings.

Naomi crossed the street and continued walking, her steps quickening despite her efforts to stay calm.

You’re imagining things, she told herself. It’s been a long day.

She passed a darkened storefront when movement flickered in her peripheral vision.

Her pulse surged.

She turned just as someone emerged from the shadows.

The man moved too fast for her to react.

One moment she opened her mouth to scream. The next, a hand clamped over her lips and an arm hooked around her waist.

He yanked her backward off the sidewalk. Her feet left the ground.

She kicked and writhed as the man dragged her into the narrow gap between two buildings where the streetlight didn’t reach.

He shifted his hold, and her back hit the brick wall behind her. The impact knocked the air from her lungs.

Before she could draw in a breath, he shoved his palm flat against her mouth. His fingers dug into her jaw and forced her head against the wall.

“Don’t.” His voice was low, almost as if he were giving her advice. “Just don’t.”

She tried to twist away. She clawed at his arm. It did no good. The masked man was bigger and stronger.

Her purse strap slipped off her shoulder.

He let it fall. Didn’t even glance at it.

That was when she knew.

This wasn’t a robbery.

Panic surged through her, sharp and cold.

She kicked at the man. Her foot caught his shin, then his knee. But he didn’t flinch.

His other hand came up, and something hard hit her temple.

Pain exploded white and hot behind her eyes. Her vision fractured, and everything split into pieces.

The second blow came harder.

Her knees buckled. The brick scraped her back as she slid down the wall.

The man’s hand remained clamped over her mouth, holding her upright for one more second. Two. Three.

Blood flooded her tastebuds.

Then a shout sounded in the distance.

The man cursed under his breath, low and sharp. But her ears rang, and the edges of the world went soft and dark.

His grip loosened.

The next instant, her body crumpled onto the pavement.

The last thing she registered was the sound of footsteps retreating and the cold press of concrete against her cheek.

Naomi woke to a pounding ache behind her eyes and the steady beep of a monitor.

She blinked. The ceiling swam above her—white tiles, painfully bright fluorescent lights.

Everything blurred at the edges.

She tried to move her head, to look away. But pain spiked through her skull, sharp enough that she gasped.

“Easy,” a woman murmured. “Don’t move too fast.”

Naomi turned her head—slowly this time—and saw a nurse standing beside the bed. Middle-aged, scrubs patterned with small blue flowers, an ID badge clipped to her pocket. Her expression was professional, but something careful waited beneath it.

“Where—?” Naomi’s voice came out hoarse. She swallowed and tried again. “Where am I?”

“New York-Presbyterian. You were brought in last night.” The nurse adjusted something on the IV stand. “Do you remember what happened?”

Naomi stared at her and tried to pull something forward. A face. A reason.

Nothing came to her.

“I—” Her chest tightened. “No. I don’t.”

The nurse nodded as if she’d expected that response. “That’s not uncommon with head trauma.”

“Head trauma?”

The nurse patted her hand. “The doctor will be in soon to talk to you.”

She tried again to remember. But there was nothing—just blank spaces.

Panic clawed at her chest as she continued to try to reach for something that didn’t seem to exist.

The nurse turned back to her. “You have a visitor—says he’s your boyfriend. He’s been here since this morning. Said he got worried when you didn’t show up for work, so he started calling area hospitals. Are you up for a visit?”

Naomi didn’t know how to answer. She didn’t know what day it was. Didn’t know why her hands were shaking.

But she did remember her boyfriend. Gio Moretti. They’d been dating six months. He was smart and handsome and sophisticated. They worked together at Goldman and Associates—that was where they’d met.

Yes, she needed to see Gio. Maybe he had some answers.

“Yes,” Naomi said, her voice hoarse. “Please let him in.”

The nurse gave her a small, reassuring smile and then stepped toward the door. She opened it and murmured something to someone outside.

A moment later, Gio walked in.

Relief hit her first—sharp and immediate. Gio. She knew him. That alone felt like something solid in a room that wouldn’t stop tilting.

But the relief didn’t last.

His face was drawn and pale under the fluorescent lights. His tie was loose and his jacket gone.

He looked like he hadn’t slept. And the way he looked at her . . . it didn’t put her at ease.

He was concerned, yes. But there was something else underneath it. Something tighter.

“Naomi.” He crossed to the bedside, his voice gentle in a way that made her feel fragile. “I’m so glad you’re okay. I was so worried. I thought you might not wake up and—”

His voice caught, and he stopped.

She tried to sit up, but pain flared behind her eyes. She froze.

“Don’t.” Gio placed a hand on her shoulder to stop her. “Just stay still. You’re okay. You’re safe now.”

The nurse paced to the door. “I’ll give you two a few minutes. The doctor should be by within the hour. Press the Call button on the device next to you if you need anything in the meantime.”

Then she was gone.

The door clicked shut, and Naomi and Gio were alone.

Gio pulled a chair closer to the bed and sat. He reached for her hand, his fingers warm and steady.

“What happened?” Her voice was still rough, but steadier now. “Why am I here?”

Gio’s jaw tightened. He glanced toward the door then back at her before answering.

“You were attacked. Last night when you walked home from work. Someone—” He stopped.

Exhaled. Inhaled. “A stranger found you in an alley near your apartment. The police said—” His hand tightened on hers.

“I know this is bad, but they said it could have been a lot worse.”

The words landed, but they didn’t connect to anything. An alley. An attack.

She reached for the memory and found only blank space.

Again.

Frustration mounted inside her.

“Was it a robbery?” she rushed.

“I . . . I don’t think so. From my understanding, the police found your purse.”

“Then why? Why did someone attack me?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe just because . . . because there are evil people in this world, I suppose. I know that probably doesn’t make you feel better, though. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t remember,” she rushed, her voice cracking. “I don’t remember any of it.”

Something flickered across Gio’s face, an emotion that came too fast to name. Relief? Fear?

She couldn’t tell.

Maybe he thought not remembering was a blessing.

Had her attacker left her for dead? Was it only by the grace of God she was still alive right now?

Gio leaned forward slightly, and his eyes searched hers. “What’s the last thing you do remember?”

Naomi closed her eyes. She pulled at the edges of the blank space, searching for something—a meeting, a conversation, walking home, anything.

Nothing.

“I don’t know,” she whispered, her head pounding harder. “I can’t—”

“Hey.” Gio’s voice was soft. He squeezed her hand. “It’s okay. Don’t force it.”

His touch was warm and steady. It should have helped.

But for some reason it didn’t.

Something in the back of her mind—something she couldn’t name—pulled in the wrong direction. A faint, cold feeling surrounded her like a draft under a closed door.

She opened her eyes and looked at Gio.

He was watching her. Waiting for her to say something.

And for just a second—so brief she almost missed it—she thought she saw something in his expression that didn’t match the concern in his voice.

But then it was gone, and he smiled, and she told herself she’d imagined it.

The doctor came in a few minutes later. She asked Gio to stay as the doctor asked her several questions and reviewed her medical records on a nearby computer.

She braced herself as the doctor turned to address her. “Ms. King, I just want to go over your injuries. We had to place eight staples in your head. There’s a significant gash there.”

That would explain the ache she felt there.

“We believe you were hit with something hard—the police aren’t sure what. Based on the bruising on the back of your head, your assailant most likely pushed you into a wall and then you fell to the ground. Your ribs might be sore, and you have some bruising, but nothing is broken.”

“That’s good news, I guess.”

“Most significantly, you’ve suffered a concussion. Based on what you’re describing, the last twenty-four hours of your life are missing. Is that correct?”

“I . . . I think so.”

“What you’re experiencing is called short-term retrograde amnesia.”

Naomi stared at him. “My memories are just . . . gone?”

“For now. They may return. Or they may not. The most important thing is rest and low stress while your brain heals.”

The doctor said some other things using terminology that sounded familiar, but Naomi couldn’t quite grasp his words. The nurse took more vitals. The doctor looked at her medical record again.

Everything was all a blur.

The harder she tried to remember, the worse her head hurt.

She tried to go back in time again, tried to recall her last clear memory. She thought—maybe—she remembered getting ready for work yesterday morning. She thought it was yesterday, at least.

She’d remembered the vague feeling of being nervous as she’d applied her makeup. But about what?

Nothing flooded back to her.

After the doctor left, Gio squeezed her hand. “See? It’s going to be okay.”

She nodded, but the unease in her chest remained.

Gio’s thumb brushed over her knuckles in a familiar, comforting gesture—and still, something felt off.

Not dangerous.

Just . . . hollow.

“I feel like I lost something important,” she said.

Gio smiled softly. “If it mattered, it’ll come back.”

Naomi hoped he was right. Because someone had attacked her.

And that absolutely did matter.