Chapter Nine
Blood. Oh, God, so much blood. Splattered across the room. On the floor, the walls, the furniture. Crimson red blood everywhere. The raw stench of death hung in the air, surrounding her like a thick, suffocating blanket.
What happened?
Momma? Susan? Nicholas?
No! Oh, God, no! They can’t be dead! This can’t be happening! Why? Oh, God, why? It's my fault, all my fault. I killed my family. They didn’t deserve to die this way. They’re all dead because of me.
Run!
Hurry!
Run before it is too late!
Moriah woke up terrified, covered in sweat, and gasping for air. She fumbled for the lamp next to her bed and turned it on, her gaze darting around the room.
The beach house.
She was at the beach house in North Carolina—not her family’s Chicago apartment.
The walls here were pale blue, and the carpet was ivory.
Not dark red. Not covered in her family’s blood.
No metallic scent lingered in the air, only the clean, salty breeze drifting in from the ocean.
Momma, Susan, and Nicholas weren’t tied to kitchen chairs, riddled with bullet holes, the souls already drained from their mortal bodies.
Sitting up, she wiped the tears from her eyes and cheeks. Her grief was just as strong now as it had been the exact moment she’d found her family in the apartment before fleeing.
Would she ever be able to think of them again and not picture how they died?
It was all her fault. Well, mostly her fault. She could never forgive herself for the part she played in their deaths.
If there was an afterlife, she hoped her family would forgive her.
However, she would always blame herself.
Focusing on the small alarm clock on the nightstand, she sighed. Five-thirty in the morning. There would be no going back to sleep—not with those images still fresh in her mind.
She slipped from the covers and pulled on a pair of jeans beneath the navy T-shirt she’d slept in before heading into the attached bathroom. After a quick stop at the toilet, she washed her hands and splashed water on her face.
Staring at her reflection, she barely recognized herself. Her face looked thinner, paler. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, giving her the appearance of one of those “before” photos in a beauty ad. She hadn’t slept more than five hours a night in months, and it was starting to show.
She refused to take anything to help her sleep. The risk wasn’t worth it. If she had to run, she needed to be clearheaded. They’d found her twice already, and both times she’d barely gotten away. She’d learned from it—adapted the only way she could.
Walking barefoot, she slipped out of the bedroom and down the hall into the kitchen, moving quietly so she wouldn’t wake KC. A little coffee and fresh air might help push back the lingering edge of the nightmare. If only there were a way to erase those images for good.
A few minutes later, she stepped onto the back deck with a steaming mug in one hand and a granola bar in the other. The door clicked softly shut behind her, and she turned—only to jump in surprise.
KC climbed the stairs, dressed in cotton shorts, a T-shirt, and sneakers. Despite the cool morning air, his body was damp with sweat. And what a body it was. The fabric clung to him, outlining every hard line and muscle.
Heat crept through her, settling low in her belly. She hoped he wouldn’t notice the husky shift in her voice. “Hi, where were you?”
When he reached the deck, he grabbed the towel draped over the railing and wiped his face and neck. “I couldn’t sleep, so I took my morning run a little early.”
She couldn’t tear her gaze away as he dragged the towel up both of his strong arms. Her mouth went dry. “You…” Clearing her throat, she tried again. “You look like you ran a marathon.”
Hanging the towel around his neck, he shrugged. “Nope, only ten miles. Five out, five back.”
Moriah stared at him. He’d just run ten miles? Well, that explained how he kept his impressive physique.
KC shrugged again and chuckled. “That’s a short hike in the military.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “If you say so. I’d hate to think what you would call a long hike. I’d have a heart attack before I finished the first mile.”
“Nah, not if you did some training.” He grabbed a bottle of water from the railing and gulped most of it.
Her eyes flared as his throat worked with each swallow. How did the man make something so simple look so distracting? “Thanks, but I think I’ll pass. I have enough training to do between the range and the self-defense lessons you promised me.”
“We’ll start those right after breakfast if you want.” He tilted his head, studying her. “What about you? What are you doing up so early?”
She looked away, focusing on the ocean. “I had a nightmare.”
“Oh? About what?”
Keeping her gaze averted, she offered a quick lie. “I really don’t remember.”
He stepped closer without crowding her. “Maura, I meant what I said yesterday. I’m an excellent listener if you want to talk about it.”
A small, sad smile touched her lips. He really was kind, and she wished they’d met under different circumstances. “Thanks. But this is something I have to work out alone.”
Sighing, he shrugged and took a step back. “Okay, but I’m here if you ever want to talk. If you hadn’t noticed, I also have some pretty big shoulders to cry on.”
His teasing softened the moment.
“Thanks,” she repeated. “I think I’m going to take a short walk on the beach.”
“Okay. I’ll see you in a little bit.”
She slipped past him toward the stairs. As she descended, she felt his eyes on her. The pull between them was already too strong, too easy to get lost in—and after the nightmare, she felt exposed in a way she couldn’t afford. Distance was safer.
Still, she couldn’t help silently cursing the universe for introducing her to a man she could never have.
KC reluctantly let her go before heading inside to shower, closing the door behind him. He was grateful Maura hadn’t asked why he couldn’t sleep. He would have lied. There was no way he could admit that every time he closed his eyes, she was there—too close, too vivid, impossible to ignore.
It wasn’t just an attraction. It was how she lingered in his mind, the way his thoughts kept circling back to her, no matter how hard he tried to focus on anything else.
Seeing her on the deck hadn’t helped. Not when she looked like that—soft, natural, completely unaware of the effect she had on him. He’d forced himself to keep his attention on her face, to act normal, but it had taken more effort than he cared to admit.
By the time he reached the bathroom, tension coiled tight through his body, leaving him restless and on edge. He turned on the shower and stepped under the spray, letting the water beat down on him as he tried to regain control.
Dragging a hand over his face, he exhaled slowly. This wasn’t like him. He was used to control. Discipline. Keeping things simple.
But there was nothing simple about Maura.
He stood there longer than necessary, letting the water cool his overheated thoughts, willing his body to settle. It took time, but eventually the edge dulled enough for him to think straight again.
Damn! It’s going to be a long four weeks.
And that was becoming an unwanted mantra.