Prologue

McKenzie charged out of the employee elevator, then hurried down the hotel corridor toward the housekeeping cart being pushed by her colleague. The Sea Dip Hotel stood nearly empty on this weekday morning with few guests coming to Myrtle Beach so late in the season.

At the sound of her approach, Jamila glanced over, then slowed the cart to wait for her. "Caroline!" Her face reflected surprise. "What are you doin' here, girl? I thought you were off today."

McKenzie had scarcely grown accustomed to her latest alias. "I was off." She caught her breath while tightening the loose strings on her apron. "But Nadia called this morning to say she wasn't feeling well, and she talked me into taking her shift."

"Shoot, she ain't sick." Jamila rolled her dark eyes. "You know she just drank too much last night, right? You shouldn't let her use you like that."

"I know, but I need the money."

Jamila ran an assessing gaze over McKenzie's petite figure. "What's a classy girl like you doin' workin' in a place like this, anyway? You should be sellin' time-shares or somethin', not cleanin' up other people's messes."

McKenzie avoided eye contact. "It's as good a job as any. I don't need to be rich."

"Shoot."

What would Jamila think if she knew McKenzie had been wealthy all her life—until three years ago? When wealth came at the expense of other people's fortunes, it was an empty luxury. Her father, head of the Centurion Cohort headquartered in Savannah, Georgia, had taught her that bitter truth. Luckily for McKenzie, she'd inherited not only her mother's decency but also Genevieve's journals which detailed the crimes her husband had committed. Ultimately, those journals had been used by the FBI to send Jared Jones to prison, where he'd mysteriously died.

"True, but it ain't no sin to use what God gave you." Jamila gave her a pointed once-over. "With a face and body like that, you could snag a rich ol' man and never have to work another day again."

McKenzie shuddered inwardly. How close she'd come to being forced into marriage with her father's friend! "I like to work." She pushed the cart forward, cutting their conversation short.

Working made the time go by faster. What's more, her face and body were the last things McKenzie wanted anyone to take note of, lest she be recognized. As a client of the U.S. Marshal's witness protection program, or WITSEC, she had taken on an entirely new identity and appearance, coloring her dark ringlets auburn and growing her hair way past her shoulders where she used to wear it. WITSEC determined where she lived, and, in places like Myrtle Beach, a menial job was the only one she could find.

At the next hotel door, McKenzie pulled the master keycard from her apron pocket and picked up a stack of freshly folded towels. "I'll take this side." She waited for Jamila to nod before knocking on the door with the Make Up Room sign dangling from the doorknob. "Housekeeping."

As expected, the room was empty, with the curtains flung open and sunlight streaming in. Throwing herself into the mindless task of stripping the bed, McKenzie realized she'd been cleaning rooms at this mid-priced hotel for almost five months now. Little chance of her running into her father's entitled friends in a place like the Sea Dip, that was certain.

It beat her first job in Omaha, inspecting cans in a food-processing plant. The best job she'd found so far had been in Portland, Oregon, working as a veterinarian's assistant, but she couldn't stay there, either. It was all WITSEC could do to stay one step ahead of the well-networked Centurion Cohort.

While her mother's journals had put hundreds of members in jail, others had escaped imprisonment due to good lawyers, or possibly thanks to a fellow Centurion sitting in the jury, protecting his kind. It was the men who'd avoided jail time who sought McKenzie's ruin, keeping her on the run.

Down on her knees in the bathroom, she worked to scrape purple bubble gum off the tiled floor. The wages of my father's sins are still being paid.

And the debt was a heavy one. Heavy and lonely.

But God still loved her. She reminded herself of Jeremiah 29:11 every day. "ForI know the plans I have for you…plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." It was just a matter of time before McKenzie could live her life again without this constant fear of being found.