Chapter 1

1

Jolie

One month later

I’m going to go to the block party.

No more hiding in this house.

The neighbors were kind enough to invite me via a note in my mailbox, even though I’ve locked myself away from the world since the trial. A full month of people leaving brownies on my doorstep and checking the locks every hour. But now…

I glance down at the newspaper, the headline still there. I didn’t dream it.

“Kidnapper Murdered in Prison.”

Not just murdered, though. Carved up and hung from his ankles in the recreation yard.

My fear that Joseph Hynes is going to jump out of the shadows has been irrational since they put him behind bars. But now, my fear is even more unfounded. My therapist has been urging me to take small steps to reinsert myself back into society. A block party is a bigger step than I was hoping for. The supermarket might be a better option. But the headline in the newspaper seems like a sign. That it’s time.

After several calming breaths, I pick up my phone and hit the controls to brighten up the entire house. Lights flip on and banish the shadows, illuminating the back hallway leading to my bedroom and I pad in that direction now. My heart pounds wildly in my chest, even though logic tells me no one is hiding around the corner. No one is going to jump out and grab me, drag me to the basement, tie me up.

I shower and do my hair, makeup, for the first time in a month.

My favorite cream-colored slipdress hangs from my frame, due to the weight I’ve lost from being too anxiety-ridden to eat. So I add a belt and a cardigan, buttoning the sweater all the way to my neck to make myself feel more secure.

There’s no telling how long I stand with my hand on the front doorknob, breathing, counting to one hundred and back, attempting to garner the courage to walk outside, but I finally do it, armed with the knowledge—in black and white—that Joseph Hynes is no longer a threat. He is gone. He can’t hurt me. It’s broad daylight and I can hear the neighbors outside, can hear the music playing. This is safe.

I open the door…

And I see him immediately.

A man I don’t recognize, but must be one of the neighbors.

There is a group of men congregating around a barbeque and he stands slightly apart from them, a bottle of beer held at his side between two knuckles.

He’s handsome. In a sharp way. Like he has to concentrate on holding himself still. Dark-haired. Tall, wide-shouldered, muscular, his broad chest contained inside of a simple, blue button-down. Strong. His eyes are focused as they fix on me, widening slightly.

I’m caught off guard when my mouth goes dry.

When my pulse skitters with…interest?

I’m twenty-two. In the past, I dated, but it never got serious. I was always too focused on interior design school, learning everything I could about beautifying homes, to worry about the drama the opposite sex always seems to bring. Traveling, going dancing, reading, swimming in the ocean. Those were the things I used to enjoy. Boys were kind of an afterthought. Not that this man could even remotely be referred to as a boy.

He’s a man. A man whose thick thighs test the seams of his jeans.

A normal man, though? A quiet one?

Why am I wondering about him? I’m not open to a relationship. I’ve barely made it to the end of my front path yet. I have a lot of recovering to do before I can even think about dating. My God, that’s probably years in the future.

Besides, I’m sure he isn’t clamoring to ask out the traumatized virgin hermit next door.

I give him a polite smile and lower my eyes, going in search of Nancy, the one who left me the note. I saw her deliver it through my peephole. She’s a petite blonde in her forties who favors brightly colored leggings and always wears a visor.

When two minutes has passed and I haven’t spotted her, my palms begin to sweat.

Is it my imagination or is everyone whispering about me?

They must know who I am. I was all over the news for months.

I was probably invited as the entertainment. For everyone to gawk at.

Another minute passes and I’m just standing there like an idiot. I have to get back inside. That’s where it’s safe. Where I don’t have to worry about anyone but myself, my own space, and the locks on the doors.

I turn, walking in a fast clip down the sidewalk toward my house, but before I can veer down my front path, the handsome man I noticed before breaks from the barbequing group of men. He doesn’t block my path like I expect him to do. Instead, he takes a hesitant step in my direction, hands in his pockets, a lopsided smile making him even more attractive.

“Leaving already?” he asks, in a husky baritone that makes me shiver hotly.

I haven’t spoken to anyone in person in a month. Before that, it was mostly lawyers, cops and doctors. So my voice sounds unnatural to my ears when I respond. “Yes. I can’t find the lady who invited me. I don’t see her.” For some reason, maybe because his eyes are so patient, I blurt, “There are a lot of strangers here.”

He considers the packed block, nodding, as if that was a completely normal thing to say. “I see your point.” He lifts his beer. “That’s what the alcohol is for.”

A laugh sneaks out of me. “Actually…I don’t drink anymore.”

A beat passes and I assume I’ve disappointed him. Then he turns the bottle so I can see the label. “Non-alcoholic,” he says, kind of sheepishly. “I didn’t want you to think I was…”

“Flawed?”

His eyes are the most intense shade of blue and it deepens now. “Isn’t everyone, though?”

It’s the strangest thing. Those three words feel like they’re being whispered to me across a pillow. We’re standing in a sea of people and yet…this encounter is so intimate. Like no one else exists. The other voices are just buzzes of sound. His eyes are a lifeboat in a huge, turbulent ocean and I can’t seem to look away. “Yes. Some more than others.”

Did he move closer or am I hallucinating?

“I don’t want to be forward or anything, but…” He looks over his shoulder. “I happen to know where I can get you a tasteless non-alcoholic beer, too.”

My heart starts to pound. So loud he must hear it. I’m not ready for this kind of thing. At all. Sure, he’s kind. But having a drink with a man? A man I’m attracted to? Where can it lead when I’m not even capable of walking into a room unless the lights are blazing and I’ve pep talked myself for ten minutes? “I don’t know,” I whisper. “Um…no, I can’t.”

“Of course not,” he says, visibly exasperated with himself. “I haven’t even told you my name. That’s supposed to come before asking the beautiful girl for a drink, right?” I’m still reeling from him calling me beautiful when he holds out his hand. “I’m Christopher. New to the neighborhood. I live next door to you.”

“You do?”

He hums in the affirmative.

New to the neighborhood. Does that mean he doesn’t know who I am?

If he doesn’t now, he will eventually. People talk. But I can’t help but think it would be nice to sit and have a conversation with someone who doesn’t know I was kidnapped and terrorized in the basement of an old house.

Shaking off my nerves, I slip my hand into his without thinking, shocking myself. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Jolie.”

There’s a flicker of something in his eyes and an answering crackle breaks across my palm. Electricity. It turns my nerve endings into buzzing little sources of sensation. “Jolie,” he says gruffly, his attention dipping to my mouth. “It’s nice to meet you, too.”

“Do you live…alone?” I ask.

“No.” I try to take my hand back out of his grip, but he holds on. “I have a temperamental Husky named Winston.”

“Oh.” Wow. I think I almost got jealous there, assuming he had a wife or girlfriend. How embarrassing. I’ve only known this man for a matter of minutes. What business do I have being jealous? It makes me feel silly. For making assumptions. For being so freaked out over having one measly drink in broad daylight with a neighbor. You have to start living again, Jolie. “I guess one drink sounds nice.”

He smiles, lines fanning out from the corners of his eyes. “Thank you.”