Chapter Two

The blue lights from the two sheriff's department SUVs throbbed in the night, sending flashes through the glass-fronted store. Meg couldn't say for sure how long it had taken for Deputy Battles to arrive. Long enough for the adrenaline that had been coursing through her body to recede, leaving her to face the reality of what had just gone down in a colder, harsher light. Long enough for her to understand that there was a strong possibility this would change everything.

There had been no alternative. She'd only done what she had to do.

Another deputy had cordoned off the half of the parking lot nearest the entrance with yellow crime scene tape. A sedan bearing the county's CSI team logo had arrived maybe half an hour ago. The sergeant, probably the leader of the team, had glanced at Meg as he entered the shop.

The coroner had taken the body away a few minutes after that. There was a lot of blood on the floor.

A lot of blood.

Meg blinked and turned her face away to prevent staring at the spot on the shiny tile floor where the perp had expired. She hadn't seen that much blood in a while.

She'd hoped never to see or to be involved with this sort of thing ever again.

This was so, so not good.

Her nerves jangled as she allowed the idea of what had just happened to sink in a little deeper.

Not good at all.

Damn it.

The perp had been identified as Zyair Jones, a career criminal from just across the state line. Though only twenty-five, he had a long line of offenses, not the least of which was armed robbery and sexual assault. Jennifer might not feel like it just now, but she was lucky to be alive. Men like the perp who'd dragged her into that storeroom typically escalated, and judging by his extensive rap sheet, an escalation had been due any time now.

Meg shifted in the stiff plastic chair next to the counter at the farthest end of the shop where she'd been sequestered by Deputy Battles. Since there were no other seats in the building except for the one she'd seen at the desk in the storeroom, she supposed this one was for the clerk on duty to take a load off when the opportunity presented itself. When someone like Jennifer was on duty alone, going to a breakroom was not really an option. The entrance would need to be locked for her to even go to the restroom for a personal relief break. Meg imagined the boss didn't want that door locked any more than necessary.

The owner had been called and, like the rest of those interested in what had occurred tonight, waited beyond the crime scene perimeter. She'd spotted the lady who owned the diner and the man who'd opened the book shop. There were several others, but none she recognized from this distance.

Meg had already given Battles a quick overview of what happened while the paramedics examined Jennifer. But he would be back when he completed his questioning of the victim. Meg had watched his face as she answered the questions he posed. He'd tried not to look surprised when she'd told him about swiping the knife across the guy's throat, but he'd failed to keep his face clear of the reaction. There were other questions he would have for the next round. Like why did she carry a knife? What had prompted her to react so violently? What had made her think to slash the truck tires before coming inside? Etcetera.

She gave her head a little shake. Providing answers that would assuage any concerns or uncertainties he had would be easy enough for now, but the notion of what she'd done would linger in his thoughts. Every time he saw her from this moment forward, he would remember this night. The neighboring shop owners would talk among themselves about how she'd been able to take down the would-be robber and rapist. And there was no question what Jones had intended. The cash from the register had been in his pocket, and he'd torn at Jennifer's clothes while he regaled her with his intentions. Still, there would be talk.

Nothing she could do about that.

For now, she was just thankful she was seated far enough away from that expansive wall of glass to avoid the prying eyes. The last thing she needed was someone taking her photo and putting it on the net or, God forbid, in the news.

"Meg."

She glanced up at the sound of her name. Battles stood at the entrance to the short corridor that led into the back. He motioned for her to come with him.

Careful to keep her back to the front of the shop, she did as he asked.

Now for the second round of questioning.

When she reached him, he turned and walked with her toward the storeroom door. "One of the deputies from the Dread Hollow substation is driving Jennifer home, but she wanted to see you before leaving."

"Is she okay?" Evidently so, but asking was the appropriate response.

"She's shaken up," he said, "as you can imagine, but she sustained nothing more than minor physical injuries."

She got it. The horror of what happened would be the only mark that lingered. For how long would be entirely up to Jennifer and her ability to bounce back from trauma without developing PTSD. Hopefully she would be one of the lucky ones. With the right kind of support, it was possible.

When Meg walked through the door, Jennifer rushed to her and hugged her hard. "Thank you so much for saving me." She drew back. Tears flooded down her cheeks. "Deputy Battles told me I was so lucky that you spotted the trouble and came to help since he couldn't get here fast enough." She looked away a moment. "He said he was going to kill me."

"But he didn't get the chance," Meg assured her, then she produced a smile. "And what kind of neighbor would I be if I didn't help?"

Jennifer's lips quivered as she managed a dim smile. "Thank you." She scrubbed at her face with her hands before resting her gaze on Meg's once more. "You saved my life."

Meg nodded. "We both got lucky."

"Your parents are waiting for you," Battles said. "You go on home and take it easy for a while, like I said. And call that counselor."

Jennifer promised she would then the other deputy ushered her away. When the back door closed behind the two, Battles said, "Let's go over a couple more things, and then I'll have Deputy Porch escort you back to your place."

Porch was the deputy from Dread Hollow who'd just left with Jennifer. Meg made it a point to know all members of law enforcement in the area. Knowledge was power as well as protection.

"That won't be necessary," Meg insisted. "I'll be less conspicuous if I take the long way around through the alley and avoid all those folks gathered out front."

"You're not worried about going that long way around in the dark?"

Her answer had surprised him, and now that nagging little suspicion that something was off here was bugging him again. There were people who noticed little things like that, particularly cops and those working in the fields where the extra effort of paying attention were crucial. A good cop didn't miss much.

"No, sir," she insisted, mentally scrambling for the right answer to head off a deepening of his curiosity. "I take my runs at night along those same paths. I've never bumped into any trouble."

This was pretty much true. Though she had been observed by a bear once. A fox more than once. And a coyote twice. Never another human, which is what she suspected he meant. She had no fear of the local wildlife, just a healthy respect. That was all any animal needed. She spent so much time with dogs she imagined she smelled more like a dog than a human on those rare encounters with wildlife anyway.

Battles nodded slowly as if he wasn't entirely sure he was okay with the idea but couldn't think of a good enough excuse to argue her point. Finally, he hitched his head toward the desk and chair. "Why don't you have a seat at the desk, and we'll go over a few things, and then you're free to go."

Meg returned his nod. "Sure."

This was where things would get tricky.

She walked to the desk, pulled out the chair and settled into it. Same hard plastic as the other one. Most likely, the owner didn't want any employee getting too comfortable sitting down. Battles leaned against the wall next to the desk. He looked exhausted as he flipped back a few pages in his notepad. He'd probably been on duty well past his shift at this point.

"You stated," he began, "that you were at your window and noticed the trouble across the way." He lifted his gaze to hers. "Meaning here."

"That's right." She made a sound, a kind of soft laugh. "I'm a watcher. Birds, animals and people. I keep a pair of binoculars at the window. My apartment upstairs faces the street. In the mornings when I first get up and at night before I go to bed. It's relaxing. I like watching the world around me—no matter where I am. It's a habit I developed during all my travels. You'd be surprised what you notice just watching the world go by."

He grunted an acknowledgment as he made a note of her answer.

As far as anyone in this town knew, she had spent most of her adult life traveling the world. This was the first place she had stayed for more than six months, she had told anyone who asked. But at almost thirty-five, she had decided it was time to settle down. She'd always loved animals, and going into the business of taking care of them was the perfect career. The cover story had sounded good to her and, so far, to whomever she'd told it.

"Is that why you carry a survivalist type knife?"

This was the biggest sticking point for the deputy. Understandable. A woman carrying a knife like the one she had wasn't the norm.

"It is. I've never been very fond of guns, but I've spent a lot of nights in a sleeping bag on the ground under the stars. Keeping a knife handy felt like a healthy habit. These days, it helps with all sorts of menial tasks, like opening all those boxes delivered to my shop. Once in a while, a pet will get hung up in its restraint loop, and I never want to cause an animal anxiety by taking the time to untangle it. I'd much rather just cut the restraint and start fresh."

Battles made another note before meeting her eyes once more. "So, you don't carry it for protection?"

Meg turned her hands up. "I suppose I do. I mean, I have it with me on my runs, and if confronted by trouble, I would do what I had to. Like tonight. But injuring anything or anyone—much less taking a life—is never something I want to do. I'd much prefer to avoid the trouble altogether."

The deputy's brow furrowed as he considered her for a few seconds more. "Just one last question."

Meg braced herself. This would be the one that required the most finagling.

"Why didn't you stab him? Why go for the throat that way?" He shrugged. "Just seems like an unexpected move for someone such as yourself."

Meaning a woman who wasn't a cop or self-defense expert. If Jones hadn't been wielding a gun, she would certainly have gone a different, perhaps even less lethal route. But her only hope had been to go for the swiftest deadly strike.

Meg took a moment, although she already had her answer prepared. "I was attacked once." She drew in a deep breath. "A very long time ago. After that, I decided it would be in my best interest if I took a self-defense course. According to the instructor, when your weapon of choice is a knife and you are faced with certain death, it's best to go for the jugular. Anything else is like trying to swat a fly with a tennis racket. Too much leeway for a potential miss."

He held her gaze for a long moment without responding. Obviously he wanted more.

"He had a gun pointed at my head. If I'd tried to stab him, I would have been dead before the point of my knife pierced his skin. My only viable option was to lunge, swipe and go into a rolling dive for the floor in hopes of avoiding the shot he would no doubt pull off."

Battles gave one of those vague nods. "But how did you slit his throat before he could fire the weapon?"

A reasonable question from a man who thought Meg to be a throwback to the days of hippies and flower children. She supposed she did sort of dress the part. Old jeans, vintage tees. She kept her long dark hair in a braid. It was a good cover.

"I was hunkered behind the counter," she explained, "as I said earlier. When he reached the end of the corner, his weapon aimed at me, Jennifer suddenly screamed for help. He turned to stare toward the storeroom—instinct, I suppose—and I took the only opportunity I believed I would have."

A firmer nod this time. "You were lucky."

"I was lucky." She blinked. "I'm just sorry I had to...do what I did."

Battles tucked his notepad away. "I'm sorry to have to confiscate your knife and scabbard, but I'm sure you've watched enough TV and movies to know we have to keep all evidence until the investigation is concluded."

"I understand." She had a backup. No need to tell him that part. For now, she was just thankful not to have aroused his suspicions further.

"I'll be in touch if we have more questions." He straightened from the wall. "You sure you don't want someone to walk you home?"

Meg stood, relief sliding through her body, immediately followed by exhaustion. It was late and she was tired. "No thanks. You've got your hands full here. No need to take someone away from their work to walk me around the block."

"You did a good thing, Meg," he said softly. "I know this may be difficult to live with for a while, and you'll question yourself over what you had to do, but, bottom line, you did the right thing and there's no question in my mind that you saved Jennifer's life. You're a hero."

Oh, good grief.She was not a hero and the last thing she wanted was that label in the report. "I just did what anyone in my shoes would have done." She shrugged. "It's not like the guy gave me a lot of choices."

"Still," Battles insisted, "you took a great risk, and now it's time to take care of you. See a counselor. This was a traumatizing night, and the full impact won't have set in yet. Taking a life—no matter the circumstances—comes with a truckload of emotional baggage. Don't ignore the impact to your psyche."

"Thanks, I'll keep that in mind."

Deputy Porch called for Battles, and before he could say more to Meg, she turned and walked toward the back door. The door closed behind her, and she took a moment to draw in a chestful of air. She closed her eyes and drew in another breath, exhaled it, then she started to walk. She weaved her way through the woods for the short distance before it turned into the narrow alleyway that lined the back of the old shops. Rather than step into the alley, she kept to the woods. The going was rougher, but the likelihood of running into anyone was greatly diminished.

When she reached the end of the first block of the old shops, she made her way up to the alley and around the corner to the side street. At the end of each of the four blocks that constituted the old town portion of Piney Woods, a short, narrow cross street led into residential areas. There weren't that many houses actually used as homes. Two had been transformed into bed-and-breakfast operations, one was a doctor's office, another was a dental clinic and most of the others were now retail shops.

The few that remained residential holdouts were those of founding families. The annual Christmas tours featured those homes, and members of the families told stories of how their ancestors had come to choose this portion of the mountain as home. All the shops participated. Last Christmas, even Meg had opened her shop to the tour. She'd had her employees do the hosting. Putting herself in the limelight was not something she liked doing.

Not to mention it was dangerous.

Not going there.

A glance down the boulevard and Meg surveyed the crowd that still lingered in the Gas and Go parking lot. Emergency lights still strobed in the darkness. Excitement like this almost never happened in Piney Woods. Folks would be out until it was wrapped up in hopes of learning the full details.

The idea that trouble had shown up tonight worried Meg just a little.

Not that she really thought the dead guy who'd attempted to rob the Gas and Go had anything to do with her past. Nah. The idea was pretty ridiculous, in fact. Frankly, he'd been an amateur. His long list of crimes indicated nothing more than a scumbag who preferred not to work for a living. He opted to take what he wanted because he was too damned lazy to earn it.

She'd met plenty of stone-cold killers in her life, and he had not been one of them.

Sadly, however, had her reflexes been any rustier, she would be the one dead on that slab in the Hamilton County Morgue. She'd barely outmaneuvered the thuggish punk.

"You gotta stay in shape, Lewis," she muttered as she ducked into the alley on her side of the block. It had been just over fifteen months since she'd been in a position to need to protect herself. She imagined even if it had been fifteen years, muscle memory would have had her doing the same thing. There were some things that couldn't be forgotten. But speed and accuracy were another story. Those required regular training.

Beyond ready to get home, she walked faster now. She wanted to wash the night's events off her skin and burn her damned clothes.

When she at last reached her shop, she entered the code into the gate and stepped into the fenced perimeter of her back yard. The area was a like a kid's playground, except the equipment was designed for dogs. There were a couple of doggie ramps and slides. Tunnels and balance beams. Shade houses. Her favorites were the water fountains and the toy boxes. And she hadn't overlooked the cats she served when designing the playground. Two state-of-the-art cat condos had been installed. A little something for everyone.

At the back door, she entered the code, and the lock released. Once inside, she toed off her sneakers and stripped off her clothes. She frowned, remembered she'd shut off the ringer on her cell. She switched it back on and tucked the device into the waistband of her panties and walked to the laundry area, where she grabbed a couple of garbage bags. For now, hiding the clothes would have to do. She was too tired to burn them tonight. Besides, the last thing she needed was the crowd at the Gas and Go seeing smoke behind her shop. She'd take care of it tomorrow, but she didn't want the animals picking up the scent of the dead guy. She double-bagged the trash and stuffed it into the front-loading washing machine and closed the door.

She made it up the stairs before her cell erupted into the short, soft bursts of her chosen ringtone. Too tired to answer anything but a true emergency, she tugged the phone free of her waistband and checked the screen.

Griff.

He'd already called seven times. She should have noticed when she turned the ringer back on. Apparently, she'd been too tired, and no doubt he'd heard about the trouble.

She hit Accept and said, "Hey. What're you doing up so late?"

"Checking on you after learning about the robbery at the Gas and Go."

Pain arced through her shoulder as she reached for the nightshirt draped on her bed. She grimaced. "I'm okay. Just about to go to bed."

She didn't like blowing him off. Avery "Griff" Griffin was a good friend—one of the first she'd made when she moved here last year. She liked him. Maybe too much. But the less he knew about this, the better.

Like that was going to happen. Griff and Deputy Ernie Battles had been best friends since they were kids.

"Well, that's a shame because I'm at your front door."

She closed her eyes and held back a sigh. "Why didn't you say so? I'll be right down."

Meg considered changing out of her nightshirt, but she needed it to back up her story. Besides, it wasn't like Griff hadn't seen her in shorts and tank tops. Not that different really. That thought introduced a long line of images into her head that she could have done without just now. Memories of Griff pulling off his shirt during a long hot afternoon of work at his farm. A T-shirt plastered to his chest after helping to give a dozen dogs baths.

Not somewhere she needed to linger. She exiled the memories. They both loved animals and worked hard to rescue as many as possible, but that common bond was as far as the thing between them needed to go.

She hustled down the stairs and padded silently across the cool tile floor. He waited at the front entrance, looking all sleep tousled and far too sexy.

Don't think about it.

Without turning on a light so as not to draw attention, she unlocked the door and opened it. "Wild night," she said with a glance at the ongoing spectacle at the Gas and Go.

"Yeah." He closed and locked the door.

So, he planned to stay a while. Which meant he'd already heard most of the story about her part in what happened. The downside to living in a small town—everyone knew everyone else. Nothing stayed secret for more than a minute.

"You want a beer?" She folded her arms over her chest.

He shook his head. "You gonna tell me what happened?"

"First." She held up a finger. "There's something I need to show you."

She turned and headed for the kennels. He followed. No need for her to look back and check, she could feel his closeness. This would buy her some time to calm her jangling nerves. A few minutes of distraction to take the edge off.

As she entered the doggie hotel—as she liked to call the kennels—Raymond raised his head. He still lay next to the abandoned beagle's kennel.

Meg crouched down and gave Raymond a scratch between the ears. "Hey, boy."

Griff eased down next to her and reached over to do the same. He and Raymond had a very close relationship. This did not help Meg's ability to keep the man at a safe distance. The scent of his aftershave—even at this hour—made her want to lean closer and take a long, deep breath.

He smiled at Raymond, then shifted his attention to the beagle. "Hey there."

"She's about eight or nine," Meg said. "Her name is Pepper. She has some health issues. Lonnie's going to run tests. Try to get to the bottom of the situation."

"Where'd you find her?"

His gaze locked on hers, and for a moment, Meg couldn't speak. She chalked it up to the insane night she'd had. Truth was, he did that to her sometimes. His hair was that blond color that wasn't really all that fair but was still way too light to call brown. More of a mix of caramel and gold. His eyes were the kind of gold you rarely saw. So pale, so distinct. But the trouble didn't lay in those gorgeous eyes or in the six feet of perfectly formed masculinity. No. The trouble was his incredible kind and giving nature, especially toward animals. Meg had never met anyone quite like him.

The fact that she was seriously attracted to him was not such a big surprise, all things considered, but she respected him and just plain old liked him in ways she had never expected to like anyone. The latter was terrifying on some level. She'd never been attracted to anyone in the way she was to this man. It was as much intellectual as it was physical.

Griff was making her soft, making her want things she could never have.

Somehow she had to remedy that situation. Problem was, she hadn't figured out a way to do that—not in the twelve months she had been here.

Don't think about it right now.

She pulled her mind back to the moment and the question he'd asked. "The owner couldn't take care of her anymore and left her at my door with a note."

Griff smiled. "Then it's someone who knows you and realizes what a good person you are."

She looked away from that incredible smile and focused on Pepper. "Except I don't have the space for allowing the reputation for taking on extra pets to become a common belief. I wish I did." This was the truth, at least most of it. She would take them all if she could. The problem was if she had to disappear—and that was always a possibility—what would become of them?

She couldn't live with the probable answer to that question.

"I've got the space. When she's on her feet—" he turned to Meg, the pull of his eyes forcing her to look at him "—I'll take her."

She managed a smile, mostly because the effort prevented her from analyzing the details of his face more deeply. The lips...the jawline. Stop. "You already have a lot of animals, Griff."

He chuckled. "Doesn't matter. I have a big farm with a barn big enough for my herd of dogs and cows and horses—as well as plenty more."

"Not to mention no shortage of cats and chickens."

His smile turned to a grin. "Those too."

He hadn't purchased or been gifted a single animal that lived on his farm. All had been abandoned. Every cow, every horse. Even the chickens. Folks would call him when someone had moved away and just left one or more animals. Griff would go pick them up and bring them home. If they were sick or injured, he would nurse them back to health, and there they would stay. It was the perfect life for the animals and for him. Meg could never tell anyone, but it was her dream life.

Not ever going to happen, she reminded herself.

"Why don't you tell me about what happened over there?"

This was the question she'd dreaded. She pushed to her feet. "I need a beer."

He stood. "That bad, huh?"

He already knew the answer. Ernie might not be able to give him ever little detail because of the ongoing investigation, but he would have passed along all he could.

"Yeah. That bad."

The worst part about Griff knowing was the idea that it would likely change his opinion of her—and not for the good.

Griff was the first person in her adult life—besides her parents—whose opinion mattered so very much to her.

This was bad, and nothing in her vast survival repertoire gave her any suggestion on how to stop the momentum.