Chapter One

CHAPTER ONE

H E HAD THE nightmare again last night. The faceless woman, her mouth opening and closing, the primal sounds a deafening shriek, his fear and pain visceral. He knew it wasn’t real, just a bad dream, yet he couldn’t wake up, as hard as he tried. It was like being caught in an eddy on the river, his fear rising as his thoughts whirled, and the current took him out deeper with only one clear thought. This time , you’re going to die.

“Still having the nightmares, Stuart?” the psychiatrist asked as she looked up from the notes she’d been taking.

“Nope,” Sheriff Stuart Layton said with a shake of his head. He adjusted his Stetson balanced on his crossed knee and lied. He’d been coming here once a month since the “incident,” as they called it, seven months ago. As an officer of the law who’d fired his weapon, killing a person in the line of duty, he had been required to have counseling until it was determined he could still do his job.

“How would you say you’re dealing with the trauma of the incident?” she asked, pen poised above the paper.

His near-death incident was being attacked by a knife-wielding woman who’d left scars over his arms and torso, and even worse, invisible wounds that made him question his sanity—let alone why he was fighting so hard to keep his job.

Seeing that the doctor was waiting for a reply, he shrugged and said, “As well as can be expected. Life goes on. I have a job to do.” She didn’t like his comment, he noticed at once. “Keeping busy helps. I just had a kidnapping case, a thirteen-year-old.” He didn’t add that ultimately, he hadn’t saved the girl himself. He certainly couldn’t take credit for that. He had saved one life, though, and had done his job to the best of his ability, which he didn’t feel was saying much.

“Do you ever question that you might be in the wrong profession?” the doctor asked.

He almost laughed out loud. When he fought his way out of the same recurring nightmare at three in the morning, he told himself he was done. He couldn’t do this anymore. But with daylight, he could breathe again, forcing the darkness and his fear back for another day on the job—the only job he knew.

His father had been the sheriff before him. He’d grown up with the law living in his house. Going to the police academy out of high school had made sense after living in the small, isolated town of Powder Crossing, Montana, where there weren’t a lot of opportunities. When his father retired, Stuart had stepped into the position that no one else really wanted. It seemed like a no-brainer.

“Who wouldn’t question going into law enforcement?” he said, more to himself than to the doctor. His strict, distant father had used his silver star like a shield, a stoic, hard-nosed hero. Because of that, Stuart had thought he knew what he was getting into. He’d been wrong. “You start off thinking it’s a higher calling only to realize that it’s really just a thankless job—one that can get you killed. Pull over the wrong car, try to break up a domestic argument, step out of your office and look down the barrel of a loaded gun in the hand of someone with a grudge against you.”

He saw her expression and cursed himself. He’d said too much. This wasn’t the way he wanted to go out, failing his psych evaluation. All he’d had to do was get through this last required session of six. It didn’t matter that he’d decided he had no business being sheriff anymore. He just needed her to sign off and let him hang up his star and gun on his own terms. Now he feared that he’d blown it.

“Given all of that, why have you stayed?”

He’d been too honest, so why stop now? “Because it’s what I do to the best of my ability.” Growing up, Stuart had wanted to be just like his father. Now that he had a better idea of who his father really had been, he feared that he had become him.

“Have you been depressed?”

She thought he was merely depressed? “Everyone gets down sometimes,” he said, reminded of those nights alone in the house he’d grown up in, thinking about his life as he cleaned his gun. But then there were the nights when Bailey McKenna would stop by at all hours and, fool that he was, he would happily open his door to her, knowing the danger.

He’d definitely been down in the dumps before she’d started coming by. Often, he was depressed after she left hours later, the two of them having talked over a beer or two. Only talking. That’s all they ever did, sitting out on the porch when it was warm. Otherwise curled up at each end of the couch while a fire crackled in the woodstove in the corner. He knew she wanted something from him, but he had no idea what. He’d just known that whatever it was, it could get him killed.

“Is there anything that might keep you from continuing to do your job, Stuart?”

Boy howdy , he thought. The last woman he’d gotten involved with had tried to kill him, nearly had. So, yes, doctor, I have the unfortunate habit of getting tangled up with dangerous women. It wasn’t like he didn’t know that Bailey was damaged, and yet she drew him like gawkers to a car crash. But how could he admit to the doctor that Bailey McKenna might prove to be the most dangerous of them all, yet he’d never wanted any woman more in his life?

“Actually,” he said to the psychiatrist, “I think this introspection has been good for me. I see things more clearly. Maybe I’m maturing. It’s possible, isn’t it?”

She smiled, and he saw in her smile that she was going to sign his paperwork. He smiled back, pretending he wasn’t worried about anything, not his future, not his growing feelings for Bailey. The last time he saw her, she’d been running scared, confirming what he’d already suspected. Bailey McKenna was in trouble up to her pretty little neck.

He feared what he was going to do about that, especially since things had been too quiet in the Powder River Basin. It gave him an eerie feeling he couldn’t shake, like the lull before the storm. As he headed home, the signed psych evaluation form folded into his shirt pocket, it felt as if the storm clouds were already gathering for what would be one hell of a maelstrom.

This time, you’re going to die.

B AILEY M C K ENNA HADN ’ T realized it was so late. She looked up from her laptop, surprised to find that some of the library’s lights had already been turned off, leaving pockets of darkness. She loved libraries, their smell, their solitude, the silence as heavy as the books lining the walls. And it wasn’t just the libraries that she loved. She loved the books that opened doors into other worlds, cracked open other people’s lives and shed a blinding and often insightful light on them.

Libraries and books had saved her growing up. Now they still provided her a place to escape. She always found a corner on the least used floor and settled in for hours.

Tonight, though, she’d stayed too long, and now she feared she might have gotten locked in. Closing her laptop, she gathered her things into the large bag she carried everywhere. She didn’t let the bag or laptop out of her sight, not after all the months, years that she’d been working on her secret project.

It didn’t matter that she’d backed up everything on the cloud. She didn’t trust it. She needed to hold her project close. If anyone found out about it, they would try to stop her. She feared it might already be too late.

As she reached the third-floor stairs, she stopped to peer down. Darkness creeped up the steps from the pitch blackness below. What if she was locked in? It wouldn’t be the first time she’d slept in a library since she started this. But lately, she’d felt as if she wasn’t safe anywhere. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she was always being watched. For all she knew, she had been followed here tonight. If so, they understood what she’d been up to.

The real boogeyman was who scared her the most. He was out there, had been for a long time. It was just a matter of time before he came for her again. That’s why she’d been working desperately to find him before then. As her heart rate kicked up, she told herself she still had time. He’d waited this long. Why would he make his move now?

Starting down the stairs, though, she wasn’t so sure about that. She stopped on a step to listen. The quiet she usually loved now felt ominous. She couldn’t shake the feeling that while the library appeared empty, she wasn’t alone.

On the second-floor landing, she turned the corner, then moved fast down the stairs, eager to reach street level. If she’d been accidentally locked in, she would call the emergency number. Someone would come get her out before long. But with each step, she found herself getting more nervous.

At the first floor, she had started toward the front of the huge building when she heard a scuffling sound, shoe soles moving across the library floor. She’d been right. She wasn’t alone. She stopped again, listening even as her hand snaked into her bag for her pepper spray.

She’d been carrying the spray since being attacked outside the Wild Horse Bar in Powder Crossing. Her attacker had tried to take her bag with her computer in it. She’d fought him and gotten the bag away from him. Unfortunately, it had been too dark that night to see his face. He’d worn a hoodie and had run away when the female bartender had stuck her head out the door to see what was going on.

Bailey hadn’t realized that she’d been screaming before that. Maybe the attacker just wanted money from her purse, also in her bag. Our maybe he’d wanted her laptop with what she’d been working on. She’d told herself it had been random since no one knew what she’d been up to, but she feared she was wrong.

She heard the scuffling sound again as she moved cautiously toward the front of the library. Maybe she’d been wrong and they weren’t closed yet. Which meant the doors would still be open. Or maybe she was only hearing the janitor cleaning after hours.

Bailey rushed to the front door and hit it, expecting it to fly open. Instead, alarms began to go off. She leaned against the glass, clutching her can of pepper spray, expecting whoever she’d heard in the building to appear. If it had been the janitor or a librarian working late, they would come to see what was going on, right? But no one appeared from the darkness inside.

Instead, a police car roared up, siren and lights flashing. She stood, her back to the door, and stared into the darkness. It wasn’t Him . Not here, not like this. No, but someone knew. She was no longer safe anywhere.

A FTER SHE ’ D BEEN QUESTIONED , scolded and made the subject of a police report—procedure, she was told—the young deputy offered to walk her to her car. Her answer surprised her.

“Please,” she said, a quaver in her voice. She felt vulnerable, something she hated. But she wasn’t sure at this moment that she was capable of taking care of herself. She’d had a scare tonight in the library. She hadn’t been alone. The library had closed, but hadn’t she heard someone else in the building? Where had they gone? Maybe more importantly, where were they now?

The back door opened onto the parking area—now empty except for her car. As she and the cop walked along the side of the building to the back, she saw her SUV sitting like an island in the middle of the blacktop sea. Beyond it were darkness and shadows that seemed to grow and fade with the passing traffic along 6th Street.

“You sure you’re all right?” the deputy asked as she slowed, her eyes darting around the parking area—and the night beyond. She could only nod, knowing whoever it was hadn’t left. They were somewhere in the dark, waiting for her. Her heart raced. What if it was Him ? What if he was through waiting? But why now?

She and the officer continued toward her car. Her ears were tuned for the sound of a heel scraping over blacktop. She wasn’t even sure the deputy would be able to protect her if the man attacked. Hurriedly she fumbled in her bag for her keys.

For a moment, she panicked. What if the cop left her before she found her keys? Her fingers trembled as she felt warm metal and pulled the keys from her bag—only to fumble and immediately drop them. They fell into the shadowy darkness at her feet, making a ringing sound as they struck the blacktop. For a moment she felt so helpless, so alone, so afraid that she thought she would start to cry and not be able to stop.

“Let me do that,” the deputy said, scooping up her keys and opening her SUV’s door. The overhead light came on inside it. She saw him look into the back before he handed over her keys.

She took them, fighting to pull herself together. This wasn’t her. She was a fighter; it was the only reason she was still alive.

But lately, she’d been feeling as if she was constantly being watched—like now. Watched and followed. If she was right, He could be here watching her. Which meant he’d followed her to the library. He’d wanted her to know he was there. He wanted her to be afraid so he could watch her fear grow until he made his move.

Clutching the keys in her fist, she tried not to stop searching the darkness at the edge of the parking lot as she slid behind the wheel.

“You sure you’re up to driving?” the deputy asked, studying her in the dim light spilling out of her vehicle.

“I’ll be fine,” she said, hoping it was true. “I’ll stop and get some coffee and a bite to eat. I haven’t had anything since breakfast. I’m a little shaky.”

He took her answer at face value. “All right then, drive safely.” For a moment, he studied her again as if he wanted to say more. Instead, he nodded and stepped back to close her door firmly. For a moment, their gazes met through the glass. She tried a smile as she reached to start the motor. “I’ll be fine,” she said as the engine throbbed to life. The deputy seemed to hesitate before he turned his back and walked away.

The moment she’d driven out of the semidarkness of the parking lot and caught her first stoplight, she saw it—something small and white stuck under her driver’s side windshield wiper.

Her pulse jumped, her gaze flying up to the rearview mirror. She expected to see a face, smell sweat, feel something close around her throat. But there was no one hiding in the back of her vehicle. The officer had checked. Still, she felt jumpy.

Bailey drove a few blocks before she found a busy fast-food restaurant with a well-lit parking lot. She pulled in and, leaving the engine running, jumped out to lift the wiper and free what she now saw was a piece of paper folded tightly.

She didn’t unfold it until she was back safely behind the wheel, the doors all locked. Logic argued that it could be an advertising flyer stuffed under the wiper at any time while she was in the library.

Or it could be what she knew in her heart. The note had been left for her by the person who’d been hiding in the library, watching her.

Carefully unfolding the paper, her hands began to shake as she held up the note to the light. The words were written in a hurried scrawl. You got lucky tonight. Won’t next time.

She balled it up and lowered her window, ready to throw it out. But she was a Montanan raised by Holden McKenna. You didn’t litter. She threw the note to the floorboard.

Cars pulled into the drive-through. Others sped past behind her on the street. There seemed to be people everywhere. Life going on around her, without her. Her sudden desperation to get to Powder Crossing verged on panic. All she could think about was getting home. Home. Too bad she no longer felt safe on the ranch that had always been her home. Too bad she didn’t feel safe anywhere but one place—the last place she should go.

Pulling out on the street at the first break in the traffic, she checked her rearview mirror again but saw only dozens of headlights. He could be in any of the vehicles behind her. The stoplight changed. The driver behind her honked and she hit the gas, telling herself not to look back. But how could she do that? She’d been looking back for twelve years. She couldn’t stop now.

S HERIFF S TUART L AYTON didn’t hear about what had happened at the Billings Public Library until the next morning when the police report crossed his desk via computer. He’d been updated because the woman in question was a local.

Bailey McKenna of Powder Crossing, Montana, was released with only a warning after setting off after-hours alarms at the library. She claimed she’d been listening to music on her headphones and hadn’t heard the announcement that the library was closing.

“Well, that explains my visitor last night,” Stuart said to himself with a shake of his head. Actually, it had been late when Bailey had shown up at his door. He hadn’t known what had happened—just that something had the moment he saw her face in his porch light. He’d been sound asleep when he’d been dragged abruptly awake by her knock. He’d scrubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, taken off guard not by seeing her at any hour of the night, but by seeing her this upset.

Wordlessly he’d motioned her in. It was too close to daylight for beer. Yet too early for coffee. Still caught in the remnants of one of his nightmares, he’d been taken by surprise when she’d thrown herself into his arms.

He’d held her for a few moments before she’d quickly pulled away. Having grown up with Bailey in the small ranch community, he could count on one hand the times he’d seen her scared. Mad? That was another story. She’d always come out fighting, usually more than capable of taking care of herself.

“Bailey,” he’d said, startled and worried. It wasn’t like her to throw herself into his arms, though he’d dreamed of her doing just that. She had to know how he felt about her. Terrified, yet tempted by her. It’s why, he figured, she kept him at arm’s length. But seeing her this scared... “What’s going on?”

She’d stepped back, shaking her head as tears swam in her blue eyes. “I’m fine.” Her voice had cracked. “I’m just really tired. Everything is going to be fine.” She’d taken another step back, widening the distance between them. For the first time, she’d seemed to notice that all he was wearing was his jeans, his chest bare, his scars showing.

“Let me put something on,” he said, uncomfortable around people without a long-sleeved shirt or jacket covering the remnants of the “incident.”

“Don’t leave.” He’d started toward his bedroom, but then stopped, afraid she’d go back out into the darkness, afraid that whatever had her scared was waiting for her there.

He’d suspected there might be a man, a love affair gone wrong, though he couldn’t remember seeing her with anyone. If she’d been dating, the gossip would have stretched across the Powder River Basin with lightning speed. He hadn’t heard a thing about her and a man. To most people she was a mystery, apparently friendless, coming and going at all hours of the night, alone and secretive.

Turning back, he’d looked at her, so pretty and yet always so skittish. He’d desperately wanted her to open up to him and let him in. But he’d seen that wasn’t happening, not then, maybe not ever.

“I just need...” She’d looked around as if almost surprised that she’d come there and didn’t remember why she had. She looked exhausted and lost, and it broke his heart. He’d desperately wanted to comfort her but had known instinctively that wasn’t why she’d come to him.

He’d pointed to the spare bedroom. “Get some rest. You’re safe here. Stay for breakfast.”

Her eyes had filled again with tears. “Thank you.”

He’d shrugged and padded back to his own bed. He’d only had a few hours before he needed to get up and go to work. He’d thought he wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep knowing she was just in the next room, but he’d been wrong. After he’d heard the creak of the bed in the next room as she’d lain down on it, he’d slept hard, awakened by his alarm.

When he’d gotten up, no surprise, Bailey had been gone. There was a slight impression in the mattress where she’d slept on one side of the spare bed. But other than that, there was no sign that she’d stopped by, let alone stayed long.

Sitting in his office now with a mug of hot coffee, he wondered what she’d been doing so late at the Billings library that she’d gotten locked in. At least now he had some idea why she’d come by his place last night and maybe why she’d stayed. But he couldn’t imagine that was why she’d been so scared.

Remembering the fear in her eyes only made his concern for her escalate. What was it she’d said? I’m fine. I’m just really tired. Everything is going to be fine.

He had no idea what she’d been talking about. But he had a bad feeling it wasn’t going to be fine any more than he suspected she did.