Chapter 1

Chapter

One

Eva Chevron perched on tiptoes, arms up to the sky as she attempted to meditate on the back patio of her Balboa Peninsula home, watching the sun set over the Pacific Ocean and counting her blessings. A loving family, good health, faith in heaven above, success in her dream job, a beautiful August evening, and another day that Jorge Augilar was in prison.

The renowned drug dealer had been captured by the famed Aiden Porter six months ago. Aiden had kept his involvement under the radar from the media, but Eva's assigned FBI agent, Ryken Anderson, had name-dropped. People in Hollywood loved to do that, but Aiden Porter was a big name to drop. He was the second top security specialist in the world next to the legendary Sutton Smith.

The problem was, Jorge had recently become obsessed with Eva. At least that was how Agent Henderson, ‘Ryken to only you Eva' with a subtle wink, described the ‘issue.' Obsessed wasn't strong enough in Eva's mind. Not for the nonstop messages Jorge sent through multiple channels—emails, typed notes, social media messages. Obsessed? How about fanatical? Zealous? Maniacal? One of those might fit better.

Ryken assured her the prison guards had taken away Jorge's privileges to communicate with the outside world, but the notes hadn't stopped. He had too many connections and, honestly, what were some love notes to a famous actress compared to his long list of horrific crimes?

Eva pushed out a heavy breath and glanced at her Fitbit to see how long she'd been meditating, or rather ‘gnawing like a dog on his bone' as her dad would say while she stressed about Jorge.

Fifty seconds? Ah, heck no. The wellness coach her agent ‘recommended' said if she could meditate for five minutes, it would help reduce the stress of a murderous drug lord sending messages that he was ‘coming for his favorite actress.'

She knew the coach meant well, but he didn't have the foul, murderous, despicable Jorge Augilar after him, now did he?

Eva had dealt with stalkers before. Why did this one bother her so much?

Meditation. Clear thoughts. Focus. She'd found if she meditated outside, focused on the view instead of closing her eyes, held difficult poses instead of lying down, and fixated on her gratitude list to the good Lord above, she could sometimes make it to the elusive five minutes.

Who was she lying to? She'd never made it past eighty seconds. Patience and standing still had never been her strong suits, though she could pretend both when acting. Her mom had constantly begged her to stop dancing around the house and breaking things. Her dad had teased her whenever she claimed she was ‘being calm' through gritted teeth. He'd chuckle and say, ‘You know, darlin', you can lie to some of the people some of the time …'

Eva smiled. She missed her parents, sisters, friends, and extended family near Cody, Wyoming. Hollywood interactions were a far stretch from the ‘good-old boys' and ‘down-home gals' she'd grown up with. She loved her career and thrived on playing a variety of roles to exactness, but she didn't appreciate the shallow relationships, underhanded deals, and backstabbing.

She'd learned the hard way over the past ten years not to trust easily, and to steer clear of romantic relationships. Every celebrity she'd dated when she first arrived was looking for the next big thing and dumped her as soon as a better option came along. She thought she'd learned her lesson and went years maintaining an emotional distance. Then she fell for Lake Eastwood a year ago. He'd made Eva feel like she was his entire world, then cheated on her with both Bermuda Venus and Jezebel Noir. That one had hurt. Though she should've expected it, he was a fantastic actor. Why had she been so surprised he'd only been acting with her?

Please help me not to fall for a famous, unfaithful man again. Please show me the light. Shine a beam on the man I can trust. A man who can be loyal and not dump me for the next hot option.

Looking out over the peaceful beach, the sun lighting the clouds red, orange, and pink as it touched the ocean, she noticed a lone man approaching at a quick jog. The setting sun highlighted his strong form like a halo. She sucked in a breath. Was it just a random coincidence or was heaven above giving her a sign?

She leaned into the balcony wall, anxious to see the man clearly. She knew she should be wary. Her house alarms and cameras were on, but maybe she should hire a security team. She rolled her eyes. Jorge wasn't going to send some jogger to attack her. All California beaches were public and a man running wasn't an anomaly. The stretch of beach behind her house was quiet without a public access close. She saw joggers in the morning and sometimes walkers in the evening, but most people didn't want to haul their beach gear too far from a public parking area.

The man got closer, and her heart beat quicker. She wasn't certain if it was anticipation or anxiety. This could be her dream man or a hit man.

She could now distinguish dark hair and a tall, well-built body. He was still too far away to distinguish facial features, but he was moving fast. If he angled away from the water and toward the houses, he'd reach her within seconds. Then he would be one Superman leap from the sand to her patio. She could be dead or kidnapped before she could squeak for help.

Thank you for that image , she snapped at her morbid mind. She needed to be cautious but not a Nervous Nellie. She knew it was in her best interest that she'd morphed from an ‘innocent Wyoming cowgirl' to ‘famous but still humble' to petrified and disturbed in the course of ten short years. No news media had pinned the last two terms on her. She'd hid the pain over Lake's betrayal and the fear of Jorge's relentless pursuit from them pretty well, if she did say so herself.

She pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and clicked on the phone app, just in case the man was coming for her. Sun halo aside, she doubted heaven was sending her dream man running down the beach.

Ryken had asked her to call him instead of 911. He promised he would get the right people moving faster if she was in danger. Despite his obnoxious flirtations, she appreciated his diligence in protecting her.

Lake had begged her to call him first when he'd somehow found out she was in dire straits and dropped by to visit last week. Yeah, right; she'd call him as fast as she'd pick up a rattlesnake. She'd told him to drop dead in a ditch. He'd appreciated that. She could still see his fake green eyes snapping at her from his too-tight, too-tanned face as he told her, ‘Don't think your Idaho redneck lingo is going to win you any roles without me. You'll be crawling back in no time.'

Idaho? Come on. He didn't know the first thing about the real Eva Chevron. Not that it mattered to Lake and not that there was anything wrong with Idaho, but she was proud to be from Wyoming.

She hadn't even considered crawling back to him. He'd cheated on her, twice, and then spent the past six months alternating between trying to woo her back or threatening her with losing roles or popularity when she didn't take his bait. She'd done brilliantly with her career, rising higher without him. Scum ball anyway.

The fit runner man kept racing along the beach, but he wasn't angling in her direction. She should go back inside, but she found herself fascinated that the dying sun was still highlighting him. The halo she'd prayed for, maybe? No, that was far-reaching, and despite her love for acting and drama, Eva was as practical as they came. She had to be to survive emotionally in the Hollywood rat race.

Maybe she was simply fascinated that such a large man could run at his speed. The smooth lines of muscle working in synchrony in his arms and legs were enthralling. How did the song go? Six foot four and full of muscle ? She'd guess those stats were correct.

His profile was clear to her now as he was almost parallel to her patio and the sun had descended, leaving it light enough to see him without the ‘halo' interference.

There was no denying he was a strikingly handsome man. The sculpted lines of a ‘manly macho male man' as her sister Tasha would say.

She barked out a laugh, thinking of Tasha saying that redundant phrase in a goofy voice and how silly Eva was being ogling some guy she didn't know and would never know.

At her too-loud laugh, the running man glanced her direction. The breath whooshed out of her as she stared into startling blue eyes framed by dark lashes and brows. The patio shifted beneath her, and she had to cling to the railing to stay on her feet. It was like heaven had slapped her in the face.

He was definitely handsome. Exquisite. Ideal. Swoony. But the impact of him looking at her felt much deeper than any other beautiful man looking her way. She'd met thousands of handsome men the past ten years. Something about this man felt significant.

His lips curved up in a slow, enticing smile. He slowed to a walk and then paused and raised a hand to her. An arc of connection surged through the air between them. It washed over her like an enchanted breeze. Leaps beyond what Hollywood could try to create. Who was this man, and why did she feel like she'd just locked eyes with her future?

She froze, stunned by the unfamiliar feelings his eyes focused on her had created. Could this be an answer to her prayer? It all felt unrealistic, almost surreal, and somehow the most genuine and authentic connection she'd ever experienced .

She had no idea how to respond. She didn't wave. She didn't call out to him. She didn't do a dang thing but smile and stare.

He waited another beat and then the hope in his eyes waned. He tilted his chin up to her and raced off, heading south to the point.

Oh, no. Her soul cried out for him to stop, turn around, come back.

No. That was silly. It was a good thing. Definitely a good thing. Her rational, safe mind knew it was a good thing. Agent Henderson and her dad would agree. She shouldn't be talking to or encouraging strangers.

Her heart that was palpitating, her hands that were trembling, and her mind that was swooning over one look from that man's blue eyes thought it was an awful thing. Why had she been unable to respond and let him run off? Why hadn't she called him back or chased after him?

She couldn't lie to herself and anticipate seeing him again. She'd lived here for three years and had never seen him running on the beach.

He ran off even faster than he'd approached. A fine picture for sure. She almost snapped a photo with her phone but restrained. Being the object of far too many unapproved-by-her photos, she'd never take one of someone else. Even if the blue-eyed hunk's enticing form in a T-shirt and shorts was something she never wanted to forget.

Darkness crept over the beach. Still, she didn't move. Her fantasy man was long gone. Would he come back this direction if she waited long enough?

Wow. If anybody knew the Eva Chevron was having desperate thoughts about a man she didn't know because she'd said a prayer, felt a connection, and been captured by his blue eyes … it would make headlines.

She smiled, shook her head, turned, and smacked into a wall of hard flesh in black clothing.

"Help!" she cried out before the man flipped her to face away from him, clapped a hand over her mouth, and pinned her against him with a thick arm like a steel clamp around her chest.

Eva's arms were trapped, her cell phone still in her hand. She writhed to free herself, clinging to the side buttons that were supposed to call 911 if you held them long enough.

"Drop the phone," the man snarled.

She kicked her heel back at his shin instead and dug the fingernails of her left hand into his thigh.

He cursed and smacked her hand into the half-wall surrounding the patio. She clung to the phone, but he rammed her hand against the wood again and again. Pain radiated from her hand up her arm and the phone was flung from her grasp, clattering onto the cement.

She screamed, but only a squeak escaped his tight grip. Yanking her head back to headbutt him, she caught his chin. He cursed. Her head hurt now too, but his grip loosened slightly.

Eva dropped to a heap at his feet and scrabbled away. He leaped on top of her, flattening her to the concrete between the patio couch and the decorative wooden half-wall.

"Help!" she screamed as loud as she could. She had neighbors. Would they hear her? Were they even home? Her tough, blue-eyed soulmate was unfortunately long gone. Nobody would see her down here; they'd have to hear her. "Help! Help!"

"Shut up," the man growled in her ear, grabbing a pillow off the nearby outdoor couch and shoving it over her face to muffle her screams. She couldn't breathe with the pillow covering her nose and mouth and his body weight pressing her into the unforgiving concrete.

She flailed and fought, but the lack of oxygen brought darkness to the edges of her vision and slowed her movements.

"That's better," the man said. "Ryken will give me a huge bonus for this one."

Ryken? Her mind was getting cloudy, but … Ryken? It could not be possible that her FBI agent had sent a man to kill her. Ryken was the one protecting her from Jorge.

Please, Heavenly Father , she begged. A little help. Bring my fantasy running man back.

Then darkness gripped her.