Sara’s emotionally abusive husband dies unexpectedly. She’s struggling to reclaim the intelligent, independent person she was before she married. She vows never to let a man take over her life again. Now she’s part of a special team, training to help other women.
 
Mac is has been responsible for training women in special ops techniques so they are prepared when they are challenged to save other women. When he meets Sara sparks fly between them. He wants her to quit the training and let him take care of her.
 
Sara graduates and now she and her team have to save Sara’s daughter from a serial killer. Can Mac step back and trust her in a dangerous situation? Can Sara and Mac resolve their issues, or will they go in opposite directions?

The office said he’d had a heart attack. Was he alive? Did she want him to be? What if her husband had to stay home for a few weeks to recuperate? Palms sweating, Sara’s breath came in short, shallow bursts at the thought.

The taxi jerked to a stop in front of the hospital emergency entrance.

Sara fumbled through her purse and counted out her meager number of dollar bills. Gordon didn’t allow her to have a credit card and he only allowed her to have a small amount of cash. She didn’t have enough money to pay the taxi.

“I’m so sorry. I left home without any cash. I...I ... Would you take a check?” Tears spilled over and trickled down her flushed cheeks.

The driver spun around. A short stubby finger waved at the sign over the rearview mirror. “Look lady, it says right there - No Checks.”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry. My husband has had a heart attack and I ... I don’t know what to do.” Sara ran her fingers through her hair and scrunched the tight bun at her neck.

The driver shook his head. “Aw, shit. Go ahead, lady. Write the check.”

Sara pulled the single crumpled check Gordon allowed her carry for emergencies out of her purse. When she touched the check a vision of Gordon floated in front of her.

She froze and rapidly blinked her eyes. She only saw the ghosts of dead people. Gordon didn’t believe her and forbid her to ever mention it.

Could he really be dead?

“Gordon?” she whispered.

“Lady, are you writing that check or not?”

“Yes, sorry.” Sara scribbled her signature on the bottom of the check. “Please, fill it in, and give yourself a generous tip. Thank you, thank you so much.” She clutched her worn purse to her chest, slid out of the cab, and scurried through the emergency room doors.

What if he was dead? She didn’t have any money. Gordon did all the finances and never shared anything with her.  How would she manage?

Twenty years ago, she could have handled it. Could she do it again? But he couldn’t be dead. Gordon would never allow that to happen.

His face flitted in front of her, fixed in an angry glare.

He had to be dead or she wouldn’t be seeing him. He didn’t want to be dead. He didn’t want her to be free. If he thought she could see him he’d be furious.

Sara shuffled toward the reception desk. She glanced over her shoulder, searching for some sign of Gordon, listening for his voice, waiting for him to yell at her. She couldn’t believe he was really dead, even though she had seen him. She clung to the edge of the transition counter, her head down, chewed on her lower lip and waited to be noticed.

Finally a brusque voice snapped, “Can I help you?”

Sara looked up to see a heavy set, older woman in a loose blue top. The woman’s thick dark brows met in a v in the middle of her forehead.

“I’m sorry, I ...I’m looking for my husband. His office phoned to say he’d been brought here.” Sara shrunk into her body.

“Name?” the woman commanded.

“Gordon, Gordon Peters.” Sara stared at her worn black oxfords, then at the scuffed, gray linoleum with the red, blue and yellow lines that led to different areas.  Maybe she shouldn’t have come. Maybe she should have waited for Gordon to call and tell her whether she should be here or not. But if he was dead she would have to make her own decisions. Her pulse raced. Her head pounded. For the last nineteen years she had never made a decision. Gordon made all of them for her.

“When was he admitted?” The woman reminded Sara of a sergeant major.

“I’m not sure, less than an hour ago. They told me to meet him here. Maybe he’s been discharged already?” She chewed her thumbnail. If Gordon had been discharged, he’d be furious at her for spending all that money on a taxi.  But she’d seen his ghost.

Tension twisted her stomach into knots. The pain caused her to clutch her purse tightly against her abdomen. She needed to get home and start dinner. She’d have to take a bus. Did she have enough money? She opened her purse.

The woman moved to a second pile of folders and pulled one out. “You’re his wife?”

Sara nodded. “Yes. Can I see him?”

A sob slipped out. If she didn’t find see him soon, he’d be furious. He’d think she was too stupid to even find him in a hospital and he’d be right.

His ghost floated in front of her. This time confusion mixed with his anger

“Have a seat, Mrs. Peters. I’ll have the doctor speak to you.” The sergeant major’s voice softened. She indicated a chair near the desk.

“No, please, I need to see him right away. He’ll be upset if I’m late.”

The woman rounded the desk and laid her hand on Sara’s shoulder. She squeezed gently for a second. “It’ll be okay, honey. You just sit down for a minute. The doctor will be right out.”

Maggie McGonigal will protect her son at any cost, including her own life. After seven years in witness protection someone has found her and is trying to kill her. She contacts the man she never wanted to see again. Now to convince him to take a son he doesn’t know about back to his ranch in Montana, so she can disappear again.

Cody Hawkins comes running when the woman he wants to forget calls him for help. Someone is trying to kill her.

It’s been seven years since Maggie walked away. Why contact him now? Who would want to kill her? Can he help her and then walk away from her? Or can he convince her to return to Montana and let him protect her?

“Why would anyone want to kill you?”

“Like I said, it’s a long story.”

“Well, darlin’, you asked me here. It was a long drive from Montana, so go ahead and let’s hear the whole story.”

“I was a witness to a murder. Maybe we should talk after dinner, when Matt is asleep. Will you be staying at the hotel tonight?”

“I wasn’t sure where I would spend the night. Hadn’t planned on staying in this expensive tourist trap, but if what you’re telling me is true, then, yes, I’m staying here tonight.”
“I’ll call down to the desk and book you a room.”

“No, if I’m going to protect you, I’ll be sleepin’ here, in your room tonight.”

She squirmed in her chair and he forced himself not to smile. He could only imagine what she was thinking about the two of them spending the night together in this small hotel room.

“If someone wants you dead, I need to be here, in this room, to keep you both safe. Now that’s settled, why would someone want to kill you?”

“Six years ago, I witnessed a mafia shooting in Chicago. I’ve been in the witness protection plan ever since. It looks like they finally found me.” She glanced across at Matt.

A cracking sound pierced the room. A jagged pattern cut across the window, scattering shards of glass on the floor.

Maggie screamed.

Cody threw himself at her, pushing her to the ground. Another bullet embedded itself in the wall, inches above where she’d sat minutes before.

“Mommy,” Matt yelled.

“It’s okay, honey. Lie still. Don’t move.”

Using his elbows, Cody cautiously raised himself. Sliding off Maggie, he crawled across the floor to the bed where he reached up and pulled Matt into his arms. Clutching the boy tightly against his chest, he could feel the little heart pound wildly.

“Hey, buddy, it’s going to be okay. What were you watching?”

“The Roadrunner, Wile E. Coyote is going to drop a rock on him.”

“Think he’ll get him?”

“No. of course not,” Matt laughed. “The bad guy never wins.”

Cody smiled. If only life was that simple. The bad guy never wins.

“How about you watch it from down here?”

“Why? Why are you and Mommy on the floor? What was that loud noise?”

“It’s sort of a game. We want you to play, too, so you have to watch TV down with us.”

“Okay.” Matt slipped from Cody’s arms to lie on the plush hotel carpet. He stared up at the cartoon still playing on the TV and became mesmerized by the colorful action on the screen.

“Are you all right?” Cody flashed a look at Maggie.

“I’m fine. Take care of Matt.” She clenched her upper arm, but the red continued to trickle down to her elbow and drip onto her jeans.

“We’re doing great, aren’t we, buddy?” He patted Matt on the head.

Another crash filled the room as a third shot shattered the mirror. The glass sprayed across the bed and floor like pebbles spread across the shore by ocean waves.

Matt and Maggie screamed.

Cody tightened his arms around Matt and glanced at Maggie.

Any color left had fled her face, her body shook, and the blood continued to ooze between the fingers she had clamped around her arm.

“You’ve been shot. You’re bleeding.”

“Brilliant diagnosis, Sherlock, like they say in the movies, it’s just a flesh wound. I’m fine.” She pulled herself to a sitting position and leaned back against the chair, pasting a smile on her face. Her body shook hard enough to rock the chair.

“It’s not that serious. It just burns like I’ve been branded.”
“Keep the pressure on and stay down.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Matt, go stay with your mother.”
Matt crawled to his mother’s side. “Are you okay, Mommy?”
“I’m fine, honey.” Maggie attempted a smile. “Shouldn’t we get out of here?”
“Hang on. We don’t know if anyone is out in the hall. There could be a second person waiting to get you if you survive the shooter and try to escape.”
“I didn’t think of that.” Maggie dropped her chin to Matt’s head. “Now you know why I want you to take him away from here.”
It had been a few minutes since the last shot, so Cody inched his way to the window on his knees, carefully avoiding shattered glass and mirror. When he reached the wide windowsill, he pulled himself up by his arms, cautiously peering out over the ledge. A turret blocked part of the view of the harbor, but there would be a clear view into Maggie`s room from the higher floors in the tower. Using his finger, he drew an imaginary line from the bullet hole in the wall, to the middle of shattered area of the window, attempting to gauge where the shots had come from. It looked like the fifth floor of the tower. He double-checked but couldn’t see anyone moving around over there.
Reaching for the cord, he closed the thick heavy curtains. Then he stood and edged to the hotel room door. He carefully unlocked it and opened it a crack.
He waited a second, then opened it a little more and slipped into the hallway.
A few minutes later, he reappeared.
“I think it’s okay now. Let’s check the damage.” He dialed the front desk to get a doctor.
He hadn’t expected any of this when he came here; someone shooting at them, a six- year old who wanted to come to his ranch and Maggie with a bullet in her arm.
What the hell had she gotten herself into? And how the hell could he protect her and her son?