Page 6 of Keeping Her Safe

Brian grabbed his hand and held it for a while, then said, “She’s your sister, even if I didn’t get to adopt her. She’s been my daughter for years now.”

“I know, Dad, and I’m sorry.”

Brian hadn’t excepted his apology that day or any other day. The older man had died, never forgiving his son for that day. Now, Zachary could only apologize to Zephyr in hopes she would one day forgive him.

As he had sat in Ken Jackson’s office, listening to the man tell him Zephyr was not taking their threats seriously, he knew that he had to keep her safe. He had promised his father to take care of the woman and for two years hadn’t even thought of her down in the beach house. Now she needed him, and he would do everything in his power to keep her safe. Even if she didn’t want him to.

After reading the threatening letters, he had known she was not safe in Florida at all. When he tried to think of a place to take her, the only place that came to mind was Minnesota. Nobody would look for her way up north. The only ties she had to the state was that her mother had been born there, but few people knew that. He knew it was the perfect time to finally bring her to her hometown.

He instantly agreed to keep her safe because it was the job his father had given him. When he had asked Ken who he thought the stalker could be, the list was small. Zephyr knew almost nobody. No exes, no former friends with an ax to grind. In fact, he had told Zachary that he was at the top of the list. Zachary had complete control of her money if she died—which no one had thought to mention to him before then.

When he had gotten to the office, he had looked up all three of the sisters. None had anything in their past that showed that they would be dangerous. In fact, all three lived in the same small town they had been raised in. One of them had been in the Army, but since then, they’d barely left the state. None of them had been out of Minnesota in over a year. Following the trail, he looked into their husbands, and all were perfectly normal people.

Then he focused on the woman in question: Zephyr Connor Hart. She was twenty-three and lived alone in a house on the beach. She had never graduated from high school, earning a GED instead, and had never had a job except writing … ever. She had never flipped burgers, waited tables, or rung up clothing sales. Zephyr was a writer. The woman had no Facebook page, Twitter account, or presence on the internet at all.

Turning to Zephyr’s pen name, Zachary hit a gold mine. Z Connor had a web page, a Facebook page, many fan forums, and the books were for sale everywhere. He could see how popular her books were—millions loved them. There was a page with a countdown to the release of the next book, but he found nothing out of ordinary; nothing that seemed threatening.

Ken had been right. Zachary was on the top of the list. He was one of the few people who knew her and who she was. He could get close to her, and she didn’t fear him. And they didn’t get along.

With a sigh, he shook his head. Right now, he needed to concentrate on the present, not the past. He ran out to his car and grabbed the duffle bag with his clothes in it. He would sack out on her couch tonight, and tomorrow, they were out of here. Maybe he should have insisted they leave tonight, but he was here to keep her safe for one more day.

CHAPTER 3

Zephyr was trying to type on the laptop in front of her, but the words were gone. They were stuck in her head, unable to get through the memories racing through her mind. Slamming the machine shut, she pushed it away from her. No use to even try working. It was only editing anyway.

Minnesota was all she could think of. The cold, arctic birthplace of her family. Zephyr had never been there. In fact, she had never been out of Florida. She’d never been to Georgia, Alabama, or Mississippi, nor had she ever been on a plane. Maybe taking a boat was a way out, but she could not swim and was terrified of the water.

It made perfect sense that she owned a beach house right on the ocean. Every day she went and poked her toes in the wet sand and let the waves run over her feet, but it had been years since the saltwater had touched her knees.

Her mom had said that in Minnesota, it got cold enough there that it wouldn’t snow. How cold was that? she wondered. Was it that cold there now? It was October, so it was probably cold enough to snow, but not too cold that it wouldn’t snow? Zephyr had never seen snow in real life.

Her mom had also said that Minnesota smelled different from here. Would she be able to smell the difference? What does that even mean?

Minnesota was where her mom had spent her first thirty-two years of life. She had been raised there, gotten married there, given birth to three girls there, and had left there. Left all of it behind. She had only taken Zephyr with her, small and maybe unwanted in her stomach as she fled the state. Never did Catherine Hart return to Minnesota, and never had she taken Zephyr there.

All Zephyr knew about Minnesota was what her mom had told her about it. The big house she had been raised in with her loving mom and dad, both long dead; the green farm that she lived in with her husband and raised her daughters in. Apparently, her mother had hated the quietness of the farm.

Minnesota was the home of her three sisters, who never knew she existed. But Zephyr knew they existed—her mom talked about them all the time. Everything Zephyr did was compared to the ghosts of her unknown siblings. Zephyr had red hair like Della and Zoey. Zephyr had Evie’s nose. Zephyr walked later than Della, but earlier than the other two. Zephyr talked later than Zoey but before the other two. Zephyr would be short, like the girls. Zephyr wasn’t outgoing like Zoey. Zephyr wasn’t smart like Della. Zephyr wasn’t pretty like Evie. Zephyr was never better than the girls. Kate had always called them ‘the girls.’ The girls.

Kate had left behind the girls to raise Zephyr, whose father hadn’t wanted to raise another of Kate’s mistakes. Zephyr knew she was that mistake her entire life. She had known her mother would have gone back to her girls if it hadn’t been for Zephyr. She had known her mom wasn’t happy raising her; she wanted to raise the other three. Every word she had said to her baby girl had been about how Zephyr wasn’t as good as her girls, and never would be.

Minnesota. Zephyr had spent twelve years hearing about it, wondering about it, and dreaming about it. Now she was going to it. Would she see snow? Would she see the farm? Would she see the girls?

Pulling the blanket over her, she snuggled into her bed. Zachary had turned the TV on in the living room. Apparently, he was staying on the couch. The house had only one bedroom. If she were a braver soul, she would’ve invited him into her bedroom. For comfort? For sex? Either one would be fine as long as it was Zachary.

It’s not like she would ever act on her feelings for him. She was neither his type nor in his league. She had been fifteen years old when he came home from Afghanistan. He was all man, muscle, and swim shorts, and he had been the ideal man in her mind. Nobody ever measured up to him.

The few men she had dated were either too short, didn’t have brown eyes, or wore their hair too long. It had gotten worse after Brian had died. Suddenly, the men she had dated needed to be muscular, and if they were darker-skinned, they got a plus. But none had ever made it past the first date because none of them had been Zachary.

Zephyr was well aware she was being stupid. Zachary couldn’t stand her, and she just yearned for him. But then again, only Zachary could make her insides turn to mush with only a glance in her direction. When they had shaken hands this evening, she felt tingles running through her body, from her toes to her nose, and especially in her lady bits.

How was she going to spend a week with him—a week? She was going to throw herself at him, and he was going to look down his perfect nose at her pathetic moves. He would probably leave her in the cold tundra of Minnesota.

Groaning, she turned the light off beside her and flopped onto her stomach. This would be the hardest week she’d ever get through. Harder than Zachary’s chiseled abs.

CHAPTER 4

Soft scraping at the door woke Zachary from his light sleep. In an instant, he rolled onto the floor, gun in hand, and crawled to the bedroom door. The scraping came again as he pushed the door open to the dark bedroom. Silently, he closed the door behind him. With speed, he crawled over to the bed. “Zephyr,” he whispered as he reached for her in the bed.

---