Then her eyelids flutter open and she looks up at me.
Bright green eyes meet mine.
Ah, shit.
I know who she is.
How could I not have realized? The prettiest woman I’ve seen in years, maybe ever, with the most incredible green eyes. In daylight, she has a cute smattering of freckles across her nose and her dark hair is streaked with shimmering bronze and copper.
Not just pretty, but sweet. Smart. New in town and so excited about it.
How did she end up here?
“Winter?” I ask. “Can you talk to me?”
She blinks. Her chin wobbles. “Enzo?”
“Yeah.” Even though I shouldn’t—she broke into my store, for Pete’s sake—I take one of her trembling hands in mine. “Can you tell me what happened?”
Tears well up. “I…” Panic flashes in her eyes. “Oh, God. Thomas. Is he here? You have to stop him.” The tears break free, streaking down the sides of her face and into her hair. “It’s not safe. You have?—”
Her breath starts coming in panicked gasps, and she struggles to get up. “The gas. Enzo, you need to get out. Is he here? I tried to stop him. I called?—”
“Winter, it’s okay.” I put my hand on her shoulder and gently push her back down. “He’s not here. It’s just you.”
“I tried,” she says, now crying in earnest. “I tried to stop him. I’m sorry. I didn’t know what else to do.”
None of this makes sense. I don’t know Winter well, but she doesn’t seem like someone who’d be involved in a burglary. Or arson.
And why was she unconscious in my office? Who hurt her?
The sound of sirens catches my attention, signaling the imminent arrival of the police.
“Shhh. It’s okay.” Despite all my unanswered questions, I can’t make myself let go of her hand. “He’s not here. The police are on the way. We’ll get you to the hospital, alright?”
“It’s not.” Winter sucks in a shuddering breath. Her gaze is filled with fear and pain and despair. “It can’t be okay. Not with him still out there.”
CHAPTER 3
WINTER
It should be a relief.
I’m not trapped in Thomas’s house anymore.
I’m in the hospital, surrounded by people. Nurses. Doctors. Security guards. Police officers. There’s no way Thomas would try to get to me here.
When I’d think about escaping—during those long, nearly eternal nights when I’d lie in bed, exhausted but too scared to sleep—I imagined the tremendous relief I’d feel when I finally got free.
But it’s not that simple.
I may be safe for now, but Thomas is still out there. He’s still furious with me. He might even be plotting to kill me.
God. As if the nausea from my concussion isn’t bad enough, my stomach keeps clenching and flipping from fear and anxiety.
His face. I can’t stop seeing it.
There was so much rage.