Page 1 of The Making of Marnie Jones

Chapter one

“LauraDerks?”

Despite the heat of a summer Mission City day, the sound of the deep male voice made the blood in her veins run cold. This day had been inevitable, but four years didn't feel long enough.

Maybe she could pretend… “My name is Marnie Jones.”

“It used to be Laura Derks.” A statement, not a question.

“I don't know who you're talking about.” She pressed her lips together, struggling to stay on her course. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm late for an appointment.” Without waiting for a response, she turned and walked to her car as quickly as she could without breaking into a run. Her heart pounded.

Brain whirling, she fought to steady her knees.

Her hands shook as she opened the lock with the remote. It gave, and she yanked open the door, launching herself inside. Only when she secured the lock did she take a breath. The air in the car was oppressive but no way was she going to roll down her window. She turned the ignition. The air-conditioning would take a minute to work, but she didn't care. Slamming the car into gear, she tore out of the parking lot, leaving skid marks.

In the rearview mirror she saw the stranger, leaning against his car.

Watching her.

Marnie checked her rearview mirror as many times as she dared, traveling from the library where she worked to her favorite Starbucks. She doubled back, pulled into a convenience store’s lot and waited, then she circled three different blocks.

Can’t risk going inside.

Her hands still shook, and even with the AC blasting, she sweated that stinky, gross adrenaline sweat that had nothing to do with the godawful heat wave engulfing southwestern British Columbia.

She’d let her guard down. Four long years. Sticking to a compulsive routine, she’d relaxed into her boring life. Stupid. The casually dressed guy leaning against the car hadn’t tripped her radar, except…wasn’t it a little hot to be leaning against a hunk of metal?

But she hadn’t reacted. She strolled past him, focused on whether to binge on a J.T. Ellison thriller, a vintage Nora Roberts romance, or a Grace Burrowes regency. Then Mr. Sunglasses and Khaki Pants muttered the two words guaranteed to wreck her life.

Laura Derks.

The guy maintained his posture against the silver Nissan that had rental written all over its spotless framework.

She managed to see him and raise him a few syllables.My name is Marnie Jones. Take pride in having stated the name so clearly, right? Futile, just like trying to hide from her past.

She drove around aimlessly for two hours, suppressing two near panic attacks.

Finally, she finally headed home.

No, no, no.

The same long, lean bastard lounged on the front steps of her house. Hersanctuary—her home.

Anger, sweet and sincere, cut through her anxiety. She gripped the steering wheel until her knuckles turned white, and a low-grade headache built at the base of her skull. How dare he? How in the Sam Damn Hill dare he? She hit the speed-dial button for her RCMP contact. Fine, let her unwelcome guest swelter in the heat while she figured out how to handle the trespasser. Anger propelled her out of the car.

“I've called the police, so you have about five minutes before they get here and haul your ass off to jail.” She was bluffing on both counts, but he had no way of knowing that.

He removed his sunglasses.

She took her first good look at him. Brown hair, blue eyes, and a killer smile. Pretty good-looking.

For a stalker.

As if he had all the time in the world, he unfolded himself from her porch. Wisely, he didn't make a move toward her, simply held up his hands in a gesture of peace. “I just want to talk to you, Laura.”

“It's Marnie, now. Get that through your thick skull.” Heat rose in her cheeks, but she couldn’t help it. The temperature still scorched, and she was about to set fire to the intruder. Her knees still felt shaky, but anger now dominated her swirling emotions.

“Okay. I just want to talk to you, Marnie.”

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