Page 3 of The Making of Marnie Jones

The stranger was putting his wallet away and met her stare head-on. His eyes were a beautiful shade of blue, unlike Seth’s gold-flecked hazel ones. Blue like a turbulent summer storm sky.

Finally, he turned away, nodding at something Seth said.

Her stomach did a little flutter of…relief? Anxiety? Some combination of both?

Apparently satisfied, Seth motioned for the guy to stay put while he walked back to her, his stride confident. “I've checked his ID, and it's legit. His name is Jake McGrath. He says he doesn't know you, but he needs your help.” Despite his words, the police officer didn’t look pleased, his brow furrowed. “I'll stay while he talks to you.”

“No, Seth, you won't. If you say he checks out, then I believe you.” She took a deep breath, bracing to face her fear. Sweat still trickled down her back and gathered under her arms. Hopefully he couldn’t smell it. “I can handle this.” She’d keep her phone ready, though, to make another call if necessary.

Seth chuckled. “Of course you can.” He sobered slightly. “I’ll run his name when I get back to my car. If you need me—”

“I have you on speed dial.” She again pressed a hand on his arm, still dependent on his strength, and humbled by his willingness to protect her from any threat, perceived or imagined.

His return grip slowed her frantic heartrate and decreased her stress a notch or two.

“Call me tonight, regardless of the outcome. Otherwise, I'll worry.”

“Thanks, Seth.”

“My pleasure, Marnie.” He gave her one long level look before leaving.

She watched his progress as he got into his car. Waiting was a challenge, but she wanted to give him time to call in this Jake McGrath. He’d be looking for outstanding warrants, convictions, and—knowing Seth’s diligence—parking or jaywalking tickets. After what felt like an interminable amount of time, but was only probably three or four minutes, he waved and drove away. She returned his wave, watching his SUV until it hit the end of the street and turned left. Steeling herself, she turned back to the interloper. The guy. Jake McGrath.

“Mr. McGrath, my name is Marnie Jones. In another life, I was Laura Derks.” Her hands on her hips, she took a stance of power despite her knotted stomach. She didn’t want to, but she needed to discover why he stood on her green grass that’d soon wilt and turn brown in the unrelenting heat. “You already know that. I’m tempted to ask Constable Jacobs to escort you away, but I suspect that won’t get rid of you. Why are you rudely invading my privacy?”

Chapter two

Jakewasn'tfooledbyher nicely worded question. The rapidity of the arrival of her cop friend assured him the woman meant business. He probably had about five minutes before she stalked into her house and slammed the door in his face.

“Olivia Bater is in trouble.” He wasn't playing fair, but he didn't care—because a young woman's life was at stake.

Marnie shifted and looked down at her feet. She kicked a stray pebble from her beautifully manicured lawn toward the street. Finally, she met his gaze.

Her dark Coach sunglasses hid her eyes, but he felt her staring right at him. Boring into him.

“Again, how do you think I can be of assistance?”

Her tone contained more than a tinge of sarcasm. Her eyebrow delicately arched, and she looked down her nose at him, although it was more looking up at him, considering he was six feet tall compared to her five-feet-three inches. That height difference gave her an air of delicacy, and he felt an unexpected surge of protectiveness toward her. But he'd expected resistance, so this defiance wasn’t a great surprise. He was poking a wounded animal. She had the right to be defensive, and he needed to prepare for the consequences.

“Olivia’s life is descending into chaos, and I can't reach her.” He fingered a pink rose, careful to avoid the thorns. He fought an absurd urge to cut it off and hand it to her. A plea of sorts. “She needs to meet with you. You can help her.”

Marnie snorted. “I doubt you know what Olivia needs, and I guarantee I can't help.”

“Look, can we go somewhere to sit and talk?” He didn’t want to have this conversation while standing next to the blacktop of her driveway. The heat made it too hot to be hanging outside, although it was a mark of his desperation that he’d waited there a long time, despite the soaring temperatures.

“You arenotcoming into my house.” Her tone was as frigid as the arctic wind on a winter’s day.

He gestured appeasement. Suddenly, despite the heat, a cold bead of sweat dripped from his brow. Everything was riding on this. “I wasn’t expecting to. Maybe a restaurant?”

Her hesitation was better than the outright refusal he’d expected. He let the desperation show on his face because he’d come three thousand miles and didn’t plan to go back without speaking to her first. He was a stranger—and he understood her reluctance. Keeping his stance open, he held his arms by his sides, exposed and non-threatening.

“Okay, I'll agree to that.” Her eyebrow raised. “With a couple of provisos.”

“Anything.”

“You don't try to emotionally blackmail me. You accept my final decision.”

He hid his reaction, trying for impassive. Part of him was glad she wasn't willing to let him walk all over her, but his more desperate part wanted a chance to sway her to his mission. “I agree to your terms. Where can we go?”

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