The true threat lies within the heart…

Excerpt

“Tell me about your painting,” he said. “What are you working on?” He studied her closely as his mind went to the empty guest bedroom in her home that had once housed her easel and paintings, to the pencils and sketchpad he’d bought that had so far sat unused.

She stiffened. “I don’t paint anymore.”

Luke sat back, his earlier nervousness gone. He was in his element now, a master at retrieving information. And he was determined to find out exactly what had happened to her dreams. “Oh?”

“I, um.” Her gaze lifted to his then skittered away. “I’m a bartender.”

It took him a moment to stop reeling from that bombshell and to absorb the implications. “You’re a painter, Kate. You draw beautiful, emotionally charged pictures, not drafts.” Anger rolled through him at the thought of her dodging the wandering hands of drunks. She was a painter, damn it. A great painter. Well on her way to becoming famous.

She stood suddenly, gathering her plate and his, avoiding his glare. “I’ll clean up since you cooked.”

“Tell me why you’re not painting.”

Pain flickered through her eyes right before she closed them. An answering pain twisted him into knots. Just what had happened to her? His leaving wouldn’t cause the pain he’d seen in her. Something else, something terrible had happened and he needed to know because he wanted to help.

“I, um... It wasn’t paying the bills.”

“You’re lying.”

Her eyes flew open and she pursed her lips, anger darkening her expression. For a second Luke didn’t know if she intended to throw her plate at him or take it to the sink.

“You have no right,” she said, her voice wavering. “You left. And you didn’t come back. You have no right to question my decisions, how I live my life.”

“I can’t pretend not to see your pain, just like you can’t pretend not to see mine. What happened?”

Tears welled in her eyes, overflowed and dripped. “Damn you!” She put the plate down and swiped at her cheeks. “I don’t paint anymore! Is that what you want to hear? I’m a bartender. I pour drinks and listen to people’s pathetic stories. Or at least I did. I’m sure I’m out of a job by now.” Her shoulders shook. “Just when I finally get my life back on track, you come falling through my front door and tear my world apart again!”

She whirled around and ran out, closing the door so hard the boat rocked. Luke stared at the dirty dinner dishes, at the overturned saltshaker and the empty iced tea glasses.

With shaking hands, he picked up his plate and took it to the sink. She had her secrets. He had his. Yet, he couldn’t force her to tell him her secrets when he refused to divulge his. What a pair they made. Haunted, hurting.

Hunted.

He looked out the window over the sink, staring into the dark night, not seeing anything but his own reflection in the glass. He didn’t like what he saw. He scrubbed a hand down his face but the action didn’t erase the man he was.

Kate stood on the dock, staring into the dark recesses of the forest. The breeze whistled through the branches, the leaves rustled in the trees, the lake lapped against the side of the boat and the crickets chirped.

She shouldn’t have said those things, even if they were the truth. Luke couldn’t help it that someone was after him and she was glad he’d been there the night Hank Stuben broke into her house. Of course, Hank Stuben wouldn’t have broken into her house if it hadn’t been for Luke.

She took a deep breath of the still-stifling night air. She should go back and apologize. The look on Luke’s face right before she’d turned around and left indicated her words had cut deep.

But she couldn’t go in. Because she was afraid. Afraid he’d bring up her painting. Afraid of his questions. Afraid of her answers. Afraid to divulge the awful truth of what she’d done. Afraid he’d hate her if he knew.

She stepped off the dock, her feet landing on hard, firm ground, and turned to look at the houseboat. Lights shone from the windows. Up top, the string of party lights created a festive rainbow, beckoning her to return from the dark night.

Luke’s form floated past the kitchen window. The lights backlit him until he was nothing but a dark shadow against bright yellow.

She could have sworn their gazes touched, but that was impossible. She couldn’t really see him and he probably couldn’t see her. A breeze brushed past her and she shivered, clutching her arms about her waist and rubbing her elbows.

She felt more alone out here, looking inside Luke’s houseboat, than she ever had in her entire life. In the past, she’d always had her family to turn to. She and her brothers fought like cats and dogs, but when one needed the other, they were always there.

Now every time she returned home, she thought she saw the condemnation in her family’s faces. The accusations.

She looked away, toward the black void of the lake.

“Kate?” Her head snapped back to the boat. Luke stood on the other side of the dock. “Come back inside, Kate.” His voice was disembodied, husky, beckoning, calling, inviting. She shivered again. “I promise I won’t ask any more questions about your art.” Now his voice held defeat and sorrow.

Kate took a hesitant step toward him, then another and another until they stood inches apart. Silently he held out his hand and she grabbed onto it.

Together they walked back into the light.