But who’d abducted her? She hadn’t caught a glimpse of her attacker, but she assumed she knew him.

Her mind sifted through the dangerous men she’d studied since graduating from college, but she couldn’t even venture a guess.

It was frightening not knowing what she was up against.

It was even more frightening to acknowledge that no one would have any clue where she was—or even that she’d been taken—least of all Sergeant Benjamin Murphy, or Amarok as the locals called him, Hilltop’s only police presence and the man she loved. It was summer in Alaska, that brief period where the days lengthened to almost twenty hours and tourists came from all over the world to enjoy the natural beauty of the last frontier.

She and Amarok—his nickname came from the Inuktitut word for “wolf” and went all the way back to junior high—had finally relaxed and begun to believe that the danger Evelyn had faced for so long, until Jasper Moore had been caught and imprisoned seven months ago, was over. They’d been so sure of it they’d begun planning their wedding. She was supposed to meet Amarok at the Moosehead today—possibly right now; she’d lost track of time—to talk about the food they’d serve. On the eighth of July, they were going to be married in a small ceremony in Alaska, where he’d been born and raised. Then, after the birth of their baby, they were going to fly to Boston, where she’d grown up, for a second reception in the fall.

Struggling to even out her breathing and slow the pounding of her heart, she hugged her knees tighter to her chest—as much as her swollen stomach would allow. If the person who’d kidnapped her was one of the psychopaths she’d worked with, she had some inkling what to expect. He was probably someone who was easily threatened. Someone who lived to dominate others. Someone who had to win no matter what the cost. Someone who enjoyed torture and/or killing.

She could go on simply by ticking off the traits named on the PCL-R, which was what Dr. Robert Hare had created to help diagnose a psychopath. She knew what such people had in common. Glib charm. Impulsivity. Grandiose estimation of self. Cunning and manipulative. The list went on. The real question was: Could she tolerate what her captor had in store for her? Hold him off long enough to get away?

She had to. If she wanted to live, if she wanted the unborn child she carried to survive, she had to be both strong and smart. But the most debilitating of memories exacerbated her panic and fear. This wasn’t the first time she’d been victimized. She’d been only sixteen when her boyfriend, intelligent, popular and well-loved Jasper Moore, had killed her best friends and tried to kill her. It was a miracle she’d managed to drag her broken and bruised body from the shack where he’d left her after torturing her for three days. Had she been any less determined to survive, she wouldn’t have made it.