“Leaving so soon?” The voice was whisper-soft and high-pitched with excitement.

The steel of the blade caught the light. Her blood stained the tip. Adele didn’t want to die. She wasn’t ready. “May God forgive you.”

The person cackled but cut off abruptly as the sound of sirens rose in the distance.

Adele raised her head and gave a weak smile.

The monster flipped her onto her back and rifled through her pockets and took out her cell. Pressed the disconnect button. Squatted there almost contemplatively.

“God doesn’t give a shit about you or me. You’re nothing and no one, but if it makes you feel better to believe in something before you die, who am I to argue…”

Adele sucked in a steadying breath as the person stood, but the relief was short lived.

They plunged the blade into her abdomen once, twice, three times.

“Let’s see how much comfort God brings now.”

The pain was overwhelming. Blood began to fill Adele’s mouth, her nose. Her vision started to fade as she watched her killer stuff the knife into their pocket and walk quickly away, heading for the fire exit.

Adele drifted toward unconsciousness but thought she heard banging on the front door. Back here. I’m back here. Blood was everywhere now and the flutter of her heart didn’t seem as strong as before. The exit door opened, and firemen rushed inside. But Adele knew she wasn’t going to survive this. They were too late. Everything went gray.

Chapter Sixteen

Eban carried the bags he’d packed at Darby’s apartment up the steep ladder steps to the loft bedroom. He’d been unnerved by the strength of emotion that had consumed him while holding her in his arms after all these months and one hell of a fucking ordeal later.

He hadn’t wanted to let go.

He needed to get his shit together. He wasn’t here on vacation. This was not a romantic getaway. There was more than one bed and, unfortunately, they weren’t snowed in. Although, if the weather reports were to be believed, that was a real possibility over the next few days. And he would be fine with that.

He contemplated unpacking for her but decided Darby wasn’t a kid and would probably prefer to do it herself. He knew she resented not being treated like an equal. The eight-year age gap didn’t help his guilt over his less-than-professional thoughts regarding this woman. But she was a mature, self-sufficient twenty-six-year-old who could kill and field dress a deer when necessary. She was a tough cookie and had survived things that would have broken others.

He climbed back down the ladder and found her curled up on the couch, phone in hand, in front of the wood stove which had started to kick out some serious heat.

He grabbed his own belongings and brought them into the bedroom downstairs. He hadn’t given Darby a choice about which room was hers. He could not afford to be too far away from any potential point of entry. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t worried about the press or some vigilante coming after her. It was unlikely Martin’s killer would track her down, more likely they’d avoid anything that might draw attention toward themselves.