‘I’m going to make sure he doesn’t follow you,’ Sam called back, not turning from his purposeful stride towards the door. Tammy stood in shock for a few seconds, but then a wave of self-worth hit her. She did deserve better than the hand she’d been dealt, and if a generous stranger was offering her a two-minute window to change her future, she couldn’t turn it down. She tossed her cigarette, opened the car door, and dropped into the driver’s seat. As she fumbled with the key in the ignition, she glanced at the rear-view mirror, watching as the door to her motel room opened and her partner’s furious face was met with a vicious fist. She yelped in panic. The engine roared to life, and she pulled away, heading towards the exit of the parking lot, to a new sense of freedom as her saviour stepped into the room and shut the door behind him.

She turned onto the main road, put her foot down as hard as she could, and headed away from the life she was leaving behind.

Two minutes later, Sam calmly stepped out of the room and softly closed the door. He hung the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign over the handle and walked towards his Mustang, shaking away the pain in his knuckles.

He got into the car, turned the key in the ignition, and set off on the rest of his journey, knowing there was another five or so hours before he would get to Dillon.

By the time the man was discovered or regained consciousness, Sam would be long gone.

Chapter Seven

‘Happy New Year!’

Alex Stone sarcastically cheered in her New York accent and Sam smiled, then grimaced immediately. It had been nearly four weeks since Sam had been shot twice and the aftereffects were still in play. Whoever had fired the gun that had nearly ended his life was trained.

The shot through the shoulder had been during a deadly shoot-out, just outside an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of Rome. The bullet that had ripped through his back, that had been precise.

A shot to wound.

Just trying to sit up caused Sam to wince, and his mind flooded back to that night. The wet, freezing Italian night, the cries of panic from the locals as Sam’s car was sent spiralling into a lamppost. He had crawled through the broken glass in a pathetic attempt to escape when the gunshot echoed. The bullet ripped through his body, bringing him to his knees. The feeling of defeat as he heard the boots crunching across the glass behind him.

The sound of a coat sleeve shuffling as his attacker lifted the gun.

But it was the voice that had stayed with him.

‘I’ve waited a long time for this.’