“What’s going on?” Melissa asked as she rolled over.

“I can’t tell,” he said, and then crawled back into bed and pulled her into his arms. “Good morning, sweetheart,” he said, and kissed the hollow at the base of her throat.

Melissa sighed and wrapped her arms around his neck. “You make it a good morning.”

Sully stilled, absorbing the love in her voice and the gentleness in her touch. He knew, as well as he knew his own name, that nothing about them finding each other again was by chance. That soul-to-soul recognition of belonging was there between them. No matter how far apart, or how long the time, love finds a way home.

He lifted his head, kissed his way up to her lips, then after a time moved over her. Poised above her, hovering like a moth about to die in the flame, he took her. The joining was a pleasure and an ache, with a longing for more.

And so it began—like a courtship on the cusp of true love, the motion tentative, testing the rhythm, feeling the tension of muscles within, then giving up all hesitation to the need within them.

All sense of time faded into the need to burn, and then it happened. In the onrush of the climax washing through them, they forgot to breathe, and for the space of that little death, they were one.

* * *

The warning of an escaped convict came in an early-morning alert on Chief Pittman’s cell phone from the Georgia State Police. An escapee by the name of Hoover Slade, who’d been incarcerated in the Coastal State Prison outside Savannah, was believed to be headed their way. He was to be considered armed and dangerous.

Lon immediately called the office. Travis Witty, the night dispatcher, would still be on duty.

“Blessings PD,” Travis said.

“Travis, it’s me. I need you to call in all of the deputies. We have an escapee presumed to be heading our way. I’m about to leave for the office now. I’ll fill them in on what’s happening when I get there.”

“Yes, Chief,” Travis said, and disconnected.

Lon pinned on his badge, dropped his weapon in the holster, and headed for the office, calling Mercy as he drove.

She answered, laughing. “You know this early in the morning my hands are sticky with dough and flour, so this better be important.”

“It is, baby. We have an escapee from Coastal State Prison who might be headed this way. His name is Hoover Slade. He grew up in the area, and he’s considered armed and dangerous.”

“Oh no! Are we in any danger?” Mercy asked.

“It’s hard to say, but to be on the safe side, we’re going to operate on the theory that we are. Better safe than sorry, which is why I called. Keep that back door in the kitchen locked until we get an all clear.”

“Yes, yes, we will, and can we warn customers as they come in?” Mercy asked.