I’d kill him dead.

Bull had only asked her why. Normally, she wouldn’t have gotten upset…but she’d felt cornered. Of course, she wanted to share everything with him, but it wasn’t her life on the line. How could she live with herself if she asked Bull for help and he went to the police? To his brother, the chief.

Once told, Gabe would have to do what the law required, even if a little boy might be hurt. Oh, the hard-faced law officer was a kind man. Hadn’t she seen how he was with Regan?

But he’d have to call in help. Matters would be taken out of his hands—and completely out of hers.

Nabera was a fanatic. Batshit crazy. She’d seen it in his eyes. It would be a slaughter.

“I can’t risk it,” Frankie whispered, “not even for you, Bull.” Even for what they had. Might have had. Wanted to have. Tears pooled in her eyes again.

The way she felt now was no surprise. She’d always known her heart would get broken.

She pressed her hand to her aching chest. It was past broken. Crushed into painful splinters.

Because…she loved him. Oh, Madonna, she really did.

She rolled onto her back. What would he be doing now? Trying to sleep—and staring at the ceiling like her? Or sitting with Gryff on his deck, watching the lake.

Her wine was gone, but still, she could go outside to the dark water. Whisper goodbye and see if the sound carried across to the Hermitage.

Right, and how pitiful would that make her?

And maybe—

What is that?

A rustling noise came from outside. Bull? Her hopes rose so high they bounced off the ceiling.

No, silly. He wouldn’t be walking around the back of her cabin.

Sitting up in bed, she listened to more rustling. The crunch of gravel. Other nights, hearing the same noises, she’d peeked out the window and seen a bear. The next time, it’d been a moose.

So amazing. So Alaska.

Her New York pride roused a bit. There were bears in her state—up in the Adirondacks. Not that she’d ever seen any.

She moved a little and realized that having an oversized glass of wine before bed wasn’t clever—not if one possessed only a teacup-sized bladder. Boy, did she have to pee.

She made a beeline into the bathroom across from her tiny bedroom corner. Her fingers searched for the light switch.

In the living area at the front—and behind her—glass crashed, and things thudded on the wood flooring.

What? She spun, half in, half out of the bathroom.

PHOOM! PHOOM! PHOOM! The explosions were in the living space and her bedroom area. The black interior of the cabin lit up like the sun had risen.

Her whole left side stung and burned. What was happening?