Abbie made it to the elevator without her knees folding.

Hunter-a man who probably had a car and full-time driver at his disposal-had driven her home. Why? Who the hell was he?

She still saw him jumping over the wall and kicking the glass tower of candles into the pool. Where had he come from?

Had he been following her when she met with Gwen? Why?

Back to him driving her home.

He had to be concerned she’d blab his name to security and the media, but she hadn’t given him a chance to broach that topic. She’d have to go public at some point when either the police came to ask more questions or someone in WCXB’s news department pressed for an eyewitness story.

Stuey would have a hemorrhage the minute he found out she’d been in the middle of this mess, then he’d go ballistic when she didn’t turn in a report tonight. He’d want it both ways-to kill her and to get the news scoop. Wentworth security had managed to keep media contained outside, but names and details would leak by tomorrow morning.

The elevator door whooshed opened on the third floor of her apartment building. The carpet in the hallway always smelled of every human who had ever lived here.

But it was home, safe, home.

Gwen’s face, the bullet tearing through her shoulder, ripped skin, the blood, the…

Abbie covered her mouth to cut off a sob before it broke her control. Her chest still hurt from sucking air in, but at least she was breathing regularly again after having the wind knocked out of her.

She fumbled with her keys and stared at her lock, hearing Hunter’s calm voice reassuring her she was safe after hitting the concrete so hard. He’d calmed the panic fisting her lungs when she couldn’t breathe. His whispers had soothed her terror for those few seconds.

Then the Hispanic guy told Hunter to leave before anyone showed up. Why? That same security guy failed to mention Hunter’s presence at the crime scene to the police later.

She’d kept her mouth shut and hadn’t shared a thing, because she was in enough trouble without starting more with some rich guy. But why hadn’t the security guy said something?

Money? Someone in Hunter’s position probably paid to keep his name out of the media.

But nothing was discussed while they were on the patio. Had he made that arrangement with security earlier?

She unlocked the door and turned the deadbolt when she closed it.

Better already. She flipped on the table lamp in the foyer and walked into the dark living room, where she tossed her purse on her funky grape-colored sofa. Leaving the lights off, she moved over to the window and pushed the blinds apart to see if Hunter had left yet.

The black sedan pulled away from the front of her building.

Should she have let him come up to talk? That’s what he’d been after when she shut the door in his face.

No chance he’d call her after tonight, especially when all this hit the news.

Call her? He didn’t have her number, her last name, nothing. He could come back to her apartment, but what would be the point? Not like she was going to hold any special place in his little black book.

He was a mystery for sure, but she still saw him jumping over the wall around Gwen’s patio and covering them with his body. Shielding them in darkness. Whispering that she was safe.

He’d charged into danger. Like a real man.

She sighed out loud since no one could hear the blind adoration escape with her exhale.

Defying her earlier uncharitable judgment of him, he had turned out to be something far different than she’d imagined. Not your run-of-the-mill playboy.

She didn’t know what he was exactly, but she had enough sense to keep him outside her apartment if she didn’t want to do something stupid like let him end up in her bed. Enduring a close encounter with death acted like an aphrodisiac.

Climbing into the sack with him wouldn’t have taken a lot of inducement.

Her body wanted to be held and loved in the worst way right now, and only by one man. Hunter had sparked a fire in her libido that had lain dormant for so long she wouldn’t have thought a private night with the Chippendales could stir an ember of interest.

That’s why she could not face anyone, especially Hunter, until tomorrow, after a shower, chocolate, and some sleep.

Chocolate might come first.

On the way to her bedroom, she slowed next to her philodendron plant that drooped over the side of the bowl, acting like this was its last day on earth. “That’s not good.”

Reaching around to unbutton the top of her dress, she headed for the kitchen, pulling the dress off. Her body sighed. She flung the dress over her arm. One advantage of living alone was being able to walk around in her bra and panties or less. Light blared in her face when she opened the refrigerator door, searching, searching…

There was the half-eaten box of Godiva chocolates.

“I am so ready for you,” she murmured, snatching up a truffle that turned into mocha pleasure in her mouth. She felt her stomach moan.

I am so ready for bed. She should have a cat to round out the image of a single woman with no life. But she could barely keep a plant alive, and if having a life meant getting shot at she’d take boring any day.

Poor Gwen. Had she survived? Who wanted to hurt her?

Abbie said a prayer for the young woman, then one for her mother, who was getting worse by the day.

Where would she and Dr. Tatum find help now? The minute Kore found out she was with the media they’d shuffle her off with some watered-down press release.

If she contacted Peter Wentworth about talking to Gwen again they’d probably have her arrested.

Tomorrow, she’d figure out something.

She licked her lips and headed to the bedroom, flipping the wall switch for her lamp when she stepped inside. Nothing happened. Flipped it up and down, up and down. Nothing.

She walked over to try the lamp switch.

“Stop.”

Abbie froze at the sound of a disembodied male voice in the dark room. He stood right behind her. She wrapped her arms protectively around her exposed body and tried to speak. Nothing came out. The shaking started at her knees, traveled up her spine.

Cold metal poked her back. A gun? “Get down on your knees.”

Terror razored through her, but she pushed her mind past it to think defense. “Who are you?”

“Now.”

The second she bent her knees they buckled. She landed hard on the floor and pushed her legs beneath her so that she knelt, trying to follow his orders until she could figure out what to do next.

Icy fingers touched her neck.

She flinched, huddling the dress protectively against her front. “Please, don’t.”

His fingers moved down her back. He must have squatted down. She could feel his breath on her neck.

“You did a good job tonight, Abigail.”

Tonight? What was he talking about? How did he know her name?

Her heart pounded with violent thumps. She covered her breasts. This couldn’t be happening.

His finger slid beneath her bra strap and moved along her back. She pressed her hands over her breasts, praying for the strength to fight him.

“Nice bra.”

Her lip trembled.

He jerked the dress from her hands. The material slapped the wall.

She squeezed her eyes against a flood of tears. Don’t break down now. Not when she needed to be ready for any chance to get away.

“Who’s the guy that brought you home?” he said.

“I-” She coughed and tried to swallow but didn’t have a drop of spit in her throat. “I don’t know.” Hunter?

His harsh laugh blew the loose curls along her neck.

Was he angry? What would he do to her now? “He was just a driver-”

“That’s a lie.”

She shook from bone-chilling fear. Oh, God. Her heart hurt from beating so fast. “What do you want?”