The drive to town seemed interminable. There was so much Peyton wanted to say—and yet she couldn’t find the right words. She and Virgil both sat staring straight ahead, as if the attraction that had compelled them to be together now tore them apart with equal force.

Peyton hated the change. She didn’t want what had happened between them to end this way. But she couldn’t pretend she’d be willing to let the relationship progress, couldn’t hold on to him for fear of where it might lead. He was the first man in a very long time to capture her interest, but she knew he wouldn’t be flattered if she told him that. He’d expected her to balk at some point, to escape the risk associated with him, and now she’d done that. His anger made her feel rigid and judgmental and selfish—all the things she didn’t want to be.

But she had the right to look out for herself, didn’t she? She’d known from the beginning they couldn’t have anything beyond a professional relationship.

She glanced over at him, his face an implacable mask. His defenses had snapped into place the moment he asked if she regretted being with him and she hadn’t been able to answer. He’d withdrawn so completely she doubted she could reach him again even if she tried. That caused an odd sense of loss, which added confusion to the already jumbled emotions churning in her gut.

“I know you’re worried about Laurel, but you shouldn’t be.” She broke the silence with what she hoped would provide some reassurance. “Wallace isn’t my favorite person, but I believe he’ll try his best to keep her safe.”

“He’ll be sorry if he doesn’t.”

The steely determination behind those words frightened Peyton. She didn’t want him to do anything that might land him in worse trouble—which proved she was making the right choice by backing away. He couldn’t divorce himself from all the experiences that made him who he was or the responsibilities that forced his hand, and neither could she.

“You can’t think like that,” she said.

His eyes cut to her, and for the briefest moment she remembered the tenderness with which he’d touched her last night. Not that any of that tenderness showed now.

She adjusted the position of her hands on the wheel. “What?”

He didn’t respond, but he didn’t have to. That look was enough. He was telling her to mind her own business.

“Just because I’m not willing to ruin my life by getting any more…involved with you doesn’t mean I don’t care about you,” she blurted out.

A muscle flexed in his cheek—evidence of some strong emotion. “I never asked you to care about me. Last night was nothing. We got off a few times. That was it.”

His response felt like a slap in the face. She’d honestly wanted to be with him, not anyone else. That made it more than a purely physical encounter. “So I was just a piece of ass? Your last hurrah before going back inside?”

“First and last.”

She shot him a dirty look. “Thanks for making me feel cheap.”

“You’re the one who did that.”

“You know what our situation is. I don’t have any choice.”

He took a deep breath before hitting her with a penetrating stare. “That’s true. So stay away from me in the future.”

“Your gratitude astounds me.”

“I didn’t ask you for any favors.”

“And I didn’t do you one. I was…sincere, Virgil. I—”

“Stop it. We were never meant to be friends.” He shifted his attention to the window until she pulled to the curb at the usual place. She thought he’d walk off without even a goodbye, but he turned back at the last second, removed the medallion that hung around his neck on a leather cord and handed it to her.

“What’s this?” she asked in surprise.

“The strap it hangs on is the only thing I’ve ever made.”

The pain in her chest grew more acute. After what he’d just said, after feeling his frustration and anger, she hadn’t expected this and didn’t know how to take it. “Why are you giving it to me?”

“Why not display a token of my admiration along with everyone else’s?” he said. Then he shut the door and walked off.

The medallion was a Spanish coin from 1739. She had no idea where he’d gotten such a rare object, but she guessed it would’ve been worth quite a bit—which, once again, showed that he didn’t think like most people, didn’t value the same things.

The coin’s monetary value meant nothing to her, either. What mattered was that it was still warm from the heat of his chest.

Because of that, she couldn’t help pressing it to her own.

Laurel paced the living room of the old, two-bedroom house where Rick Wallace had taken her, pausing every few minutes to part the drapes and peer out at the street. As it approached eight, traffic increased, even though it was Sunday. The long night was over, but that didn’t make her feel any better.

“Stop worrying,” Wallace said for the umpteenth time, but he was one to talk. He’d just about worn a hole in the linoleum of the kitchen.

“They could’ve followed us,” she responded. “We might not be any safer here than we were in Florence.” They’d driven three hours to reach this 1920s brick house in the small ranching community of Gunnison, but that didn’t feel far enough.

He scowled at her. “No one followed us because no one saw us leave. No one was around when I went to your door.”

“You can’t be sure of that.”

“You said yourself that you’d just called the police, that they checked the house, the yard and the street.”

“But it took a while to gather our belongings. I didn’t know you were coming, so I wasn’t prepared. The men in that Ford Fusion could’ve returned while we were packing. They could’ve been hidden by trees or some other parked vehicle and watched us load up, then followed us when we drove away.”

Rubbing a hand over his face, he cursed under his breath. “Quit spooking yourself.”

“If you’d been around when that man showed up with a gun…when he pointed it at Mia…” Fighting tears of exhaustion and disappointment, Laurel swallowed hard. “He got into my house without making a sound. And he wouldn’t have hesitated to pull that trigger if he’d thought we were worth more to him dead.”

“Then it’s a good thing I came when I did.” Wallace wasn’t any happier to be here than she was. He’d made it clear that he wasn’t used to such duties, had no patience with them. It hadn’t helped that her children had frayed his nerves by whining on the long drive. Amid all the chaos, Wallace had tried to explain who he was and why he was bringing her here. He’d said that a U.S. marshal would be taking over soon, but she wasn’t sure what it all meant. Wallace had told her she’d never be able to take her kids back home—was that true?

She couldn’t even conceive of it. What about her job as a janitor at the hospital? Her house? Her friends? She hadn’t been in Florence long enough to put down many roots. She’d moved there just eleven months ago, shortly after they transferred Virgil from USB Tucson to ADX Florence, but she had more there than anywhere else. She couldn’t imagine disappearing without saying a word to the people she’d met. Trinity Woods, the woman who babysat Mia and Jake while she worked had probably already arrived to find them gone. Although Laurel had wanted to call her, to tell her not to come, Trinity had shut off her cell phone service in order to save money.

“This can’t be happening,” she muttered.

“Oh, it’s happening, all right,” Wallace said. He claimed she was going into the Witness Protection Program, but until now WITSEC, as he called it, had had no relevance to her life beyond what she’d seen on TV. She’d never dreamed she’d be adopted into it herself. Her husband had been as physically abusive as the stepfather her mother had killed. She’d reported him and he’d spent a few months in jail, but the cops hadn’t been able to do much more to help her. Now, after she’d worked through that problem mostly on her own, they were whisking her away, promising a new identity?