Page 38 of Tracking Safety

One conversation in a church wasn’t enough to undo whatever narrative he’d developed about why she left.

But she hoped it was a start.

“For what it’s worth,” she murmured, “I never stopped thinking about you. About all of you. There wasn’t a single day I didn’t . . . I just want you to know that.”

His jaw flexed. “I know you think that’s true.”

His words didn’t indicate forgiveness. They weren’t even close to forgiveness. But they were an acknowledgment that she wasn’t simply a woman who’d walked away without looking back.

She’d take it.

They walked another half block in silence. Luke’s truck was visible ahead, parked where he’d left it in front of Hollow House.

They were almost there.

Jenna was already thinking about what came next. Wes arriving. Luke leaving for Refuge Cove. Their unfinished conversations.

She looked at the ground, putting one foot in front of the other.

Then she looked up.

The same instinct had kept her alive reared its head.

What had triggered it now?

Her gaze stopped on a dark SUV at the far end of the block.

The vehicle headed toward them—and it was moving fast.

Her lungs froze.

The driver didn’t slow, even though there was pedestrian traffic ahead of it.

Then the SUV turned.

And the driver aimed the vehicle straight at Luke and Jenna.

Luke saw the SUV just as Jenna gasped beside him.

He grabbed her arm and threw himself sideways, taking her with him.

They hit a narrow strip of grass between the sidewalk and an antique shop.

Luke twisted as they went down, his shoulder taking the worst of it.

The SUV screamed past, a gust of wind from its wake sweeping over them.

Luke lay still with Jenna half beneath him. His heart slammed against his ribs as he waited, anticipating more danger.

Finally, he lifted his head.

The SUV had reached the end of the block. The vehicle fishtailed as it took the corner too fast. Then it disappeared.

Luke and Jenna were safe—for a moment, at least.

At once, Luke became aware of how close he and Jenna were.

Her face was inches from his. One hand gripped his jacket with white-knuckled fingers.