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Chapter 1 — Lyla

The coffee aisle smells like autumn. Cinnamon, nutmeg, and all those warm spices they stock this time of year.

I'm debating between two brands when I hear his voice behind me.

"Lyla."

My hand freezes halfway to the shelf. The plastic basket drops from my other hand and hits the floor with a dull thud that echoes through the small store.

I don't turn around. I can't.

"Come on, don't be like that..." Trevor's voice is closer now, that familiar blend of charm and irritation that used to make me second-guess myself. "I drove all the way out here. The least you can do is talk to me."

My heart is racing so hard I'm sure he can hear it.

Three days… I've been in Bloomfield for three days, and he already found me.

"I don't want to talk to you." I force the words out, still facing the coffee shelf like it might offer some kind of protection. "Please leave me alone."

"Babe..."

"Don't call me that."

I grab my purse from the basket and head for the front of the store. Forget the groceries.

Ray, the owner, is at the counter ringing up an elderly woman with a bag of birdseed.

He glances up as I pass, and whatever he sees in my face makes his expression shift.

"Everything okay, miss?"

"Fine," I say, too quickly, and push through the door.

The October air hits my face, cool and sharp. The street is quiet this late in the morning. A few cars parked along the curb, leaves skittering across the pavement, the mountains visible in the distance under a clear blue sky.

It would be beautiful if I could breathe properly.

The door opens behind me. Trevor.

"Lyla, wait!"

I walk faster, heading toward where I parked my car three stores down. My keys are somewhere in my purse, and my hands are shaking too much to find them.

"Jesus Christ, would you just stop?" His hand closes around my upper arm, and I do stop. But only because my body has locked up entirely.

"Let go of me."

"Not until you listen..."

"She asked you to let go!"

The voice comes from my left. It's deeper than Trevor's, calmer, and carries the kind of quiet authority that makes Trevor's hand drop from my arm immediately.

I turn and see him for the first time, crossing the street from the direction of the Sheriff's Office.

Tall doesn't cover it. He's massive, broad-shouldered in a way that makes his tan uniform look like it was tailored specifically to contain all that size. Dark hair, a beard that's neatly trimmed, and green eyes that are currently locked on Trevor with an expression I can't quite read.

"This doesn't concern you," Trevor says, but there's an edge of uncertainty in his voice now.