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“You’re welcome. Lie low for a while. Both of you,” he adds with a pointed look at me. “If you’re right and he veered off because of Sadie, then it was you he’s after.”

“But why? Why go after Maverick?” Sadie asks.

“Because I’m in the way,” I tell her honestly. “Which is where I firmly plan to stay.”

SADIE

Idon’t want to leave.

But as I lie here in the dark, staring up at the ceiling fan, I’m not sure what else I can do. Maverick’s life is in danger because of me.

The monster was here. Downstairs while I was sleeping. He sat at the bar, likely sizing Maverick up, trying to decide whether he was going to kill him right there or wait. Did he leave the license on the bar to scare me? Or to draw Maverick out?

Silent tears stream down my cheeks. No matter how many times I close my eyes to try to sleep, the nightmarish memories are relentless.

Me chained in the damp cellar.

Him grabbing my hair.

His breath on my neck.

I turn onto my side and curl into myself.

I don’t want to be alone. I can’t be alone.

Throwing the covers off, I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, then head for the door. If he’s asleep, I don’t feel bad for waking him up. Not now. Not tonight when the darkness is crawling with monsters and memories I’d rather leave buried in the ground.

Gripping the handle, I pull the door open and stop in my tracks as Maverick looks up at me. He’s seated on the ground just outside his apartment, back to the wall.

For a moment, I just stare at him.

Why is he sitting in the hallway?

And then I notice the gun on the floor beside him.

“Are you sleeping out here?”

“I wanted to make sure you were safe.”

My eyes fill, and I take a deep breath as I try to clear my mind. “I don’t want to be alone.”

Maverick stands, taking his gun with him. “Want to watch some TV?”

I nod, then close the door behind me and follow him into his apartment.

The pure, masculine scent that is Maverick Fargo envelops me. And as it does, an overwhelming feeling of security rushes through my body. But then there’s the guilt again, consuming everything that is left and reminding me that, if it weren’t for me, Maverick wouldn’t have been targeted.

“I’m so sorry,” I tell him as soon as he’s shut and locked his door.

“For what?”

I turn to face him. “You could have died tonight, Maverick.”

“That’s not something you need to be sorry for.” He sets his gun on a table beside his couch.

“It’s my fault.”

“No.”