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The thought made her smile. It was an expense, but if she was careful, she could afford it. She could go to the local animal shelter and get a kitten. No, maybe a full-grown cat would be better, one that was used to being on its own during the day.

She’d also take Pamela up on her offer to go out for coffee next time the other woman asked. She’d always cited excuses before, hurrying home after each work shift, unconsciously afraid to make friends. That was all about to change. Maybe she’d even ask Pamela herself after work tomorrow.

Her heart felt lighter than it had in a long time, but her body was still bone tired.

Her building came into sight but she couldn’t work up any energy to hurry her step.

Finally, after what seemed like hours instead of minutes, she trudged up the stairs to her apartment.

Unlocking her door, she shoved it open and walked inside. Her gaze swept the room. Satisfied, she stepped inside, shut the door and engaged all the locks. Her feet throbbed, reminding her she no longer needed to wear shoes. Dumping her sweater and purse on the floor, she went to work removing them. It wasn’t easy getting her body to bend over. Her back ached and she groaned, but that turned into a moan of pleasure as each shoe was pulled off. She wiggled her tired toes and flexed her feet.

The pantyhose had to go. Roxanne reached up under her bubblegum pink polyester uniform and grabbed the waistband. As she peeled them down her legs, she silently cursed Joe for wanting a retro feel for his diner. He wasn’t the one who had to wear bubblegum pink polyester every day. The diner was always full and the heat from the kitchen made the entire place sweltering hot, in spite of the tiny air conditioner that worked overtime to cool the dining area.

Pantyhose gone, she gave a sigh of relief and kicked them aside. Normally, she was very tidy with her things, but tonight she was too tired to care. “Tomorrow,” she muttered. She was working a later shift tomorrow so she could actually sleep in.

Her stomach growled. She needed to eat something even though she didn’t feel like it. A can of soup would be the quickest thing. It wouldn’t take long to heat. She padded toward the kitchen, pausing when she neared the davenport. She stopped and peered around the room. Something was different.

Adrenaline pumped through her body, heightening her senses. A voice inside her head screamed at her to run. Not hesitating, she raced for the door, her hands clawing at the locks. Four off and one to go.

She didn’t dare look over her shoulder, fearing what she’d see if she did. She couldn’t hear a thing above the pounding of her heart. Her breath was choppy, her hands shaking.

A light scent lingered in the air in front of the bathroom door. An expensive men’s cologne. One she hadn’t smelled in more than a year. Michael’s cologne.

“Not leaving so soon, are you?” He hadn’t made a sound or, if he did, she hadn’t heard. Suddenly he was behind her, his heavy body shoving hers against the door.

She cried out as he slammed her head against the door before grabbing her by the hair and pulling her backward. He thrust her to the side. Her hip smashed against the side of the davenport and she grabbed it for support. Her nightmare stood before her, except he was all too real.

Michael was even larger than when he went to prison, which was saying something. His blond hair was longer and tied at the nape of his neck with a leather thong. He was wearing a sleeveless shirt, which showed off broad shoulders, large biceps and the tattoos that ran the length of both arms.

His eyes were just as she remembered—cold, unforgiving blue ice. When he spoke, his voice was the same, calm and unemotional.

“Now that’s no way for the wife to greet her husband.” He took a step toward her and she scrambled backward.

“You’re not my husband,” she whispered. She wanted to scream, but fear had tightened her throat, making it impossible. She moved slowly away from him. A weapon. She needed something to defend herself.

“Of course I’m your husband. No piece of paper or judge is going to change that.” He took another step closer. Reaching between his legs, he cupped the large bulge there.

“I’ve been in prison a long time. I’ve spent a lot of hours thinking about this reunion, about what I wanted to do to you when I got out.”

He smiled, flashing a perfect set of pearly white teeth. “Nice place. I know you meant to send me a forwarding address, but that’s okay. A buddy of mine from prison is really good at finding people. He’s pure magic with a computer.” Her blood ran cold. All the time she’d thought she was safe he’d known exactly where to find her. “If you kill me, you’ll be the prime suspect.” He shook his head and sighed. “You never were really smart, Roxy. But that’s okay, I’ll take care of you just like I used to. You’ve put on a few pounds and cut your hair, but we can take care of that.”

Roxanne could feel herself shrinking beneath his gaze. Memories of being told she was stupid, again and again, threatened to destroy the year’s worth of work she’d done to rebuild her self-confidence. She reached deep inside to the core of strength she’d slowly and painstakingly built. “No. I don’t want you to take care of me. I’m fine by myself.”

“Now, Roxy. That’s your opinion, which doesn’t really matter squat.” He moved fast as a snake, grabbing the front of her uniform and tugging her toward him. He leaned down and she could smell peppermint on his breath. He’d always liked mint candies and the scent of them turned her stomach.

He yanked her upward until she was standing on her tiptoes. “You’re going to call work and quit your job. Then you’re going to pack your clothes. I’ve got a place back in Nevada. It will be just like old times.”

She shook her head. She couldn’t go back. Wouldn’t go back. “You’re crazy. I won’t do it. I won’t go with you.”

His gaze narrowed. “Now, Roxy. That’s not a nice thing to say to me after I’ve come all this way to get you.” He shoved her back, hard and fast. She toppled over the back of the davenport and tumbled onto the floor, hitting her head on the edge of the coffee table.

Her vision dimmed as she tried to clear her head. She could feel the stickiness on the side of her temple and knew she was bleeding. The sound of boot heels on the tile startled her into action. She grabbed the edge of the chair and pulled herself upright. It was then she noticed the tapestry lying on the davenport.

That’s what she’d unconsciously noticed, what had made her stop before she’d actually smelled his cologne. She’d put the tapestry on the back of the chair this morning but it had been on the davenport when she’d gotten home. Too bad her brain hadn’t made the connection before she’d locked herself into her apartment with a madman.

He followed her gaze and shook his head. “Still buying other people’s garbage, Roxy? This whole place stinks of it. A few mismatched dishes, some ragtag furniture and a moth-eaten rug. Not a lot to be proud of.”

Michael’s hands went to his belt buckle and he slowly began to release it. The leather swooshed through the loops of his jeans as he removed it. He held it easily in his hands. Roxanne was paralyzed with fear. She’d felt the heavy leather and the hard metal buckle against her flesh too many times not to know what was coming next.

Anger, hard and swift, broke through her fear. She wasn’t a victim. Not any longer.

He might kill her, but she wasn’t going anywhere with him. Lunging toward the bookshelf, she grabbed a chunk of rock she’d picked up on the beach and threw it at him.

Disbelief flared in his face as he ducked the projectile. She sent a vase flying after it.

“Get out!” She screamed it as loud as she could. “Fire!” She figured that would get the attention of her neighbors faster than anything else. Maybe someone would call the cops.