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  If Benito found her, he wouldn’t kill her, but she’d already learned from him that there were worse things than death. Her heart began to race.

  She raised a trembling hand to her forehead. Again, she drew in a calming breath. The more she breathed, the more her heart slowed.

  There’d been no sign of Benito in nine months. She’d been very careful. She was okay. She was safe.

  Kristen closed her eyes and turned away from the door. She tried to push the worries from her mind.

  She would stay free of Benito.

  She would be fine.

  Heavy footsteps sounded on the front porch. She heard a knock. She opened her eyes and turned.

  A very tall man with broad shoulders stood on the other side of the glass door. He wore faded jeans that draped muscular thighs, a worn gray Virginia Tech T-shirt and brown scuffed work boots. A Carolina Panthers ball cap shadowed his rawboned face.

  She glanced at her watch. One-twenty. If this was her carpenter, he was early.

  Her stomach tightened a notch. Reason tried to rein in emotion. Surprises always made her nervous. She was far, far away from Benito and Sheridan had said a carpenter was coming.

  Being ten minutes early didn’t mean he was a trained killer. She studied the man. He pulled off his cap and smiled at her.

  “I’m looking for Sheridan,” he said through the glass. “I’m the carpenter.”

  She relaxed and moved to the door. She clicked back the latch. “Sorry,” she said through the glass door. “You surprised me.”

  His expression changed to sheepish, almost boyish. “Sorry. I got a habit of showing up early when I go to a new job. I’d hate it if I got lost and was late for my first day on a job.” His southern accent charmed her.

  She opened the door. His thick black hair looked in need of a haircut. This close, she could see the sun-etched lines at the corners of very blue eyes. His nose had a ridge in the center, as if it had been broken. There was a ketchup stain on his shirt.

  His deep, raspy voice had her pulse scrambling. And that was a surprise. She’d not looked twice at another man since Carlos.

  “You must be Kristen Rodale,” he said.

  “How do you know my name?”

  “Sheridan told me. She said she might have to go out of town for a few days. Said a pretty blonde worked for her.” He winked. “And I’m guessing that must be you.”

  She ran her hands through her short blond hair. “Right.”

  His suntanned hand was tucked casually in his pocket and his shoulders were relaxed. “Sorry again about startling you. I figured you must have heard my old truck pull up. The muffler is shot and makes a heck of a racket.”

  He seemed like a nice guy. And she was being overly paranoid. “I was lost in thought. Please come into the studio.”

  He chuckled, wiped his feet on the mat and came inside. “No worries. I zone out all the time.”

  She held out her hand. “I’m sorry, can you tell me your name again?” She knew the name but wanted to hear him say it first. Security always came first.

  His large callused hand enveloped hers. Even white teeth flashed. “The name is Cambia. Dane Cambia.”

  Dane had used his real name. Something he hadn’t done with the other leads Lucian had given him. Sloppy. Especially now, as Dane held Kristen Rodale’s hand, he feared Lucian had gotten it wrong again. She looked nothing like Elena Benito.

  This woman did not have Elena’s long dark hair, and the bleached-blond hair was a startling surprise. The short cut accentuated high cheekbones, pale skin and large brown, wary eyes.

  Kristen wore loose-fitting black yoga pants that skimmed her calves. A snug electric-blue top hugged her full breasts. Like Elena, she wasn’t tall—no more than five-one or-two—but she lacked Elena’s curves. Kristen’s body was lean. Her face was scrubbed clean of the heavy makeup Elena was so fond of and her nails weren’t polished. She looked more like a teenager than a woman in her midtwenties.

  Over the last two weeks, Dane had investigated three of the five identity hits Lucian’s computer program had generated. When he’d seen the other women, one glance had told him they had the wrong woman. But to be thorough, he’d hung around each woman for a day, playing out the alias he’d fashioned for himself until Lucian could run the prints.

  Now as he stood in the yoga studio, he thought about the time he’d waste today pretending to be a carpenter as he waited for an opportunity to get something with her prints on it. He never took shortcuts and he’d go through the motions, but already his mind was looking ahead to the next woman, in Kansas City, who Lucian had identified as a possible match.

  “Mr. Cambia, welcome to the studio.” Her voice was soft, hesitant, no hint of an accent.

  “Thanks, ma’am.”

  She took a step back. “Sheridan said she gave you a tour yesterday.”

  “Yeah. I missed you.” He’d been disappointed because he’d missed Kristen by seconds. In fact, he’d seen her walking down the street away from the studio. She’d been going to lunch and running errands for Sheridan.

  “I usually get the middle of the day off.” She didn’t elaborate.

  He smiled, projecting a relaxed appearance that was as fake as the accent. “Oh, no worries.”

  Kristen glanced toward the rooms Sheridan wanted renovated. “You know what needs to be done?”

  “Oh, I sure do, ma’am. Sheridan told me.”

  She smiled and to his surprise his gut tightened a notch. Elena or not, this woman was a stunner. Her soft brown eyes reminded him that he’d been alone for a long time.

  “Then I’ll let you get to it. Let me know if you need anything.”

  He moved into the first room off the reception area. Like the one it connected to, this room was very small and unusable for anything more than storage. Sheridan wanted to knock out a wall between the rooms and turn the spaces into one large room. He flipped on the light.

  Dane had done carpentry work with his foster father when he’d been a kid. The old man had made his living building houses and often took Dane and Nancy along to help.

  “So have you been at the studio long?” He kept his voice even.

  Kristen went behind the counter and turned on the computer. Beside the computer was a stack of blue forms that needed to be logged in. “Not that long.”

  He made a point of not looking directly at her when he spoke. A direct, assessing gaze signaled a predator for most women. “How do you like Lancaster Springs so far?”

  “It’s great.”

  Dane hated small talk, but it was necessary. “So Sheridan is about to be an aunt?”

  The mention of the baby had her relaxing more. “Her sister went into labor early this morning. She’s two weeks early. Sheridan had hoped to be here to supervise the project.”

  “Ah, my brother and his wife have five kids,” he lied. “They are a wild bunch, but good kids. Every one is a joy. Does Sheridan’s sister know if it’s a boy or a girl?”

  The remaining tension in her face faded. “Girl.”

  “They pick a name?”

  “I didn’t ask.”

  Now that was odd. Women usually asked about that kind of stuff. Nancy always had. But it made sense. She didn’t want to connect with anyone in case she had to take off soon.

  He moved toward the desk. His six-foot-two frame loomed over her. Immediately, he sensed his height made her nervous, so he stepped back to allow her more space. It wouldn’t do to spook her before he got a positive ID on her.

  He glanced into the studio off the reception area. Soft recessed lights shone on thick carpet, a pile of rolled up mats and a stack of blankets. “So you into this yoga stuff?”

  “I just started taking it from Sheridan.”

  He scratched his head. “I don’t know a darn thing about yoga. But it seems a little odd to be stretching your body in every direction. For me a workout involves sweat.”

  She laughed at that. “There’s more to it than you realize.
”

  “You look like you could be a teacher. What do you need, a license?”

  “Centeredness.”

  “What’s that?”

  She shrugged. “The ability to push the outside world from your mind and focus on one thing.”

  So she was distracted. Interesting. He shifted his gaze back to the room that would be reconstructed. “So what are Sheridan’s grand plans for this place after I’ve made it beautiful?” He knew he was supposed to be knocking down a wall, painting and building shelves.

  “Sheridan wants to turn the room and the one connected to it into a tearoom slash boutique. She wants to be able to sell more yoga supplies—mats, clothes, chimes and eye pillows.”

  He leaned against the doorjamb. “Sounds like a smart business lady.”

  “She is.”

  He pulled a notepad from his back hip pocket. “Sheridan said there are no more classes until Monday and I can get started on demolition today. She also said you’d be sticking around in case I needed anything.”

  Again, the bright smile, which he sensed was genuine. “I’ll be here.”

  He liked Kristen and he hoped she wasn’t Elena. Once Elena realized why he’d come, she’d despise him.

  “I could use a hand with the debris removal. It’s not heavy work.” He wanted to keep her close until Lucian made the ID. “I can pay ten bucks an hour.”

  Kristen’s eyes widened at the extra-high wage. For an instant she looked tempted, and then she shook her head. “Thanks, but I work for Sheridan.”

  Loyal. That was very un-Elena. “So you stop and answer the phone when it rings. What else are you going to do this week?”

  She glanced at the desk and the pile of unfolded flyers and empty envelopes. “I have brochures to get in the mail and registrations to enter.”

  “How long is that gonna take?”

  She hesitated. “Four or five hours.”

  “You can do that in the evenings. Help me and earn some extra money.”

  She tapped her finger on the reception desk. “Doesn’t that cut into your profits?”

  Damn, but she was a cautious one. “The faster I get this job done, the better impression I make. I want Sheridan as a reference so I can build business in the area.”

  She folded her arms over her chest. “Your offer is very tempting—”

  “I pay in cash at the end of each day,” he said quickly before she could say no.

  Her eyes brightened. Ah, there was the magic word—cash. She couldn’t be pulling down much here. And if she were living on the run, she’d need all the cash she could scrape together.

  “Okay.”

  Dane grinned. He held out his hand. “Then it’s a deal?”

  Reluctantly she took his hand. “It’s a deal.”

  He held her hand an extra beat and then released it. “Great.”

  She pulled her hand free. “When do you want to get started?”

  He shrugged. “No time like the present.”

  She nodded. “I’ll just change.”

  “Perfect.”

  Without a word, he watched her dash up the back staircase.

  Last night he’d been watching the place. He’d caught a glimpse of her trim body on the second floor before she’d closed the shades. Her living here would make her easier to monitor tonight. Easier to contain.

  Today he’d get her fingerprints and give them to Lucian.

  Tomorrow Lucian would confirm her ID.

  He hoped she wasn’t Elena Benito. Kristen Rodale struck him as a good person. And he didn’t want to drag her into his dark world.

  But if Kristen turned out to be Elena, he’d set aside whatever warm feelings he had.

  He was going to catch Benito. No matter who he had to use.

  Chapter 4

  Wednesday, May 16, 1:25 p.m.

  Kristen pulled on a pair of faded jeans and a white T-shirt. She neatly folded the yoga pants and top that Sheridan had given her and put both in her knapsack, which she always kept packed.

  Her movements were deliberate, slow, a holdover from her days growing up with her brother. He hated disorganization and sloppiness and he’d expected her to be perfect. Her hand slid to her cheek as she remembered a time when he hit her so hard she’d have sworn her teeth had rattled in her head. He’d been angry that day because she’d left her shoes out in the middle of her bedroom. He’d tripped on them when he’d come into her room to wish her well in school. But the stinging red mark he’d left on her face had meant she couldn’t go to school that day or the next. She’d been fifteen years old.

  Kristen curled her fingers into a fist. Anger boiled inside her as she remembered how she’d cowered in front of him that day so long ago.

  As she zipped the knapsack closed, she forced the memory from her mind and replaced it with Dane Cambia’s quick smile. His deep voice swirled in her head. He’d said all the right things and seemed like one of the good guys. And she liked him.

  Kristen put on her sneakers and went downstairs. She came into the reception area just as Cambia closed a flip phone and tucked it back in on his belt holster. Instinct had her tensing.

  He heard her and turned. Even white teeth flashed. “That was fast. I was just on the phone with the hardware store. Wanted to make sure the lumber I ordered had arrived.”

  Feeling foolishly paranoid, she shoved her hands in her pockets. “Time is money, I suppose.”

  “You are right about that, Miss Kristen.” He hitched his head toward the side door. “I’ve got my sledgehammer in the truck. The way I figure it, I’ll knock down walls and you can drag debris to the construction Dumpster out back. I just checked, and see it’s arrived.”

  “It came this morning.”

  “You mind helping me unload a few supplies from my truck? Many hands make light work.”

  She was glad to have something to do. “You’re the boss.”

  He grinned before heading out the front door. She followed. When she reached the front stoop, she paused and looked from right to left. Her stomach knotted. She’d not had this sense of anxiousness in months and was surprised she felt it now. Dane stood by a white van, the back door open. The van gave her pause. She’d heard they were soundproof—the perfect place to put someone if you wanted to snatch them.

  Dane had shifted his gaze from her to the van’s interior. He started to pull out tools, totally relaxed.

  What had gotten into her today?

  She hurried down the stairs to the back of his van. Carpenter’s tools filled the neatly organized interior—hammers on the right, nails in labeled drawers, saws hanging from hooks. But what caught her attention was the condition of the tools. They were well used: the hammers nicked, the drop cloths spattered with paint and the circular saw’s handle worn. The wear and tear was tangible proof that Cambia was indeed a carpenter.

  Her spirits lifting, she brushed bangs out of her eyes. “What would you like for me to carry?”

  He handed her a drop cloth, eye protection and gloves as he hefted a large sledgehammer and crowbar out of the back. “This should be all we need to get started.” He locked the back of the van and tucked his keys in his jeans pocket. “After you.”

  She headed back up the stairs, through the main door and into the small room. “So do we just tear the wall down?”

  “I’ll cut the electricity to the room and then start removing the drywall. After that I’ll go for the studs and frame work.”

  His tall, broad form filled the doorway. It had been a long time since she’d looked at a man with desire. But unexpected warmth spread through her veins.

  “What do you want me to do with this?” she asked, holding up the drop cloth.

  He moved into the room past her to the wall that needed to be demolished. “Spread the cloth in the hallway to protect the hardwood floors. We’ll contain the mess as much as we can.”

  “Right.”

  “Where’s your fuse box, Kristen?”

  “Basement. Far right corne
r.”

  “Great. Be right back. Might want to shut off the computer if it feeds into this circuit.”

  “Oh, yeah, right.”

  She quickly shut down the computer. Seconds later the lights in the reception area went out. The bright April sunshine shone through the large front window and provided enough light to see.

  Cambia came back through the reception area and went to the room marked for demolition. Kristen followed. He shoved his large hands into well-worn gloves and started lightly tapping on the wall with his hammer. He looked confident and relaxed.

  She enjoyed watching him work. “What are you doing?”

  “Looking for the studs—the supporting wood under the drywall. As I knock on the wall I can tell by the sound if I’m close to one.”

  In the last nine months, she’d washed dishes, mucked out stalls, even tried to waitress, but she’d done nothing in construction and knew zero about it. “Oh.”

  She spread out the drop cloth, careful that it covered all the hardwood in the entry hallway. Sheridan had had the floors redone just a year ago and had been worried that Cambia would damage them.

  He put on his safety glasses and tossed Kristen’s to her. “Let’s get rolling.”

  “Ready.”

  “You stand clear, Miss Kristen. A hunk of drywall might hit you and we want to keep you safe.”

  She stepped back. “Got it.”

  “When I give the okay you can start collecting debris. For now just wait.”

  “Okay.”

  He lifted the hammer over his head and smashed it into the wall. The resounding crack sounded like gunfire and made her jump.

  Cambia turned. “That noise scare you?”

  “No, no, I’m fine.”

  Who was she kidding? She would never be fine.

  Cambia drove the sledgehammer, taking another hunk out of the wall. The energy of the strike reverberated through the hammer’s wooden shaft up into his arms. Since Nancy’s death, he’d been filled with pent-up rage and he’d wanted nothing more than to destroy everything in sight.