Page 1 of August

CHAPTER 1

Gigi lay on her back staring at the popcorn ceiling. Though it was after 10:00 p.m., sleep wouldn’t come for a while.

She never used to be like this. Gone were the days of crashing when her head hit the pillow. Nope. She could take all the magnesium and drink all the chamomile tea in the world and she still wouldn’t pass out at a reasonable hour.

Running for your life and hiding in witness protection did that to a person.

Was Todd hiding? If the cartel had caught and killed him, the U.S. marshals hadn’t told her about it. And since she had no access to a phone or the internet, she really had no clue what was going on in the world.

Damn her ex-fiancé anyway. She was in this stupid mess because of his stupid ass, and who knew how long it’d be before she left stupid Wyoming.

Forever probably.

Todd had skimmed millions from the Mexican cartel he’d been working for and she’d paid the price. Her food-blog business had burst like a balloon stabbed with a pin and her family was left wondering if she was even alive. Her quaint little prison didn’t even have a streaming service. Without the distractions of TV, social media, and work—creating recipes and food art—she had a lot of time on her hands.

Her bedroom was in the new addition, just off the kitchen. Outside her bedroom was a short hallway that led to the back door. Joe’s room was beyond the living room, at the front of the house.

The wind picked up, rattling something. Gigi pulled the musty-smelling quilt up to her nose and shuddered. There were always weird noises in the small old farmhouse in the Laramie Mountains. The hundred-year-old walls practically screamed their objection to her presence. Although Wyoming wasn’t that bad. Kinda pretty, actually. Joe’s farm was about twenty minutes from Castle, which was close enough to be able to get what they needed but far enough to be out of the public eye.

She sighed.

I’m alive. I’m breathing. Be thankful, goddammit.

It wouldn’t be included in a book of affirmations, but it sometimes did the trick.

Creak.

Gigi’s hair stood on end. Was that a floorboard?

Get a grip. It’s just the wind.

Or maybe some critter that inhabited the land. Besides, she didn’t have much to worry about. U.S. Marshal Joe Jefferson might be well into his sixties, but the dude was built like an ox and trained every morning. If he couldn’t keep her alive, no one could.

Joe was nice enough, just a little distant. In rare moments, her dry sense of humor made him crack a smile. He’d given her free rein to roam the property and work out in his gym, a converted outbuilding with weights, a punching bag, and a few machines. She’d made use of the space because really, what else was there to do? She was in the best shape of her life with no hot guys to show it off to. One guy in particular.

Girl. Don’t go there.

Creak

Gigi bolted upright. The bedsprings squeaked. A scream stabbed the center of her throat. That time she was certain the noise was from a floorboard.

Her heart beat in triple time, whacking her eardrums with ferocity. Slipping her hand underneath the pillow, she closed her fingers around the knife she’d been gifted. She blinked in the darkness, willing more light into the room. It didn’t come. Someone—maybe Joe?—was walking through the house.

But Joe wouldn’t sneak around in the dark.

The air was thick with foreign energy, making her senses crackle in warning. She peeled back the covers, and the rustling sound they made was as loud as a racoon in a garbage can to her ears.

She wanted to scream to alert Joe, but he always told her, “Whatever you do, don’t scream. They’ll find you faster.” She had to get out of the house. Her sweatpants and T-shirt felt like ten-pound weights as she stood. Terror tasted like liquid fire on her tongue. She moved closer to the door.

Maybe she was hallucinating. Cabin fever and paranoia surely weren’t a good mix. If—

Crack!

The sharp blast of a bullet split the air, making her surge to her toes. She let out a scream and then slapped a hand to her mouth.

“Hot zone!” Joe screamed their code phrase. It meant she had seconds to get out of the house before it all went to shit. She bolted from the room.

She heard fists crack on bones. Glass crashed. Fear gnawed at her heels. The slap, slap, slap of her bare feet on the wooden floor echoed in the small space. It took all her self-control not to scream again.

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