Page 38 of Yuletide Guard

No one else was going to die for her.

She had nothing to lose by giving herself.

Yes, she had her brother and his family, and yes, she had friends she loved, and yes, she enjoyed her job, but realistically she didn't have as much to lose as the people the stalker might kill next.

Or those he already had.

When she had left Michael and Sawyer downstairs, she had laid down for a few minutes. She hadn't been lying about the headache, and she had intended to take a power nap so that her head was clear and able to figure out a way out of her house without getting caught. But the second she had closed her eyes, she’d known sleep was never going to come. Her head was too full of jumbled thoughts and emotions.

So instead of sleep, she had pulled out her laptop and put her computer skills to use finding out whatever she could about the people who had died in her place.

The first victims were Brighton and Christine Morginson.Both were seventy-six, they had been married for over fifty years. Brighton had been a mechanic before retiring shortly after his sixtieth birthday, and Christine had taught Sunday School at her church and still assisted the current teacher. They had three children, ten grandchildren, and four great-grandchildren.

The woman who had died today was forty-six-year-old Maeve Franklin. Mother of three, a ten-year-old son, a thirteen-year-old daughter, and another son who was sixteen. She managed a chain of florists across the city and had an ailing father who she spent a lot of time taking care of.

They were all good people who hadn't done anything wrong. They hadn't deserved what had happened to them, and there was no way she could stand by and let it happen to anyone else.

So, she was out of here.

Hopefully, Sawyer was still here, and Michael was busy talking with his friend. If they were in the living room, they would see her as she came down the stairs if they had left the door open. If they were in the sunroom, then it would make it harder to get out the backdoor since it was in there. But there was a third exterior door from the garage. If she could get to that then she was home free.

The Hawthorns who lived in the house behind hers were away on vacation visiting his family. Samara knew because she was reasonably friendly with her neighbors, and they had asked her to bring in their mail for them. Once she was in her backyard, she could jump the fence into theirs and then walk around to the front and onto the other street and whoever’s turn it was to watch her house would never be any the wiser that she was gone.

Before she could overthink things, Samara switched off the bathroom light and tiptoed quietly to the top of the stairs. She couldn’t hear anything so she walked down, trying to look as casual as she could in case she was noticed. The living room was empty, so she crept closer to the sunroom to try to hearif Michael and Sawyer were in there. Again, it appeared the room was empty, maybe Michael was outside saying goodbye to Sawyer, or maybe Sawyer had already left, and Michael was in the bathroom, or taking a nap, or something.

Whatever the case, it looked like a sign she was doing the right thing.

Without hesitating since Michael could come back at any second, she hurried through the sunroom and out into the backyard. She went straight to the fence, dragging over a potted plant so she could use the large terracotta pot as a steppingstone to get up and over the face.

Samara had just hoisted herself up onto the fence and was about to swing a leg over when an arm wrapped around her waist, and she was lifted down and set on the grass.

“Just let me go, Mike,” she begged.

“You know I can't do that.”

“This is best for everyone.” Michael still had a hold of her, and she sagged in his grip.

“It’s not best for me,” Michael countered.

“You have other friends. People aredying.”

“So, what? You're going to go and die instead?” he asked harshly.

She just shrugged.

It was an easy choice.

People with families who had nothing to do with this whole mess dying, or her dying?

What other choice was there to make?

Michael grabbed her by the shoulders and spun her around. His dark brown eyes were a tumultuous mess of emotions, and she could read on his face what he was going to say even before he said it.

“You can't die,” he said softly. “I can't lose you as well. I love you, Samara.” He dipped his head and brushed his lips acrosshers.

Then he shoved her up against the fence, his hands spanning her waist, holding her in place, his body right up against hers, and his mouth crushed against hers. Her lungs should scream for air, for her to take a breath, but they didn't because they didn't need to. Michael was giving her what she needed—needed more than oxygen.

As soon as their lips touched, she felt it.

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