Chapter One

“No, no, no, no, NO!” I shouted, banging the heel of my hand on the steering wheel of my Honda.

“Dammit!”

This could not be happening again.

I popped the hood of my car, got out, and circled around the front. It took me three tries to get the hood propped on its stand, but I wasn’t sure why I was even bothering. I hadn’t learned anything about car engines since my last car had broken down in Southern Arkansas, where, I’d met people who’d helped me, strangers who had become friends. That kind of luck didn’t happen twice.

Leaning over the engine, I looked over all the hoses—intact—and the radiator—not steaming—which meant I had no idea what was wrong with it.

I was in a parking lot off Highway 25 at a scenic pull-off overlooking the Smoky Mountains and what I presumed was the Tennessee–North Carolina state border. It was an off-the-beaten-path road, which meant I was basically in the middle of nowhere. I’d crisscrossed the state lines a couple of times since I’d left Gatlinburg, but I was fairly sure I was currently in Tennessee—only fairly sure because I’d lost cell service a couple of hours ago.

I was in big trouble.

Pissed, I swiped my hair out of my face and turned to face the view, suddenly overcome with rage. The fact that it was beautiful just made me madder. I’d pulled over to the lookout on a whim less than five minutes ago, wanting to get one last look at the Smokies. I’d spent a few minutes staring at them, soaking in the sight and trying to feel something, only to return to the car and find it wouldn’t start.

I pulled the burner phone I was using out of my jeans pocket, not surprised to still see the no service symbol in the top left corner. Which meant I couldn’t call a roadside service. Besides, where would I have them tow it? The last town I remembered passing through was in North Carolina, but that had been a good hour or so ago, minus this stop. The tow bill was going to be astronomical.

What in the hell was I going to do?

The hum of an approaching car caught my attention, and I wasn’t sure whether to hide or try to flag the driver down. Ideally, I’d check out who was in the car before making the decision. A family with kids was a safe-enough bet. A solitary guy in a beat-up truck—maybe not. The problem was that the lookout was at the edge of a curve in the road, so I wouldn’t have much opportunity to make the call.

The car breezed by, a small, older hatchback. I couldn’t make out who was inside, but the way they zoomed past and kept on going, it was obvious they weren’t going to stop.

Which meant I had no choice but to wait for the next car.

The next vehicle didn’t show up for another twenty minutes. The 18-wheeler was struggling to handle the steep downgrade, its brakes announcing its appearance a good thirty seconds before it drove right on past, but I’d already decided I was okay with that. I’d heard too many stories about over-the-road truckers, although I suspected most had been embellished.

I briefly considered sitting inside the car. I was still standing outside, my butt leaning against the driver’s door so I could get a good view of the approaching vehicles. The early November mountain air was chilly, probably in the 40s—cold enough the cold metal of the car cut right through my jeans. But I stayed put. I’d take the cold over the stench of smoke ingrained in the interior.

My plan, inasmuch as I had one, was to head to Wilmington and look for a job. It would be suitably far from the people who were looking for me, plus I’d always liked the ocean. But en route to the coast, the sign for Gatlinburg had grabbed at me. My mother’s grandparents had taken her there when she was a kid and my mom had told me that story so many times that after all these years I still remembered their trip as if I’d been there myself. She’d been dead for over two decades, and they’d been gone for even longer, but I still missed her. Fiercely.

So I’d taken the exit to Gatlinburg hoping I’d feel closer to her if I did all the things she’d told me about. Hoping it might…inspire me in some way. But it turned out that Dollywood was closed the first week of November, and I didn’t have the right shoes or clothes to hike in the Smoky Mountains National Park. So in the end, I’d mostly just lain in bed for four days and watched TV, with a splurge on The Pancake House for breakfast a couple of mornings, and rode the Smoky Mountain Wheel, getting a view of the mountains in one of the all-glass gondolas. My mother hadn’t mentioned the gondola trip, but I’d felt the need to do something. When I finally felt ready to move on, having spent several hundred dollars I couldn’t afford on a pity party that had somehow made me feel worse, the clerk had suggested I take the back roads to enjoy the last of the fall foliage.

Which had brought me here.

The sun would be setting in a few hours and I had some decisions to make. Did I continue to wait for someone to stop? Or did I start walking? I had no idea how far I’d have to hoof it, not to mention it would be suicidal to walk on the winding, narrow two-lane road at night.

I wished I’d taken that paper map the desk clerk had offered.

Leaving the car, I perched on a boulder at the edge of the lookout, tucking my knees under my chin and staring out into the scenery. Cold seeped into my butt through my jeans, but the view truly was beautiful. The bright shades of yellow, orange, and red that the mountain trees were known for had begun to fade and fall, but it was still breathtaking, making me feel a little less sorry I’d stopped to take it in.

Lost in thought, I didn’t hear a vehicle approach, so I startled when a man said, “Having car trouble?”

Heart racing, I turned to face him. How could I have been so careless?

I jumped to my feet, taking a defensive stance, which was utterly ridiculous. I was on a ledge. All he had to do was give me a hard shove, and I’d tumble right over. He definitely looked strong enough to do it.

I scrambled over the rock onto the sidewalk, sizing him up as I prepared to face him.

I guessed he was in his early to mid-thirties, and he looked like he was used to manual labor. The beat-up red tow truck behind him helped confirm my presumption. He was handsome in a rugged sort of way, with overgrown brown hair and eyes to match, and had on a brown work jacket, dark T-shirt, dirty jeans, and work boots. Something about the way he carried himself—full of confidence and self-assurance—made me apprehensive. Yet it also stirred something inside me, a feeling I hadn’t experienced in a long, long time.

Not now, Carly.

It took me a second to realize I still hadn’t answered him. “Yeah.”

“Do you know what’s wrong with it?” he asked, glancing down at the still-exposed engine.

“It won’t start,” I said, walking toward the car and trying to avoid eye contact. Hoping my previously dormant feelings would go back into hiding. “It makes a grinding noise when I turn the key.”

“You got someone comin’ for you?”

My breath caught. I didn’t know anything about this man. For all I knew, he was seeking confirmation that there wouldn’t be any witnesses to my abduction. Or perhaps he was a garden-variety psychopath, someone who preyed on women out on their own. Why had I left my gun in the car?

Careless. I wouldn’t be making that mistake again. I needed to be even more guarded since I was apparently attracted to him. Just because a guy was good-looking didn’t mean he was trustworthy. Indeed, the opposite was often true.