Stay calm. She tugged open the front door of her Jeep, slid into the driver's seat, and hit the locks.

Emma had been living in Seattle the past five years, but she'd kept up on the local news. In the last eighteen months, four vehicles—each with flat tires—had been found abandoned on this rural stretch of an Oregon highway. Each time, searchers recovered the body of a woman from the surrounding woods. Each woman had been raped and strangled.

The truck door slammed shut. Oh, God. She squinted against the glare of headlights in the rearview mirror, but couldn't see anything. With her right hand, she rummaged blindly through her purse on the passenger seat and found her cell phone.

It had been years since she'd dialed the number, but she still knew it by heart. Nathan Forrester answered on the third ring. She spoke over his sleep-roughened greeting.

"Hey, Sheriff Studly." Emma could see the dark figure in her side mirror now. The silhouetted shape was tall, and wearing a thick coat and a cowboy hat. She couldn't tell if he carried a gun. "I'm on the side of the highway with a flat tire, and I could really, really use a lift."

"Emma? Oh, Christ. Emma, listen—don't accept any help."

"I didn't plan on it." She stared at the mirror. He'd walked half the distance to her Jeep. Her fingers tightened on the tire iron, her nails drawing blood from the heel of her palm. Stay calm. "But I think he plans to offer help anyway."

She heard Nathan swearing and running across a wooden floor. "Where are you? You still have your Jeep?"

"About ten miles before the Bluffs turnoff. And, yes. I still have it."

"Okay, Emma, I'm on my way, but you've got to drive. Stay in low gear. The flat tire will pull hard at your steering wheel, but your Jeep will go. So you start it now and get the hell out of there."

Emma jammed the phone between her cheek and shoulder, turned the ignition key. The engine fired up. A shadow darkened her window.

She looked over just he swung her jack through the glass.

* * *

It was worse than the others had been—the window shattered, the door hanging open, blood splashed in the snow. Gun in hand, Nathan jumped from his Blazer, his unlaced boots skidding on the icy road. He slid into the side of the Jeep, glanced inside.

The seats were empty.

The breath he drew to roar her name felt like the first he'd pulled into his aching chest since he'd heard the breaking glass and her aborted shriek.

"Emma!"

The echo faded, leaving the whisper of falling snow and the low growl of his truck engine. A trail of blood and thrashed snow led behind the Jeep. Nathan followed it, the freezing air biting at his face, his uncovered ears.

From the pine trees alongside the road came the snap of a breaking branch. Nathan swung around, scanning the night. The light from the half-moon barely pierced the tree line, and the shadows between the pines danced in the flashing red and blue lights from his truck. His muscles tensed; something was moving through the woods, its eyes reflecting the strobe lights like a cat's. He aimed his flashlight, switched it on.

The high-powered light flooded Emma's pale face before her hand flew up, shielding her eyes.

Oh, thank God. Thank God. His knees almost gave out, but through some miracle, he remained standing. He skimmed the light down her body, and his heart lurched. Blood stained her sweater and jeans. He pushed into the snow drift on the highway shoulder, began to wade toward her. "Are you hurt?"

"No." She lowered her hand. Her voice was steady. "He's gone. Toward Pine Bluffs."

And must have turned down a side road. Nathan hadn't met anyone on his way here. "Is that his blood or yours?"

"His. I panicked and bit him." Her head tilted back as he drew closer, and he could see the trail of blood under her jaw, the faint smear on her chin.

"Good," he murmured, and lifted his cold hand to her warm cheek, gently turning her face. A livid bump had formed beneath the short dark hair; the skin was broken.

"Biting him was not good, Nathan. Not good at all." She sighed, then winced when he brushed his thumb over the bump. "He whacked me with the jack."

Hit in the head with a jack, and she was still upright? There was no chance that that was going to last; she must be running on pure adrenalin. He slipped his arm around her shoulders, turned toward the road. "Let's get you back to town."

Back. Finally. But he hadn't imagined her return would be like this.

And God only knew why she'd left in the first place.

* * *

Emma waited in Nathan's truck while he spoke with the deputy who pulled in behind him a few minutes later. She warmed her hands in front of the heater as Nathan grabbed her suitcases from the back of her Jeep. Melting snow darkened his brown hair to black, and plastered the short strands to his forehead. He'd come without a hat, without tying his boots, without changing out of his checkered flannel pajama pants. He'd remembered to button his sheepskin jacket over his bare chest only after Deputy Osborne had arrived.

"Once word of this gets out, your deputies are never going to let you live it down," she said when Nathan slid into his seat.

He glanced over toward Osborne. When he looked back at Emma, his broad grin kicked her heart against her ribs. "Word isn't getting out. Last year, I caught Osborne in the break room singing—and dancing—to Britney Spears."

"How'd you know it was Britney Spears?"

"It's a damn good thing he never asked me that, isn't it?" Nathan made a U-turn, lifting his hand as he drove past Osborne. "How's your head?"