“Get down, now!” he growled.

She shook her head, unable to speak, unable to move her legs.

“Fucking bitch.” He rammed his hand into the small of her back and ground the gun into her neck. “Move it!”

Jamie fell to her knees and winced. He grabbed one of her arms and wrenched it behind her back, the gun still digging into her neck.

“Where’s your brother?”

Chris? “What?” Her voice squeaked.

The gun dug deeper. “Where’s that fucking brother of yours? The one with the pretty round scars down his face.” He moved the gun around to her cheek and shoved it into her flesh. “You want some matching scars? I’ve got a pack of cigarettes handy.”

Tears rolled down her cheeks. The gun hurt, but not as bad as the image of Chris’s skin burning.

“Where is he? I know that reporter is looking for him. Everybody wants a piece of Chris Jacobs right now. The famous survivor.” He spit the last sentence. “Does he really not remember where he was and what happened to him? I bet he remembers my cigarettes.”

Jamie frantically shook her head. “Nothing…he doesn’t…”

Oh my God. He’s the one. He’s the one who hurt Chris. He killed all those children.

“I don’t believe that. And all this publicity is bound to stir up some old memories. I bet he won’t be sleeping very good once he hears about all those little discoveries at the farm. Now. Be a good sister and tell me where he is.”

“I don’t know! I really don’t know! I call a number and leave a message…he gets back to me eventually. I called yesterday, but I haven’t heard back. But Michael…” Jamie clamped her mouth shut.

He burned my brother. All those children…

She felt her skin tear as the gun dug into her cheekbone.

Chris’s nightmares…the screaming…he’s the one…

“Michael? The reporter? He found something? He knows where to find that skinny bastard?”

Jamie shook her head, trying to pull away from the tip of the gun. “He doesn’t know.”

“Why don’t I believe you?” He yanked on the arm behind her back, and her vision blurred.

“I don’t know…I don’t know what you want!”

“I want your brother!” He gave a hard shove, and Jamie’s face slammed into the wood floor.

Every self-defense article she’d ever read scrambled in her brain. One rule stuck out: Fight back and scream!

She rolled over and lashed out with her legs and feet, kicking him in the shins and knees.

She screamed. Every ounce of energy went into her screams and her legs.

Years of running powered her legs, and he stumbled backward in surprise. The gun slipped from his hand, and she scrambled for it. He dove forward, grabbed it, and backhanded her across the face with the gun. The metal tore her lips.

She screamed more. He was on her level now, and she kept kicking and kicking. Arms, legs, gut, ass. She connected everywhere. He scrambled backward, crablike, slamming the gun against the floor each time his hand moved.

Keep kicking! Keep kicking! Jamie pushed forward, scooting on her butt, using the most powerful part of her body to hammer him with her feet. He grabbed a cupboard door and heaved himself off the floor. He whirled around the corner, out of the kitchen, and ran.

Jamie clambered to her hands and knees and shot up after him. Catching her balance on the doorframe, she saw a glimpse of his shirt as he dashed out her front door.

She grasped the kitchen doorframe with both hands as she stared down her hallway and out into the bright sunshine. Jamie slowly slid down the frame and sat on the floor.

He’s gone. He’s the one…the children…Chris…

She couldn’t breathe, and her heart wouldn’t stop thrashing inside her chest. Her arms shook. She crossed them on her chest, squeezing tight. They didn’t stop.

She needed to call 911. Now.

The phone on her counter seemed a mile away.

Oh my God, he almost killed me…

She blinked, seeing the cupboards start to shimmy and warp. Her stomach heaved.

Oh crap.

She grabbed a bowl from the mess on the floor and vomited.

Michael threw another pair of shorts in his bag.

“Fuck.” What was wrong with him? He’d planned to be on the road an hour ago, and he wasn’t even packed. His internal alarm clock had failed for the first time in his life, and he had a good idea of why.

He’d been awake half the night thinking about Jamie Jacobs. And spent the other half dreaming about her. It wasn’t until after he’d stepped out of the shower that he realized he was running late.

He’d been disappointed last night when she’d refused to go to with him. He’d wanted her to help deal with Chris when he found him. He wanted her there to smooth his way. And he ached to get to know her better. He scowled into his bathroom drawer, digging for a new razor. Jamie was different. She didn’t feel like a temporary female distraction. His entire focus was on this woman and how to spend more time with her.

He hadn’t known something was missing from his life until it punched him in the gut.

Jesus Christ. He sounded like a religious convert.

He shoved his feet into leather flip-flops and headed for the front door, his carry-on slung over his shoulder. He checked his pockets. Keys, wallet, phone. Good to go.

His front door slammed behind him, and the heat of the morning slapped his face. It was in the high eighties already, and it was only seven o’clock. How hot would Eastern Oregon be? The east side of the state’s weather was more extreme than the west. Either hotter or colder. He jogged to the black SUV parked in front of his garage, feeling his phone vibrate in his pocket. He ignored it, planning to return the call once he was on his way.