Wrong place, wrong time. Now she’s running for her life.
Beautician Chanel Leroc can wield a pair of scissors like nobody’s business. After she witnesses a murder and lands on a serial killer’s hit list, she has to figure out how to protect herself—and fast. The killer tracks her down, but her sexy new neighbor, Dr. Ryan Naylor, drives the brute off.
The police dump the pair in a witness protection program, which doesn’t last long. Either the killer has a connection to the police, or he’s far more intelligent than they realize. All Chanel wants to do is get back to her safe life and get to know her neighbor better. Instead, she and Ryan hit the road and try to survive on their own.
How will they stay alive and keep their blooming romance intact with the killer hot on their trail?
The piercing cry froze the blood in Chanel Leroc’s veins. She stumbled on the sidewalk and whipped around to face a Mexican restaurant. What was going on? Light poured into the night from the windows of the small blue eatery as the flickering streetlight in the lot cast an eerie intermittent glow across the parked vehicles. Another cry echoed from somewhere in the darkness, stopping the man and woman passing by her in their tracks.
She stepped forward, her throat tightening. Oh my God. Someone’s in trouble.
The man grabbed his female companion’s elbow, and they hurried away.
Smart move. If only she’d follow suit. She wrapped her arms around her chest and headed into the lot. Cars sped behind her, the blast of honking horns and revving engines kicking her pulse into overdrive. Shivers raced down her spine like a thousand spiders. Why was she investigating? This wasn’t her business.
She backed up and froze, shaking her head. No. She couldn’t abandon someone who might be hurt. What kind of person would that make her? She clutched her bulky purse, gritted her teeth, and strode forward. Her high heels clicked in time with her thumping heart as she rounded the side of the one-story building, drawing up short. Oh, hell.
A dark-haired man pinned a whimpering blonde woman against the wall. Moonlight sliced through the clouds and lit them in stark relief. He pushed up her miniskirt and grumbled obscenities as he sucked on her neck.
“Help.” The blonde stared at her—tears streamed down her flushed cheeks, past smeared mascara, toward the blood that trickled from her nostrils. “Please.”
The woman’s weak voice stilled Chanel’s heart. “Hey! Stop!” She stomped forward, then planted her feet. What the hell am I doing? Heat seared her face.
The man jerked upright, gripped the blonde’s arm with his gloved hand, and pressed a large knife to her throat with the other. His bushy eyebrows dropped over his narrowing eyes.
Chanel swallowed hard. Was this maniac the Streetwalker Killer?
Every newspaper and news station in Denver, Colorado, was reporting on the deranged man. He’d raped and gutted three prostitutes in the past month.
Dear God. She really stepped into it this time. “L-let her go. I’m gonna call the cops.” Chanel jabbed her hand inside her purse. Her wallet, appointment book, phone charger, and containers of makeup clacked together, bumping her hand. Where was her cell?
A high-pitched cry split the air.
Bile burned up Chanel’s throat. No. Please.
The man jerked the knife from the woman’s stomach. Dark-red liquid smeared the blade and trickled to the ground. Blood pooled from the wound as he thrust her aside.
Chanel ran. Her long legs ate up three strides toward the parking lot before the butcher grabbed her hair and jerked her back. Ow. His hard body slammed into hers like a slab of granite. Tears pricked her eyes. This couldn’t be happening! She had to fight—escape.
“Help!” Shouting at the top of her lungs, she clawed at his thick arms, digging into the sleeves of his jacket. His musky stench enveloped her as he clamped his hand over her mouth and nose, choking off her air. Shadows engulfed them like deathly fingers as he dragged her further behind the building. Where had the moon gone? She bit his hand and gagged from the taste of wet iron and old leather.
“Stupid bitch.” He shoved her against the wall, mere feet from the other woman.
Chanel cried out, the brick scraping her forehead. Great gulps of air stretched her lungs as tremors shot through her legs. How was she still standing? Something sticky squished beneath her feet. Oh, God. Blood. The metallic stench permeated her nose. The teriyaki chicken she’d eaten for dinner now churned in her belly. As he yanked her around, she clutched her purse tighter and walloped it against his skull.
“Shit.” He stumbled sideways from the momentum and grasped the side of his head. Fire spit from his eyes.
“Help, please!” She dared to run—to dart away—but slipped in the blood pooling around the fallen prostitute. The ground rushed up to meet her.
The hard impact struck like a punch to the gut. God help her. Anyone.
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