Guarding His Midnight Witness
Honor Bound Book 4
by Anna J. Stewart
Genre: Romantic Suspense
She knows what she saw…
Can he believe her?
Detective Jack McTavish can’t afford another slipup. So when artist Greta Renault claims to have witnessed a murder without a shred of evidence, he’s tempted to walk. Jack’s gut propels him to pursue this case—and his attraction to Greta. Soon, not only is his job on the line, but Greta’s life is, too…and only Jack can keep her safe.
USA TODAY Bestselling Author
Greta went to the elevator, making mental notes about the information she needed to pass along to Lyndon. Humming, she found herself thinking of the upcoming evening with Jack.
A date. When was the last time she’d gone on an actual date? Five, maybe six years ago? When she’d been living in Phoenix? Or was it Provo? She couldn’t recall. Probably because no man had ever made smoke come out of her ears like Jack did when she’d kissed him.
She heard footsteps behind her, glanced over her shoulder as whoever it was moved out of sight. Odd. She was sure Collette had said no one else was in this section of the pavilion this afternoon.
“Hello?” She leaned back, scanned the hallway behind her, the closest display room. No one there. The overhead lights flickered, the sound of buzzing and popping fluorescents making her cringe. For a long moment, the gallery sat in darkness, bathed only in shadows from the low-hanging sun outside streaming through the sparkling-clean windows. “Collette? Is that you?”
Footsteps drew closer. Sounded heavier.
“Is someone there?”
Greta frowned and clutched her purse between her breasts, tapped her foot as she waited for the elevator to arrive. She hit the button again and tried to ignore the chills racing up and down her arms.
“Ridiculous.” She slipped trembling fingers around her throat. “You’re being ridiculous.” She’d done too much today, overloaded her normally confined senses. Had been thrown off-kilter by the very idea of regression therapy. If there was one place she was never going to go back to, it was the past. For a moment, all she wanted was to be back home, lost in her canvas worlds that were utterly and completely in her control.
As a sense of calm began to descend, the overhead lights flickered again. A loud bang exploded behind her just as the elevator doors slid open. She darted inside, punched the lobby button and willed it to move.
A man moved into view, caught between the light and darkness, as the doors began to slide shut. Greta, unable to breathe as her heart seemed stuck between hammering and stopping all together. She thrust her hand out to block the opening. She knew that man.
Big. Hefty. Paunchy. Bald with beady, dark eyes and thick-framed glasses.
Bile rose in her throat. Her mind raced to process what she was seeing. Who she was seeing. But it couldn’t be. That man was dead. Doyle Fremont killed him….
She couldn’t move. Her feet felt heavy, weighted to the ground as the man turned, just a bit. Just enough for her to see the distinctive wine stain birthmark covering part of his face and neck.
The elevator doors slid closed.
“No! No, wait!” She pounded her hands against the metal. She looked to the panel of buttons, uncertain which would reopen the doors. The gears above her head ground and rumbled as the car descended. She darted into the corner of the car, arms twisted tight around her waist. It wasn’t possible. The man was dead. She’d seen him die. Seen him…
What was he doing here? Why here? Why now? Unless…
“Hurry up, hurry up.” She had to get out, had to see if she was right. Greta bit her lip, diving for the doors as the elevator stopped.
The seconds ticked in slow motion before the doors slid open once more. A shadow passed in front of her. She jumped back, covered her mouth with both hands to catch the scream.
The man turned, the relaxed, welcoming expression on his face fading in an instant. “Greta? What’s wrong?”
“Jack.” Her entire body went limp, relieved once she caught sight of him standing in the lobby. “Did you see him? Did he pass by here?” She scrambled out of the elevator, shoving him aside as she hurried across the ground level toward the stairs. She flew up to the landing, looking for any sign of him, but other than Jack who had followed her, and Collette lost somewhere in the maze of offices upstairs, she saw strangers. The lights were steady. Everything was…normal. She began to tremble. “Did you see him?” she whispered.
“See who?” Jack walked up beside her, rested a hand on her arm and looked at her with that familiar, gut-twisting, forced-patient expression she’d seen far too often in her life.
“I’m not imagining this.” The last word ended on a sob, a sob she’d give anything to control.
“Greta, talk to me.” Jack’s voice sounded firmer now, as if talking to an errant child. “What’s going on?”
“I saw him. Here. He was following me.” “Who? Doyle Fremont?”
She didn’t want to say. She couldn’t say. Because saying would only mean…
Greta shoved past him and raced back down the stairs, shoved through the front doors onto the street. She looked one way, then the other, scanning the faces of the passersby. She had to be sure, had to know if what she’d seen was real or if…
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About the Author
USA Today and national bestselling author Anna J Stewart can’t remember a time she didn’t have a book in her hands or a story in her head. Early obsessions with Star Wars, Star Trek, and Wonder Woman set her on the path to creating sweet to sexy pulse-pounding romances for her independent heroines. Anna lives in Northern California where she deals with a serious Supernatural addiction and an overly affectionate cat named Snickers.