Sara K. Parker - Shattered Trust

Turning back to the fading sun, she reasoned with herself that her uneasiness was a product of fear, not proof of a lurker in the shadows. She’d fought that anxiety for close to twenty years now, and she knew it well. She forced herself to relax again and try to enjoy the solace, even if she didn’t particularly enjoy solitude or beach vacations.

Her fiancé had chosen the location, and Natalie had gone along with the plan. If she’d had her way, they would have rented a cabin somewhere along the Shenandoah River, hiked quiet wooded paths and just enjoyed being together.

She didn’t often get her way, though, and reserved her battles for the issues that truly mattered—right versus wrong, life versus death, milk chocolate versus dark.

In the end, a resort in Mexico versus a cabin in Virginia wasn’t an argument worth having, so she’d let it go.

And then... Kyle Paxton had let her go.

She stopped her thoughts in their tracks. She had seven more days to process all that had happened and decide how to move on. Tonight, she didn’t want to think.

She didn’t want to think about her string of failed relationships or Kyle’s poorly timed cold feet. She didn’t want to think about facing her family’s well-meaning sympathy, returning the mountain of wedding gifts waiting for her at home or unpacking her lonely boxed-up apartment. Taking a sip of her now-lukewarm strawberry lemonade, her gaze caught on the gaudy engagement ring on her finger.

She didn’t want to think about the ugly ring, either—a knock-off of the $1.4 million original worn by her friend and rising actress, Julianna Montgomery, last year at the Golden Globes. Julianna hadn’t won best actress, but her red carpet look had captured the world’s attention—from her body-skimming midnight blue gown to her wildly expensive jewelry, including the ring. Now Natalie stared down at the replica, its one-carat marquise diamond flanked by an army of teardrop sapphires jutting around the center like the sun’s rays, and wondered why she hadn’t handed it straight back to her fiancé. She’d hated it, but hadn’t had the heart to tell him, or the willingness to think about what his choice of rings meant.

Natalie liked quiet, elegant things, timeless styles, understated beauty. The pretentious ring only symbolized how little her fiancé truly knew her...and how much time and energy Natalie had poured into a relationship with someone who didn’t care enough about her to learn her tastes.

She glared down at the ring, the setting sun glowing in the depth of its stones. Maybe the first step to moving forward with new dreams was letting go of the old ones—the turnkey house in the heart of Baltimore, the pretty yard and the porch with flower baskets hanging from its eaves. The kids, the dog, the minivan. Were those even her own dreams in the first place? They had all been wrapped up in the copycat ring and Kyle’s empty promises, both of which had fallen far short of her expectations.

Twisting the too-tight band, she struggled to shimmy it over her knuckle. It had been a snug fit from the start, but the beach heat had caused her fingers to swell slightly. She’d considered dropping the ring off to be resized at her friend’s jewelry shop, but Hannah was already struggling to keep up with orders while her dad fought stage four glioblastoma. Natalie didn’t want to add to the burden, but she didn’t want to hurt Hannah’s feelings by bringing the ring somewhere else. It wasn’t really a problem, anyway, except for whenever she tried to take it off. She finally released her finger from its grip and held the ring between her thumb and forefinger, her attention straying to the endless black water beyond. It seemed the perfect place to toss it, the cloud-dimmed moon a silent witness to her rejection of all the ring had come to symbolize.

But Natalie’s practicality won, as it usually did, and instead she stuffed the ring into her shorts pocket. Maybe she could sell it and pay her dad back some of the money he’d wasted on the wedding that hadn’t happened.

A whisper of movement sounded behind her and she sat up in her chair, her feet settling into the still-warm sand. Large umbrellas shadowed clusters of vacated lounge chairs. Still empty. Every one of them. But darkness had fallen and she couldn’t see far beyond her solitary spot. A shifting shadow sent her pulse leaping, but she blinked and it was gone. Had she imagined it? It didn’t matter. Natalie had stayed too long.

She shoved her feet back into sand-filled flip-flops and tucked her book and sunscreen into her bag. All the while, she scanned the lonely beach, straining to hear anything unusual above the splash of the waves along the shore behind her.

Nothing, but she felt hunted, and that scared her.

Hurriedly, she bent to retrieve her towel, but as she straightened, a dark form emerged from behind a pair of loungers just yards away. Her breath caught in her throat and for one second, she froze, the towel dropping from her hand. And then the man lunged toward her, a knife glinting in his hand. Natalie screamed, swiveling away and taking off across the beach, all energy focused on the outline of the hotel against the moonlit sky.

Don’t look back, don’t look back! But she couldn’t help it. She looked back.

And then she wished she hadn’t. Because he was too close and too fast. And the hotel was too far away. Even as she pushed for more speed, sand flying up behind her on the beach, even as she focused every bit of energy on the hotel lights far ahead, his harsh breathing bore down on her, his footsteps closing in. In a panic, she surged forward, her leg muscles screaming from the effort, but her shorter frame was no match for his long legs.

A hand snatched at the back of her shirt and she screamed again, tearing away and dodging his grasp. But her foot hit an uneven mound of sand, and she went flying, her palms barely breaking her fall as her attacker’s arms snaked around her middle and yanked her backward. She screamed in desperation, hoping someone would hear and come to her rescue, but the sharp point of a knife pressed into the side of her throat, and she stilled.

The rough edge of his bandanna rubbed the side of Natalie’s face, and repulsion slid up her throat as his mouth pressed close to her ear. “Shut up,” he commanded, his stale breath hot at her neck.

He was going to kill her. Natalie knew that as surely as she knew that screaming and kicking would only hasten her death. One wrong move and the blade would puncture her throat, and she’d be left to bleed out as the tide came up and washed her body away.

* * *

Luke Everett was just about to give up his search and try again back at the hotel when he heard the screams. Now he sprinted across the empty beach toward the voice he’d heard, hoping the screams hadn’t come from the woman he’d been searching for. His hope was short-lived as he came upon the scene—Natalie Harper restrained by a stranger in black, a knife to her throat.

Luke’s blood ran cold.

Natalie had gone still, her attacker behind her, one arm hooked around her waist, the other across her chest with a menacing grip on the knife. Her captor met Luke’s eyes, his face hidden by shadows and a dark bandanna. A local, Luke thought. Young-ish. Several inches taller than Natalie. He filed the information away as the man dragged Natalie back a few steps.

Her panicked eyes locked on him, pleading silently for help.

“Get out of here!” the man snapped, pressing the blade deeper against Natalie’s pale flesh. No accent. Maybe not a local after all.

Luke took a step closer. “Let her go.”

“I said, leave !” the man bit out. “This isn’t your business.”

“I think it is,” Luke responded, shifting to the right, trying to get in position to disarm the guy. But the man’s eyes were shrewd, and they all knew he had the upper hand.