Her Assassin For Hire. Danica Winters

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      Zoey picked up her phone, checking it one more time before she started driving again. As she clicked around her emails and screens, her contacts popped up and front and center was Eli’s information.

      Was it a sign that she should call him?

      It would be nice to hear his voice one more time—maybe it could provide even more closure and she could put her memories back in the past. She stared at the number and her finger trembled over the green phone icon.

      If she called him, for a few moments, it could seem like she wasn’t completely alone. For those few precious minutes, it would be like she could go back in time and fall into the sweet world of flirty banter and the flutter of excitement that always came with hearing his voice.

      No. There was no going back in time, no making things right, and no amount of forgiveness that could right her wrongs.

      She clicked off her phone and turned back onto the road. She had to be careful not to lead an attacker back to their hideout.

      As she slowed down to avoid another rut in the road, a deer careened out of the darkness, sprinting through her headlights and forcing her to slam on her brakes. The phone went flying in the darkness, flipping to the passenger’s side floorboard with a crunching sound. The screen flashed a rainbow shard of colors from the broken screen and died.

      The deer stopped on the other side of the road and looked back at her, like it was some messenger of the fates. Bambi killing her phone was one hell of a sign that she was never supposed to get in touch with Eli.

      About a half mile from the ranch, the car that had passed her was parked on the side of the road. It looked to be last year’s Chevy sedan. As she slowed down to look inside, she noticed that the driver was gone.

      There wasn’t anything near the car, just pastures that led up to the ranch house. Beyond that was public forest. So why would they have pulled over here and gotten out of their car? She glanced around, but the light of her headlights illuminated only a few yards of grass peeking out from under their blanket of heavy snow.

      Maybe the driver had to relieve themselves, or it was possible that they were getting high.

      No one knew where her family was hiding. Her paranoia was nothing more than her guilt rearing its ugly head. It had been a risk by coming out of hiding for the trade show, but it wasn’t like she had announced to the world that she was going to be there. It had been quick, and she had tried to fly under the radar before the unveiling.

      She couldn’t let her anxiety get out of control.

      The car was just a car. Besides, her enemies wouldn’t be stupid enough to even give her a clue that they were coming.

      She took one more look at the Chevy. Her brother’s favorite joke came to mind. “How do you find a Chevy owner? They’re always sitting in the repair shop.”

      It was stupid and not really true, but it made her chuckle. More importantly, it relaxed her nerves.

      Jarrod and Trevor were already at the main house, but Chad had gone to Sweden to iron things out with the members of the parliament who had finally come around and allowed them to start work at their manufacturing plants. Only a handful of people knew about Chad’s whereabouts. She hoped that their being split up would make it harder for any one of them to be located by the people who wanted them all dead. They had been smart and prudent.

      We are safe, she told herself.

      She peeked back at the car. Still empty.

      It’s okay. It’s human nature to feed into fear-based paranoia, she thought, trying to put a name to her feelings in an attempt to get them under control.

      There was a long-standing conversation that circulated throughout law enforcement and military personnel about the differences between paranoia and preparedness. It wasn’t crazy or over-the-top to think about the “what ifs” and to take steps to mitigate any dangers. What was crazy was believing that all the “what ifs” were real and out to destroy her.

      She considered pulling over and running a scan for any unusual cell phone signals that could be found nearby. But she shrugged off the paranoia and just kept driving.

      She sighed, finding more comfort in the vast control that was at her fingertips thanks to technology—her bread and butter.

      When it came to tech, she was a badass.

      Sitting up a little bit in her seat, she blew off the last bits of fear that wafted through her. The car was nothing.

      As she pulled through the gates of the ranch, their newest acquisition, Sir Galahad of Lucktown also known as Sarge, their black gelding, stuck his head over the front fence. He whinnied in greeting as she got out of her car. He threw his head has he pranced around near the fence line.

      “Heya, Sarge. Hoping for a cookie, are we?” she said to the horse.

      He threw his head again and picked up his pace like he knew exactly what she had said.

      “You are spoiled rotten.” She chuckled as she walked over to him and ran her hand down the blaze on his forehead. He relaxed under her hand, moving into her touch.

      For a new horse, she and the animal had a surprisingly instant bond. It was as if the horse could pick up on the sadness of her losses and the pressure she felt in keeping the family safe.

      The house seemed buttoned up and quiet, with the front curtains drawn and the living room light showing through. Everything seemed fine.

      It was good to be back at the ranch.

      She paused in front of the barn doors and stared up at the chipping white paint of the doorjambs and the hayloft door. The Widow Maker brand was emblazoned above the hayloft door, a broken heart and crooked slash. Oh, the irony. She had come here to move forward, to find safety and to be with the people she loved, but she was constantly reminded of the heartbreak she had suffered with Eli Wayne.

      Sarge huffed from the pasture, reminding her that there was no time to waste when it came to getting him his nightly treats.

      The barn door squeaked as she slid it partially open and stepped inside. The place smelled of earth, horse manure and hay. And, as odd at it may have seemed, she loved the scent. It was the aroma of a life well spent, but she wasn’t sure if it or the smell of gunpowder brought her more satisfaction.

      When they had been young, she and her brothers had come to the Widow Maker to visit their cousin and her family until Gwen’s father had died in a haying accident. After that, everything at the ranch and in her cousin’s family had seemed to fall into disrepair until Gwen and her mother had finally decided to sell the ranch to Zoey and her brothers. The sale had been somewhat fortuitous. The opportunity had fallen into their laps at the right moment, just when they needed to get their heads down.

      Though she had spent time there, it still felt like they were guests. She had hoped that by getting Sarge, it would help with some of that. If nothing else, she could have something that concretely tied her to the place by needing her almost as much as she needed it.

      The lights were off in the barn, and she searched around in the dark for the light switch, wishing she had her cell phone to light it up.

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