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At her too-loud laugh, the running man glanced her direction. The breath whooshed out of her as she stared into startling blue eyes framed by dark lashes and brows. The patio shifted beneath her, and she had to cling to the railing to stay on her feet. It was like heaven had slapped her in the face.
He was definitely handsome. Exquisite. Ideal. Swoony. But the impact of him looking at her felt much deeper than any other beautiful man looking her way. She’d met thousands of handsome men the past ten years. Something about this man felt significant.
His lips curved up in a slow, enticing smile. He slowed to a walk and then paused and raised a hand to her. An arc of connection surged through the air between them. It washed over her like an enchanted breeze. Leaps beyond what Hollywood could try to create. Who was this man, and why did she feel like she’d just locked eyes with her future?
She froze, stunned by the unfamiliar feelings his eyes focused on her had created. Could this be an answer to her prayer? It all felt unrealistic, almost surreal, and somehow the most genuine and authentic connection she’d ever experienced.
She had no idea how to respond. She didn’t wave. She didn’t call out to him. She didn’t do a dang thing but smile and stare.
He waited another beat and then the hope in his eyes waned. He tilted his chin up to her and raced off, heading south to the point.
Oh, no. Her soul cried out for him to stop, turn around, come back.
No. That was silly. It was a good thing. Definitely a good thing. Her rational, safe mind knew it was a good thing. Agent Henderson and her dad would agree. She shouldn’t be talking to or encouraging strangers.
Her heart that was palpitating, her hands that were trembling, and her mind that was swooning over one look from that man’s blue eyes thought it was an awful thing. Why had she been unable to respond and let him run off? Why hadn’t she called him back or chased after him?
She couldn’t lie to herself and anticipate seeing him again. She’d lived here for three years and had never seen him running on the beach.
He ran off even faster than he’d approached. A fine picture for sure. She almost snapped a photo with her phone but restrained. Being the object of far too many unapproved-by-her photos, she’d never take one of someone else. Even if the blue-eyed hunk’s enticing form in a T-shirt and shorts was something she never wanted to forget.
Darkness crept over the beach. Still, she didn’t move. Her fantasy man was long gone. Would he come back this direction if she waited long enough?
Wow. If anybody knew the Eva Chevron was having desperate thoughts about a man she didn’t know because she’d said a prayer, felt a connection, and been captured by his blue eyes … it would make headlines.
She smiled, shook her head, turned, and smacked into a wall of hard flesh in black clothing.
“Help!” she cried out before the man flipped her to face away from him, clapped a hand over her mouth, and pinned her against him with a thick arm like a steel clamp around her chest.
Eva’s arms were trapped, her cell phone still in her hand. She writhed to free herself, clinging to the side buttons that were supposed to call 911 if you held them long enough.
“Drop the phone,” the man snarled.
She kicked her heel back at his shin instead and dug the fingernails of her left hand into his thigh.
He cursed and smacked her hand into the half-wall surrounding the patio. She clung to the phone, but he rammed her hand against the wood again and again. Pain radiated from her hand up her arm and the phone was flung from her grasp, clattering onto the cement.
She screamed, but only a squeak escaped his tight grip. Yanking her head back to headbutt him, she caught his chin. He cursed. Her head hurt now too, but his grip loosened slightly.
Eva dropped to a heap at his feet and scrabbled away. He leaped on top of her, flattening her to the concrete between the patio couch and the decorative wooden half-wall.
“Help!” she screamed as loud as she could. She had neighbors. Would they hear her? Were they even home? Her tough, blue-eyed soulmate was unfortunately long gone. Nobody would see her down here; they’d have to hear her. “Help! Help!”
“Shut up,” the man growled in her ear, grabbing a pillow off the nearby outdoor couch and shoving it over her face to muffle her screams. She couldn’t breathe with the pillow covering her nose and mouth and his body weight pressing her into the unforgiving concrete.
She flailed and fought, but the lack of oxygen brought darkness to the edges of her vision and slowed her movements.
“That’s better,” the man said. “Ryken will give me a huge bonus for this one.”
Ryken? Her mind was getting cloudy, but … Ryken? It could not be possible that her FBI agent had sent a man to kill her. Ryken was the one protecting her from Jorge.
Please, Heavenly Father, she begged. A little help. Bring my fantasy running man back.
Then darkness gripped her.
Chapter
Two
