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Polly could scarcely breathe. “Who are you?” she whispered. She forced more power into her voice. “What do you want with me?”

“You’re awake.” The man sagged against the doorframe. It was a young man’s voice, muffled by the wool scarf over his mouth. She knew that voice. But she couldn’t quite place it.

He hobbled over to a broken-down desk and turned on a battery-powered lantern. The weak light still didn’t give her a face, but she could see his wrist and hand were wrapped in a stained bandanna—stained with blood. The sleeve of his hoodie was dark with blood as well. From the same injury? Or multiple injuries? The nurse in her couldn’t help but document how pale the skin on his fingers and cheeks were. His steps weren’t exactly steady, and his breathing was shallow and fast, as if he’d already lost a lot of blood and was struggling to get enough oxygen through his system.

Unfortunately, while the lantern light allowed her to assess her captor, it also allowed him to get a better look at her.

His shadowed gaze dropped to the backpack at her feet. “You trying to get away from me?”

Why was that voice so familiar? She needed to keep him talking. “These ties around my wrist are so tight, they’re cutting into my skin. I was looking for something in there I could cut them with.”

“No.” He pushed away from the desk and moved closer.

Maybe she’d recognize his scent. But her nose was assaulted by body odor and the coppery tang of blood.

“No?” She held up her hands. “But they’re bleeding. Do you really want to hurt me?”

He pulled a knife—a hunting knife, or something military—from a sheath at his back and pointed it at her. She dutifully leaned beyond its reach as he bent down and grabbed her backpack and tossed it back onto the desk.

And then he sat on the bed beside her.

When she started to scoot away, he pointed the knife at her again. “Don’t move.” She eyed the knife, then looked up into his blue eyes, trying to place them. “I just want to talk. I know you’re shy. But you can talk to me.”

Polly nodded. “Having a knife pointed at me doesn’t help me get over my shyness.” She risked one more question, hoping he wouldn’t get mad. “Could I see your face, too? It’s a little scary, not knowing who you are.”

He considered her request for several seconds before he tugged down his scarf, revealing a pointy chin, gaunt cheeks and an angular jaw dusted with a reddish beard. Then he pushed the hoodie back, taking the stocking cap with it.

Polly gasped as recognition hit, and memories flooded.

Copper-red hair flared under the lamplight. His skin was winter-pale. Sweat glazed his forehead; his pupils looked too wide in the dim light.

“Cayden.” Her throat was dry. Her pulse thudded. “Cayden Thornhill.”

The man Daniel had saved her from when he’d assaulted her in the ER all those months ago. She’d tried to help him the next day when he’d had a severe reaction to the penicillin he’d taken. But he’d been more interested in terrorizing her sister than in getting medical help.

An idea instantly took root. But she’d have to gain his trust first.

He smiled like she’d gotten the right answer on a test. “You remember me.”

“I thought you’d left Kansas City. Your cousin—his friends—they’re all in jail.” She couldn’t remember the entire list of charges he was being sought for—dogfighting, illegal gambling, assault, accessory to murder. Ashley’s case. Enzo’s arrest reports. The fugitive who’d slipped the net. “The police are looking for you.”

His wary eyes lit up for a moment. “They haven’t found me yet. I’m too smart for them. Too smart for my cousin. He got caught and I didn’t. I’m smarter than anyone thought I was.”

“But why would you stay? You’re a wanted man.” She shook her head. “You should be miles—states—away from here by now.”

He leaned closer, his breath just as pungent as his unwashed body. “I stayed for you. I love you. You need me.”

“Did you kill Tate Emery?” she asked, voice steadying as it left her.

Cayden’s face pinched, then softened in something like pity. “The man at the hospital? You didn’t like him. He kept touching you. He wanted your virginity. I heard him talking to another guy about his to-do list. You were just a game to him. He thought you were his.” His gaze slithered to the photos, warm with affection. “But you’re mine. I just wanted him to leave you alone. I’ve been watching you. Staying close.”

“And Neil Porter? I never met him.”

“He’s a guy I used to do drugs with. I stayed with him for a while until he tried to toss me out. Said I was bringing the wrong kind of attention to his place. He didn’t understand why I needed to be here for you. Then he said he was going to the cops, making some kind of deal to turn me in.” He shrugged. Winced with pain. Nearly dropped the knife. That’s when she saw that there was still blood on the hilt, although he’d wiped the blade clean. “I needed his car anyway.”

Two murders? By a man she couldn’t reason with? She was in so much trouble here. She had to keep him talking. Distract him. “How? How did you get into my apartment?”

He dug into his hoodie pocket and held up a black card on a retractable clip, flicking it so it shone. “I told your super I could fix things, that I was trying to stay clean and needed a job. He gave me a master key and put me to work part-time.” A proud little shrug. “The elevator was never broken, Polly. I just wanted it all to myself. It’s not a bad place to stay when no one uses it.”