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      This book is for all of the Ambers

       who seek shelter, peace and hope.

      A portion of the proceeds of this book

       is being donated to Transitions Family

       Violence Services, an organization

       that supports women and children in crisis.

      Contents

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

      Chapter Eleven

      Chapter Twelve

      Chapter Thirteen

      Chapter Fourteen

      Chapter Fifteen

      Chapter Sixteen

      Chapter Seventeen

      Chapter Eighteen

      Chapter Nineteen

      Chapter Twenty

      Author Note

      Chapter One

      Armed with a carving knife, Amber Montgomery took cover as a metal folding chair hurtled her way. The chair crashed against the edge of a white-draped carving table, taking out the end of the serving station where she’d been carving beef at the Wayside Revelers’ Annual Dinner Dance.

      She watched in horror as eight pounds of beets splattered to the floor sending deep red beet juice splashing up and out like a demented geyser.

      She’d known, of course, that taking this catering job carried a certain amount of risk. The Wayside Revelers tended to revel a bit too much at their functions. But after their last fiasco at the VFW hall, Amber thought they’d mellowed and would be on their best behavior tonight.

      That, obviously, wasn’t the case.

      She didn’t know how this melée started, but she needed to—

      “Watch out!” someone yelled.

      Amber ducked just a moment before another chair came within inches of taking her out.

      This was getting personal!

      She jumped up. “Hey, I’m the caterer. Why are you attacking me?”

      But no one heard her or paid any attention. They were too busy destroying the hall and themselves—and having a great time doing so. The scene in front of her looked like a barroom brawl in the wild wild West. Except, this wasn’t the eighteen-hundreds frontier. It was peaceful little Wayside, Oregon, population 17,800, in the twenty-first century.

      Over the commotion, Amber heard what sounded like police sirens. Help was on the way!

      Maybe she could salvage the trays of lemon meringue tarts—six hours of work. Amber inched toward the desserts, but someone else spied them at the same time. An elderly man grabbed one in each hand and smiled.

      “Don’t you have any respect for food?” she demanded.

      Unmindful of the scene playing out behind him, the man shook his head, grinned a toothless smile and aimed.

      “Don’t you dare!” Amber said, holding a hand up in front of her face.

      “Lighten up, honey,” he said. “It’s just a pastry.”

      And then her own lemon meringue hit her in the face. Amber shrieked and whirled around—

      “Hold it right there.”

      With one hand Amber wiped pie from her face. She cleared her vision enough to see the pie thrower scuttle off to the side and disappear into the crowd. She wiped away more meringue and the shadow in front of her came into focus, the details registering. Tall, with broad shoulders, a slim waist and feet planted apart, he scowled at her. A very big, very threatening cop stood not three feet away.

      “You’re under arrest, lady.”

      “Me? What did I do? I’m the one being attacked. Arrest one of them,” she demanded, waving the carving knife toward the Revelers now merrily flinging the rest of her lemon tarts at each other.

      The cop didn’t spare a glance at the havoc being wrought behind him. “Drop the knife now.”

      Amber tensed at the tone. Then she looked up at the cop. His eyes glinted and she realized that his hand hovered near his revolver.

      “What knife?”

      He took a menacing step forward, and Amber whimpered. The carving knife she’d forgotten she clutched in her hand clattered to the floor. In the next moment, the cop was all over her. He grabbed her arm, yanking it around her back.

      “You’re hurting me.”

      He didn’t answer. Instead, she felt the cold steel of handcuffs clamp on her wrist.

      Something snapped in her then, and Amber fought. A fragment of the self-defense she’d been taught flickered through her. She kicked out at him. “No! You can’t do this. I won’t let you do this…”

      One of her kicks connected and she heard his intake of breath. Her small victory, however, was short-lived. He held her tightly and secured the other wrist.

      “Lady, if you don’t settle down,” he said, his voice a deceptively calm growl, “I’m going to add resisting arrest to your charges.”

      It wasn’t so much what he said as the way the words sounded that got to her. They held a rumbled warning of coming pain. She knew that tone, knew what would happen to her if she defied him again. She’d tried to fight. She’d tried to remember she didn’t have

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