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Part 3

I slowly open my eyes, focusing my vision on the familiar steps leading up to the police station. The luxurious aroma of leather and cinnamon apple fills me with warmth. I turn. The face of the man in the driver's seat is familiar and his kind hazel eye calm me, when reasonably, I should be freaking out right now.

"I have seen you before."

"We have never met."

I'm taken aback by the gentle cadence of his rich voice. "I have seen you driving by the shelter." Pulling my gaze from his, my eyes return to the station steps, and then the entrance. "Why did you bring me here?"

"I wanted to make sure when you awakened in a strange man's car, you would know there is no danger from me."

Well, considering what I was attempting to do, fear is the last thing I feel. "Why did you pick me up?"

"I want to help you."

I shoot him a skeptical look. "But you don't even know me."

He pauses. "I do . . . in a way. The woman in the truck with you late husband . . . she was my ex wife."

His shocking comment reopens painful wounds that have never healed. Leaning away from him, I open my mouth to speak, but he interrupts. "Cosset, listen to me," he continues, and I am startled to hear my real name spoken after a year of going by another. "We were divorced for a year when the accident happened. I came by your house that week to see you and tell you how sorry I was, but you were gone. You just disappeared."

Resting my head against the passenger door window, I close my eyes, releasing a deep sigh. "There was nothing left to keep me there. I lost everything." Blinking the tears back, I swallow hard against the rising emotion.

He takes my hand, giving it a comforting squeeze. "I know this is late, but I am so sorry."

I nod. There really isn't anything to say.

"Will you allow me to help you?"

"Help me how?" To say I am wary is putting it mildly." No one ever gives anything without expecting something in return.

As if he can read my mind, he again squeezes my hand, and strangely, I have no desire to pull it away. "I am offering you a job and a place to live. I only ask for your friendship, and maybe one day, your trust."

"That's a lot to ask," I whisper, meeting his beautiful gaze.

"I know." His voice is soft. "Can we try?"

This is without a doubt one of the hardest things I have been asked to do in a long time. This man is a stranger to me, yet he warmly offers me a second chance at life. How can I say no?

"What kind of job?" I finally ask.

"Well, how are your computer skills?"

I finally allow myself to smile. "They are pretty mad."