Chapter One

Being forced onto a plane and flown six hundred miles into the nearly forsaken town of Forrester Rock, West Virginia, was by far the most terrifying thing Tori had ever had to endure—besides surviving the situation that had led to this unwanted, devastating twist in her life.

Here she was, alone and afraid of her unfamiliar surroundings, with only a simple handbag to her name. When she first arrived in the town, it was as if its townspeople had waited their whole lives to see her walk through the streets of Forrester Rock.

As she walked up the road, small groups of people, young and old, stood back, avoiding eye contact, as if unsure if she should be welcomed or ignored. When it came down to it, they chose to do the latter, without a single person coming forward with an extended hand or a friendly "hello."

All the same, Tori had no choice but to brave forward, walking past them with a nervous smile on her face. As she walked toward the crowd, they took two steps back. Tori continued even though she wanted to turn around and run for her life.

Her life? It was no longer her life.

She didn't know what kind of life this town would bring, but one thing was certain. She had no choice. She had to adjust to her new surroundings whether she liked them or not or else she'd be looking over her shoulder day-in and day-out for the rest of her lonely life.

And that tendency alone was going to be hard enough to break.

The cab that had driven her into this hidden town appeared to have been swallowed up by enormous mountains as it vanished into the distance in a cloud of dust. There was nowhere to run, nobody to turn to. What had become of Victoria Valentino was suddenly all too real.

Tori headed across the dirt road to the local post office in search of her new address—an address she had taken no part in obtaining. All she had been instructed to do was follow the details that would be given to her and to make the best out of what she now had.

As far as Tori was concerned, she had nothing to go on.

The old woman behind the counter appeared friendly enough and her motherly appearance gave Tori the comfort she had hoped for. She placed the new carry-on bag down on the dirty tiled floor, taking the first of many steps to fit into this place she was now forced to call "home."

"Hello there, girly," the old woman said, a beam in her eye. "You must be our newcomer."

"I guess that's me." Tori extended a shaky hand. "Tori Russo."

Why they hadn't picked a less Italian last name to go with her birth-given first, she'd never know.

"Now, that's a fancy name if I've ever heard one. My name's Mabel, and welcome to our little town, Miss Tori Russo."

The woman moved around the counter in order to give Tori a thorough look-over. "And such a pretty girl, too. You're gonna make the womenfolk around here think twice about lettin’ their husbands go out fishin’, but I reckon you have a husband of your own."

Oh, that's just great. The last thing she needed was people disliking her before she'd even had the opportunity to personally meet them. And as for a man—any man—she definitely didn't need that hassle in her life.

"Nope, it's just me, and you can reassure them I'm not in the market for a husband."

Boy, was that an understatement. She was still in shock over the situation her so-called loving fiancé had put her in. It was as if she were wandering around in someone else's nightmare.

"I suppose you're here for the keys to your new place, although I wouldn't call it 'new'." Mabel raised her eyebrows. "That old shack's been next to the creek for years with no more than a stranger or a few critters livin' in it."

Tori had not expected a brand new home, but something a little more tamed would have been nice. However, it wasn't the clerk's description of the place that caught her off-guard.

"What do you mean, a stranger has been living there?"

"We had a drifter come through our town a while back. Word has it, he's been usin’ the place as a refuge." Mabel dangled the "Out To Lunch" sign on a rusty nail. "I'm sure he's gone now with word goin' around that you're movin' in."

"You don't know who he is?"

"The shack was left to the town after its owner passed away. The drifter never bothered anyone, so we've found it better not to ask any questions. Besides, he helps people around here. I guess you might call him a 'jack-of-all-trades'."

Tori's look of panic, without doubt, let Mabel know how uncomfortable she had made Tori. What kind of situation were they putting her in?

No matter what, she needed to act as though she'd stayed in these types of places before, during her research with wildlife preservation. The house by the creek apparently contained the right scenery for the job the U.S. Marshals office had fabricated.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you half to death. It's not as bad as I joked, just needs some work, that's all."

Mabel went to fetch the keys from the back room then reappeared with her coat. "Come on, I'll drive you out there."

Why couldn't Tori have been "lost" in some over-populated city instead of in Hicksville? She'd known this would take some adjustment, but it was going to be a lot harder than she'd ever imagined. She was far out of her element, and she already missed the big city.

At least she had made a friend in Mabel, even if she did seem to be the town-gossip. That, in itself, was going to make Tori's job a lot harder. She was going to have to make this imaginary work of hers seem as real as possible. If she didn't, Mabel would be sure to detect something wasn't right. After that, the whole town would know it, too.

They climbed into Mabel's old Buick, and headed south along the dirt road away from town. It was a beautiful place, Tori had to admit that much. The trees were the same green as the grass to either side of the road. The sun glistened off the dew-moistened flowers. The air entering her lungs was the cleanest she'd ever inhaled.

Mabel talked of all the townspeople from the newest born to the eldest resident, who wasn't too much older than Mabel herself. She rambled on and on, her words unable to pique Tori's interest.

Without meaning to, Tori drifted off six hundred miles away. She'd spent her entire life in New York City, perfectly happy living there amongst her family and friends, until that unexpected day when her whole world changed dramatically…

She would never forget the chill in the air that morning. The rain had been coming down at a steady pace, and the fierce winds only made it feel that much cooler. Tori remembered running across the busy street with a cappuccino in hand and into the famous art gallery that occupied most of her time. The voices coming from the main office above had echoed down the winding stairway, causing Tori to be leery even before she reached the door.

Inside, stood Brock—her fiancé—and two other men, absorbed in a heated conversation. The words "art smuggling ring" filled Tori's head with astounding confusion.

Tori and Brock had always had the finer things in life, but she’d thought they had worked hard to get them. At least, she had. From the sounds of it, though, the illegal operation was being run right out of the art gallery—from her office—and Brock was involved in the whole thing.

Tori quietly moved toward the door, as close as she could get without being seen. She couldn't believe her eyes. The man she had loved and lived with for the past three years was pointing a gun toward one of the men, while the other encouraged Brock.

"That shipment isn't coming, is it!" Brock screamed, then ripped out the wire beneath the man's shirt and knocked him on the side of the head.

Tori couldn't move. This was Brock, the man who had made love to her with a gentle touch. Her legs were frozen to the creaky platform on the second floor of the art gallery, outside her office.

Like a shot in the night, everything happened fast.

One minute she was invisible to them, standing just outside the door. The next, she was staring into the eyes of her lover.

"Victoria," Brock blurted out, fear in his eyes, before he turned back into a man she didn't recognize. "Get in here."

Brock lifted the gun, pointing it directly at her face. She bolted back down the stairs, dropping the cappuccino, as gunshots sounded both in front and behind her fleeing body.

Without warning, a canvas bag was yanked over her head. She was carried down the stairs and thrown into what seemed to be a van. She heard the sound of the heavy metal door sliding shut.

Tori was trembling, her palms were sweaty, and she was too terrified to even ask where the people responsible for her abduction were taking her. When the bag was at last removed from her head, never in a million years had she expected to be in an interrogation room at the nearest precinct.

The FBI surrounded her, calling out questions from every angle of the room. Tori desperately tried to tell them she hadn't known about any of the wrongdoings at the art gallery. They wouldn't listen, so she sat there without saying another single word.

That got their attention.

"If you'll let me speak without being interrupted, I'll answer all your questions," Tori assured them. "I'm telling you right now, though, I had no idea any of this was going on."

She tried her best to be calm, yet she was sure they picked up on the tension in her voice. She explained about her job as the art appraiser at the art gallery and the nature of her relationship to Brock. She told them of the conversation she had overheard—for the first time—about the art smuggling ring. Tori wasn't sure if it was the good instincts of law enforcement officers or her extremely convincing explanation that made them listen to her.

"You believe me now?"

"We never thought you were involved to begin with," the dark-haired detective with the five-o'clock-shadow admitted.

"Why all the questions then?"

"We're making sure we didn't miss anything."

"I'm confused."

"Do you realize what kind of danger you're in, overhearing that conversation?" he asked. "And you'll always be connected to Brock Montgomery."

"I thought you said they were in custody?" Tori looked around at the many faces studying her in the congested room.

"Two of them are. We've been investigating this case for fourteen months. Your fiancé isn't the top dog. Not by a long shot." The detective casually sat down on the corner of the table, tapping a pack of menthol cigarettes on his knee.

Tori felt as though she were in some crazy movie. "Are you saying the Mafia is involved?"

I'm not at liberty to give you that information. I'll tell you this much, though." He leaned forward, enabling Tori to see the seriousness in his eyes. "You're in real danger, but we're going to help you. If you cooperate."

"I can't believe this is happening to me." Tori let out a forced laugh. "How are you going to help me? By posting a guard at my door?"

"I'm afraid it's not that simple."

"I don't understand. What're you getting at?"

By the look on the detective's face, Tori knew—right there and then—there wasn't going to be an easy way out of this. What she hadn't anticipated was that the solution would be so severe.

"You have to leave New York."

"Leave New York?"

"Tonight."

"What?"

"Ever heard of the Witness Protection Program?" He handed her a cup of black coffee.

Tori stared at them in silence. She could never go back to her apartment, never contact her friends and family, never see her faithful cat again.

Victoria Valentino had been shot that morning by a stray bullet, discharged from the gun of the accomplice of her loving fiancé. If Tori wanted to live another day, Victoria Valentino had to be dead to the whole world…

So, here she was, riding with this stranger down the dusty dirt road when just yesterday, she had walked up the stairs to the museum, a French vanilla cappuccino in hand, expecting it would be another ordinary day at work. That routine journey up the stairs had altered her life—whatever she had left of it—forever.

It didn't make a difference that they had given her enough money, in a prudent bank account, to make a new start. Things could never be the same again. No family. No friends. No beloved cat. Tori was completely alone.
"What kinds of things are you lookin' for down here?" Mabel broke the silence within the vehicle.

"Huh?"

The sound of Mabel's voice forced Tori to blink her mind back to reality.

"Aren't you takin' pictures or somethin', doin' some research on our wild animals?"

"Oh, yes, I am." Tori tried to convert herself into her new identity. "There aren't any particular animals I'm looking for. Anything wild and how they live will fill up my camera and logbooks nicely."

"Interesting. If you have any questions, I know a thing or two about the animals around these parts." Mabel drove over a small weather-beaten bridge, then stopped the truck. "Here we are."

Tori looked around at her new home. The cabin was bigger and less of a dump than Mabel had made it out to be.

At least the townspeople had had the decency to make it look presentable, even if it was still noticeably rundown. Had the U.S. Marshal paid someone to do this? She glanced over at Mabel, and the old woman gave her a wink. Did this postal worker know who Tori really was?

How was she ever going to be sure of anything in her life from this point on?

She opened the car door and met Mabel at the edge of the grass. From the look on Mabel’s face, she was as stunned as Tori at the lawn's freshly cut appearance.

"I bet I know who's behind this," Mabel said. "Looks like the work of that fellow I was tellin' you about."

"What do you mean?"

"Nothin' for you to worry your pretty little self with. I'll let you get settled in." Mabel looked at the only bag Tori held. "Or maybe not."

"This?" Tori managed to laugh as she held up the bag. "My things are being sent to me. Would you be so kind as to let me know when they reach the post office?"

"I sure will. The phone's been turned on in there," Mabel said, nodding toward the house. "Then again, you already knew that, seein' as you called ahead of time to have it hooked up."

"Right."

Tori made a quick recovery from her initial confusion. Without further interaction, the friendly old woman was off again, driving back down the road toward the middle of the little town called Forrester Rock, a place where Mabel had probably spent her whole life, a place where everybody knew everybody else.

Everybody except Tori.

Tori surveyed her surroundings. The area would definitely be the perfect spot to observe the wildlife, if that's what someone really wanted to do. And she would learn to do it.
She had to.

Though she needed to make everyone think this was her profession, it would be nothing more than a hobby to her, something to keep herself occupied. It could be worse. They could have set her up as the new waitress in the local diner.

The tapered stream was flowing at a steady pace, a miniature waterfall at the end closest to her cabin. Tori knelt down and ran her fingers through the cool water.
Things had been mind-draining the past twenty-four hours. Tori finally allowed herself to relax with the help of the sights and sounds of her new home. That's what she was trying to do anyway, until an unexpected male voice came from over her shoulder.

"Watch out for the crayfish. They might mistake your fingers for a decaying worm."