“Claire, honey.” She nudged her daughter gently to wake her. “It’s time to go.”

She roused her daughter, helped her to her feet, then left the room on quivering legs. Behind her, Luke and Natalie began to talk.

So Wayne was out of jail. He would come after her, if he hadn’t already. He’d promised her he would. And if that weren’t enough, she had a killer on her heels, demanding a ring she didn’t have. Hysteria gurgled inside her. Could her life get any worse?

And what on earth should she do? Clutching Claire’s small hand, she exited the building, then squinted in the blinding sun. She had to go home, warn Kendall. But then what? Should she leave town?

Would it do any good? Running from Wayne was hard enough. How could she flee an enemy she didn’t know?

“Mommy,” Claire said, her voice anxious.

Realizing she’d been squeezing Claire’s hand, she relaxed her grip. “Don’t worry. Everything’s okay,” she lied. She knelt, ignored the pavement sizzling her bare knees, and gave her daughter a hug. She buried her face in her hair, inhaled her littlegirl scent, held her small, warm body tight against hers.

But a terrible dread lodged inside her, a wild, desperate fear that seeped like ice through her bones. How could she protect her daughter from a killer? She’d never felt more terrified in her life.

But she had to succeed. Claire’s life was inherhands. She opened her eyes, smoothed the silky strands of hair from her daughter’s cheeks, then eased her grip and rose.

“How about macaroni and cheese for dinner?” she suggested. This was definitely a comfort food night. “And then we’ll watch a movie, maybe Mary Poppins. Would Brownie like that?”

Claire whispered to her bear, then held it up to her ear. Her big blue eyes met hers. “The Little Mermaid, too.”

“Sure, we can do that.” They might as well watch movies all night. No way would she fall asleep knowing a killer was lurking outside. She grabbed Claire’s hand and stepped off the curb.

“Amanda, wait.” She glanced back, surprised to see Luke Montgomery hurrying toward her, his black hair glinting in the sun.

He caught up to her and stopped. He glanced at Claire, then leveled his whiskey-brown eyes at hers. “We need to talk.”

“Sure.” Although she couldn’t imagine what he’d have to say. She motioned to her green Honda Accord across the lot. “I parked in the shade. Why don’t we talk over there?”

“All right.” She started across the lot with Claire, and he slowed his pace to theirs. Without her high heels on, she was more aware of his height, the power in his fluid stride.

She slid a glance at the hard male planes of his face, that sexy, carnal mouth. His eyes captured hers, and a sudden tension sparked between them, igniting a flurry of nerves. She quickly turned away.

They stopped in the patch of shade beside her car. He leaned back against it, folded his muscled arms across his chest. His gaze caught hers again, touching off another rush of adrenaline, and she forced herself to breathe.

“What kind of security system do you have?” he asked.

“On the house?” She frowned, led Claire around the car to the rear passenger door, hoping the distance would quiet her nerves. “We don’t have one, just locks on the windows and doors.”

“That’s what I figured.” He turned to face her, propped his forearm on the roof, drawing her gaze to the black hair marching across his tanned arm. “If that killer’s out there, you need better protection than that.”

Her stomach clenched. “I know.” But it would take time to get a security system installed—time she didn’t have.

“I have a place you can stay,” he said, and she raised her brows. “A house. It’s in a gated community on the north side of town. It has an alarm system, round-the-clock security guards. You’ll be safe there.”

She stared at him over the roof. He was offering her the use of his house? “That’s nice of you, but—”

“I’m not doing it to be nice. Not entirely.” The edge of his mouth quirked up. “You and your daughter need protection. I don’t want any bad publicity right now. If you’re in a safe place, the attacks will stop. It solves both our problems.

“The house is comfortable enough,” he continued. “It has a pool, tennis courts, a home theater. If there’s anything else you need, you can let me know.”

Comfortable enough? He had to be joking. She’d seen pictures of the mansion in the tabloids. It put a sheikh’s desert palace to shame. “Comfort isn’t the issue.”

“Then what is?”

She made an exasperated sound. “Well, for starters, I don’t even know you.”

He lifted one broad shoulder in a shrug. “You’d hardly see me. I spend most of my time in my penthouse. And it’s only until they find this guy.”