Holy shit.
Hegrowledat me. Like a fucking rottweiler.
“Don’t come near me!” I burst out.
As fear and adrenaline spike in my blood, I act on instinct. I amnotgoing to be the woman who gets bitten by the alligator in the sandpit. No fucking way.
With a high-pitched scream, I hurl the beer can at my would-beassailant. I’m rewarded by a loud crunch, as if I’ve hit bone. He lets out an outraged shout, but I’m already leaping forward to kick him in the balls, just the way Master Kato taught us at our mother/daughter self-defense class. That gets me a strangled expletive before the growler promptly doubles over, providing me with precious seconds to escape.
I spin to run, but my heel catches on a plank, and suddenly the dock shifts beneath my feet. I lose my balance and topple over.
For some baffling reason, the serial killer tries to steady me.
The next thing I know, we’re both falling headfirst into the lake.
Chapter 3
WYATT
I WOKE UP FROM A beautiful sleep, and now I’m drowning.
Literally.
Cold water closes over my head. A frigid, glacial kind of cold that bites through your clothes and cuts down to the bone. My breath escapes in a flurry of bubbles as my body seizes against the shock. The freezing water of Lake Tahoe is barely swimmable in May during the day. At night, it feels like my lungs have closed up. Jesus. I actually can’t breathe.
Survival instincts kick in as I find myself completely submerged. My hoodie and sweatpants are having the opposite effect—rather than serving as a heat source, they’re pulling me deeper into the lake. While little needles stab into any inch of skin that’s exposed, I fight the dizzying disorientation and kick up with my bare feet. A few seconds later, I break the surface, gasping. The air I suck into my lungs feels even colder than the water, but at least I’m breathing again.
I hear someone else gasping beside me and look over to find the criminal who did this to me. This chick brazenly walked into myhouse, cracked open a beer, and meandered down here to admire the lake like she’s on fucking vacation. I don’t know who she is, but—
“Wyatt?”
I falter at the sound of my name escaping her lips. It takes a second to recognize her.
“Blake?” I spit out a mouthful of lake water. “What the hell are you doing here?”
We’re both treading water, arms moving in circles and legs kicking beneath the surface.
“Me? What areyoudoing here? Nobody was supposed to be here!”
She’s got me there. I did leave Nashville and come to Tahoe without telling anyone. In my defense, I pull shit like this all the time. Didn’t realize I needed to send an itinerary to every family friend whenever I get restless.
“Oh my God, I can actually see my breath,” she mutters. “Can we please have this argument on land?”
Without awaiting a response, she starts swimming away. I swim after her, and we’re both dripping wet and shaking uncontrollably by the time we heave ourselves up the ladder onto the dock. And my left cheekbone is throbbing. I gingerly touch it and wince.
“You threw a beer at me,” I accuse.
She shows no remorse. “Because you snuck up behind me in the dark and growled.”
“I didn’t growl. I saidhey.”
“It sounded like a growl.”
I grit my teeth. “My voice was hoarse because I just woke up. To find a burglar on my dock—”
“Oh my God, you’re so dramatic. This is my house too.”
“Yeah, a house you’re not supposed to be at.”
