Emily Bennett grabbed the gun she had in the nightstand as she slipped off her bed. Less than a minute ago, her phone had alerted her to the triggered motion sensor she'd installed in her front yard.
A man—a bulk of a man—stood staring at her front door.
Even with the high definition night vision camera, he was too far away from the camera installed above her door to get a good view of his face.
For now, all Emily could see was a greenish pale face partially hidden by the cap the man was wearing.
Emily took a deep breath to calm her racing heart while staring at her phone's screen. Walk away, she willed as she watched the live video feed streaming from the security camera.
She held her breath as the man made his way toward the front door, his cap still shielding his face from the camera. I'll have to adjust the angle of the camera.
She'd installed the motion sensor and security camera half-heartedly. She didn't allow herself to get complacent, but that directly contradicted with her conviction to stop living in the shadow of what happened over three years ago.
Emily licked her lips as the man strode to her front door. She'd expected he would break a window or get down on his knee to pick the lock.
He did neither.
But Emily couldn't see exactly what he was doing. His large frame took up most of the screen.
I really need to get a better angle. Or she could add another camera once she figured out whatever was causing the interference of the video feed. She'd spent quite a bit of time to get the security camera into a position that didn't cause the live video stream to flicker every other second.
Then, her front door popped open.
Her heart rate ramped up another notch, and she drew a deep breath through her nose. No time to panic.
Emily tightened the grip on her gun. "Who are you?" She squinted at the screen, at the brazen intruder strolling through the doorway as if he belonged in the house. Another hired killer sent to put a bullet through her head?
But something about the way the intruder moved ...
Hesitation? Uncertainty? Those weren't characteristics of an assassin.
Regardless of who this guy was, Emily would deal with it. She couldn't sit around and be a waiting duck in her bedroom. It wasn't her style.
Not bothering with her cushioned slippers, she quietly put her phone down on the nightstand, then headed toward the bedroom door.
Emily turned the doorknob slowly.
She had her thumb on the lock button, catching it as it popped back. That minimized the click. Still, she was concerned the softened sound still gave her away.
No time to hesitate.
In one swift move, she pulled the door back and stepped out with her gun leveled.
But only the cool air greeted her. The intruder hadn't made it to her door.
She turned with her gun, aiming at the stairs covered with hardwood panels.
No one was there either.
Emily padded down the stairs barefooted.
She fought a shiver as she was halfway down the stairs. The few seconds with the opened door was enough to let the frigid cold air of mid-January in.
But the weather wasn't what concerned her.
She had hoped to confront the intruder somewhere on the stairway so she would have the advantage of being on higher ground. But he hadn't made his way up the stairs. Why? What's he hoping to achieve?
Perhaps she'd gotten it wrong. Perhaps this wasn't someone sent here to take her life. A home burglary? If she were a burglar, she would've chosen this house too. It was the largest house on the street. Since it was set right at the top of a slightly uphill road, the gorgeous beach house with powder-blue panels and white window frames was also the most prominent.
Emily stepped off the final step of the stairs.
There in the middle of the living room was her intruder. He stood, staring at the cloud-gray fabric couch. He was so focused he hadn't noticed her coming down the stairs.
What's he doing? Pushing her inclinations of curiosity aside, she quickly moved behind him and leveled her gun. "What are you doing in my house?"
The giant turned to her. He'd appeared large on her phone's screen, but she'd assumed that the angle of the camera skewed the proportions.
It didn't.
The man was easily over six foot. The padded muscles stretched his T-shirt, which appeared too short for him, across his chest and biceps.
Emily couldn't make out the intruder's features, not in the darkness.
But his size was enough to make her rethink her decision. Perhaps confronting this guy isn't the best idea. She should've called the police instead. She wasn't in Eastern Europe now. The police—mostly—weren't corrupted in the States. Surely not in a picturesque beach town of Anchorville, Oregon, where crimes were almost nonexistent.
Emily unlocked the safety on her gun. Her innate survival instincts yelled at her to shoot first and asked later.
But she couldn't.
She couldn't pull the trigger without knowing she didn't have any other choice.
Before Emily could even open her mouth to speak again, the intruder pounced on her.
The gun was knocked out of her hand as the back of her head hit the hardwood panels. The impact pushed all thoughts out of her mind, and her intruder loomed over her.
His shadowed face didn't help calm her racing heart, and his nearness only reinforced how large he was.
Which was why it wouldn't do her any good to remain under him.
She shifted and kicked out at one of his legs, then immediately flipped him over.
Emily's head was still swirling when she got on top of him, but she didn't have time to deal with that. She pulled her clenched fist back and slammed it down toward the intruder's face.
But the intruder caught her wrist.
Her other fist was on its way toward the intruder's nose, but it, too, was intercepted.
Emily struggled. But strength wise, she was no match for him.
A moment passed between them as their eyes locked.
Neither of them said a word.
Neither of them moved.
Somewhere in his journey to the floor, the intruder had lost his cap. Now on the floor, his face was illuminated by the moonlight streaming in through the bay windows.
Emily blinked. She couldn't believe her eyes. "This can't be." Was she dreaming? Hallucinating? Had the impact to her head been more serious than she thought? "Alexander Lewis?"
The man's brows drew together. "You know me?" His grip around her wrists loosened.
"You're supposed to be dead." His death had been reported in the news. The army held a funeral service for him.
"Well, I'm not."
Emily studied the man under her. The Alexander under her appeared older than the photos she'd seen. Her gaze stopped on the burned scars on one side of his neck that stretched up to his jawline.
That wasn't in any of the photos.
This time, when she locked eyes with him, her gaze softened. Despite the calm facade, she could see the uncertainty and confusion swimming in his brown eyes.
"What are you doing in my parent's house?" An earnest question. He wasn't demanding a reason for her presence; he seemed truly uncertain with what was going on.
"Your aunt sold the house to me. I moved in a week ago."
His eyes widened. "My aunt sold the house?" Again, his statement was infused with disbelief. There wasn't any hint of anger. "I have an aunt."
"You don't know you have an aunt?" She studied his face. He didn't appear to be lying. Had he lost his memories?
Despite the stories she'd chased and written as an investigative journalist, she'd never met one person who had lost his memories. It was something she'd only ever seen on TV.
Alexander sighed, and Emily wanted to tell him that everything would be okay. But was it?
If Alexander lost his memories, then he didn't know how much things had changed since his supposed death.
Emily groaned inwardly, and her heart ached for the pain he would have to go through on top of what he was already dealing with. They remained where they were for another moment before Emily realized she was still sitting on top of a pile of muscles and quickly scrambled off him.
Alexander sat up and scanned the place, his gaze landing on the gun.
Emily followed his gaze and realized what he was staring at. They both reached for the gun.
Alexander, with his longer body and arms, got to the weapon first.
Before Emily could back away, Alexander dismantled it and dropped the parts to the floor next to him. She eyed him cautiously when he turned to her. Alexander wouldn't need a gun to hurt her.
"I won't hurt you. I just don't want you waving the gun around."
Emily didn't know Alexander, but she believed him. It didn't made sense, but her gut had never been wrong. "Everyone thought you were dead." She stood and extended a hand to Alexander. He probably didn't need any help getting up, but it was her apology for pointing the gun at him.
Alexander took her hand and got to his feet.
Instead of letting go right after, he held on to her hand as if he was afraid she would run from him.
It should've been awkward, but it didn't feel that way.
It felt ... right.
Which didn't make sense.
They stood, looking at each other wordlessly for a moment before he dropped her hand.
Emily drew a deep breath through her nose. "The newspaper said you were dead." She had done some research before buying the house. She was curious on why Alexander's aunt seemed so anxious to sell the place. The house was put up for sale two days after Helen Lewis, Alexander's mother, passed away.
And his aunt was way too eager to offload the place.
Emily had offered to buy the house at thirty percent below the asking price. She didn't think she would get it, but she thought they could negotiate.
An hour later, her real estate agent called and told Emily that she got the house—along with everything in it. The furniture, electronics, and everything that used to belong to the previous residents.
All Alexander's aunt wanted was Helen Lewis's jewelries and cash in the house.
Emily switched on the lights, and Alexander blinked.
The muscles along his strong jawline were tight with tension, as was the muscles in the rest of his large frame. Though his back was rigidly straight, his shoulders were slightly slumped. His dark brown hair was slightly longer than the usual crew cut soldiers wore, his bangs falling over his forehead.
Her gaze once again stopped on the scar that appeared painfully red under the white lights in the living room, and Emily couldn't help wondering what happened to him. When she pulled her focus from his scar, she noticed Alexander scanning the living room.
She hadn't made much changes to the place. The only thing she'd done was remove all the photo frames that peppered the house.
Her heart ached for Alexander when she saw the uncertainty swimming in his eyes. He had no idea how much life had changed for him.
Swallowing a sigh, Emily moved toward the sapphire-blue loveseat and gestured for him to have a seat on the couch.
"Where are my parents?" Alexander asked as he sat.
Emily pursed her lips. She shouldn't be the one to break the news to him, but he deserved an answer. Especially since she suspected he had—and would continue to have—plenty of questions that he would not have answers to. "They passed away soon after you."
His eyes widened.
"I'm so sorry."
"What happened?"
Emily drew a deep breath through her nose. She might as well give him all the terrible details at one shot. "Your father had a heart attack around two weeks after your funeral. A week after that, your aunt found your mom dead at home. The police believed she'd fallen down the stairs in the middle of the night."
His shoulders slumped further, and he pressed a palm to his forehead as his features twisted.
"Are you okay?"
"Headache," he spat through clenched teeth.
The journalist in Emily had so many questions for Alexander. What happened to you? Why did the military thought you were dead? The official newspaper reports had stated that two marines had been hurt while another two got killed in a military exercise when their boats exploded due to an engine malfunction. Alexander's body was never found, and the military wasn't optimistic about finding his body.
Emily had supposed that meant Alexander's body had been blown up in the explosion.
Yet here he was. Besides the still red scars on his neck and his forgotten memories, he seemed perfectly fine—physically at least.
She had covered enough military stories to know what was reported wasn't always what actually happened. National security and all. But it was obvious Alexander was in no state to answer her questions.
Emily got up and hurried into the kitchen, then returned with a glass of water and two aspirins. "Here." She took his hand and dropped the tablets onto his palm.
After gulping down the tablets with a swig of water, he glanced around the place. "I should go."
"Where will you go? Do you have the keys to your aunt's place?" That was if he knew where Donna's house was because she didn't. "She's on vacation, by the way."
"My aunt."
"Donna Price."
He stared at her for a moment.
"You lost your memories."
He nodded.
"Then how did you get back here? Why didn't the military inform your family that you've been found and that you're alive?" Perhaps that would've prevented his parents' death.
"It was classified until I could be debriefed."
"When did the military find out you were alive?"
"Two weeks ago."
That was almost right after his mother's death.
He shifted forward on the couch. "I should go."
"And where will you go?" Emily could never do something as crazy as letting a stranger stay in her house. Despite what her parents thought of her, she had sense.
But something about Alexander was different.
Perhaps it was because she'd been through his and his parents' things. Perhaps because she was still living among the Lewises things that she felt as if she'd known him her entire life.
"I'll figure it out." He got to his feet.
"At—" Emily glanced over at the clock on the wall "—two in the morning?" He probably didn't even know where he could go to get a room. Did he even have any money to get a room?
She went over to the windows and peered out of the house. The only car sitting out there was hers, so he probably came in a cab and wouldn't even have a car to sleep in.
She licked her lips. Don't do it, Emily.
No matter how her gut was certain she could trust him, Alexander Lewis was still a stranger. She couldn't possibly allow a stranger to stay at her place. Could she?
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