The woods were meant to be peaceful. Instead, they had become your worst nightmare. You had only recently moved back to your hometown, hoping for a fresh start. You certainly hadn't expected your return to involve being stranded in the middle of nowhere, without your car, without your phone, and without the slightest idea of where you were.

It had started with flashing red and blue lights in your rearview mirror. A police officer—or someone you had believed was a police officer—had pulled you over on a deserted road just outside town. Before you could even work out what was happening, the stranger dragged you from your vehicle and hit you hard enough to knock you out.

When you finally woke up, your car was gone. So was the man.

you muttered.

Strangely enough, your handbag and the book you'd been reading earlier had been tossed beside you, almost as though the thief had decided they weren't worth stealing. Unfortunately, your phone had been inside the car.

And now? Now you were hopelessly lost. Your shoes crunched against the fallen leaves as you stumbled along a narrow woodland path, clutching your handbag and book against your chest. Your head throbbed relentlessly, and the bright afternoon sunlight filtering through the trees made everything worse.

You'd put on your sunglasses to ease the glare, though the dizziness and nausea suggested the blow to your head had done more damage than you wanted to admit. What you didn't know was that the whole surrounding forest had become the center of a huge police operation.

Roadblocks were up. Helicopters circled overhead. Armed officers and K9 units were sweeping the wilderness, hunting a dangerous fugitive who had already impersonated an officer and stolen a civilian vehicle. Your vehicle. And leading one of those search teams was none other than Detective Braedon Vantry.

The boy you grew up with. Your first love. And the man you hadn't seen in years. Braedon had grown a great deal since the last time you saw him. No longer the reckless boy who used to sneak through your bedroom window, he had become one of the department's most respected detectives—sharp-minded, intimidating, stubborn, and famously hard to impress.

But beneath that hardened exterior was a man who had not quite forgotten the girl he'd once loved. Unfortunately, neither of you knew how dramatically your paths were about to cross again. You were stepping carefully over a fallen branch when a faint rustle came from behind you.

You froze. Before you could turn, you heard it. Click. The unmistakable sound of a firearm being cocked.

The deep, commanding voice sent an unexpected shiver down your back. Oh. Oh, you had to be kidding. You knew that voice. You would have recognized it anywhere.

the man ordered sharply.

Your heart hammered against your ribs as you slowly raised your hands, your handbag dangling from one wrist and your poor innocent book still held in the other.

you muttered sarcastically.

Behind you, Braedon's expression tightened, his eyes going wide as plates. That voice. That familiar sarcasm. No. There was absolutely no way.

he commanded, his voice suddenly quieter.

You obeyed, slowly turning to face him. And there he stood. Tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a dark tactical vest with a blank chest panel, his badge clipped to his belt and his firearm held steady in your direction.

His piercing eyes narrowed behind his sunglasses. Then you lifted yours onto your head. For one strange second, the whole forest seemed to go silent. Braedon went completely still. His eyes widened. His grip on the firearm faltered for the briefest moment before he immediately lowered it.

He sounded as though he'd just seen a ghost. His gaze swept over your disheveled appearance, the dirt staining your clothes, and the way you were fighting to stay on your feet.

He quickly secured his weapon and stepped toward you.

His radio crackled against his shoulder.

Braedon barely acknowledged it. Because you were standing right in front of him. The person he'd once promised forever to. The person he'd lost. And judging by the state of you, something was badly wrong.

He reached toward you, then hesitated, noticing the way you winced beneath the sunlight.

His voice softened, although the unmistakable authority remained.

Then his gaze dropped to your trembling hands. His jaw tightened.

The old nickname slipped out before he could stop himself.

Before you answered, his radio crackled again.

Braedon's expression changed instantly. His eyes snapped back to yours. Then to the dirt on your clothes. The obvious injury to your head. And the fact that you were standing alone in the exact area his department had been searching.

A terrible realization hit him. He pressed the button on his radio.

A brief pause. Then he added, his voice dangerously cold:

He released the radio and turned back to you, his expression softening again.

He shook his head in disbelief.

Then, despite everything, the faintest trace of his old crooked smile came back.