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envelope again, and he jogged toward his truck, suddenly eager to be away from the woman who made him think about memories that were best forgotten.
    * * *
    Staci left her cereal bowl on the kitchen counter at the sound of the doorbell, pulling the belt of her robe tighter around her waist as she shuffled toward the front door. Peering through the windows on both sides of the entry, she confirmed that her tiny porch was empty before unlocking the deadbolt and opening the door just enough to look into the morning sun.
    The delivery man must have run back to his truck, leaving only a package by the front mat. As she bent to pick it up, every muscle in her body screamed. She groaned against the pain in her ribs and chest as her muscles flexed and tightened.
    Wasn’t she supposed to be feeling better? Three days was plenty of time to recover from a car accident that didn’t even break her skin. Right?
    She hefted the box, nearly dropping the unexpected weight and falling right alongside it.
    Maybe three days wasn’t quite long enough.
    Another try boasted better results, and she held the package against her stomach to ease the pressure on her strained back as she pushed the door closed behind her. Setting the brown paper-wrapped package on her counter, she spied the return label.
    From Rebecca Meyers.
    Why was her sister, Becca, sending her a package when they’d seen each other a week ago? And why had she spelled out her whole name? They’d been calling each other by their first initials since she was ten. Even now, B’s kids called her Auntie S. And even if she were going to use her name instead of her initial, Becca had never actually gone by Rebecca.
    Her stomach lurched and she pressed a hand to it, suddenly uninterested in the cereal still floating in its milk.
    Staci pushed the package toward the far end of the counter, staring hard at the brown paper bag used to wrap the box. Hadn’t B given up paper and plastic in favor of more environmentally friendly reusable bags?
    So many things about this weren’t right.
    She grabbed her phone and punched in her sister’s phone number. After four rings, B’s melodic voice singsonged, “This is Becca Meyers. Sorry I missed you. You know what to do, and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”
    “Hey, B. It’s just me. Just...um...” No cause to scare her sister. Nope. She could handle this. “Just wanted to tell you that I love you. Talk to you later.”
    As she pressed the end button on her phone, her gaze flicked toward the white envelope stuck to the refrigerator, and her heart skipped a beat at the very thought of calling Tristan—L.T.
    What if the box on her counter was nothing? Then she’d look stupid for taking up his time with something ridiculous. But then, what if it was something dangerous?
    She backed up until she bumped into the kitchen island and then swung around that. Putting the waist-high counter between her and the package wasn’t enough, so she kept going, hoping she might suddenly get X-ray vision if she tried hard enough.
    No such luck.
    After a five-minute showdown with the box, she doubled her fists beneath her chin, took a deep breath and stepped back toward the counter. She’d never know what was inside if she didn’t open it.
    The paper was thick and coarse as she picked it back up. And set it right back down, her heart thumping and ears ringing.
    “You’re being silly.” She meant to encourage herself, but it backfired.
    She’d been held hostage, had overheard a plot to blow up something and been run off the road. If being silly meant being cautious about the chance of danger, then this was the time for silliness.
    Snatching the envelope from the fridge, she punched the numbers into her phone. On the second ring: “L.T.”
    “This is Staci.” She quickly added, “Hayes. Staci Hayes.”
    She could almost hear the sigh in his voice and see the sag in his shoulders. “What can I do for you?”
    “Someone dropped a box off on my