He was a dangerously seductive stranger . . .  Jon Sandell. Confident, controlled, a man with many secrets—and one remarkable power: the ability to read a woman's mind, to touch her soul, to know her every waking desire. Who rocked her world . . .  Now he's on a vital mission: to rescue a woman who doesn't even know she's in danger from the ruthless agents who wish her harm. But who will protect her from him? With breathless intrigue . . .  Alone in her ivy-covered cottage, Elizabeth Ramsey welcomes Jon's sudden appearance, for he is a link to the husband she loved and tragically lost. Until this mesmerizing stranger reveals his true intentions: to lure her from her ordered home and into his violent, passionate, precarious world. . . . And desperate desire. . . .  Soon, alone in a secluded mountain lodge, Elizabeth will walk a glittering tightrope between fear and fascination, unable to tell friend from foe, lover from enemy. Caught in a sensual game of love and lies, she must find the truth before she loses her life. this is quotes w befriends a mysterious stranger, only to find herself drawn irrevocably into a strange world of fear and fascination, where she is unable to tell friend from foe, lover from enemy. A young widow befriends a mysterious stranger, only to find herself drawn irrevocably into a strange world of fear and fascination, where she is unable to tell friend from foe, lover from enemy. Iris Johansen is the New York Times bestselling author of many novels, including Killer Dreams, On the Run, Countdown, Firestorm, Fatal Tide, Dead Aim, and No One to Trust. She lives near Atlanta, Georgia. THE GRAY FORD SEDAN WASN’T PARKED ON THE tree-shadowed side road today.   Elizabeth Ramsey loosened her white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel as she slowed her car. She sighed with relief. She hadn’t realized how tightly she had been clutching the wheel until the tension suddenly flowed out of her like air rushing from a pricked balloon.   Stupid. She was being so incredibly stupid. She’d only seen the car parked there four times. It was possible there was no one in the car. Perhaps the driver was a hunter or someone as innocuous as a bird watcher. She had never felt afraid before on this lonely stretch of road, which led to Mill Cottage. It had just been the way home. The road she loved most in the entire world.   It must be pregnant lady’s nerves, she decided with a grimace. She had never thought she would be prone to this sort of weakness, but she had learned she wasn’t nearly as pragmatic as she had once believed in the eight months since Mark had died and…She firmly blocked the thought before it could take root and flourish as the familiar barbs of pain. Think about the baby. The baby. Don’t think about Mark or the past.   Her hand left the steering wheel to rest on the taut swelling of her stomach through the cotton of her loose blue shirt. Life. Soon. All she had to do was hold on a little longer, and then the loneliness would be over for both of them. There was a slight movement beneath her palm and her lips curved in a warm smile of delight. It was almost as if Andrew had read her thoughts and was trying to reassure her.   The tender smile still lingered on her lips as her hand returned to the steering wheel. Maybe this imagining business wasn’t so bad after all. Not if it brought comfort as well as those silly spurts of panic. She had been foolish to worry.   She speeded up as she drove into the old covered bridge and the familiar rumble of the planks beneath the tires of her station wagon murmured a soothing chant of the homecoming that was just beyond the next turn in the road. She left the bridge, negotiated the serpentine curve, and Mill Cottage came into view. She immediately felt a surge of peace and reassurance. The ivy-covered stone cottage was very old and had a serenity about it which was rarely found in modern architecture. From her seat in the car, she could see the ancient oak paddle wheel that had powered the mill and furnished the first American Cartwrights with their livelihood. The wheel was still now, and no longer churned the waters of the smooth silver stream winding through the meadow and into the distant woods. Most of the trees in the woods were bare, only the pines retained their greenery. She shivered, and looked once again at the cottage. Home. Inviting, welcoming, warmth in a world that would soon know winter. She rounded the last bend in the road, and the driveway of the cottage appeared before her.   She inhaled sharply as she spotted a man standing on the stone steps at the front door of the cottage. A man she had never seen before. Immediately her gaze flew to the car parked in the driveway. It was a dark green pickup truck, not a gray Ford sedan.   She pulled her car into the driveway and slowed it to a stop. Nerves or no nerves, it wouldn’t hurt to be cautious. She kept her windows rolled up and the doors locked. The man,