One hand was fisted on the seat-belt buckle, the other rested on the door release. She was more skittish than a newborn calf about to be checked over by the vet. “I’m not going to hurt you, Analise. I will never hurt you,” he said. She took a deep breath, and he could tell she was forcing herself to relax. “I know. I just like having my own wheels.” His jaw clenched at the reminder—so she could run again if she wanted. But he needed her cooperation if his plan was going to work. At some point, they’d have to face the past. For now, though, they had to sort out a story good enough to fool his family. He was counting on the fact that bringing home someone they already knew and loved meant they wouldn’t question why he hadn’t told them about Analise before. “I’ve been living in Europe for the last eighteen months. I assume you’ve been in France?” He glanced at her after he pulled onto the highway. She now clutched the cake box, but at least her knuckles were no longer white.
