Tempted Trapped and Too Late to Run

Clara didn't stop walking. She didn't turn around, not even once, as she passed Dylan's car. She just kept going.

The windows were up. She had no idea if he was inside, and honestly, she didn't care. She got into her own car and drove off.

Dylan's car followed her in silence. The pain in her head had faded a little, but her vision was still blurry, the world doubling in front of her eyes.

She took a deep breath, forcing herself to hold it together. By the time she pulled into Palm Bay, Dylan's car rolled to a stop right behind hers.

She didn't even glance his way, just headed straight inside.

The housekeeper waiting in the foyer let out a shaky breath of relief when Clara came through the door. "Ma'am, you left so suddenly, and you're still hurt. We've all been worried sick about you."

Clara didn't say a word. She just walked upstairs.

The housekeeper watched her go, anxious, noticing how empty Clara's eyes looked-like she wasn't really there.

the front door opened again. To her surprise, Mr. Evans

fighting? Why would

just as calm—almost too calm. "Sir, did you and Mrs. Evans make up?" the housekeeper asked, half-hopeful.

and walked to his desk. Everything was perfectly neat, lined

yanked open the side drawer and searched through it carefully. Nothing-no bracelet,

pulled out files and random things, piling them on the desk and the floor until both drawers

a

herself against the desk, finally standing upright,

and saw Dylan standing in the doorway. For a second, her eyes looked lost, but then her

had no idea how long

her

suit, looking like it was the middle of the workday instead of the middle of the night. He looked flawless, almost like

her forehead, and pain shot

but serious. "Are you