Something jumped her at six a.m. He'd found her. Damn it. She lunged for her weapon—came up empty. Desperate, she swept her hands beneath the pillow, searched and ripped at the sheets. Sweat rolled down her face as she braced herself for his laugh, that bitter twist of sound that froze her heart and echoed through her nightmares. Her breath hitched and jammed as she fought a scream, let it ricochet through her mind but never made a sound. She would not scream. Not this time. Enveloped in blackness she couldn't breathe, couldn't see, couldn't break free of the covers trapped her. Hot, stale air suffocated her, sweat ran into her ear and her fingers were useless pieces of sponge. A kick to her left kidney left her gasping and was closely followed by a sharp jab in the ear. She wheezed and choked, fought to get out of the heavy blankets to fight back. Where am I? A glancing smack on the nose made pain explode in her eye sockets. Lights went on further down the hall and a soft giggle penetrated her terror. Elizabeth fell back onto the pillows as a smiling cherub peeped over the top of the covers. She'd finally gone insane. Halleluiah. At least it wasn't him. The child was beautiful. Gossamer fine curls and big dark blue eyes. Elizabeth reached out to touch a silky tress. Jerked her hand away when she realized the little girl was flesh and blood, not a figment of her imagination. The child spotted Elizabeth at the same moment and her mouth turned into a round ‘O' of confusion. "Who're you?" the child asked in a high-pitched whisper, "Where's Unca Nat?" Elizabeth groaned, rubbed her hands over her face as she remembered what had happened last night. Uncle Nat must think she was a freaking nutcase. The little girl pulled the bedclothes off the bed, searching for her missing uncle. "I can tell you right now he's not down there!" Elizabeth gave up the tug-of-war with the covers. The creak of a floorboard warned her someone was approaching the room. Her muscles froze, her breath lodged in her chest. A large silhouette loomed and she realized it had to be Nat Sullivan. The missing Uncle. She relaxed slightly. He hadn't hurt her last night when she'd been as vulnerable as a newborn babe—stupid, stupid woman. She rubbed her forehead and tried to pry open her jaw. Leaning against the doorjamb he wore a pair of old denims and an unbuttoned shirt that hung loosely over broad shoulders. The shirt gaped briefly over a lean torso that was ripped with muscle before he started to slowly do up the buttons. She averted her eyes, uncomfortable with the rush of awareness that flooded through her and left her breathless. "Morning, ma'am." The smooth tones of his voice sent warm shivers down her spine. Good shivers—nice shivers—normal shivers. It had been a long time since she'd felt any of those things. Glancing up she caught his gaze. Sleep-rumpled and tired- looking, he'd recently been in a fight, she realized. One eye socket was blackened and a series of yellow-blue bruises ran over his jaw and a nasty-looking graze darkened his full lower lip. Dark eyes, the color of square-cut sapphires, twinkled at her, amused. A wide forehead, heavy blond brows and a thin blade of a nose complemented a mouth that looked both sensual and reserved. He dragged a hand through his hair, made it stick up in blond tufts. Rested his hand against the doorframe. "Feelin' better?" His voice curled through her, with that slow, sexy drawl. Moving into the room, he smiled an easy smile at the little girl who sat playing peek-a-boo with the covers, and then looked back at Elizabeth. Where was her gun...? Damn it! Fear shot through her system faster than a lightening strike. Her stomach rolled as she looked down at the child who played on the floor. Thank God she hadn't had it. Nat Sullivan came further into the room, blocked the light as he got closer. He was big enough to fill the space. Panic raced over her skin like a thousand dancing ants. Elizabeth scooted up the bed and hunched her knees beneath her chin. Her breath stuck in her chest. She felt trapped, crowded. She wrapped a hand around each ankle as her eyes weighed him. Could she take him? Too big, too strong. All lean sinew and balanced tone. She forgot to breathe, caught off-guard as he reached the bed and stood beside it, his hands hooked into the back pocket of his jeans. Frantically her gaze searched his face, but there was no malice. No dark intent. The blue eyes sparkled with laughter and despite the firm, hard jaw, his mouth curved into a smile that looked...bruised. "Where'd you get the shiner?" Her voice was croaky from disuse, or maybe nerves. One side of his mouth kicked up as if he'd forgotten about the bruises or maybe hoped she wouldn't notice. They must have hurt like hell. "Let's just say I had a slight disagreement with someone." He rubbed his bristled chin with a thumb and index finger and she watched, transfixed. Nodding, she ran her tongue over dry lips, but shrank away from the interest in his gaze as his eyes followed the movement. "I think your mother gave me directions. Does she live here too...?" She strived to sound casual, knew she'd failed when Nat Sullivan straightened up and took an offended step back. Annoyed and backing off. Thank God.