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Construction dust was going to be the death of her. It was the third time in the past hour the vacuum gagged and sputtered to a stop, but this time it seemed to be serious about staying dead. The crew should have used a Shop-Vac for a preliminary cleaning of the remodeled set of rooms, but Aria Zimmerman suspected they'd skipped that step.

Aria took a swig from the lukewarm water bottle. She could find the new foreman she'd heard had just arrived, or ask her boss, George, for a new vacuum—a stranger versus the man who'd been like a second father to her the past two years. It was no contest.

Aria blew a stray curl off her damp forehead, but it only bounced up and down, tickling her eyelashes. Cleaning in resort areas paid well, but the hard work took its toll. She stood still for a moment in hopes her heart rate would decrease before she tried to talk to George. Thankfully, during her off hours, she sat in her computer networking classes where her sore back could take a much-needed rest.

Aria stared out the window and studied the cliffs in the distance. The beauty beckoned her to call it a day and hike amidst the Sitka spruce trees in the state park, an outcropping on the bluffs above the shore, and listen to the sound of the ocean waves crashing below.

While the state park was only a short distance away, there wasn't easy access unless Aria was willing to cross the creek and climb up the few hundred feet through rocks and weeds. Not feasible. She'd need to drive through town, down the highway, and zigzag through the winding roads of the park to get to the trailhead.

Since there was already a dusting of snow on the coast, she'd have to settle for a stroll on the beach to loosen her muscles. Sand Dollar Shores was a small town on the Oregon coast, only busy during the tourist season. The unincorporated town didn't have enough funds to handle the slightest flurry of snow. Locals knew enough to put on snow chains or hunker down until it melted, usually within hours.

There were twenty buildings spread out on the property of The Shoreside Conference Center and Resort. The top floor of the main center was fully remodeled, the last step being carpet, which could only be installed once Aria finished her chore. Her empty water bottle prompted her into action.

She stepped out into the open hallway and leaned over the balcony railing to survey the lobby below. Her stomach dropped at the distance between the two floors. Aria clenched the wood banister underneath her fingers and inhaled. Her new fear of heights took her by surprise at the worst of times.

A wall of windows framed the front of the reception area, displaying the Pacific Ocean. Too bad the dark clouds marred its beauty and, as a result, the lobby's lighting seemed dim as well. If Aria had designed it she would've made the roof curved, without the hard lines and edges that now framed it. A domed ceiling would've allowed for more light.

George walked around the corner of the reception counter, a stack of papers in his hands. Aria opened her mouth to call down to him but stopped when George nodded at someone underneath the balcony. Two men in suits strode into sight, approaching the reception area.

"What was so important, George, that we had to meet in person? I had to cancel two meetings with potential investors. Investors that pay for projects like this. What's the problem?" The man with salt-and-pepper hair shoved his hands into his pockets.

George's chin jutted toward the other suit. "How about you introduce me to your associate first, Robert? I don't believe we've met."

The man named Robert shrugged. "Just a colleague of mine."

Aria's neck tingled. Something didn't seem right. Why wouldn't he introduce the stranger?

"Anything you can say to me, you can say to him," Robert continued. He crossed his arms over his chest. "What about you, George? Anyone else around?"

George straightened, his chest puffed out and his chin held high. Except, at fifty-eight years old, his five-foot-six form dressed in a striped blue-and-white polo and carpenter jeans wasn't the least bit intimidating. Especially when compared to the men in suits. George's eyes lifted over the suits' heads and widened for half a second at the sight of Aria. His features relaxed, but he held her gaze as his lower lip protruded slightly and he shook his head. "No, there's no one here but me."

Aria stepped backward into one of the empty rooms just in case George's gaze would draw the suits' attention. Why had George lied? Was he trying to tell Aria to leave without causing her embarrassment? Or did he want her to listen in? It didn't seem right to eavesdrop, but she also didn't know what else to do without a vacuum. All the construction dust needed to be sucked up before she could mop.

She made her way through the open connecting doorways between rooms. Five rooms down, she peeked into the hallway. She was beyond the balcony and past the risk of interrupting the meeting, yet the way the lobby echoed she could still hear their conversation. She'd listen on the off chance George might want to discuss it later.

During the remodel, they only used natural light from the windows. Aria preferred to avoid the crew, though, and started after they left at three. She had maybe forty minutes to spare before the sunset would force her to pack up for the day.

The housekeeping cart sat right where she had left it. Usually filled with miniature soaps and luxurious bath towels, it was now loaded with heavy-duty cleaning supplies. At least she could start dusting the windowsills. She slipped the orange oil aerosol spray into the pocket of the apron tied around her waist.

Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a man exiting a guest room farther down the hall. Her heart jolted. She thought she'd been alone on the second floor. She registered the brown steel-toe boots and the leather tool belt as the man walked in the opposite direction, his back to her.

His silhouette reminded her of someone—a stronger, older version of someone she once knew. With his denim button-down shirt and jeans, it had to be the new foreman. No one else on the crew would care enough to wear more than a T-shirt in the humidity, even during winter.

"This is unacceptable!"

Aria stiffened and looked back over her shoulder. Clearly, George's meeting wasn't going as planned. She strained her ears to hear the reply, but the voices had lowered to grumbling. Aria stepped into the shadows, pressed her back against the hallway wall and tiptoed back to the balcony.

"I can't believe you fired my man," the strange voice lectured. "I'm in charge here. That was the stipulation. You keep your hands off."

"You're bamboozling these people, and I won't have it!"

She'd never heard George raise his voice before now. She peeked around the corner to see what was going on. His face had gone pale. The associate held a gun, pointed at George.

Aria's breath caught.

George raised his arms, the papers falling from his hands.

The other man, Robert, shook his head. "Too bad. You and your wife could've been very happy."

Aria's whole body jerked at the sound of a gunshot reverberating through the vaulted ceiling. Her hand shook as she covered her mouth. She couldn't scream, she couldn't cry. Help… She needed to get help. She pressed her back against the wall and fumbled in her pocket for her phone. The movement jostled her apron, and the bearings in the aerosol spray jingled against the aluminum can.

She gasped and her fingers stilled. Please don't let them have heard that, Lord.

"Someone's upstairs."

She didn't hear the other man reply. Maybe they'd go away.

Aria strained her ears, but it was hard to hear through her jagged breaths. She heard a creak on the curved stairway at the opposite end of the balcony.

They were coming for her.

Her body betrayed her by shaking. She gritted her teeth in an attempt to stop the chattering. Think, Aria! Where could she hide?

The elevator at the opposite end of the hall was shut down and the emergency staircase was unfinished. She looked back to the cleaning cart and remembered where it was usually stored. It was the least inventive hiding place but better than nothing. There was nowhere else to run on a floor without furniture. Except it was in the opposite direction she wanted to go. She'd have to run toward the men instead of away.

There was no other way—take the chance or be caught. She darted to the cleaning closet, twisted the doorknob with her right hand and slipped inside. Darkness enveloped her.

Aria clenched her jaw and tightened her fists in an attempt to stop the trembling. The effort only seemed to increase the shakes. The lack of carpet left a dramatic space between the door and the floor. If she turned on her phone, the light would likely seep under the door and alert the man with the gun. Besides, if she talked to a dispatch officer they would hear.

Her mind flashed to memories of the gun… George… She put her hand over her mouth again to prevent a sob. She couldn't afford to fall apart. Please let him be okay, Lord. I can't lose him too, not after my dad… I just can't go through that again.

Aria took another shuddered breath. George would want her to focus on staying safe. Who knew what atrocities those men were capable of after what she'd just witnessed? Her eyes acclimated to the low light seeping in from underneath the door.

Footsteps echoed. It almost sounded as if they were in the closet with her, which meant one of the men was likely in the room to her left, searching for her.

Aria began the painful process of a slow turn, careful with each step so as not to produce a creak in the floor joist or another wiggle of the bearings in the dusting can. A metal rod to her right held hangers full of linens. Underneath the rod were stacks of comforters. If she arranged it right and the men weren't looking too hard…

Footsteps pounded—vibrating the entire floor like a miniature earthquake—from the right. She was surrounded and out of time.

"Hey! What are you doing?" a deep voice yelled. "Put the gun down!"

The voice sounded familiar. She bent over and peered out the space underneath the door. The steel-toe brown boots were to the right of the door, and the black wingtips were to her left. Oh, no. The foreman.

Ice-cold dread traveled up her veins. She couldn't watch another man get shot as if his life didn't matter.

"Sorry, buddy, you've seen my face."

Shutting her eyes tight, Aria grabbed the doorknob and lunged with all of her bodyweight, flinging the closet door open as hard as she could, directly into the gunman's body.

A thump confirmed she'd made her target. A sharp crack hurt her ears. The gunshot made contact with the ceiling. She instinctively cowered, her hands over her head. Bits of drywall dropped into her bangs. Strong hands grabbed her right arm. She flinched, but managed to look up at the man she'd just rescued. "David?"

David McGuire's mouth dropped. Aria Zimmerman was not only in front of him, in the flesh, after two years without any contact, but she was the one who'd stopped the man from shooting him.

Unbelievable. What was she doing here, and in the closet?

He shook his head. "There's no time," he said, half to himself. "Come on!"

He gave her upper arm a tug, and the moment he felt her move within his grasp, he let go. She sprinted alongside him down the hall.

When the closet door hit the gunman, it sounded as if she'd hit him with the strength of a linebacker. He doubted her little form could do that much damage, but he also hoped he was wrong because they needed some time to figure out how to get off the second floor.

He headed right for the housekeeping cart. David squinted. Was there anything on the cart that could be used as a weapon? He jerked to a stop for a half a second at the cleaning cart and grabbed a jug of bleach. Now if he could only find—

"What are you doing?" Aria screeched, sliding to a stop.

He looked over his shoulder. The man was on his knees, groaning, one arm pressed over his nose. No doubt that wouldn't last long. "Run ahead of me." Spotting the ammonia, he grabbed it and revised his statement. "Go to the fourth room to the right." They needed to get to the attic he had been inspecting before the sound of a gunshot had prompted him to investigate.

Instead of running down the hallway, Aria slipped into the nearest room. He smirked, sprinting just a step behind her. "Good call." It made more sense to run through the connecting rooms. They wouldn't be as easy to shoot at as they would in the hallway.

"What's in the fourth room?" she asked, huffing.

"Ladder."

She reached the destination and spun around. The ladder had fallen to the ground when he jumped off the third rung, in a hurry to see what the gunshot meant.

"It's not tall enough to get us to the ground if we crawl out the window," she objected. "It's meant for indoor use."

"I know." He kicked the connecting door behind him shut. Aria reached over his shoulder and flipped the dead bolt.

"Set up the ladder to the attic while I rig up these chemicals."

Aria gaped. "You want me to do what?"

David shook his head, rushing to the other door. "You heard me."

"So did I," a cold voice said. The gunman stood in the hallway. His weapon pointed right at David's heart.