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From New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Nicole Blanchard comes a small town military romantic suspense where falling in love can be murder.

I’m caught in his crosshairs…

The sole survivor of a horrific serial killer, I became someone new to escape my past…and the notoriety. A prisoner of my own fears, all I want is peace and quiet. The quaint Florida beach town should have been the perfect escape. Until I meet my next door neighbor and realize I may have exchanged one sort of danger for

And he always hit the target.

Former sniper turned cop Logan Blackwell can see straight through the lies I feed him. No matter how much I pretend there’s nothing to hide, he’s determined to peel back my defenses and discover what lies beneath.

Even if it means putting himself at risk.

When a woman is murdered and I’m the only one who
believes her death features the same signature as those I’m trying so hard to forget, I’ll either have to trust him with my secrets or do what I do best—run.

Savior takes place in the First to Fight series, but may be read as a standalone.

The motorcycle revs for what seems the hundredth time right outside my window, and I choke back a scream of frustration. Then, the guy laughs, and I give up my plan to be the nice, understanding neighbor. 

Almost as an afterthought, I grab my robe and tie the belt loosely around my waist before swinging my bedroom door open. Shadows blanket the space between my bedroom door and the living room. For a moment, I hesitate, contemplating the length of the hall. My fingers grip the wood frame, and a shiver that has nothing to do with the temperature wracks my body. Then, the motorcycle revs again, breaking me from the moment and allowing me to shake off the fear as it’s replaced again by annoyance. 

I open the front door and squint against the bright light from the naked bulb above my head. When my eyes adjust, I’m able to discern a shadowy figure standing beside a massive chromed out beast of a machine. 

“Excuse me!” I yell, but my voice is drowned out as he punches the gas. 

Gritting my teeth, I start down the porch steps and cross the white-gravel drive. He doesn’t look up until I’m nearly standing right next to him, and when he does, my words of protest whither into nothing as our eyes meet. 

Without a change in his expression, the man unfolds himself from the seat of the motorcycle and comes to stand at his full height in front of me. I immediately take a preemptive step back just to look at him without straining my neck. I know I’m not ridiculously short, but I’ve never felt as physically small as I do standing in front of this massive man. He’s six foot and change with broad, formidable shoulders, slim hips and thick, muscular thighs. Even though every female part of me recognizes his raw masculinity, it’s his eyes that give me pause. I’ve never seen such a beautiful color, and I have spent many days staring at the ever-changing color of the ocean. They’re blue-green—almost jewel colored. They are framed by long, thick lashes that stand out against the caramel tone of his skin. 

It would almost be unsettling if the rest of his features didn’t soften the stunning effect with rough edges. The dark slash of his brows and the distinct line of his jaw from a Roman nose and full, enticing lips, which are currently pulled into a frown. 

Remembering why I got out of bed at such a god-awful hour, I draw myself up and set my features into what I hope is a careful balance between friendly concern and firm admonishment. I would offer my hand, but I am afraid I might not get it back, so I just wrap both of them around my waist. 

“Need something?” he asks before I can say anything. 

“I . . . uh, yes, actually. I was wondering if you could keep it down.” I make a pained face. “It’s really late.”

He glances over my shoulder at my house and then back at me, his eyes pinning me to the ground. Without saying anything, he reaches back and removes the keys from the ignition. The resulting quiet is nearly deafening. 

“Thanks,” I say. By sheer force of will, I manage to unglue my feet from the ground to turn and walk back to the house. Relief blankets me. Still feeling chilled, I rub at my arms and resolve to get back in bed and never leave.

But his voice stops me before I can make a full retreat. “That’s it?” he asks. 

I really should ignore him and get back to the warm comfort of my bed. New me should, anyway, but apparently, there’s enough old me left somewhere deep inside, because I find myself swiveling around to face him. “What’s that?”

He ambles closer, his eyes intent upon me. I’m going to have to start wearing full body armor when we’re in the same vicinity, which could be a lot considering we live less than twenty feet from one another. It’s either the armor, or living with the daily feeling of his eyes caressing my bare skin. He looks at me like a man who looks at a woman in preparation to devour her. 

I take an automatic step back. I’m too damn tired to be devoured. “Well?” I ask a bit more testily than I mean to, but dammit, it’s two a.m., and I’m exhausted. It’s his own fault. 

He follows after me automatically. “I said, is that it?”

“What else would there be?” I ask as my feet make it to the bottom step on my porch. 

His lips twitch in what could be a smile. “Introductions,” he says. “Since you’re new to the area and all. I’m Logan. Logan Blackwell. You’re Sienna, right?”

“I think your motorcycle was doing that well enough, Logan,” I say without thinking. I want to ask how he knows my name, but something tells me prolonging this conversation isn’t in my best interest.

I switch my weight from my right leg to my left and run a hand through my hair. The action causes my robe to slip down the side of my arm, baring my shoulder. Before I can fix it myself, his hand lifts, catches the material, and drags it the long, slow journey back up my arm. 

Our eyes catch as he reaches the top, where his hand pauses on my shoulder. I take another step back and cross my arms over my chest, ignoring the tingling from his touch. “Good night,” I say, mostly out of habit, and then reach for the screen door. 

When it doesn’t budge, I look up to find his hand above me and frown. I blow out a breath and shoot him a look. “You mind?”

“When someone introduces themselves, the polite thing to do is to give them your name in return.” 

“You already seem to know my name. Besides, I don’t think you have any room to talk about manners. After all, you were the one trying to wake the entire state at two in the morning.” I tug on the door, but it doesn’t budge since he’s still holding it shut. 

“I didn’t say I was polite.” I realize that with his arm up blocking the door he has me pinned against it and his big, towering form. 

“Apparently not,” I snap, trying desperately not to sink into the debilitating fear that is rolling just under the surface. This guy is not going to hurt me. “Look, it’s late and I haven’t had much sleep tonight. Can we not do this now?”

“Do what?”

I turn to face him and wave a finger between us. “This. Us. Whatever seduction routine you’ve got going on here. I’m not interested, and you’re just wasting both our time.”

Alpha Hero, Damsel in Distress, On the Lam, Protector, Small Town

Graphic Sex / Violence, Rape, Murder


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