See me just as I see you . . .
Colin Hancock is giving his second chance his best shot. With a history of violence and bad decisions behind him and the threat of prison dogging his every step, he's determined to walk a straight line. To Colin, that means applying himself single-mindedly toward his teaching degree and avoiding everything that proved destructive in his earlier life. Reminding himself daily of his hard-earned lessons, the last thing he is looking for is a serious relationship.
Maria Sanchez, the hardworking daughter of Mexican immigrants, is the picture of conventional success. With a degree from Duke Law School and a job at a prestigious firm in Wilmington, she is a dark-haired beauty with a seemingly flawless professional track record. And yet Maria has a traumatic history of her own, one that compelled her to return to her hometown and left her questioning so much of what she once believed.
A chance encounter on a rain-swept road will alter the course of both Colin and Maria's lives, challenging deeply held assumptions about each other and ultimately, themselves. As love unexpectedly takes hold between them, they dare to envision what a future together could possibly look like . . . until menacing reminders of events in Maria's past begin to surface.
As a series of threatening incidents wreaks chaos in Maria's life, Maria and Colin will be tested in increasingly terrifying ways. Will demons from their past destroy the tenuous relationship they've begun to build, or will their love protect them, even in the darkest hour?
Excerpt ONE from SEE ME by Nicholas Sparks
In the past,
when she’d worked in the Mecklenburg County district attorney’s office, Maria
Sanchez had been in the courtroom with any number of criminals, some of whom
had been charged with the kinds of violent crimes that kept her awake at night.
She’d had nightmares about various cases and had been threatened by a
sociopath, but the simple fact was that she’d never been quite as frightened
back then as she felt right now on this deserted stretch as that car, driven by that
guy, suddenly pulled to the side of the
road.
It didn’t matter
that she was twenty-eight, or that she’d graduated summa cum laude from UNC
Chapel Hill, or that she’d gone to law school at Duke. It didn’t matter that
she’d been a rising star in the district attorney’s office before finding other
work at one of the best legal firms in Wilmington, or that until that moment,
she’d always had a pretty good handle on her emotions. As soon as he stepped
out of the car, all those truths went out the window and the only thing she
could think was that she was a young woman all alone in the middle of nowhere.
When he began to walk toward her, panic flooded through her. I’m going to die out here, she suddenly realized, and no one’s ever going to find my body.
Moments
earlier, when his car had slowly drifted past hers, she’d seen him staring at
her—almost leering, like he was sizing her up—and her first thought was that
he’d been wearing a mask, which was terrifying enough, but way less scary than the
sudden realization that she’d actually seen his face. It was bruised on both sides; one eye was
swollen shut, the other one bright red and bloody. She was pretty sure that
even more blood was dripping down his forehead, and it had been all she could
do not to start screaming. But for whatever reason, not a sound escaped her. For the love of God, she remembered thinking as soon as he’d
passed, please keep going.
Whatever you do, please don’t stop.
But obviously
God hadn’t been listening. Why would God intervene to keep her from ending up
dead in a ditch out in the middle of nowhere? He wouldn’t. Instead, He’d
decided to have the guy pull over, and now a man with a mangled face was
gliding toward her like something out of a low-budget horror film. Or prison,
from which he’d just escaped, because the guy was positively ripped, and wasn’t
that what prisoners did? Lift weights all the time? His haircut was severe,
almost military style—the signature of one of the gangs in prison she’d heard
about? The ratty black concert T‑shirt didn’t help, nor did the torn‑up jeans, and the way he was holding his jacket freaked her out. In this
storm, why wasn’t he wearing it? Maybe he was using it to hide . . .
A knife.
Or, God
forbid, a gun . . .
A squeak
escaped her throat and her mind began racing through options as she tried to
figure out what to do. Toss the tire at him? She couldn’t even get the thing
out of the trunk. Scream for help? There was no one nearby, not a single car
had passed in the last ten minutes, and she’d left her cell phone God knows where
or she wouldn’t have been trying to change the tire in the first place. Run?
Maybe, but the liquid ease with which he moved suggested he’d easily catch her.
The only thing she could do was get back into the car and lock the doors, but
he was already right there, and there was no
way to get past him . . .
“Need a hand?”
It was the
sound of his voice that jolted her out of her trance. Letting go of the tire,
she began backing away, focusing only on creating distance between the two of
them. Lightning flashed again and she noticed a blankness in his expression,
almost like something elemental was missing in his personality, the piece that
signaled that it wasn’t okay to rape and kill women.
“What do you
want with me?” she finally choked out.
“I don’t want
anything,” he answered.
“Then what
are you doing here?”
“I thought
you might need some help changing your tire.”
“I’m fine,”
she said. “I can handle it myself.”
He looked
from her to the flat tire, then back to her again.
“Okay. Good
night,” he said. Wheeling around, he started back toward his car, his figure
suddenly receding. His reaction was so unexpected that for a second she felt
paralyzed. He was leaving? Why was he leaving? She was glad about that—actually,
she was thrilled about that—and yet, and yet . . .
“I’m having
trouble getting the tire out of the trunk!” she said, hearing the panic in her
own voice.
He turned on
his heel as he reached his car. “Seems like it.”
He reached
for his door and pulled it open, ready to climb in—
“Wait!” she
suddenly cried.
He squinted
at her through the downpour. “Why?” he called back.
Why? She wasn’t sure she’d heard him right. But
then again, she’d told him she didn’t need any help. And she didn’t, except that
she did, but it wasn’t as though she could call anyone, and with her thoughts
racing and jumbled, the next words spilled out involuntarily.
“Do you have
a phone?” she shouted.
He closed
some of the gap between, stopping when he could be heard without shouting, but
not getting too close. Thank God. “Yes,” he answered.
She shifted
from one foot to the other, thinking Now what? “I lost my phone,” she said. “I mean, I didn’t lose lose it.” She knew she was rambling, but the way he kept staring
at her made the words impossible
to stop. “It’s either at the office or I left it at my parents’, but I won’t know for sure until I
get to my MacBook.”
“Okay.” He
added nothing else; instead, he stood unmoving, his eyes steady on hers.
“I use that
Find My Phone thing. The app, I mean. I can track my phone because it’s synced
with the computer.”
“Okay.”
“Well?”
“Well what?”
“Can I borrow
yours for a minute? I want to call my sister.”
“Sure,” he
answered. He tucked the phone into the folds of his jacket and as he began to
approach, she reflexively took another step backward. He placed the jacket on
the hood of her car and gestured at it.
She
hesitated. He was definitely odd, but she appreciated the fact that he’d
stepped away. She hurried to the bundle and found his iPhone tucked inside, the
same model as hers. When she pressed the button, the screen lit up and sure
enough, he was getting service. But it wouldn’t do any good unless . . .
“Five-six-eight-one,”
he offered.
“You’re
giving me your code?”
“You can’t
access the phone without it,” he noted.
“Aren’t you
worried about giving it to a stranger?”
“Are you
going to steal my phone?”
She blinked.
“No. Of course not.”
“Then I’m not
worried.”
She wasn’t
sure what to say to that, but whatever. She typed in the code with trembling
fingers and dialed her sister. By the third ring, she knew she’d get Serena’s
voice mail. Maria did her best to keep her frustration in check as she left a
message, explaining what had happened to the car and asking her sister to come
pick her up. She tucked the phone back into the jacket on the hood and then
stepped away, watching him.
“No answer?”
he asked.
“She’s
coming.”
“Okay.” When
the lightning flashed again, he motioned toward the rear of her car. “While
you’re waiting for her, do you want me to change your tire?”
She opened
her mouth to again decline his offer, but who knew when—or if—Serena would get
her message? And then there was the fact that she’d never actually changed a
tire in her life. Instead of answering, she let out a breath, trying to keep
the tremor from her voice. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Yes.”
“What . . .
what happened to your face?”
“I was in a
fight.”
She waited a
few beats before finally realizing he wasn’t going to add anything else. That’s it? No further explanation? His demeanor was so utterly foreign, she wasn’t sure what to make of it.
As he stood in place, obviously waiting for the answer to his earlier question,
she glanced at the trunk, wishing she actually knew how to change a tire.
“Yes,” she
finally said. “If you wouldn’t mind, I’d love some help changing the tire.”
“Okay.” He
nodded. She watched as he reached for the bundle on the hood and tucked his
phone back into his pocket before slipping his jacket on. “You’re afraid of
me,” he said.
“What?”
“You’re
afraid I’m going to hurt you.” When she said nothing, he went on. “I won’t, but
whether you believe that is up to you.”
“Why are you
telling me this?”
“Because if
I’m going to change your tire, I’m going to have to approach the trunk. Which
means I’ll be approaching you, too.”
“I’m not
afraid of you,” she lied.
“Okay.”
“I’m not.”
“Okay,” he
said again, then started toward her. She felt her heart squeeze as he passed
within arm’s reach of her, only to feel foolish when he walked right past
without slowing. He unscrewed something, then lifted the spare tire out and set
it aside before he disappeared behind the trunk again, no doubt to retrieve the
jack.
“One of us
needs to move your car onto the road,” he said. “It needs to be level before I
get the jack going, otherwise the car might slip.”
“But I’ve got
a flat tire.”
He peeked
around the side, jack in hand. “It won’t hurt the car. Just go slow.”
“But it will
block most of the lane.”
“It’s
blocking half the lane already.”
He had a
point there . . . but . . .
But what if
that was all part of his plan? To distract her somehow? To get her to turn her
back?
A plan that included letting me use his phone? And removing
the tire from the trunk?
Rattled and self-conscious,
she got into the car and started the engine, slowly but surely edging it back
onto the road and setting the emergency brake. By the time she opened the door,
he was rolling the spare toward the rear tire, lug wrench in hand.
“You can stay
in the car if you want,” he said. “This shouldn’t take long.”
She debated
before closing the door, then spent several minutes watching in the side mirror
as he continued to loosen the bolts before sliding the jack into place. A
moment later, she could feel the car lifting slightly, bouncing its way slowly
upward and then stopping. She watched as he finished unscrewing the bolts before
sliding the tire off, just as the storm began to intensify, rain blowing in
gusty sheets. The spare went on quickly, along with the bolts, and then all at
once, the car was being lowered again. He placed the flat tire back in her
trunk along with the jack and the lug wrench, and she felt him gently push the
trunk closed. And just like that, it was over. Still, she startled a little when
he tapped on her window. She lowered the glass and rain began to spit through
the opening. With his face still shadowed, it was almost possible to see past
the bruises and the swelling and the bloody eye. Almost, but not entirely.
“You’re good
to go,” he shouted over the gale, “but you should probably get the tire fixed
or replace it sooner rather than later. Your spare isn’t meant to be used permanently.”
She nodded,
but before she could thank him, he had already turned and was jogging toward
his car. He jerked his door open and slid behind the wheel. She heard the roar
of his engine and then—before she knew it—she was alone on the road again, albeit
now in a car that would get her home.
With over 100 million copies of his books sold, Nicholas Sparks is one of the world's most beloved storytellers. His novels include 12 #1 New York Times bestsellers. All his books have been New York Times and international bestsellers, and were translated into more than 50 languages. Ten Sparks novels have been adapted into major motion pictures, with The Choice coming in February 2016.
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