Re-posted on June 5 2011, with special thanks to my beta-reader mam711 for her work on this chapter.

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Chapter 1 – Cat and Mouse

I've always pictured myself getting to know you and becoming a part of your life. You're the one I've been searching for, you're the one who understands me … and now I can't imagine not knowing you, and not mattering to you. We belong together….

At eight thirty that night, twenty-two year old Peyton Sawyer stood behind the counter of Eddy's Diner. She waited on tables five or six days a week there, and was working a double shift as her fellow waitress Denise had called in sick. She didn't mind too much; the late shift was quiet due to the unseasonal bad weather rustling through North Carolina.

Being that Eddy's was situated on Route 74 just outside of her hometown of Wilmington, most of Peyton's customers were townsfolk and people just passing through. Due to the fact that the highway was treacherous, she'd only waited on a handful of tables since the sun had disappeared from the day.

While the rains poured and battered against the ground outside, she absent-mindedly polished a soda glass with a cloth as she stared up at the TV in the corner above the coffee machine. A cold shiver spread up her spine and her keen, emerald eyes scanned across the evening's headlines.

Another woman had disappeared from her home in Charlotte. She was thirty years old, married and the mother of two children. She hadn't been seen in over a week and had failed to return after a trip to the grocery store. Peyton watched as Sherrie O'Neil's husband made a plea for whoever had his wife to just let her go, that he and his family missed her and that they just wanted her back.

Peyton swallowed hard and silently uttered a prayer for that poor woman. This kind of thing wasn't supposed to happen in the small towns of North Carolina. Sherrie O'Neil was the third young woman to go missing in the state in the last six months.

"Good evening, Peyton."

The friendly, crisp voice of Coach Whitey Durham stirred Peyton from her thoughts.

"Evening, Coach." She wiped down the counter and smiled her biggest smile as her favorite regular pushed in from the wet, cold air and hobbled up to his usual stool.

"Thank you, sweetheart. Oh my, I'm sorry." He blushed as he used an overly-familiar term of endearment with the young twenty-something. He still remembered her as the little girl with the blonde curls from when she was in kindergarten and wore pigtails. He'd known Peyton all her life, and had seen her grow up into a wonderful young woman who looked every bit the picture of her late mother.

"It's fine, darlin'," she drawled back in her thick Southern accent. Peyton grinned broadly at his old-fashioned attitude. Whitey was a true gentleman to her and she found that so charming about him. She set his coffee down in front of him. She'd already added in his cream and sugar, and she threw him a flirty little wink.

The retired sportsman chuckled before he wrapped his hands around the warm, thick cup gratefully.

"What can I get for you tonight?" Peyton pulled out her small notepad and pen from the pocket of her white apron but there really wasn't any need. She'd already scrawled the old coach's order onto the page for the benefit of the kitchen's cook, Sam. Whitey ate there every night and he'd have whatever the special was on that day.

"The usual please, honey. And why don't you buy yourself a drink on me." Whitey had always had a soft spot for the girl who'd led cheers for his basketball team.

Peyton nodded as she stepped over to place the man's order. As she went about her daily routine of filling and refilling the coffee machine, wiping down the tables and serving the steady flow of hungry people, she had come to realize it was the familiar and kind faces that got her through her long shifts. It was her talks with people like Whitey that made the endless hours more bearable.

She was soon setting down Whitey's order of meatloaf. After the last of her other customers, the red-haired woman with her three girls with matching dresses and French braids, left, Peyton nursed her drink of double mint mocha while Whitey ate hungrily. She'd always take the time to talk with the coach. She knew he missed his dinner talks with his late wife and that he frequented the diner for the company more than the food itself.

"It's terrible about those missing girls, ain't it?" Whitey said as the headlines ran across the TV screen again.

"Yeah." She felt the chill on her skin once again. "You don't expect things to happen so close by." The towns were separated by only a couple of hundred miles. It was a little too close for comfort. That thought alone made Peyton a little uneasy. Especially on the late shifts she worked.

"You're being careful at night? Locking all your car doors before you drive on home?"

"You sound like my dad." Her response may have been a little dry but she appreciated the concern. She looped the stray, curly tendrils behind her ear as he reached out his large hand to pat her smaller one.

"How's your dad doing?"

Whitey rarely brought up the subject of Larry Sawyer. Once Peyton had graduated the local high school she'd taken a Business scholarship at UNC. She'd completed three years before she'd had to drop out in her fourth. Her father had suffered a terrible accident while away at sea. He'd been left paralyzed from the waist down. Peyton had paused her education to take care of him, as they couldn't afford a caretaker.

The past year had been hard on both father and daughter. Larry had struggled to come to terms with his paralysis and needing to be more dependent on his daughter. But Peyton had stuck by him. And as he went through his rehabilitation, he slowly came to terms with spending the rest of his life in a wheelchair.

"He's doing a lot better. His physical therapy's going well so…." Once her family life had settled down and her dad could do more things for himself again, Peyton had taken a job at the diner. She'd been working there for the last six months, saving up to put herself through her final year of college.

"I'm glad, Peyton," Whitey replied earnestly. The girl hadn't ever had it easy, what with the death of her mother at the young age of eight and then her father's accident.

The front entrance to the diner opened with the chiming of the bell. Peyton's eyes moved onto her two newest customers. One she knew as Roy Ferguson, the town's local handy-man, who presently staggered in from the gusty night.

The newcomer was someone Peyton didn't recognize. He was a young man with scruffy blond hair, and he moved carefully past a swaying Roy and headed to the darkest corner of the restaurant.

Roy Ferguson himself slipped down into the nearest booth and shrugged of his raincoat with a splattering of water and a loud grunt.

Peyton exchanged a quick look with Whitey before she moved out from behind the high counter. She could smell the stale scent of alcohol on his breath immediately. He was drunk. He hadn't been doing too well lately. It was no secret about the town that Roy and his wife were going through some marital problems. That Mrs. Ferguson had thrown him out and he was now living alone in a motel.

"Evening, Mr. Ferguson, what can I get for you tonight?" She tried to keep the traces of scrutiny from her tone. She could feel his eyes wandering over her slim frame and she felt her distaste rise.

"What's the sweetest thing you've got on the menu?" Roy slurred while staring unashamedly at her chest.

"Pecan pie," Peyton replied through gritted teeth. She was used to customers hitting on her. She was used to some of them ogling her and making suggestive remarks. She didn't like it but she'd come to accept it was part of the job.

"What about you, Peaches? You on the menu?" The balding man's hand reached out to touch the fabric of the uniform at her hip before he allowed it to graze her behind.

Peyton's frame stiffened immediately. She'd come to accept that the looks and the comments came with the job. She needed the money to support herself and her father, and she'd flirt for larger tips. She wasn't always proud of it. But she did what she did to keep her job. But she did draw the line at physical contact. Especially when Roy was the father of one of her close friends back in school.

She felt a scowl of annoyance work its way quickly across her face. An angry retort tingled its way to the tip of her tongue and she shrugged his hand away.

"Now why don't you show the young lady some respect?" Whitey stood up from his place at the counter. He limped forward with the aid of his walking stick. He may have been older and frailer than Peyton remembered him being back in her cheerleading days, but he still carried himself like someone who should be respected and feared.

"Sorry, Coach," Roy muttered under his breath and he immediately backed down. His eyes had fallen from Whitey's rigid stare to his own gray sweater.

"It's not me you need to be apologizing to," Whitey retorted.

"I'm sorry, Peyt."

"Good, now sit down and order your pie. And have some coffee to sober yourself up. Then she can get on with her job."

At the coach's stern instruction, the man sat down and muttered that he'd take a slice of the pecan pie.

After that uncomfortable display Peyton ventured to her newest arrival. He sat with his head bowed over as he scribbled in the book in front of him. He seemed completely engrossed in whatever he was writing. However, as he heard the sound of her sneakers squeaking against the tiled floor he looked up and closed his book shut.

He had bright blue eyes and floppy blond hair that he parted in the middle. He looked to be around Peyton's age. He was around six feet tall with broad shoulders and an athletic build. He smiled warmly at her.

"Welcome to Eddy's, what can I get for you tonight?" She recited the usual greeting but she smiled back.

"Oh, I'm sorry." His hand reached for the menu. "I haven't even looked. I'll take a cup of black coffee and a slice of pecan pie."

"Coming right up."

She moved back over to the coffee machine to pour the drink and cut off his slice of dessert. She stifled a yawn with the back of her hand and looked to the clock. She was relieved that she had little over an hour left until she could lock up and go home.

"Well, I guess I'll be off," Whitey announced. He gathered up his coat and with a firm grasp of his walking stick he pulled himself back to his feet. "You going to be all right?"

"Yeah, I think he's calming down now." Both sets of eyes wandered to the direction of Roy. He sat, head bowed over his cup of coffee. He looked more sober and mournful now.

Whitey's hand pushed the money to settle his bill across the counter. He'd always tip her extra and Peyton had learned not to refuse even though she knew he now lived on a fixed income.

"You be careful now," he warned her.

"I always am," she said lightly. She watched as Whitey shuffled out of the restaurant and left the bell jingling behind him.

She then moved back over to the blond man with his coffee and pie. She set them down in front of him as he cradled his pen between his fingers.

"So are you new in town or just passing through?" she asked politely.

"I might be staying a while. It seems like a fairly-nice town."

Peyton smiled and nodded. "Well, I hope you enjoy your stay." She turned on her heel to begin the closing down and restocking of the diner. She knew if she started the cleanup now she could be finished earlier, and her body was exhausted from working her third double straight. Her mind was focused on a long soak in her bathtub and reading the last couple of chapters of Dandelion Wine.

"Peyton Sawyer?"

Hearing him speak her name, she turned back around to face him.

"Yeah?" She felt her brow furrow as she gazed at him.

"Sorry." His face flushed with embarrassment and he pointed at her name badge. "I saw your name was Peyton and that this painting was done by Peyton Sawyer. It's really beautiful."

Peyton's green eyes moved up to the picture she'd done last year in college. A Pre-Raphaelites module she had taken had inspired her. The picture was of a girl sleeping in the fields but she had given the work a more modern edge. Her boss had allowed her to sell some of her paintings at work to go towards her college fund. "Yeah, I painted that."

"It's beautiful, really wonderful. The bright colors, the lines and the brush strokes." He spoke passionately and enthusiastically about the painting framed up above his booth. "It's amazing."

"Thank you." Peyton couldn't help the pride that swirled in her stomach.

"It's so beautiful and so innocent." His very blue eyes traveled to the painting and back to her. "I love how it's influenced by the Pre-Raphaelites."

"Have you studied art?" It wasn't often that Peyton met anyone in the café with such a knowledge and enthusiasm for what she loved.

"Oh no." He rubbed the back of his neck before he placed his hands over his leather-bound book still sitting on the table close beside him. "I just dabble and draw whatever I feel like."

"Really? Can I see?" she asked enthusiastically at the budding artist. She yearned for those times from school where she could appreciate other people's gifts and trade ideas and inspiration. She barely spent any time now drawing and she realized how much she really did miss it all.

"Well…" He toyed with the corner of the book. "I'm sure they wouldn't be good enough. Not like your work. I'd be too embarrassed."

Peyton remembered how shy and secretive she'd been about her own work and she didn't push him. "Well, if you ever change your mind…." She made the offer lightly before she motioned to his coffee mug. "Would you like a refill?"

After a final hour of cleaning up with just the blond newcomer for company, Peyton finally clocked off for the night. After the young man disappeared into the night she made her way to the ladies' room to change out of her mint green uniform. She rid her skin of the coarse material for her usual clothes of choice: her ripped and faded jeans, and band tee. She finished off her look by drawing her leather jacket over her shoulders and zipped it.

She switched off the lights and moved through the now dim restaurant. Her feet throbbed from her double shift and her eyes stung with her need to sleep. She locked up the doors and walked the couple of hundred feet to her beloved Comet.

It had finally stopped raining outside and the gravel stirred and crunched beneath her sneakers, and Peyton unlocked the driver's side.

She sucked in a breath when she saw the faded red car and the figure bent over the engine. With the missing girls and all of her over-protective father's warnings, Peyton was a little unsure of whether to approach him or not.

In high school, and indeed throughout her life, she'd been the smart and sensible girl. But she was also the nice girl and the dependable girl. It wasn't in her nature to simply walk away if someone might be in need of help.

She moved up to the parking lot and her fingers curled around the pepper spray she always kept in the depths of her pocket.

"Is everything okay?" She approached the owner of the Mustang cautiously.

The blond-haired man lifted his head up from under the hood to answer her. It was the guy from the booth that had talked to her all night and Peyton felt slightly more at ease.

"My car won't start." He muttered his explanation with a small hint of frustration in his voice. "Just my luck that the rental agency gives me the dud, right."

Peyton curled her tousled locks behind her ear. "There's a garage about a mile down the road but it's closed until tomorrow."

"Again, just my luck," he chuckled in his reply. "I guess I'll just call Triple A and wait. Do you have a phone I can use?"

"Sure." Peyton pulled out her cell from her jeans pocket. She paced the still-damp concrete as he made his call. The night air was growing chillier as the clouds pulled away to reveal the twinkling stars, and that long, hot bath was even more appealing to the weary girl.

She huddled deeper inside her jacket and leaned at the side of his car. Her eyes looked onto his scarlet-bound leather book as it sat on the passenger seat. The inside of his car was messy but the book remained in perfect condition. She smiled, thinking back to the days of her cluttered, teenaged room. Her sketch books and her art supplies were the only things she didn't have to search for as they always had their place.

"They're sending someone out." The blond man handed back the phone. "Thank you. You should get on home."

Peyton nodded. She knew how much her father worried about her, especially at the moment with the missing girls. "Are you going to be okay?"

"I'll be fine. You've been a big help." He smiled and waved off her dubious expression. "Really, I'll be fine."

Peyton nodded. "Okay, I guess this is good night then." She trudged a few steps over the gravel before she turned back. "Hey, can I at least know your name?"

"Ian."

She flashed a smile at him. "Well, good night, Ian." She walked back to her car and drove off.

He watched as her vintage black car disappeared out of sight. His heart was beating so fast after being in the presence of the girl who didn't even know who he was. He sank back down into the driver's seat, as his weak knees wouldn't hold him.

He reached out for his little red book and opened it to his marked page, Peyton Sawyer.

You're just how I imagined you'd be. Beautiful just like in your pictures. And smart and sweet. I liked the way you wore your hair tonight, up in that messy bun style with all those wild curls framing your face.

I was so nervous about meeting you, Peyton. You're so special. We belong together.