Hidden Identity. Carol J. Post

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       TWO

      The air was chilly and damp, the darkness complete. Meagan felt her way along the narrow passage, palms turned outward, the stone floor cold and rough beneath the soles of her feet. Why was she barefoot? Where did she leave her shoes?

      She crossed her arms over her stomach, clutching the fabric at her sides. Silk. She wasn’t only barefoot, she was also dressed in her nightgown. Its thin spaghetti straps and short length offered little covering, which further amplified her sense of vulnerability.

      She continued down the passageway, touching the walls only enough to stay in the center of the path. Sticky strands fell across her face and neck, and a startled shriek shot up her throat.

      Spiderwebs.

      She stamped and spun, clawing at her face, running her fingers through her hair and brushing her hands down her front in a frantic, spastic dance.

      Spiders. There were spiders in the passageway. Something passed over her bare foot, featherlight, and another scream made its way up her throat. She stumbled forward at a half run. Spiders were everywhere—crunching beneath her feet as she ran and falling into her hair.

      Suddenly, the ground dropped from beneath her and she fell, landing with a splash in a lake. The water folded over her, her momentum propelling her deeper. She was going to drown. She had escaped the spiders but was going to drown.

      No. She wasn’t a six-year-old child anymore, sinking beneath the surface for the final time. She was a determined adult who had learned how to swim, who had spent months conquering her fear of the water.

      With strong kicks and smooth strokes, she propelled herself upward. Moments later, she burst through the surface and sucked in huge gulps of air, eyes still squeezed shut.

      A hand clamped around her throat.

      Her eyes snapped open.

       Edmund.

      She sprang upright in bed with a gasp, nightgown drenched with perspiration and heart racing. Since escaping Edmund, she was no stranger to nightmares. But this one was the granddaddy of them all, preying on every one of her fears. Well, not every one. There were no snakes.

      Edmund’s mistake had been falling in love with an illusion. Every night, he had come alone to the restaurant where she’d worked, and she had waited on him. The waitress persona had been sweet and compliant, taking care of his every need. Unfortunately, he hadn’t been able to see past the facade to the strong, determined woman beneath—a woman who had begun working at age sixteen, to help support her younger sister and give her opportunities she herself never had. Who had waitressed nights and weekends and gone to school days to improve her own lot in life.

      When he realized he hadn’t gotten the woman he thought he had, he’d vowed to break her.

      He almost did.

      Meagan climbed from bed, grabbed her robe and headed toward the door, determined to shake off the last remnants of the dream. Having someone break into her house had left her more jittery than normal. Even though Hunter had nailed a board over the broken pane, her security had been shattered along with the glass.

      Running into Anna hadn’t helped, either. Maybe it was coincidence, but when she’d described the “reporter” who had come in asking questions, she’d painted a perfect image of Lou, Edmund’s butler.

      Though Lou held the title, he wasn’t a stuffy, proper Englishman walking around in a tux. He was more like a bodyguard, a tough New Yorker right out of the Bronx, with the muscles and scar to match. Whoever had created that scar had likely fared far worse than Lou had.

      Meagan glanced at the clock on her way out of the room. It was only three-thirty, but her night was over, at least as far as sleep was concerned. She would be better off picking up a book.

      As she reached for the light switch, her gaze fell on the window near the desk. Behind the slits in the miniblinds, a shadow passed by. She froze, arm extended. A cold knot of fear settled СКАЧАТЬ