Hidden Identity. Carol J. Post

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СКАЧАТЬ filled her mind—massive arms, a rock-hard chest, an inch-long scar marring one tanned cheek.

      But Lou wouldn’t hurt her. Not that he wouldn’t be capable of it. He would just tell Edmund. Whatever Edmund had planned for her, he would want to carry out himself. And he would take pleasure in it.

      She backed away from the switch, heart pounding out an erratic rhythm. Once she had retrieved her phone from the nightstand, she locked herself inside the bathroom and dialed 911. Then she sank to the edge of the tub. And for the five thousandth time in the past year, she wished she could somehow turn back the clock.

      When she’d met Edmund, she hadn’t been looking. She’d been focused on work and school and keeping her head above water. But Edmund had poured on the charm and swept her off her feet. He was so confident and powerful. Calm and in control of his emotions. The complete opposite of her abusive father.

      Now she knew better. What she had seen as calm control was actually coldness at its extreme. A heart that had stopped feeling years ago.

      A siren sounded in the distance, grew louder, then fell silent. Several more minutes passed before she found the nerve to step from the bathroom. When she swung open the front door, a police cruiser sat in her driveway. To her left, the beam of a flashlight shone from around the side of the house, and to her right, truck headlights moved toward her.

      Moments later, Bobby appeared from the side of the house, flashlight in hand, and the truck eased to a stop. Hunter jumped out. What was he doing here? She cinched her robe more tightly.

      Hunter’s gaze swept her up and down. When his eyes locked on hers, they were filled with concern. He had offered to stay last night, to sleep on the couch. Maybe she shouldn’t have been so quick to turn him down.

      “I heard the siren and was afraid your intruder had come back. Are you all right?”

      “I saw someone move past the window.”

      Bobby interrupted their conversation. “You’d better look at this.” His expression was grim, his tone ominous.

      Dread trickled over her. She hurried, barefoot, down the steps and around the side of the house, Hunter close on her heels.

      “What is it?”

      Instead of answering, Bobby raised the flashlight. Her heart dropped into her stomach, and her knees almost buckled. Painted in red, twelve-inch-tall capital letters was the word MURDERER. The letters stretched across the span of siding between her bedroom and living room windows, sloppy, painted in a hurry, but quite legible. Rivulets trailed from each letter. Like blood.

      Meagan crossed her arms over her stomach, steeling herself against the nausea churning there. Her past had followed her to Cedar Key. Someone in California had found her.

      Or someone in Cedar Key knew who she really was.

      “Meagan?”

      Hunter’s voice penetrated her spinning thoughts. She lifted her gaze to his face. The tenderness that was usually there was gone. His jaw was set in a firm line, and his blue eyes held suspicion.

      “What is this about?”

      Even his tone was harsh. However this turned out, he wouldn’t cut her any slack. No matter how gentle and caring he had seemed previously.

      “I—I don’t know.”

      Bobby turned to go. “I’m getting my camera.”

      Hunter stayed. He put his hands on his hips, his expression even more harsh, if that was possible. “Someone just painted murderer on your house. That’s not a childish prank. Tell us what’s going on.”

      “I don’t know.” This time she managed to put more strength behind the words. “I’m not a killer.”

      Even though she’d been one of only two people in the house when Edmund’s gardener was murdered. Even though her fingerprints were all over the murder weapon. Even though the blow had been delivered by someone left-handed.

      The charges against her were dropped. There was no motive. And the investigators didn’t believe she had the strength to do that kind of damage to Charlie’s skull, even with a heavy brass candlestick.

      She hadn’t been able to help much with the investigation. All she knew at the time was that Charlie owed someone money. And that she didn’t kill him.

      Then she’d found out who had. And she’d disappeared.

      Hunter took two steps toward her, his stance intimidating. “Give me one reason I should believe you. You’re obviously running from something. I’d hoped it was a psycho ex-boyfriend. But this doesn’t look good.”

      “I’ve never killed anyone.”

      Hunter didn’t respond, just studied her for several moments. He was standing close, invading her personal space. But she refused to step back. Or squirm under his intense scrutiny.

      Bobby returned with a camera and began snapping pictures while he talked. “Any idea who did this?”

      She faced him, giving Hunter a stiff shoulder. Bobby was the officer on duty. She would direct her answers to him.

      “I have no idea.” And that was the truth. If someone was blaming her for Charlie’s death, why wait till now? There had been plenty of opportunity to threaten her earlier. After Charlie was killed, she’d spent another two months in Edmund’s house.

      Bobby snapped another photo, the flash blinding in the darkness. “Do you think this incident and someone breaking into your house earlier tonight are related?”

      “Possibly. But I don’t see the connection.”

      “I’m going to look around. The grass is too thick right here, but I’d like to see if the person left behind any footprints. I’m also going to take some samples of the paint.”

      A spark of hope lit the despair that had fallen over her. Maybe they would be able to tell where it came from and who’d purchased it.

      Her gaze shifted back to the wall. The letters were barely visible in the dim glow of a nearby streetlight—dark, ugly stains against the white siding. “Can I wash this off as soon as you’re finished?” Since it was brushed instead of spray painted, maybe it would scrub clean.

      “Sure.”

      Hunter followed Bobby around front, and Meagan breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe he was done grilling her. Bobby came across as an investigator seeking the answers he needed to solve the case. Hunter’s questions held an undertone of accusation.

      Instead of leaving, he reappeared a minute later with a flashlight, ready to help Bobby with the investigation. Fine. She would go inside and leave them to their work.

      A short time later there was a soft knock on her front door. Both officers stood on her porch. “We’re finished now.” It was Bobby who spoke.

      “Thanks. I’ll get that paint washed off.”

      When she bade them good-night, Bobby took the cue and left. Hunter didn’t.

      “Do СКАЧАТЬ