Missing Persons. Shirlee McCoy

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      MILLS & BOON

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      To Emma Grace, daughter and ally in our house

       filled with men—I love you just because you’re you.

      And to Jessica Alvarez, editor extraordinaire, who

       helped make sense of this wonderful continuity.

       Thanks!

      Special thanks and acknowledgment are given to

       Shirlee McCoy for her contribution to the

       REUNION REVELATIONS miniseries.

      CONTENTS

      PROLOGUE

      CHAPTER ONE

      CHAPTER TWO

      CHAPTER THREE

      CHAPTER FOUR

      CHAPTER FIVE

      CHAPTER SIX

      CHAPTER SEVEN

      CHAPTER EIGHT

      CHAPTER NINE

      CHAPTER TEN

      CHAPTER ELEVEN

      CHAPTER TWELVE

      CHAPTER THIRTEEN

      CHAPTER FOURTEEN

      CHAPTER FIFTEEN

      CHAPTER SIXTEEN

      CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

      CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

      CHAPTER NINETEEN

      CHAPTER TWENTY

      CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

      CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

      CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

      CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

      CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

      EPILOGUE

      PROLOGUE

      She wasn’t angry. She wasn’t even mildly annoyed.

      And Lauren Owens figured if she told herself that enough times she just might believe it.

      Okay. Maybe angry wasn’t the right word. Maybe irritated was a better fit. Perturbed. Frustrated.

      She only had herself to blame. She’d been such a pushover. Why hadn’t she refused when Steff asked her to participate in the Magnolia College fund-raiser dinner and auction?

      Because she hadn’t wanted to disappoint her friend, that’s why. Instead, she’d managed to add two very unwanted complications to her already complicated life.

      Seth.

      His son.

      Her hands tightened on the steering wheel of her Mustang convertible, the blackness of the night beyond the car’s headlights reflecting her dark mood.

      Up ahead, her sister Deandra’s house beckoned, a light shining in an upstairs window spilling out into the darkness. Dee was probably waiting for a rehash of the evening’s events. Unfortunately, that would have to wait. Lauren wasn’t in the mood to talk.

      She pulled around to the back of the house, following the driveway to the small converted carriage house at the edge of the property. Trees loomed over it, dark shadows against the night sky, hulking figures that looked like giant men waiting for the unwary to step beneath their grasping arms. Lauren shivered, her gaze riveted to the front of the carriage house. She’d left the light above the front door on, but it was out now, the large bushes on either side casting deep gray shadows over what should have been a well-lit area.

      A warning raced along her spine and lodged at the base of her skull, but she ignored it. Bad things didn’t happen in small-town Georgia.

      Didn’t they?

      The question whispered through her mind as she stepped out of the Mustang and started toward the door. A woman had died in Magnolia Falls, her body hidden for ten years and just recently found during Magnolia College’s library renovations. That was proof enough that bad things did indeed happen in small towns. But that was a long time ago and right here, right now a burned-out lightbulb was more likely the cause of the darkened stoop than some faceless, nameless murderer.

      Right?

      A breeze brushed against her hair as she moved toward the carriage house, ghostly fingers that trailed along her skin and made her shiver. She could almost imagine someone watching from the darkened windows or shadowy corners. Almost hear the raspy breath of the watcher.

      “Stop it!” She hissed the words, refusing to allow the timid mousy creature she’d once been to take hold. Ten years living alone, ten years building her reputation as a premier Savannah chef, ten years learning who she was and where she belonged had made her strong. Independent. A woman who didn’t panic, didn’t overreact, and did not allow her imagination to get the better of her.

      She shoved open the carriage house door, flicked on the living room light and froze. Shredded fabric. White stuffing pulled from once-pristine sofa and chairs. Books strewn across paint-splattered hardwood floor. Framed photos trampled and torn. To the left, the bathroom door yawned open, light spilling across the floor and reflecting off a slick, wet substance that might have been shampoo, lotion. Blood. To the right, the lone bedroom door was closed. She’d left it open. She was sure of it.

      A sound drifted into the silence. The pad of feet on carpet. The brush of a hand against the wall. Lauren didn’t wait to hear more. She stumbled backward, away from the subtle sound and from the chaos. Then turned and ran toward Dee’s house СКАЧАТЬ