Dark clouds rolled across the sky, and thunder rumbled in the distance. Meagan pedaled harder, struggling against the wind. She would be hard-pressed to make it home before the sky opened up. One of the drawbacks to getting places on a bicycle during a Florida summer.
She made a left from D Street onto Fifth. One more block. An engine revved behind her, probably someone who had also just made a turn. But instead of backing off, the driver continued to accelerate. She cast a worried glance over her left shoulder. A white sedan sped down the road toward her.
She was used to sharing the streets of Cedar Key with vehicles—slow-moving ones. From trucks and SUVs all the way down to golf carts. Lots of golf carts. She had gotten over her nervousness at riding in the street weeks ago. But getting that note yesterday changed everything.
Besides, the sedan wasn’t moving slowly. It was already going faster than it should for the residential neighborhood and was continuing to accelerate. It wasn’t weaving, moving erratically or threatening in any other way, except for the speed. But she wasn’t taking chances. She eased to the edge of the road, ready to veer off if need be, and cast another glance over her shoulder. The car suddenly angled straight toward her.
A bolt of panic shot through her. She jerked the handlebars to the right, desperate to get away from the three thousand pounds of metal bearing down on her. Her front wheel hit sand where the grass was sparse, and jerked the handlebars farther right, while the back wheel twisted left.
Meagan went airborne. Everything happened so fast, she didn’t have time to react. She landed with a grunt on her left shoulder and hip, and rolled. How many times, she didn’t know. A crunch of metal registered through her panic, and she came to a stop against the rough bark of a tree. A root protruded from the ground under her left hip, which was likely already bruised from the fall.
Tires squealed, and she pushed herself to a seated position in time to see the sedan turn the corner. Then it was gone. Along with the dim hope she had held on to that the message on the side of her house and the note were nothing more than a twisted prank.
Someone was trying to kill her. And she had no idea who.
Edmund didn’t own a white sedan. Of course, it could be a rental car. In fact, if he wanted to run her over, he wouldn’t use his own vehicle.
But somehow, that didn’t sound like Edmund. When he finally found her, he would try to kill her. She had no doubt. But he would do it with his own hands, close enough to look her in the eye and see her regret, smell her fear.
She eased herself to her feet, testing her limbs as she stood. Her knees and ankles were okay. So was her spine. Except for a bruised hip and some tenderness in her left shoulder, she was fine.
She reached into her pocket to get her phone. She needed to call 911. There was only one way on and off Cedar Key. If they set up a roadblock on Highway 24, maybe they could apprehend the driver.
If not, she wouldn’t be much help. She wasn’t able to get the tag number. She didn’t get a look at the driver, either. The windows were too tinted. And she’d been too focused on trying to get out of the path of the car to zero in on details.
Her eyes dropped to her phone, and her heart fell. The screen was shattered, with multicolored blotches and streaks running behind the jagged lines. She needed to borrow a phone. She took two quick steps toward her bike, then stopped. It hadn’t fared any better than her phone had. It lay on the ground ten feet away, frame bent, wheels crushed.
A strong gust swept through and whipped the ends of her hair against her cheeks. The sky burst open, pouring rain over her. Leaving her bike, she sprinted to the nearest house with a car in the driveway. Old Mrs. Tackett was always home.
Within minutes, help was on its way. That help came in the form of Hunter. Meagan waved from Mrs. Tackett’s porch, and he pulled into the driveway. She would have preferred Bobby, but at the moment she would take anybody.
From everything she had seen of Hunter, he was a good cop. He just made her uneasy, always pushing for information she would never be able to share.
The door of the cruiser swung open. A black umbrella appeared first, then Hunter stepped out. She met him at the car. She was drenched, with drops of water falling from her bangs into her eyes. But Mrs. Tackett had pressed an umbrella into her hand and insisted that she keep it. She would return it later.
Hunter’s eyes were filled with concern. “Are you hurt?”
“No, just a little bruised.” And a lot shaken up.
“We’ve already got a BOLO out with Levy County on the white sedan. Since your bike is pretty mangled, there’s probably damage to the car. Anything else you can tell me?”
“No. I was so focused on staying alive, I missed everything else. The description I gave the dispatcher is pretty much it.”
Which was pretty much nothing. White sedan, tinted windows. And now probably some good dents and scratches on the right front bumper. Maybe some pink paint.
She crossed the street and led him two doors down, to where her bike lay in the grass.
Hunter frowned. “If they left any tire tracks, this storm has pretty well washed them away.”
He was right. Already water had collected at the edge of the road and was running downhill in a steady stream. And the deluge didn’t look to be letting up anytime soon.
Hunter continued. “We’re searching Cedar Key, and Levy County is setting up a roadblock at the marshes between the Number Four Channel Bridge and Cedar Key Plantation to catch anyone trying to leave.”
His eyes shifted to the mangled bike and then back to her face. Anger had pushed aside some of the concern. “You could have been killed.”
“I think that was the point.” There was no sense in trying to deny it. After yesterday’s note, she couldn’t pass it off as coincidence.
He asked her several more questions, most of which she wasn’t able to answer, and had her relay step by step what had happened from the time she turned onto Fifth until the car sped out of sight. After that, he took several pictures. Finally, he picked up the bike and loaded it into the trunk of his cruiser.
“Get in and I’ll take you home.”
“That’s not necessary. It’s a few doors down.”
Even as she said the words, she knew there would be no deterring him. There was a steely determination in his blue eyes.
“Come on, Meagan, it’s pouring rain.”
“I’m soaked. I’ll get your seat wet.”
“It’ll dry.”
She shrugged and stepped into the car. As long as he didn’t press her for answers. Because she really didn’t have any. Nothing that had happened this afternoon fit Edmund at all. And the chance that some friend or relative of Charlie’s was coming after her in Cedar Key just didn’t compute.
When Hunter got in, he turned the key in the ignition. But instead of pulling away from the curb, he looked over at her. The determination in his eyes was tempered with concern. “Someone just tried to kill you. Don’t you think it’s time to level with me?”
“I can’t tell you what I don’t know.”
“You know more than you’re letting on. Tell me, Meagan.” His tone had softened. It was now gentle and pleading. “What are you running from? Who is after you?”
She closed her eyes and tried to still her pounding heart. Rain beat against the roof, but she was safe and protected inside her metal cocoon, Hunter next to her. His calming presence filled the car, and his masculine scent wrapped around her, woodsy with a hint of spice. She inhaled slowly, drawing it all in—his strength, his gentleness, his concern.
Her throat tightened, and her determination crumbled, leaving her with an overwhelming urge to throw everything she had held on to for the past several months at Hunter’s feet. She was tired. Tired of running. Tired of the fear. And so tired of being alone. She longed to rest and let someone else take care of everything. Just for a little while.
She let her head fall back against the seat, and stared through the windshield. The wiper blades swished across the glass, providing brief moments of clarity through the river distorting the view ahead.
Clarity. What she wouldn’t give for some of that right now. A clear path to follow. Knowing whether to run or stay. Knowing who to trust.
She lifted her head. Certainly not Hunter.
She had faked her own death. If that wasn’t illegal, falsifying information on her I-9 and other employment documents was. And Hunter was a cop. An honest one. He’d have to turn her in.
Then it would be all over. Edmund would know she was alive, and there would be nowhere to run. Because he would follow every lead, turn over every rock. With his acres of vineyards and successful winery, he had the resources to do it. And if his own millions somehow fell short, there was always his family’s expansive estate in Italy. For Edmund, money was no object. He would do whatever necessary to find her.
Then he would kill her.
It wouldn’t be the first time he had killed someone. Or the second. She didn’t have proof, but she had a dead man’s blackmail letter. And a strong gut feeling.
Meagan shook her head. Hunter wanted to know who was after her, but she didn’t know.
He sighed, then pulled away from the curb. When he came to a stop in her driveway, he didn’t turn off the engine. “I’m calling the station before we go in.”
“We?”
He ignored the question. “I want to know if they’ve found this white sedan.”
When he finished the call, his face was grim. “There’s been no sign of it. It didn’t head up 24.” He opened the door and started to get out.
“What are you doing?”
“Seeing you safely inside.” He hesitated. “You have a cell phone, right?”
“I did until a half hour ago. I landed on it when I fell, shattered the screen.”
He frowned. “Do you have a landline?”
“No.”
He closed the door and began to back from the driveway.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting you a new phone.” He backed out onto Fifth, then glanced over at her. Some of the hardness had left his eyes. “I’m not leaving you alone here with no way to call out.”
Warmth filled her chest, along with an odd sense of longing that seemed to come out of nowhere. He was suspicious of her, but he still refused to leave her cut off and unprotected. It had been a long time since someone had cared for her like that.
She pushed aside the thought and shored up her defenses. She had escaped Edmund and stayed alive the past two and a half months by being strong. And depending on nobody but herself. Sure, Hunter was good-looking and sweet and caring, but now wasn’t the time to go all weak. Or let a man once again try to take over her life.
She opened her mouth to object, then snapped it shut again. Hunter was right. She needed a phone. And fighting him on it was not only senseless, but stupid. When she went to bed tonight, her new phone would be on her nightstand within easy reach.
Both Cedar Key and Levy County were looking for the white sedan. And no one had spotted it.
Which meant only one thing—whoever had tried to kill her was still on Cedar Key.
* * *
Hunter stood inside Darci’s Collectibles and Gifts, leaning against the metal doorjamb. It was five minutes to six, and Meagan was there alone, closing out the day’s business.
Since yesterday’s attempt on her life, she’d been without a bike. Darci had taken her to work this morning, and he was giving her a ride home. Neither of them was willing to let her walk. Hunter wasn’t willing to let her ride, either. Once she got a new bike, he would probably have a battle on his hands.
She rounded the corner and met him at the door with a half smile. “Thanks.”
He nodded. As long as he wasn’t pressing her for information, she was amicable—not exactly warm, but not bristly, either.
That was soon to change.
They had a match on the prints, and there were surprises. Big ones.
He opened the passenger door for her and helped her in. When he slid into the driver’s seat, she was staring out the windshield, her dark hair falling in soft waves around her face. He wasn’t sure what the natural color was. When she had first arrived in Cedar Key, it was deep black. Now it was a rich brown, like his mother’s antique walnut desk, catching the light with hints of red. Though still short, it had grown out quite a bit in the past two or three months. Soft and relaxed, with just the right amount of natural wave, the longer style suited her better.
He eased from the parallel parking space in front of the store and went around the block to head toward the small house on Fifth Street.
She released a soft sigh. “I’m sorry about this.”
He glanced over to find her watching him. “What?”
“You having to pick me up. I’ll work on getting a new bike this weekend.”
He pulled into her driveway and turned off the truck. “Under the circumstances, I’d rather drive you.”
Instead of responding, she just stared at him, her usually expressive eyes unreadable. Emotion swam somewhere near the surface, hidden behind the air of aloofness that had surrounded her from the moment she’d arrived in Cedar Key.
“I’ll manage. It’s not your responsibility to take care of me. Not even in your position as a Cedar Key police officer.”
“It’s my responsibility to protect all of my citizens.” And that was why he was going to do what he had to do. “I need to talk to you. Is it all right if we go inside?”
She stiffened, and fear flashed in her green eyes. He could almost see the walls around her strengthen. She hesitated a moment longer, then squared her shoulders and gave a brief dip of her head.
Once inside, she eased down onto the couch. But she didn’t lean back. Instead she sat straight and stiff, hands folded in her lap. He chose the recliner adjacent to her.
“You know the prints we lifted? Levy ran them through the FBI database.”
“Really?” Her voice was a couple pitches higher than normal. “Any matches?”
“Yeah. They all belong to an Elaina Thomas.”
Her eyebrows lifted in question, a facade of nonchalance layered thinly over panic. “You mean it was a woman who broke in?”
“That’s how it appears. There’s only one problem. Elaina Thomas died almost three months ago.”
Her brows drew together, and she gave a couple of rapid blinks. “How—how is that possible?”
Anger flared in him. More lies. He was giving her a chance to come clean, but she was choosing to continue the deceit. Just like his brother.
“Don’t play me, Meagan.” He narrowed his gaze. “Or should I call you Elaina?”
Her eyes fell to her hands. They were still folded, but clenched so tightly her fingers were discolored. Fear radiated from her. Suddenly she seemed small and fragile. And so alone.
Tenderness forged a path through the anger and burrowed deep in his heart. In that moment, she wasn’t just a possible fugitive, living under an alias, hiding a dark and deceptive past. She was a woman, scared and vulnerable.
But he had to ask the hard questions. It was his job.
“Elaina Thomas was charged with first degree murder. Then the charges were dropped. What happened?”
“I didn’t do it.”
“Are you running from the circumstances surrounding that murder? Is that why you faked your death?”
She shook her head but otherwise didn’t respond.
“Then tell me. Why did you run? Why did you go to the extremes that you did? What are you afraid of?” He kept his tone soft and gentle. He couldn’t be stern with her now if he tried. It would be like kicking a defenseless child.
So much time passed that he didn’t think she would answer. Finally, she drew in a long, shaky breath and lifted her gaze to his face. Her eyes still held fear. But something else was there, too—determination.
She shook her head. “I can’t.”
“Did you commit a crime?” Not that she would tell him if she had. But maybe he would be able to sense if she was lying. “Are you running from the law?”
“No.”
It was just a single word. But the conviction behind it blasted holes in the suspicions he had had since the moment someone had branded her a killer.
“Then what are you running from?” Or more likely, who?
She shook her head again. “I can’t tell you. I can’t tell anyone.”
He leaned forward and lightly touched her jean-clad leg. “Tell me what you’re afraid of. I can help.”
“No.” She crossed her arms in front of her, as if suddenly chilled. “No one can help.”
“Meagan,” he began, then stopped. That wasn’t even her name. “You faked your death. You’re living under an alias. What kind of a cop would I be if I just accepted your claim that you’re not running from the law?”
“What are you saying?”
“I think you know what I’m saying. Give me one good reason to not haul you in.”
Her eyes widened, and fear flashed in their depths. “I’m not a killer. I’ve never committed any kind of crime. I’ve never even had a speeding ticket.” Her tone turned pleading. “Please believe me.”
“I don’t have that option. As an officer of the law, I can’t just let this go. Tell me what you’re running from.”
She shook her head again, so adamantly her hair bounced against her cheeks. “He’ll kill me.”
“Who?”
“Edmund.”
“Edmund who?”
“I can’t tell you. If he ever finds out that I’m alive, he’ll hunt me down. He won’t rest until I’m dead.”
Hunter leaned forward again and locked gazes with her, hoping she would see the sincerity in his eyes and let down her guard. “No, he won’t. We’ll protect you. But you have to let us know what we’re protecting you from.”
She sank her teeth into her lower lip while indecision flashed across her features. Seconds stretched into a half minute.
“Please tell me, Meagan. Let me help you. Who is Edmund?”
Finally, she straightened her spine and raised her chin, her decision apparently made. “I can’t. It’s not just me. He said if I ever left, he would kill my mother and sister, too.”
Just what Hunter had suspected. Meagan was running from a psycho ex-boyfriend.
Or was the whole thing one big con? She had already been charged with murder, then managed to get out of it.
She seemed sincere, the fear in her eyes real. And he was usually a pretty good judge of character. But he really didn’t know her. She’d been on Cedar Key for less than three months. And since she kept to herself, he had spent very little time with her, none in a social setting. Would he even recognize a lie from her? Not if she was good.
Like his brother. He seemed to have been born with the ability to lie. And steal and cheat and deceive. And somehow still come out on top. Those laughing blue eyes and that smooth, easy manner had kept him out of a lot of trouble. Then the charm had run out. Instead of a slap on the wrist, he’d gotten fifteen years.
Was it possible Meagan was a con artist, too? That risk wasn’t his to take. He gave it one last shot.
“We can protect you.”
She crossed her arms, her jaw set. “No.”
He rose to his feet with a sigh. He had tried to get her to level with him, but gentle prying was getting him nowhere. What he was about to do would put a permanent rift between them. But she was leaving him no choice.
“Fine. We’ll play it your way.”
“Where are you going?”
“To get a warrant.”
“For what?”
“All employment records for Darci’s Collectibles and Gifts. I’m guessing we’ll find a falsified I-9. That’s a federal offense.”
Meagan’s eyes widened and filled with panic. But she still didn’t speak. He crossed the room and reached for the doorknob.
“Abelli.”
He withdrew his hand. “What?”
“Abelli. Edmund’s last name is Abelli.”
He eased back into the recliner, relief surging through him. She was going to talk. But she wasn’t happy about it. Her arms were still crossed in front of her, and she stared straight ahead, her jaw tight.
“Who is Edmund Abelli? A crazy ex-boyfriend?”
“Fiancé.”
“You wanted to break things off, and he wouldn’t let you leave?”
She nodded.
“Did you get a restraining order?”
She shook her head. “I tried.” Her tone was flat, without emotion. “He caught me before I could even make it to the courthouse.”
Hunter’s gut tightened, and though he really didn’t want to know, he asked the question, anyway. “What did he do?”
She turned her head until her eyes met his. “For the next week I could hardly walk.”
The nonanswer told him everything he needed to know. He clenched his fists, trying to beat back the fury pumping through his veins. Not just crazy. Abusive. And Edmund had apparently gotten away with it.
Hunter drew in a slow, calming breath. “Did you go to the police?”
She shook her head. “He said he would do the same thing to my little sister, except worse. And I knew he would. He had ways of keeping me in line.”
Meagan began to rock back and forth, her eyes squeezed shut against the memories assaulting her. His chest tightened, and the urge to draw her into his arms was almost overpowering. But it wasn’t his place to offer comfort. He was a cop, and she was a suspect. There were distinct lines he couldn’t cross.
He sprang to his feet. Forget professionalism. He eased onto the couch next to her and draped an arm across her shoulders. She tensed, but only for a moment.
“It’s okay.” He kept his tone soothing. “He can’t hurt you now. You’ve got friends here, people who will do everything they can to protect you.” He was one of them. And at the moment, he would love to get his hands on this Edmund character.
“No.” Meagan had stopped rocking, but shook her head, the motion adamant. “You can’t protect me. No one can. Edmund is slick. He’s killed before. And he’ll kill again.”
“He’s a killer?” What kind of man had she gotten tangled up with? A thug? A mob boss?
“I don’t have proof. At least not evidence that will stand up in court. And definitely not with his team of fancy lawyers. But I have this.”
She stood and moved to the desk in the corner of the room. After pulling open one of the drawers, she removed a thick book. Inside was a sheet of paper folded in thirds. She handed it to him, and he opened it. There was no signature. The salutation simply said “Edmund.” A chill settled over him as he read.
I found her. But no one needs to know. Meet me in the atrium at midnight with $1,000,000 in unmarked bills, and I’ll quietly disappear.
Hunter handed the letter back to her. “Found who?”
“I don’t know. But I can make a good guess. I did some research, and four years before Edmund met me, he was engaged. Finding information on her was easy. Patti Wallace. She was the daughter of one of the prominent families in the area and regularly made it into the society pages of the local papers.”
Meagan drew in a deep breath. “But the articles got more and more disconcerting. She had a lot of suspicious injuries. Lots of bruises, a dislocated shoulder and a broken arm, with an excuse to go along with each one. Then she disappeared.”
“Disappeared?”
“Yep. They never found a body, and although they questioned Edmund extensively, they were never able to prove anything.”
“So you think Edmund killed his ex-fiancée, and someone found out about it and was blackmailing him?”
“That’s exactly what I think. That someone was Edmund’s gardener, Charlie.”
“Did Charlie succeed?”
“Charlie’s dead.”
At his raised brows she continued, “There’s an atrium in Edmund’s house. That’s where I found Charlie, his head bashed in with a brass candlestick. My fingerprints were all over it, because it was mine. Edmund had given it to me as a peace offering the first time he hit me. I hated it because of what it represented. But Edmund could never know. So I put it where he suggested, in my studio, and just kept my back to it while I painted.”
Hunter’s chest clenched. The fact that she could still paint, still create things of beauty under those circumstances, showed what she was made of.
“Anyway,” she went on, “at the time of Charlie’s death, Edmund had a solid alibi. He had supposedly gone to his house in Maine. The caretaker of the place vouched for him. So did the airline. I even backed up the story. That was where he said he was going, and I had no reason to question it.”
Hunter remained silent and let her talk. Now that the barriers had come down, she was spilling everything.
“A month later, I found the blackmail letter. It was in the atrium, slipped between a boulder and the greenery behind it. I used to do a lot of my sketching in there, and one of my favorite places to sit was on that boulder overlooking the waterfall and pond. I believe that what I found was a copy of the one given to Edmund, that Charlie put it there for me, in case something went wrong.”
“It was nice of him to warn you, but he should have taken what he found to the police. Then you could have gotten your life back. Instead he got greedy and left you to fend for yourself.”
She shrugged, apparently not feeling any of the dislike for the man that he felt. “I considered Charlie a friend. But he had a gambling problem. A few days before he died, he told me he had borrowed money from some really bad dudes. I think they were going to kill him if he didn’t pay up. So he was desperate. He saw this as his only way out.”
Hunter frowned. He wasn’t as quick to forgive as Meagan was. But something told him she wasn’t one to hold grudges. Or judge people harshly. Maybe he could learn a thing or two from her.
She returned to the couch and sank down next to him. “The blow was delivered by someone left-handed. I am, so that made me a suspect. Especially when combined with the fact that I was in the house and my fingerprints were on the candlestick. But Edmund is left-handed, too. Knowing what I know now, I believe someone who looked like Edmund boarded that plane to Maine.”
“Did you go to the police with any of this?”
“No. Without a body, I didn’t have solid enough proof. Anybody could have written that blackmail letter. With Edmund’s resources, he would have hired the best attorneys money could buy and gotten out of it. Then he would have killed me.”
“So you faked your death.”
She nodded. “If I’d just run away, he would have gone after my mom and sister. He had to believe I was dead.” Her shoulders slouched and she looked over at him, her eyes sad. “And now I suppose you’re going to turn me in.”
Silence stretched between them for several moments while her comment circled through his mind. Telling the authorities in California was out of the question. No way was he going to take a chance on Edmund getting his hands on Meagan. Besides, she had no warrants out there. She had no warrants anywhere. They had run her prints through IAFIS, and, other than the murder charge, which had been dropped, she was clean.
Of course, there was the issue of the I-9. But he wasn’t willing to turn her in for that, either.
“No, I’m not. But you have to guarantee me that you’ve come clean and told me everything.”
She drew in a slow breath. “I have.”
“I want to do some checking. I’d love to see this guy put away for a long time.”
She straightened, her back ramrod straight. “No, he can’t know. He can’t even suspect that I’m alive.”
He placed his hand over hers. “Meagan, can you trust me?”
Her eyes locked on to his and held. She seemed to be searching, but for what, he didn’t know. Apparently she found it. The tension left her body, and she leaned back into the couch cushions.
“I trust you.”
He gave her hand a squeeze. “There’s one more thing. I need your promise that you won’t run, no matter what happens.”
As long as she stayed, he and the other Cedar Key officers had a chance of keeping her safe. She was no match for Edmund’s power and brutality. Whatever happened, he had to keep her on Cedar Key.
Because now that he knew her story, he was more determined than ever to protect her.