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 in her stomach. Had her intruder come back?
She dropped her hand and shut her eyes against the image that 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 you have a scrub brush? I’ll help you clean that up.”
“Thanks, but I’ve got it.”
Stubbornness crept into his features. “I’m not leaving until you’re locked safely back inside. So you may as well let me help you.”
As she stepped out the door with a bucket, some dish soap and a brush, relief nudged some of the annoyance aside. With a prowler on the loose, standing outside alone in the middle of the night wasn’t the smartest thing to do. It was almost worth the suspicious glances and prying questions to have Hunter’s protection.
But over the next ten minutes, there weren’t any suspicious glances or prying questions. He insisted on doing the scrubbing and had her hold the hose. The paint seemed to come off well, with little, if any, tint remaining behind. The real test would be when the sun came up.
He walked her to the front door. “Keep everything locked. And call if anything at all seems off. I’ll give you my cell number.”
“That’s okay. If it’s an emergency, I’ll just call 911. I don’t want to bother you.”
“It’s no bother. It’s my job.”
“Not when you’re off duty.”
He started to turn, then hesitated. “Don’t leave Cedar Key.” It wasn’t a request. It was a command.
“Don’t worry. I won’t.” She had no choice. As much as she longed to run, that wasn’t an option. Her funds were too low. The bus ticket from California had taken a good chunk of what she had squirreled away. And getting set up in the small house she rented had taken most of the rest. By the time Darci had given her the part-time job in her gift shop, Meagan hadn’t been sure how she was going to eat the following week.
No, she would have to save up much more than a measly four hundred dollars before she was ready to disappear again. Until then, she was stuck. Regardless of who might be stalking her.
She watched Hunter step off the porch, then closed and locked the door. For some reason, the emptiness of the house seemed more pronounced than ever, mirroring the emptiness of her life.
Instead of returning to bed, she opened the desk drawer and removed two paperbacks she had picked up at a garage sale last weekend. A third book lay underneath. It was old—a small, thick book of classic poetry—and one of the few things she had brought with her from California. It had belonged to Charlie. She had borrowed it so many times, he had joked that he would will it to her when he died.
That day came sooner than either of them had anticipated.
But the books weren’t what she was after. The drawer held one other cherished item—a five-by-seven photo. It was the only one she had. She’d left all the albums behind, with their pictures of family camping trips, picnics, her sister’s roller-hockey tournaments. She’d had no choice. If one had been missing, Edmund would have known the truth.
So she had settled for a single photo, hidden years ago when a more current one was put into the frame in front of it. It was of the three of them—her mom, her sister and her. Meagan had been twelve at the time, her sister only six. Ever since their dad went to jail for the last time and their mom became both mother and father, the three of them had been inseparable. Until Edmund.
One of his first steps in taking over her life had been talking her into quitting school. Not permanently. Just one semester. A break to focus all her attention on getting her art career off the ground. If she would move into his house, she could give up her waitressing job and do nothing but paint.
And her clunker of a car that needed work—why dump money into it when his butler would chauffeur her anywhere she wanted to go in the Mercedes? Each choice had seemed like a no-brainer. Trading a small apartment downtown for a mansion on twenty acres. A 1992 Pontiac Sunbird for a brand-new Mercedes. Hours on her feet serving demanding customers for days spent painting in a large, sunny studio overlooking the lake.
What she hadn’t recognized until much too late was that the real trade she had made was freedom for bondage.
She removed the picture from the bottom of the drawer, the longing in her heart threatening to tear it in two. So many times she had picked up the phone and dialed her mother’s number, but never hit Send. Her mom and sister lived less than twenty miles from Edmund. There was always that slim chance their paths could cross. And if they knew she was alive, Edmund would see their happiness and pry the reason out of them somehow.
So she would never do more than dial the number. And stare at a twelve-year-old photo.
When she boarded the bus for Florida, she’d thought she had gained her freedom. She was wrong.
She was no longer living under Edmund’s roof, but he still invaded her dreams.
He had no more control over her friendships, but she could never let anyone get close.
She wasn’t a victim of his mind games anymore, but she lived with the constant fear that he would one day find her.
No, she wasn’t free.
Freedom was nothing but an illusion.
* * *
Hunter eased his cruiser to a stop in front of Darci’s Collectibles and Gifts. The older red Corolla was parked at the curb, which meant Darci was there. So was the pink Schwinn bike, Meagan’s mode of transportation.
When he entered the store, Darci stood at the counter unpacking a small box of office supplies. She looked up from her work to offer him a vibrant smile. “What are you up to?”
“Just the usual. Hanging out, keeping the streets of Cedar Key crime-free.” Investigating a suspicious woman with “murderer” painted on the side of her house.
He glanced around the shop. Meagan was nowhere to be seen. She was probably avoiding him. For good reason. She was hiding something. At least she wasn’t a flight risk, not on a bicycle. Or in a johnboat powered by a four-horse motor.
Darci pulled a pack of fluorescent-colored Post-It notes from the box and set them beside the pens and calculator tape already on the counter. “It’s been busy today. We’ve finally hit a lull, but we’ve had a steady stream of customers all morning.”
Before he could respond, the phone began to ring, drawing Meagan out of hiding. She slipped past Darci and laid an envelope on the counter, avoiding eye contact with him. Yep, definitely someone with something to hide.
As soon as he could get Darci alone, he’d talk to her. If she would give him the information he needed, he’d put it through the database. Running the numbers on Meagan’s boat registration sticker had led nowhere. They were easy enough to get; she kept the boat pulled up on the narrow strip of beach at Darci’s parents’ place. But it was still in Darci’s dad’s name. And Meagan had no car tag to run. According to Darci, she didn’t even have a bank account. She cashed her checks at Darci’s bank, then paid her bills with cash or money orders.
Meagan picked up the envelope she had previously laid down and began to tap it against the counter. Whoever was on the phone was apparently trying to sell her something, judging from her side of the conversation. But Meagan wasn’t budging. Finally, she hung up. Whether the conversation actually ended or she got fed up and cut it short, he couldn’t tell.
She handed the envelope to Darci.
“What’s this?”
Meagan shrugged. “I don’t know. I assumed it was yours. I found it on a shelf in the back where the beach-themed stuff is.”
Darci broke the seal and removed a single sheet of paper. As soon as she unfolded it, her eyes widened and her brows drew together.
Meagan stepped closer, and her gaze dipped to the page. Her reaction was stronger than Darci’s. She gasped and stumbled backward, her hand to her chest.
“What is it?” He couldn’t see what was written from his position across the counter.
Darci handed him what she held. Three lines of slanted black print filled the center of the page: You killed him. For this you will die.
Darci shook her head. “I’m sure it wasn’t there when I straightened up yesterday. So that means someone left it today. But I have no idea who. Probably a couple dozen people came through here this morning.”
“Is there anything in particular that you can remember about any of them? Anything out of the ordinary? Anyone acting strange?”
“Not that I recall. They all just seemed like normal tourists to me. Meagan?”
Meagan swallowed hard and shook her head. She hadn’t said a word since Darci opened the letter. She had managed to make it to a stool, though, which was a good thing. As pale as she had gotten, Hunter wasn’t sure she would be able to stand on her own. A pang of tenderness shot through him. Regardless of what she had done, the fear and vulnerability in her eyes wove their way straight to his heart. But he wouldn’t let that get in the way of doing his job.
“Were any of your visitors big guys with close-cropped hair and a scar on one cheek?” He kept his eyes on Darci, trying to ignore Meagan’s glare. Yes, he’d been eavesdropping, and now she knew.
Darci raised her brows. “It sounds as if you’re thinking of someone in particular.”
“A guy was in Nature’s Landing yesterday asking a lot of questions about Meagan.”
“What makes you think this has anything to do with Meagan? The note wasn’t addressed to anyone.”
“Just a wild guess.” He cast a glance at Meagan. She obviously hadn’t said anything to Darci about her early-morning discovery. “And the fact that someone painted murderer on the side of her house this morning.”
Now it was Darci’s turn to gasp. “Why?”
“That’s what I’m hoping she’ll tell us, especially since this someone is making some pretty serious threats.”
Meagan squared her shoulders and straightened her spine. “I don’t know who’s doing this. I’ve never killed anybody.” Some of the color was returning to her face, and her voice held some strength now. There was also a flash of defiance in her eyes that hadn’t been there a few moments ago. “Someone is targeting the wrong person.”
Hunter studied her. She seemed to be telling the truth, but he couldn’t say for sure. People who were good at lying could do it without flinching. His twin brother was a prime example. He had lied all his life, at least since he was old enough to talk. He lied even when it was easier to tell the truth.
Maybe Meagan didn’t kill anyone. But there was a whole lot that she wasn’t telling them. Now that someone was threatening her life, he needed to learn the details of her past and what had brought her to Cedar Key. But Meagan wasn’t talking.
She glanced at the sailboat clock hanging behind the counter. “I’ve got five more minutes, so I’ll finish what I was working on when the phone rang, then head out.”
“I need to do a police report.” He looked down at the page he still held. “And I’ll take this in as evidence.” Unfortunately, any prints were likely destroyed. But he would give it a shot.
By the time he had asked Meagan a few questions, her shift was over. Worry tightened his chest at the thought of her riding home alone. “Let me take you. Your bike should fit in the trunk.” It might not close, but her house was only a few blocks away.
“That’s okay. At two o’clock in the afternoon, no one is likely to bother me.”
He nodded and bade the two women farewell. Meagan wouldn’t let him take her home. But she couldn’t stop him from following at a distance. After making a large circle of a couple blocks, he rounded the corner onto Second Street as Meagan walked from the store. With her back to him, she got on her bike and began to pedal down the street. Once he saw her safely home, he would go back and talk to Darci.
When he stepped into the store ten minutes later, two customers were leaving. Darci looked at him with raised brows.
“You’re back.”
A quick glance around told him they were alone. Hopefully, it would stay that way, at least for a few minutes. “Yeah. I need to talk to you about Meagan. What do you know about her?” He and Darci had been friends long enough that he didn’t have to waste time with small talk.
“Well, she said she moved from a little town in Indiana. I can’t even remember the name of it now. She doesn’t talk about her prior life much. In fact, she doesn’t talk about it at all.”
“Don’t you find that odd? I mean, you’ve worked together for what, five weeks now? Six?”
“Coming up on six.”
“When women spend that much time together, don’t they usually share stories and stuff?”
Darci rested her hand on a pack of Post-It notes and slid her thumb up the edge, fanning through them. “Not necessarily.”
“Okay, how much does she know about you?”
“That’s different. I’m a really open person.” She grinned at him. “And I talk a lot.”
“I won’t argue with that.”
“You don’t have to agree so readily.” She threw the Post-Its at him.
He caught them in midair and laid them back on the counter. “Seriously, how much do you know about her, other than that she came from a small town in Indiana?”
“She has a sister.”
“Older? Younger?”
“Younger.”
“Parents?”
“Mom. She never mentioned a father. But she doesn’t have contact anymore with her mom or sister.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. She was clearly uncomfortable, so I didn’t ask.” She crossed her arms and gave him an accusatory glare. “Some people don’t like to pry. The only reason I know about her no longer having contact with her mom and sister was because she didn’t have any family members she could put down on the emergency contact form I had her fill out.”
“So what else do you know about her?”
“That’s all I can think of right now.”
“And you don’t find that odd.” Something didn’t add up with Meagan Berry, despite Darci’s lack of concern. Hunter had been a cop too long to share her trusting attitude. And he’d been conned too many times to take anything at face value.
“No, I don’t. She went through some pretty traumatic stuff, and right now, she’s just trying to forget.”
“She told you that?”
“She didn’t have to. Women can sense these things. She’ll open up when she’s ready.”
That wasn’t good enough. Whatever Darci “sensed,” he wasn’t willing to go on intuition. “Did you have a background check run on her before hiring her?”
She shook her head.
“If you were hiring someone you’ve known all your life, I can see skipping all that. But not a stranger who’s being really secretive about who she is and where she came from. Don’t you think a background check would be a good idea? I mean, she’s handling your money.”
Something flashed in Darci’s eyes. “No, I trust my gut. And my gut tells me Meagan’s not a criminal.”
He didn’t miss the defensiveness in her tone. “Look, I’m not saying she’s an ax murderer or anything. But she was totally freaked out about having her picture taken. That’s a sure sign of someone who’s hiding something.”
“Maybe she just doesn’t like to be in the spotlight. She’s a private person.”
“It’s more than that. She just had murderer painted on the side of her house. And now someone is threatening to kill her.”
With his last statement, some of the stubbornness left Darci’s eyes. Maybe she was weakening. He leaned against the counter, which put him a little closer to her. “Let me check her out, just to be on the safe side. You have her Social Security number and date of birth, right?”
“Of course I do. But I’m not giving them to you.” She dug in her heels, five foot three inches of stubborn determination. “That’s confidential information.”
“Come on, Darci. I need to do this. You have to admit she’s hiding something. And I owe it to the people of Cedar Key to find out what.”
“Then get a warrant. Or a subpoena.” She planted both hands on her hips. “Don’t you have police work you need to do?”
“This is police work.” Hunter sighed. He was getting nowhere. Darci was sticking up for Meagan as if she were her oldest childhood friend. “Look, you’re sure she’s not hiding from the law. But she’s hiding from something. We’ll have a much better chance of helping her if we can find out what she’s running from.” He paused, then continued, his tone pleading. “She’s scared, Darci.”
She studied him for several moments. Then recognition dawned in her eyes, and a slow smile climbed up her cheeks. “You like her, don’t you?”
“Of course I do. She’s a nice lady.”
“No, I mean you like her. Finally, there’s someone capable of cracking the armor of the untouchable Hunter Kingston.”
“That imagination of yours is working overtime again. I’m concerned for Meagan the same way I’m concerned about every resident of Cedar Key.”
“Uh-huh.”
Uh-huh, nothing. Darci didn’t know what she was talking about. Meagan was cute. And she seemed sweet. In fact, she had intrigued him from the moment she first showed up in Cedar Key. Her incredible artistic ability, that shy smile, those expressive green eyes... But he wasn’t looking.
If he was, he would look for someone with integrity, someone he could trust. Not someone with a dark past, surrounded by a web of lies. He’d been lied to all his life. Conned and stolen from. The last thing he needed was more deceit.
He pushed the dark thoughts aside. “So are you going to help me or not?”
“I already told you, that information’s confidential. I’m not allowed to give it to anyone without Meagan’s permission.”
“No problem.”
He would find out what he needed to know with or without her help. Bobby had been able to get several viable prints from her place last night. They had already been turned over to Levy County to process. Anytime now they would get the results back.
Something told him there were some surprises in store.