RUNNING FOR HER LIFE

When Meagan Berry is caught on camera rescuing a senator, she knows her cover’s been blown. After faking her death, she’s spent months keeping her identity hidden from an abusive ex-fiancé. Now he’s on her trail in remote Cedar Key, Florida. Officer Hunter Kingston knows Meagan’s running from something, but he can’t imagine anyone wishing harm on the pretty artist. Then an intruder breaks into Meagan’s house, and Hunter promises not to leave her side. But when evidence from the crime scene doesn’t add up, Hunter wonders whether he should trust Meagan. Yet he will have to put his faith in this mysterious beauty if they both want to live to see another day.

“Any idea who’s behind all this?”

Meagan shook her head but didn’t meet his eyes.

“Someone took a big chance coming in here when you were just riding to The Market and back.”

“Maybe he thought I was going out for the evening.”

“Or maybe his intent was to be waiting inside the house when you got home.”

Her tight jaw and the determination in her eyes told him that was something she had already considered. And was trying hard not to think about.

Hunter stepped closer and rested a hand on her shoulder. “Tell me what you’re hiding from, Meagan.”

Fear filled her eyes—the same as when she had faced the reporters. And when she thought he might have overheard her conversation with Anna. But she didn’t respond.

“Tell me what’s going on.” He kept his tone soothing, nonthreatening. “Let me help you.”

Her gaze dipped to her feet, and several more moments passed. Finally, she shook her head. Whatever secrets lay in her past, she was nowhere near ready to let him in.

CAROL J. POST writes fun and fast-paced inspirational romantic suspense and lives in sunshiny central Florida. She sings and plays the piano for her church and also enjoys sailing, hiking, camping—almost anything outdoors. Her daughters and grandkids live too far away for her liking, so she now pours all that nurturing into taking care of two fat and sassy cats and one highly spoiled dachshund.

Hidden Identity

Carol J. Post

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Humble yourselves therefore under the mighty hand of God, that He may exalt you in due time: Casting all

your care upon Him; for He careth for you.

—1 Peter 5:6–7

Many thanks to Cedar Key Police Chief Virgil Sandlin and Cedar Key Fire Chief Robert Robinson, who patiently answered all my questions. If there’s anything I didn’t get right, it certainly isn’t their fault!

Thank you to my family—Mom Roberts and Jesse, Mom Post, Kim and Jerry, Robbie and Sheri and Keith—for your unending love and encouragement.

Thank you to my friend John, who has always believed I could do anything I set my mind to. Someday I’ll grant your wish and make you the villain in one of my books.

Thank you to my critique partners, Karen, Dixie and Sabrina. You’ve talked me off the ledge more than once.

Thank you to my editor, Rachel Burkot, and my agent, Nalini Akolekar. You’re both beyond awesome!

And thank you to Chris. You’re not only my husband, you’re my best friend.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

EPILOGUE

Dear Reader

Extract

Copyright

ONE

The building roar of a plane engine overwhelmed the gentler sounds of the seaside, invading the tranquility of Seahorse Key. Meagan Berry looked up from the canvas in her lap. Tension spiked through her. It wasn’t just the volume. Something was wrong. As she listened, the pitch dropped, and a series of sputters interrupted the flow of sound. She laid aside the canvas and pencil to hurry down the path leading to the beach. A small plane flew several yards above the water, too low to be on course for the Cedar Key Airport.

The roar became a whine, and the nose dipped. Her pulse quickened and she froze, holding her breath. The pilot leveled it out, but a second later the plane slammed against the water, sending spray shooting twenty feet into the air.

Meagan let out a startled scream and sprinted back to snatch her phone from her camera bag. She dialed 911 while running to her boat, then made her way over the waves with her four-horse motor wide-open. The plane appeared to be sitting lower in the water than when it had first crashed. It was sinking.

Panic spiraled through her, sucking the air from her lungs. Help would never arrive in time. There was no good way to die, but gasping for air as water filled the lungs had to be one of the worst.

She coasted to a stop in front of the plane and peered through the windshield, relaying what she saw to the dispatcher. There were two occupants, the pilot and a passenger. The pilot’s head was cocked at an unnatural angle, his neck apparently broken. She grimaced, but forced herself to study him. If he was breathing, it was too shallow to be obvious.

The passenger was unconscious, but his chest rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm. She steered the boat around to look through the side window. Water seemed to be rushing in from below. It swirled around the men’s legs, already halfway covering their thighs. The Cedar Key Fire rescue boat would be on its way. But the plane was sinking fast. She had to do something.

She disconnected the call with the emergency operator and donned her life vest. As she prepared to leave the safety of the boat, her chest tightened, the lingering remnant of a lifelong fear of water. She brushed it aside. The man’s life depended on her keeping a clear mind and acting quickly.

She threw herself over the side of the boat and into the warm Gulf water. When she reached the plane, she braced both feet against its side, gripped the door handle and pulled. Twice. It didn’t budge.

When she attempted it a third time, desperation added to her efforts. She yanked with all her might, summoning a strength she didn’t know she had. The door opened a crack, creaking in protest. Renewed energy spiked through her.

After several more tugs, she had the door open far enough for her to slip through. She reached for the seat belt, but the latch was jammed.

“Come on.” She pressed and pulled and yanked, but the belt refused to release its prisoner.

Her heart stuttered. Time was running out. The water was already past his waist. She had to free him. She scanned the cockpit, but didn’t see anything useful.

Maybe she had something. She mentally ticked through the items in her tackle box—sunscreen, rope, a waterproof flashlight and...a multi-tool. Hope surged through her. She could use the knife to cut the belt.

Moments later, she set to work, sawing until she had sliced halfway through the thick nylon. The water had risen to the man’s chest. His head rolled to the side, and a groan made its way up his throat.

“Hang loose. I’m getting you out of here.”

Meagan resumed sawing, her motions more frantic with every passing second. When the last thread finally let go, breath that she hadn’t realized she’d been holding spilled out in a relieved sigh.

But it wasn’t over yet. She still had to pull him from the plane. Then if she could get her spare life jacket on him, maybe she could free the pilot. She gently lifted the shoulder harness over the man’s head, then grasped his arms and pulled. The left one came forward. A gold wedding band glistened in the sunlight. He was married, maybe even still had kids at home. People who needed him.

It took several more tugs to wrestle him through the opening. When she glanced back inside, the plane was almost full of water. Her chest clenched. She was out of time.

During the next minute, she kept the passenger afloat and watched the water rise over the pilot’s face, covering his mouth, his nose and finally his eyes. She drew in several sharp, jagged gasps. The worst way to die...

No, he wasn’t suffering. There was no struggle, no response at all. He was likely already dead, killed on impact, neck broken. He wasn’t drowning.

She closed her eyes against a sudden wave of nausea. Weakness washed through her, and a ringing sounded in her ears, slowly building to a roar. She opened her eyes and turned. A boat was speeding toward her, nose in the air. Some distance behind was a second, quickly closing the gap.

The lead boat reached her first, carrying Cedar Key police officer Hunter Kingston. Dressed in a white T-shirt with a picture of a fish spanning his chest, he apparently wasn’t on duty. But as he drew up next to her, she had to admit he looked as good out of uniform as in.

“I was fishing over on the other side of Atsena Otie Key when I heard the plane.” He threw the motor into idle and dropped the anchor. “Was anyone else inside?”

“Yeah, the pilot. I’m pretty sure the impact killed him, broke his neck.” At least that was what she would keep telling herself. “I didn’t have time to feel for a pulse or anything.”

The Cedar Key Fire rescue boat approached, its engines drowning out Hunter’s next words. Wade Tanner stood at the helm, Joe Stearn next to him. After taking a few seconds to get details from her, they went to work. Joe got into the water with a plastic backboard while Wade circled around to the other side of the plane. Its wings floated on the surface of the waves, the body submerged. Wade would work to free the pilot, but it would be too late. Probably six or seven minutes had passed since he’d sunk beneath the water.

A lump formed in her throat, and she once again reined in her thoughts. She would keep focusing on the man she was able to save instead of the one she’d lost. Within minutes, Wade and Joe would be speeding toward the marina, where an ambulance would be waiting, or possibly a helicopter. The man still might not survive, but she had done all she could. The rest was up to fate.

Before returning to her boat, she glanced back down at the plane’s passenger. Joe had worked the backboard under him. His eyes were closed, but he was still breathing. And there wasn’t any blood. Of course, there could be internal injuries. And broken bones. And likely a head injury, since he still hadn’t regained consciousness.

Hunter followed her gaze. “You know who that is, don’t you?”

Dread slid down her throat. Please, not somebody famous.

Hunter continued before she could answer. “Richard Daniels. He’s one of our US senators.”

The dread morphed to full-blown anxiety. Reporters. News cameras. She had to get out of there before they arrived. She began to swim toward her boat. It had drifted about thirty feet from where she had left it.

Hunter’s voice stopped her. “Need some help?”

“I could use it.” Hers was a small johnboat, and she wasn’t sure she could get in without capsizing it.

Hunter helped her onto his boat, then pulled up beside hers and held it steady while she stepped in. Once she had settled onto the seat, she looked back at him, ready to offer her thanks. But her words caught in her throat. He was smiling over at her, a warmth in his gaze that she’d never seen before.

“You saved Daniels’s life. You kept your head and acted fast. You should be proud.”

Proud? She hadn’t thought about it. But Hunter was proud of her. She could tell. And it created an odd flutter in her stomach. With that soft, sandy blond hair, those gorgeous blue eyes and the fact that he was just an all-around nice guy, she was surprised he was still single. But from what she’d heard, he was too busy to devote time to romance. Besides his full-time job with Cedar Key Police Department, he taught a middle school boys Sunday school class and had his hand in almost every volunteer activity on Cedar Key.

Yes, Hunter was a special man. A year ago she would have been interested. Now she knew better. She’d been there and done that. And had the scars to prove it.

Hunter tilted his head toward the island. “Let’s get you to shore.”

She followed his gaze to where a small group had gathered. When the plane went down, she’d been alone. Now three boats dotted the shoreline. With her focus on the fire guys, and their motor left idling, she hadn’t even heard the others approach. At least none of them looked to be reporters.

Within moments, a low rumble filled the air and a helicopter approached to circle the island, Channel 20 News, WCJB-TV painted clearly on the side. Meagan flinched, the instinct to run and hide overpowering. Seahorse Key was covered in trees, but at low tide there would be any number of places for the aircraft to land.

She gave a couple sharp tugs on the pull rope, and her motor roared to life. As she raced toward the island, Hunter matched her speed. Ten or twelve sets of eyes watched them approach. One of the bystanders was Buddy, a local fisherman. The others she didn’t know. Probably tourists.

The moment she stepped ashore, she was inundated with questions. She held up a hand. “The pilot didn’t make it. The other guy’s unconscious. That’s all I know.”

The terse answer had the intended effect. The curious group fell back, and she hurried down the path leading to the lighthouse. Hunter followed. The chopper descended a short distance east of them and disappeared behind the trees. She corralled the urge to leave everything and run back to her boat, and instead willed herself to remain calm. But as she jammed the unfinished canvas into her portfolio case, anxiety chipped away at her composure and her hands shook.

Hunter lightly touched her forearm. “Are you all right?”

He had likely intended the gesture to be comforting. But she jumped as if she’d been burned. “I’m fine. I’m just ready to head home and get into some dry clothes.” She pushed her dripping bangs aside and forced a smile.

He didn’t return it. His mouth was set in a firm line. Of course he would see right through her excuses. He was a cop. And behind that handsome face was a discerning mind that wouldn’t give up its quest for the truth.

She snatched up the chair and began to fold it. Hunter picked up the cloth cover and held it open.

“Tell me what’s going on. What are you afraid of?”

Her heart began to pound, and moisture coated her palms. As she slid the chair into its case, she gave an uneasy laugh. “Spiders. Snakes. The usual things women are afraid of.” Drowning. Edmund.

More than anything, Edmund. Her dream come true. How quickly dreams could become nightmares.

She tucked her portfolio case under one arm and slipped the other through the camera bag strap. Leaving Hunter to follow with the chair, she started back up the path at a full jog.

His footsteps pounded behind her. “That’s not what I meant.”

No, that wasn’t what he meant. But it was the only answer she could give. Her life depended on keeping her identity secret.

From everyone. Even handsome, kindhearted cops.

Especially handsome, kindhearted cops.

When they reached the beach, three people had joined the others, two loaded down with camera equipment and a third holding a microphone.

One of the tourists pointed. “That’s her there.”

Before Meagan could react, all attention turned to her. A camera clicked, and a DVR began to record. She threw her hand up a half second too late.

No! They couldn’t put her picture on the news. The only reason she was alive was because the world believed Elaina Thomas was dead. Her hair was different, cut short and dyed dark. But her face was still the same.

“Excuse me, ma’am. Can you tell us what happened?”

With her head dipped, she placed her portfolio and camera bag into the boat, ignoring the reporter’s words. Hunter loaded the chair, and she continued her tasks—pushing the boat off the beach and into the water, moving her things to make way for her wet feet, and finally stepping into the boat.

Not getting anywhere with her, the reporter turned his attention to Hunter. “Someone said the lady pulled Senator Daniels from the plane. Can you verify that?”

Meagan gripped the pull rope and started the motor. As she began to back away, Hunter’s voice came to her over the rumble of the four-horse.

“She did. She’s a hero.” He glanced toward her, then continued. “But apparently she’s a modest hero and doesn’t want the recognition. I think we should respect that.”

“What’s her name?”

She shifted into forward, holding her breath. Hunter wouldn’t give her away, would he?

He gave a noncommittal shrug. “She’s not from around here.”

She turned the throttle and let her breath out in a rush. The reporter would assume she was a tourist and wouldn’t look any further. And since Buddy had returned to his fishing, no one on the beach knew her. At that moment, she could have kissed Hunter.

What he had said was true—she wasn’t from around there. She’d been in Cedar Key all of two months. Ever since her cross-country bus trip following her middle-of-the-night escape from her psycho ex-fiancé.

It wasn’t just the abuse. It was the threats to her family. And the fact that she had learned Edmund’s secret. And Edmund knew it. So she’d had no choice. Edmund would have never let her go.

Unless she was dead.

So she’d faked a fever with the help of a heating pad, gathered up minimal belongings and disappeared. Edmund’s rowboat would have been found the next day with her blood on the gunnel and her hair caught under one of the oar brackets, pulled out by the roots. There would have been only one conclusion: in her delirious state, she’d taken the boat out, hit her head, tumbled overboard and drowned. In spring-fed lakes, bodies could disappear indefinitely. Edmund knew her fear of water. And that she couldn’t swim.

He had underestimated her determination. And the effectiveness of YouTube videos.

A day and a half later, she’d shown up in Cedar Key with all the accoutrements of her new life—two changes of clothes, a few toiletries, a single loved photo, a bag of cash and new IDs. And an old book of poetry, cherished because it had belonged to the closest thing to a friend she’d had in over a year.

She cast a glance back at Seahorse Key. The reporters had turned their attention from Hunter and appeared to be speaking with the woman who had ratted her out. Tension spread through Meagan’s shoulders, and she shook it off. The woman didn’t know anything that could hurt her. Hunter did, but he had read her fear and, without knowing her past, had chosen to protect her.

She released a sigh and turned back around. The mouth of the channel was ahead, the route that would take her home.

Home. The word didn’t mean what it used to. But she had come to accept that. With no real connections to the community, home would never be any more than an address. And a temporary one at that.

The night she fled from California, she’d walked away from everything—her family, her possessions, a promising art career.

But she was alive. Her mother and sister were alive.

And that was all that mattered.

* * *

Clouds hung low in a steel-gray sky, and a rain-scented breeze swept down Second Street. Another August thundershower on its way. It was only five-thirty, but already the heaviness of impending dusk had settled over Cedar Key.

Hunter walked around the corner of Tony’s Seafood Restaurant. He was still in uniform and had just picked up dinner to go. Ahead of him, Meagan stepped from The Market, a plastic grocery bag hanging from each arm. Since the plane crash two weeks ago, he’d seen her a handful of times. But never alone. Maybe this was his opportunity to find out how she was doing.

She’d been in such a hurry to get off Seahorse Key. It hadn’t worked. The story was big news, with variations of it airing several times. And with each clip, at some point her picture was front and center. One reporter had dubbed her “Angel in a Johnboat.” The senator had even expressed a desire to find her and thank her publicly.

The problem was, Meagan Berry didn’t want to be found.

Hunter passed the Tundra he’d left parked at the curb and continued down the sidewalk. But before he could reach her, a silver Intrepid pulled into the space in front of her. Anna Johnson climbed out and approached her.

“Someone came into Nature’s Landing looking for you this morning.”

Hunter slowed his pace, then stopped. He was close enough to hear the conversation, but Meagan hadn’t yet noticed him.

“Oh, yeah?” Her tone was nonchalant. Her posture was anything but. She stood in profile, back stiff, and her face had lost three shades of color.

“Yeah. Said he was a reporter. He had a picture of you printed from that news story they did on the senator.”

If Hunter wasn’t sure before, now he had no doubt. With Anna’s comment, the last of the blood drained from Meagan’s face. She dropped both bags into the basket on the front of her bike, swung her leg over the bar and sank onto the seat.

“What did you tell him?”

“Absolutely nothing.” Anna pushed her salt-and-pepper hair away from her face and continued. “I didn’t like the guy. Something about him put me off the minute he walked in the door. He seemed like a tough guy, used to pushing people around and getting his own way. He threw your picture down on the counter, demanding to know whether you had stayed in any of the vacation rentals we manage. I told him I couldn’t give him that information, that it was confidential.”

“Thank you.” Meagan’s tone was heavy with gratitude. “You probably gathered from the news coverage that I’m not too crazy about reporters.”

“I did. And I didn’t like this one. He said that since he was a member of the press, I had to give him the information. I guess he thought if he got a little threatening, I’d be intimidated enough to spill the beans.” She planted her hands on her hips and took a stubborn stance. “He underestimated this old Southerner. I don’t like bullies. You bully me, and I’ll just dig in my heels harder.”

Hunter smiled. He hadn’t seen this side of Anna before. Raised in Alabama, she was the epitome of the Southern belle. But she apparently had a stubborn streak.

She dropped her hands, then crossed her arms. “Just before he stormed out the door, I told him not to bother checking with any of the other establishments on the island, because they wouldn’t tell him anything, either.”

“Thank you.” The gratitude was still there. “Did he happen to say what news agency he was with, or did he have a press badge?”

Creases appeared between Anna’s eyebrows as she pondered the question. “No, I can’t say that he did, which is odd. You would think if he was trying to throw around his status as a reporter, he would have at least flashed a badge.”

“What did he look like? You know, so I can be sure to avoid him.”

“Maybe five-ten, muscular, dark hair really close cropped, like a buzz cut. And he had a faint scar. Right here.” She traced a short diagonal line across her cheek with one painted nail.

Meagan’s eyes widened only briefly before the facade of nonchalance fell back into place. But Hunter had seen what he needed to during that brief, unguarded moment—recognition. And dread.

She gave a jerky nod. “I’ll be on the lookout.”

Thunder rumbled in the distance, and Anna headed into The Market. He resumed his walk down the sidewalk. Meagan wouldn’t be happy if she thought he’d been eavesdropping.

He called out a greeting. “How’s it going?”

Concern flashed across her features. Then she gave him a forced smile. She was probably wondering how much he had heard.

“It’s good. I just rode down for some milk and eggs. I didn’t have anything for breakfast tomorrow.”

He cast a glance upward. The sky was darker now, the rain closer. “I can put your bike in the back of the truck and drive you home.”

“Thanks, but I’m all right.” She eased her bicycle into the road. A sudden flash lit up the sky, followed by a much-too-close crash, and she ducked. “Maybe I’ll take you up on that.”

Once seated in the truck, she folded her hands in her lap and sat straight and stiff, avoiding his gaze. He pulled away from the curb and headed down D Street. After turning onto Fifth, he glanced her way. She looked every bit as uncomfortable as she had when she climbed into the truck. Unfortunately, it was going to take a lot more than a four-block drive for her to let go of her uneasiness and relax with him.

As he turned into her driveway, his headlights swept across the front of the darkened house. A porch spanned its length, with a window on each side of the door, dressed with sheer curtains.

He tensed, all his senses on high alert. Did he just see movement inside?

Meagan reached for the door handle. “Thanks for—”

He held up a palm, eyes glued to the window. Beyond the curtains was a living room area. A wall at the back separated it from what was probably the kitchen. Had someone slipped behind that wall, startled by the truck’s headlights?

“What is it?” It was just three words, spoken in the softest whisper, but fear permeated each one.

Before he could answer, a crouched figure darted from behind the wall and disappeared out the back door. Judging from Meagan’s gasp, she saw it, too.

He turned off the engine, jumped out and pocketed the keys. “Stay here, and keep the truck locked.”

When he rounded the rear of the house, no one was there. He hesitated only a moment, eyes straining in the darkness. A fence bordered the back, the boundary of the yard behind Meagan’s. A hedge separated her property from the one next door. He charged off in that direction.

No one was in that yard, either. He sprinted along the hedge toward the street, then into a couple more yards. Finally, he admitted defeat and jogged back toward his truck. Another series of streaks lit up the sky, and thunder rumbled. But the storm seemed to be moving away. It might bypass them altogether.

As he approached his truck, apprehension shot through him. Meagan was gone. His gaze shot to the darkened house. If she had gone inside, she would have turned on the lights. Had the intruder circled around and forced her from the truck?

“Meagan?” No answer. He called her name again, louder and sharper.

Something moved in his peripheral vision, and he snapped his head around in time to see her rise inside the truck. He almost crumpled in relief. She had apparently been crouched on the floorboard, hiding.

He tapped on the window. She was in the seat now, eyes wide. Since she didn’t appear anywhere near ready to unlock the door, he used the key.

“I’m sorry. He got away.”

She nodded, but made no move to get out. Her green eyes were still wide, her face pasty in the shadows inside the truck. She looked so vulnerable, it kicked his protective instincts into overdrive.

“I’m going to call for help. Then we’ll go in together. Okay?”

She nodded again. She appeared stunned. Shell-shocked. She was hiding from someone. And terrified of being caught.

How long had it been? Just since coming to Cedar Key? Or had she lived other places, too, taking off whenever that someone got too close? Living like a nomad. Always looking over her shoulder. Never safe. Never at rest. He had to find a way to help her. But she would have to tell him what she was afraid of.

He made the call, then pocketed the phone. “The police are on the way. Let’s go inside. I’ll stay with you.” He would bring her bike in later.

He took her hand to help her from the truck. But even after she was on her feet, he didn’t release her. He led her toward the house, still keeping her hand in his. It just seemed the right thing to do.

When they had stepped onto the porch, she stopped and looked up at him. There was softness in her gaze, and it touched something deep inside him, something that had been dead for a long time.

He dropped her hand and squashed whatever it was that had just passed between them.

Four years ago, his life had been perfect. He’d been living in Ocala, surrounded by family and friends and engaged to Denise, his childhood sweetheart. Three weeks before their wedding date, she’d been on her way to meet the wedding planner when a drunk driver had crossed the line. Her life was over in an instant.

That was when he’d packed up and made a fresh start on Cedar Key. Now, four years later, time had taken the edge off the pain. Life wasn’t perfect, but it was good. As long as he stayed busy.

Meagan attempted a shaky smile but didn’t quite succeed. “Thanks. I’m glad you were here.”

“Yeah. Me, too.” If she’d been alone, she likely would have walked in on the intruder.

After she unlocked the door, he followed her inside. She flipped a switch, and soft yellow light chased the shadows from the room. It was sparsely furnished. A wooden desk sat in one corner with a lamp on top. A couch occupied part of another wall, with a coffee table in front of it. Across the room was a small stand with an even smaller television perched on top.

Most striking, though, was the total lack of personal belongings. There were no pictures, no knickknacks, nothing to make the space distinctly hers. Like a motel room.

Or the residence of someone who needed to travel light.

When he stepped into the kitchen, it didn’t take long to figure out how the intruder had gained access. The French-style back door was open, the pane of glass next to the knob broken. A wrench lay on the stoop.

“Does that belong to you?” He angled his head that direction.

Her eyes widened. “No. Maybe he used it to break the window, then dropped it when he ran.”

The doorbell rang, and a second later the front door swung inward. Bobby, the officer on duty, stood there.

Hunter filled him in on everything that had happened. “We know how the intruder gained access, but we don’t know why.” He turned to Meagan. “Anything missing?”

She disappeared into her bedroom, then reappeared moments later. Apparently that room was as sparsely furnished as the living room. “Not that I can tell.”

Bobby addressed her. “I’m going to try to lift some prints. I’ll dust the door, the knob and the wrench. Anything else look like it’s been disturbed?”

Meagan didn’t respond. She was standing in the center of the kitchen, brows drawn together.

Hunter stepped closer. “What’s wrong?”

“The stove is crooked. Maybe it’s been like that, but I’ve never noticed it before.”

“I’ll dust that, too.” Bobby turned to leave the room.

Her eyes grew wide, and she drew in a sharp breath. “No, no fingerprints.”

Bobby turned back around, brows raised in question.

Meagan continued. “I mean, it makes such a mess. I’m sure whoever came in was wearing gloves.”

Bobby frowned. “We might have a burglar loose in Cedar Key. This is our chance to catch him before he breaks into any other houses.”

“It’s just so messy.” Her voice had lost its fire.

“Not really,” Bobby argued. “It’s not that difficult to clean up, especially from hard surfaces. I’m going to go get my kit, and I’ll be finished in no time.”

As he disappeared out the front door, Meagan’s shoulders slouched in resignation. Hunter studied her. Why didn’t she want prints lifted? Was she really concerned about the mess? Or was she afraid they would find a match—to her?

Meagan’s gaze shifted back to the stove. Her lower lip was trapped between her teeth, and vertical lines of worry marked the space between her brows. The stove was freestanding, gas, probably supplied by a propane tank outside. Had someone planned to tamper with it, to booby-trap it in some way to cause a fire?

Maybe the wrench had a dual purpose.

“Any idea who’s behind all this?”

Meagan shook her head but didn’t meet his eyes.

“Someone took a big chance coming in here when you were just riding to The Market and back.”

“Maybe he thought I was going out for the evening.”

“Or maybe his intent was to be waiting inside the house when you got home.”

Her tight jaw and the determination in her eyes told him that was something she had already considered. And was trying hard not to think about.

He stepped closer and rested a hand on her shoulder. “Tell me what you’re hiding from, Meagan.”

Fear filled her eyes—just as when she had faced the reporters. And when she’d thought he might have overheard her conversation with Anna. But she didn’t respond.

“Tell me what’s going on.” He kept his tone soothing, nonthreatening. “Let me help you.”

Her gaze dipped to her feet, and several more moments passed. Finally, she shook her head. Whatever secrets lay in her past, she was nowhere near ready to let him in.

His chest tightened, his desire to protect her warring with her determination to hold on to her secrets. If only she would talk. If she was running from some psycho ex-boyfriend, she could have the whole Cedar Key Police Department watching out for her.

And one officer in particular staying especially close. Because those haunted green eyes weren’t going to let him do otherwise.

That had to be her story—she was running from a psycho ex-boyfriend. But there was another possibility, one he didn’t want to consider—that she might be running from the law. Though the thought had lodged itself somewhere in the back of his mind, it was too much at odds with what little he had seen of Meagan. She couldn’t be a fugitive. She seemed too sweet. Too pure.

But so did a lot of con artists.

Ever since arriving in Cedar Key, Meagan had kept to herself. She went to and from her job at Darci’s Collectibles and Gifts and, every few days, took out that little boat of hers. But any invitations to social activities she politely turned down.

Maybe it was time to get to know her, beyond occasional casual greetings. Maybe she needed his help.

But if the opposite was true, and she was running from a criminal past, he would do what he had to do. He would bring her to justice. It was his job.

No matter how sweet and innocent she seemed.

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 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.

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