Praise for the novels of SHARON SALA

“Sala’s characters are vivid and engaging.”

—Publishers Weekly on Cut Throat

“Sharon Sala is not only a top romance novelist, she is an inspiration for people everywhere who wish to live their dreams.”

—John St. Augustine,

Host, Power! Talk Radio WDBC-AM, Michigan

“Veteran romance writer Sala lives up to her reputation with this well-crafted thriller.”

—Publishers Weekly on Remember Me

“[A] well-written, fast-paced ride.”

—Publishers Weekly on Nine Lives

“Perfect entertainment for those looking for a suspense novel with emotional intensity.”

—Publishers Weekly on Out of the Dark

Blown Away
Sharon Sala

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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The only thing certain in life is that it’s over too fast. It’s a fact I’ve learned the hard way. As the oldest of my mother’s three children, I am the only one still alive.

As a native Oklahoman, I grew up knowing that, for a certain period of time every year, we will be faced with tornados. I learned young when to run for cover, and learned the hard way that sometimes the only way to live through one is to be underground.

Life is full of many things, but certainty is not one of them.

One moment someone is alive, and before another breath can be drawn, they are gone.

I watched my father die from health complications, lost my younger sister less than two months later to clinical depression, and had the love of my life die in my arms from liver cancer.

And every time I thought I’d learned the lesson I was meant to learn from the heartbreak, yet another would be dumped in my life.

What I do know is that I’m still here.

There are many reasons to rejoice in being alive, but for me, and because my loved ones are not, it is my job to live each day that I’m given with as much grace as I can muster.

This is why I’m dedicating this book to us…the people left behind.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

One

Sweat poured from Lance Morgan’s hairline, despite the rising wind, as he continued to dig deep into the loamy earth in the woods outside of Bordelaise, Louisiana. Austin Ball’s rental car, the car he’d used to get here, was just a few feet away. Lance wouldn’t look at the body, rolled up in the rug behind him, which he intended to bury, or think about the fact that his great-great-great-grandmother had saved that very rug from the Yankees during the War of Northern Aggression. What he’d done, he couldn’t take back, which was a metaphor for his life. It was what he’d done to begin with that had gotten him into this mess.

He stabbed the shovel back into the Louisiana loam, scooped out yet another shovelful of dirt and threw it on top of the growing pile as he thought back over the mistake he’d made that had brought him to this end.

Borrowing money from a Chicago loan shark like Dominic Martinelli and using the family estate, Morgan’s Reach, as collateral had been risky. It had been in the Morgan family for over two hundred years, and being responsible for losing it was simply not a possibility. He couldn’t be known as the Morgan who’d squandered the family estate.

At first he’d had no trouble meeting his payments, and then weather and bad crop prices had combined, and he’d started falling behind on payments. He’d made excuses, sent e-mails promising money that never arrived. Before he knew it, he was six months in arrears.

Yesterday, when he’d received a phone call from Austin Ball, of Meacham and Ball, Esquire, who represented Martinelli, informing Lance that he was bringing some papers for him to sign, Lance had just assumed it was an extension on his outstanding loan.

He had prepared a lunch for two of Caesar salad, lobster rolls and some of his favorite brownies from a bakery in town. He’d even brought up a bottle of wine from the old wine cellar, and pulled out his mother’s best china and crystal on which to serve the meal.

Ball had arrived on time, driving a black rental car, and sweating profusely beneath his gray worsted suit. Lance had taken some satisfaction in the lawyer’s discomfort. Any fool worth his salt would have known not to wear wool in Louisiana during the month of September.

It wasn’t until after the meal that Ball had announced Martinelli’s intentions to foreclose and produced papers to that effect, instead of the ones Lance had expected.

Lance’s disbelief had been palpable. Heart-thumping. Hand-sweating. Gut-wrenching. He’d presented a logical solution: more time. It had been rejected, with the failing economy as an excuse. That was when Lance begged. When that failed, he lost his mind.

The moment Ball turned his back to pick up his briefcase, Lance grabbed a baseball bat that had been hanging on the library wall since his high school days and hit the lawyer in the back of the head with the same fervor as when he’d hit the ball over the fence and sealed the county championship during his senior year of high school. That swing had ended the game. This one ended Ball’s life. Austin Ball dropped without uttering a sound. Even though he was down, and very obviously dead, Lance continued to swing. By the time he got himself together, nearly every bone in Ball’s body was broken, and blood was everywhere.

That was when panic hit.

He dropped the bat beside the body, rolled them up together into the rug on which Ball had dropped and dragged it out of the house and into the rental car Ball had driven out to his property.

Still in a state of hysteria, and fearing someone would drive up at any minute and catch him in such a bloody mess, he ran back inside and began cleaning up all the blood splatter. With one eye on the clock, he tore off all his clothing and threw it into the washing machine, then raced through the house to his bedroom naked and dressed again. Minutes later he was in the rental car, driving on a narrow, single-lane road that led into the woods behind the family home. He needed to hide the body, and though he’d never dug anything deeper than a hole to plant flower bulbs, he was about to dig his first grave.

Now here he was, almost an hour later, battling panic and regret. The palms of his hands were burning. He would definitely have blisters. His back was aching, and his heart was pounding so hard he feared he might have a heart attack and die in the grave he was digging for Austin Ball.

As a gust of wind swirled the loose leaves into an eddy, then sent them flying across the forest floor toward where he was digging, he glanced up at the sky. A storm predicted earlier in the day was almost upon him.

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered, and dug a little harder.

It was getting darker. The hurricane in the Gulf was going to miss them, but it had obviously stirred up some rough weather. He had to get Ball’s body buried before it started to rain or, with Louisiana’s loamy soil and an elevation barely above sea level, the damn thing was likely to float out. He jabbed the point of the shovel back into the earth. Just as he was about to throw out another scoop, he heard what sounded like a gasp, then a scream. The sound was so unexpected that he nearly died on the spot. He pivoted in panic, then stared in disbelief.

The hair rose on the back of Carolina North’s neck as she rubbed her finger and thumb together, smearing the droplet that she’d found on the leaves of the forest floor. Her morning walk had just taken a startling turn.

It was blood!

She’d been seeing the small red spots for some time but thought them nothing more than autumn’s natural colors. Now the bright red hue had taken on a more sinister meaning.

The next question had to be, was it animal or human?

At twenty-nine and a successful author, the mystery writer in her wanted to know the answer, and the only way she would find out was to follow the trail. She glanced up at the gathering clouds. From the look of the sky, they were in for some bad weather. The side winds from a hurricane were forecast to brush the Louisiana coast sometime today, although the brunt of the storm was predicted to go farther south and west, and hit Galveston, Texas. She was sorry for Galveston, but sincerely happy this one was going to miss them. Still, all kinds of storms could erupt from such turbulent weather. The smart thing to do would be to turn around and head for home before she got soaked, but her conscience wouldn’t let her. It could be something as innocent as a hiker like herself who’d been injured and was now wandering the Louisiana woods and bayous in search of help. What kind of a person would she be if she ignored the possibility of helping someone?

She paused long enough to get her bearings, although she wasn’t far from the home she shared with her aging parents. If she walked up on an injured animal, which could prove dangerous, she needed to know which way to run to safety.

With a touch of anxiety, Cari moved forward, although the wind from the storm front was getting stronger and the blood trail was almost gone. She was on the verge of turning around and making a run for home when she stumbled into a small clearing. It was a familiar place—a clearing in which she had played countless times as a child.

At first, all she saw was an unfamiliar black car. Then she took a couple of steps to the right and realized there was a man standing in a very deep hole and shoveling out dirt. Within seconds she recognized Lance. He was someone she’d grown up with—a man she’d once been engaged to until she’d caught him in bed with a stripper from Baton Rouge. She watched for a moment, noticing the frantic manner in which he was digging.

What on earth…?

Before she could call out and announce her presence, the wind gusted sharply, blowing back the corner of what she’d first taken to be a pile of rags. When she saw the face and shoulder of a man’s bloody body suddenly revealed, she realized she’d found the source of the blood.

And then it hit her.

The man was dead. And the hole Lance was digging was a grave.

Before she thought, she screamed, and for a few, life-altering seconds, Cari had an out-of-body experience as she found herself staring into the eyes of a killer. That it was Lance Morgan, her closest neighbor and childhood friend, seemed impossible.

She heard him shout out her name, and when he started to climb out of the hole, instinct told her to run.

So she did.

Within the space of a heartbeat, she was gone—running toward home as fast as she could go, without looking back. The wind was at her heels now, pushing at her, urging her faster and faster. Leaves were being torn from the trees and swirling around her head in a blizzard of reds and yellows. The wind was rattling the limbs overhead so sharply she kept thinking she was being shot at. Once she stumbled and fell to her knees, but she quickly caught herself and sprang up. With one frantic look over her shoulder to make sure Lance wasn’t on her heels, she bolted.

Desperate to notify the authorities before Lance caught her, she pulled out her cell phone as she ran, intent on calling 911, but she couldn’t get a signal. Blaming the lowlands and the oncoming storm, she kept on running, praying for a miracle.

With each passing second, she imagined she could hear Lance’s footsteps coming up behind her and feared that—at any moment—she would be caught and overpowered. When a strong gust of wind suddenly sent a dead limb flying from overhead to land on her heels, she pitched forward, certain that she’d been caught. Screaming and kicking, she rolled over on her back, unwilling to die without a fight, only to find herself doing battle with the limb, which had been caught in the hem of her jeans.

“God, help me,” Cari muttered, and quickly kicked herself free.

She scrambled to her feet, desperate to get home, never thinking to check for her cell phone, which had slipped from her pocket as she fell.

Lance screamed Cari’s name as he leaped out of the half-dug grave, then stumbled and fell over the body in the rug. Once again, Austin Ball had thrown a major kink in his plans. By the time he got up, Cari was out of sight. He dashed into the woods with the shovel in his hand, racing through the thickets and brambles without care or caution for his bare skin. He had to stop her. His life and Morgan’s Reach depended on it. But it was with growing horror that he realized she had eluded him, and that she knew these woods as well as he did—maybe better.

Now he was faced with a dilemma. She would get the parish police, of that he was certain. He only had one chance out of this mess and that was to deny everything she said. Which meant he couldn’t bury Ball’s body here now because she would certainly bring back the authorities to look for it.

Cursing at the top of his lungs, he began running back to where he’d been digging. The wind was tearing at his clothing as he dashed into the clearing. To his horror, the rug had completely blown away from around Ball’s body, and the sight of the man lying flat on his back in the middle of a blood-soaked family heirloom was horrifying.

In a panic, he began filling in the hole he’d just dug. The rain would wash away any loose soil and pack the dirt back down, so even if Cari brought the authorities here and dug again, there wouldn’t be anything to find.

The first drops of rain were beginning to fall as he threw in the last of the dirt, then propped the shovel against the black rental car. Now that the hole was refilled, he still had to do something with the body. With shaking hands, he rolled the rug back around Ball’s corpse, then hefted it over his shoulder and grabbed the shovel. He needed to find another place to hide what he’d done, but that meant going deeper into the forest—farther from his house—closer to the bayous. He didn’t have time to get to the swamp-lands and use the gators as a method of getting rid of the body. He had to bury it.

But if he went farther, the car was going to be of no use.

With a muttered curse, he gritted his teeth and headed deeper into the woods, walking with his head down, sometimes staggering against the dead weight of Austin Ball’s body and the prevailing winds.

But where to hide it so Cari and the cops couldn’t find it? Where could he dig another grave that wouldn’t be found? The answer didn’t come until he passed a familiar landmark—an ancient cypress stump. His granddad used to tell stories of how the bayou had once come up this far, until they’d built levees and dikes around Bordelaise. The moment he saw the stump, he remembered what lay beyond. The fact that he suddenly had an answer to his problem made his load lighter and his steps easier.

Cari’s legs were shaking from exertion and there was a pain in her side, but she couldn’t stop. She had no way of knowing how close Lance was behind her, but she kept telling herself that it would all be okay as soon as she got home. Mom and Dad would be there, as well as her cousin, Susan, who’d come down from Baton Rouge only yesterday for a quick over-night visit. There was safety in numbers, and she would call the authorities from there.

The wind was getting stronger and the sky darker as she came out of the trees onto the small rise above her family home. When she saw the barn and the outbuildings, and the familiar sight of the old lowland plantation house that had been built on a stilted foundation, she shuddered with relief.

She’d made it.

Then the first drops of rain hit her in the face. They were hard and cold, and shocked her from her reverie. She started down the slope on the run, fighting a headwind and an ever-darkening sky. In the distance, she could see Tippy, the family dog, tucking tail and running for the barns. The chickens that were usually pecking about the barnyard were noticeably absent.

At that point, it occurred to her that the storm must be a bad one for the animals to all be taking shelter, which made her run that much faster.

It wasn’t until she was in the yard and struggling against the wind to get up the steps to the front door that she heard her mother start screaming. The panic in Maggie North’s voice made Cari desperate to get inside. She couldn’t see the tornado her family had spotted suddenly dipping down out of the clouds on the other side of the house. She couldn’t see them all running for the back door as she was trying to get in the front.

Her hand was on the doorknob when it hit. Suddenly the roof was off the house and swirling above her head, then the storm took both it and Cari’s scream away. The front door flew off the hinges and into Cari’s chest, throwing her backward. The last thing she saw was a splintered piece of lumber impaling her father against a wall.

And then everything went black.

Cari woke up pinned beneath part of the dining room table and a piece of wall, with the rain hammering on her face. She struggled weakly, trying to free herself from the rubble, but movement sharpened her pain, and she passed out.

The next time she opened her eyes, the rain had stopped and she could see patches of blue sky above her. For a few seconds, all she could think was that she shouldn’t be able to see the sky from her bed, and then she realized where she was and remembered what had happened. Twice in one day she’d seen a dead man. One she hadn’t known. The second one was her father, and she’d had to watch him die.

Pain rolled up and out of her in waves as she began to weep.

“Daddy! Daddy!” she screamed, praying she’d been wrong—begging God to give him back. But no one answered her cries.

It took a long time for her to become aware of the unnatural silence. Even though the storm had passed and the wind had calmed, the absence of any sound of life was frightening. There were no birds chirping—no hens clucking—none of Tippy’s playful yips as he tormented the squirrels that lived in the live oaks in the backyard. The only thing she heard was the unsteady thunder of her own heartbeat pounding against her eardrums. In a panic to find the rest of her family, she began pushing against the debris once more, struggling to free herself.

“Mom! Mother! Can you hear me? Are you all right? Where are you?”

The fact that there was no answer made the skin crawl on the back of her neck.

Despite the pain, she had to get free of the debris. Her family needed help. When she raised her head, everything started to spin, and for a few moments she thought the tornado was back. Finally the nausea passed and she managed to sit up. From there, she pushed and kicked her way out from under what turned out to be half of the dining room table, then climbed over broken tree limbs and what was left of their living room sofa before she managed to get completely free. When she could stand without staggering, she began to search, calling out for her mother and Susan with every step.

She found her father first, his body still pinned to the living room wall, leaving him mounted like a butterfly in an entomology display. Horrified, she tried to pull him down. Sobbing with every breath and unable to look at his face, she failed, then tried to budge the huge stake instead and wound up with dozens of splinters in the palms of her hands.

Cari wailed, then dropped to her knees and covered her face, sobbing hysterically. Afraid to look further, but knowing she had no choice, she made herself get up and continue her search. Her mother and Susan had to be there—somewhere. All she had to do was find them.

Her knee was throbbing, and the longer she moved about, the more blood continued to run down her forehead and into her eyes. She already knew there was a cut in the top of her head as long and deep as her finger. She knew she needed to get help, but she couldn’t worry about herself until she’d found the rest of her family.

She swiped at the blood with her forearm, then looked around and for the first time realized the complete devastation of what had once been her home. Nothing had been left standing. Everything was gone. The house. The barns. All the outbuildings and even the corral. A few feet away, she found Tippy dead beneath a tree that had fallen on her parents’ car. She was struggling against nausea when she spied her own car upside down in the pasture beyond. All of a sudden, sickness bubbled up her throat.

She turned away and leaned down, bracing her hands against her knees to keep from going headfirst onto the ground while she retched and heaved until she was shaking. When the spasms finally passed, she managed to pull herself upright and resume her search.

As was so often the way with tornadoes, she found Susan’s car completely untouched and right where she’d parked it yesterday. She opened the door and leaned in. The keys were in the ignition, and her cousin’s purse and suitcase had already been loaded.

Cari shuddered on a sob. Susan hadn’t wanted to go walking with her and had opted to check her e-mail instead. If she hadn’t been waiting for Cari to come back to say goodbye, she might already have been gone.

Cari shut the door of Susan’s car, then paused with her hand on the hood and said a brief prayer.

Please, God, help me. I can’t find Mom. I can’t find Susan. Please let them be all right.

A few minutes later, it was the bottom of a brown leather lace-up shoe sticking out from beneath part of the roof that caught her attention.

“Oh…no, no, no,” she moaned, as she recognized the shoe as her mother’s.

She dropped to her hands and knees and began moving away debris, finally locating her mother’s lifeless body. The look of horror still etched on her face shocked Cari to the core.

“Mommy,” Cari whispered, unaware she’d slipped into the name she’d used as a child.

Too sick at heart to weep and with shock pulling at her sanity, she sat for a moment beside the body, just holding her mother’s hand, as if it might change the outcome of the storm. Finally she thought of Susan again and pushed herself upright. She had to keep searching. Susan had to be somewhere. Surely God wouldn’t take them all. He wouldn’t let them all be dead.

When she finally found her cousin, lying flat on her back behind what had once been the smokehouse, she knew she’d been wrong. Susan’s face had been crushed beyond recognition.

Too numb to cry, too sick to think, she stood without moving, trying to wrap her mind around everything that had happened and what to do next.

At the same moment it hit her that she was the last living member of her family, she remembered Lance Morgan and why she’d been running for home.

She pivoted quickly as she flashed a swift look toward the road, then felt in her pocket and realized she didn’t have a phone. She couldn’t call for help. Lance could come driving up at any minute and do to her what he’d done to that man. No one would know the difference. They would just think she’d died in the storm.

Panic hit.

She had to get away.

She needed to get some medical help and figure out what to do next. But she knew Lance well enough to know that he would be behind her at every move. She could take Susan’s car and drive into Bordelaise. Someone there would help her. She could—

She stopped and moaned, blinded by a sudden pain from the deep wound in her head. She needed to regroup first. No need making accusations against Lance that she would never be able to back up. Lance might be a lot of things, but he wasn’t stupid. Whatever she said, he would just chalk it up to her head wound. And now that he knew she’d seen him, there was no way he would bury that body where he’d been digging. He would move it, of that she was certain. And until she could figure out where, she needed to keep herself and her accusations under wraps.

She started toward the car when her legs suddenly went out from under her. She fell only a few feet away from Susan’s body. It took every ounce of strength she had left to get back on her feet, and as she did, found herself looking down at Susan again.

They’d been born to twin sisters and within a month of each other. They had grown up like sisters, their features so similar that people had often mistaken them for twins, as well. They even wore their thick dark hair in the same casual style. At that moment, a thought occurred. It was daring, if not crazy, but it might give her the space and time she needed.

Susan’s facial features were forever altered by whatever had killed her. But she was wearing jeans and black shoes like Cari’s, as well as a white T-shirt. The only difference was Cari’s dark green, three-quarter-length all-weather coat. If she put the coat on Susan’s body and got away before anyone saw her, whoever eventually found the bodies out here would quite naturally assume Susan was Cari. Especially Lance, who’d been the last person to see her alive.

And better yet, even though Susan was known in Bordelaise, no one knew she’d driven over from Baton Rouge to spend the night, so no one would suspect anything. Convinced this was the answer she needed, Cari took off her coat and, without looking at the wreck of Susan’s face, knelt down and managed to put it on her by rolling her first one way, then the other.

Shaken and sick at heart, she finally crawled to her feet, then stopped and looked down. As she did, she shuddered. If she didn’t know better, she would have thought she was looking at her own dead body.

Suddenly afraid she would be caught before she could get away, she headed for Susan’s car as fast as she could go, stumbling once and falling yet again before she managed to get behind the wheel.

Her hands were sore from the splinters, and sticky with the same blood that was all over her clothes, but she couldn’t let it matter. With every ounce of strength she had left, she started the car and put it into gear. The only thing she could think of was getting herself to Baton Rouge and, under the guise of her cousin’s identity, getting some medical attention. She’d been to Susan’s town house countless times and knew the way almost as well as she’d known the way home from the woods.

It wasn’t that far.

All she had to do was get there.

Lance had been only vaguely aware of the thunderstorm while he’d been inside the cave burying Austin Ball, but when he got back to where he’d left the rental car, he was shocked by the devastation. Trees were uprooted. Bits and pieces of sheet iron and lumber were scattered about, and the car was nowhere in sight.

At first he’d thought someone must have stolen it. But the farther he ran toward home, the more certain he was that it had become a casualty of what must have been a tornado. He began to panic, fearing Morgan’s Reach might have been hit, but when he reached the back of the property just beyond the stables and saw the familiar roofline, he started shaking from relief. There was evidence of damage, but nothing drastic, and nothing that couldn’t easily be repaired. Some corrals were down, and there was a portion of roof missing off the barn, but the house seemed intact.

He ran through the mud and then to the back door, taking off his shoes at the stoop before going inside. Too many years of not bringing in mud on his shoes had been drummed into his consciousness to do it now—even if he was the one in charge.

He made a quick run through the house, checking for further damage. The electricity was off, but he still checked the laundry to make sure all the blood had washed out of the clothes he’d tossed in earlier. It had.

Unable to use the dryer, he took the clothes out and spread them over the washer and dryer to air-dry. No time like the present to put his world back in order. Except for a broken windowpane and some missing shingles he’d seen earlier, the house seemed solid, although he couldn’t bring himself to do more than glance into the library where he’d committed the murder.

Now that he knew his home and property were in basic order, focus immediately shifted to Carolina North. This situation needed a lot of damage control, and the more time that passed, the harder it would be. He grabbed the keys to his truck and headed out the door, intent on a quick visit to his nearest neighbor.

His heart was pounding as he pulled out of the driveway and started down the blacktop toward the North property. He’d driven this road countless times during his life. With his brother, Joe, on their way to deliver Christmas gifts from one family to the other, then later, when he and Cari had been engaged. He knew and cared for the Norths almost as much as he’d cared for his own parents. And four years ago, when his parents died in a car wreck, Cari and her parents had been the first ones to arrive and the last to leave, long after everyone else was gone.

The closer he got to the turnoff to the North property, the sicker he became. He didn’t know what lay ahead of him and wasn’t sure if he had the stomach for what needed to be done. It had been one thing to stop a stranger from taking Morgan’s Reach. It was another thing altogether to kill someone he knew in order to keep his secret.

Two

Every fear Lance had of facing Cari and her parents came to a halt as he drove up on the scene of devastation.

“Oh my God,” he gasped, as he stomped the brake and killed the engine. The urgency of his situation had suddenly changed.

Every structure on the North property was gone.

The house, the barn, even the corrals.

A tree had fallen over on Frank and Maggie’s vehicle, and Cari’s car was upside down in the pasture beyond. He could see the dead carcasses of some of Frank’s cattle, but most of the wreckage the storm had left behind was impossible to identify.

He jumped out of the truck and started toward the debris with his heart in his throat. Would there be survivors? If he found them, how would he be able to tell if Cari had already told them what she’d seen? If they were alive, what was he going to do? Finish them off—or get them to a doctor?

“Hello! Hello! Can anybody hear me?” he yelled, as he frantically started his search. “Mrs. North…Maggie…it’s me, Lance! Can you hear me?”

Something shifted in the debris off to his right, then fell with a thud. He jumped, then ran in that direction, thinking someone might be trying to get his attention. But when he got there, his search was futile. No bodies. No survivors.

“Frank! Frank! It’s me, Lance. Can you hear me? Are you here?”

His anxiety level was rising as he dashed throughout the rubble. He stumbled over a pile of lumber and shattered drywall, then pulled up short. The leg and shoe sticking out from beneath the rubble were horribly familiar.

“Maggie! Oh my God… Maggie!” he cried, and dropped to his knees.

When he got the debris away and saw her face, frozen in a death mask of terror, he rocked back on his heels. The first thing that went through his mind was the molasses cookies she used to bake for him. His eyes filled with tears. If Cari had already told her, it no longer mattered. Finding her dead meant that was one decision he wouldn’t have to make.

He backed away quickly, then stood up, brushing at the mud on his knees as he sidestepped an upturned sofa and more drywall. A few moments later, he found Frank.

“Oh, Jesus,” he whispered, then quickly looked away.

He found the family dog within moments of finding Frank, but still no Cari. Just as he was beginning to fear that she hadn’t come home after all but was probably already in Bordelaise and talking to the authorities, he saw her.

It was the dark green, all-weather coat she’d been wearing that caught his eye. From this distance, he could tell she wasn’t moving, but she wasn’t lying in the midst of any debris. What if she was still alive? Could he finish her off and lay the blame on the twister?

His fingers curled into fists. His belly knotted. This was turning into the worst day of his life. He genuinely cared for all of the Norths, but especially Cari. That his life had come down to this was sickening.

He took a deep breath and then started forward. His legs were shaking; his vision blurred. Then he saw her face—or what was left of it—and froze. Still a good fifteen yards away, he dropped to his knees again, this time weeping from the relief of knowing he’d just been given a second chance. The only witness to the fact that he’d committed murder was dead.

After he pulled himself together enough to walk, he stumbled back to his truck and grabbed the cell phone from the seat. He tried to call the parish police but couldn’t get a signal. It occurred to him then that the North property might not be the only scene of disaster.

Still shaking, he crawled up into the truck seat and started the engine. When he pulled back onto the main road and turned toward Bordelaise to notify the authorities about what he’d found, he had to remind himself that it was grief he would be expressing and not relief.

Cari drove the thirty miles from the family farm to Baton Rouge on autopilot. She had to stop twice to vomit and guessed she was probably concussed. The blood had dried on her clothes and in her hair, and the palms of her hands were beginning to swell from the splinters under the skin. She could only imagine what she looked like, but she couldn’t let that stop her. Getting to safety, then getting medical attention, was paramount. She wouldn’t let herself think of what she’d left behind—or that the bodies of her loved ones were lying exposed to the elements. They were beyond help and would have been the first to understand. If she was going to save herself, she needed to get well.

There was money in Susan’s purse on the seat beside her. Inside were her driver’s license, and insurance and credit cards, as well as a card stating her blood type, which they also shared. Cari should be able to get in and out of a hospital emergency room without complications. The fact that her claims would technically be fraudulent was nothing compared to being tracked down and killed to hide a murder.

When she finally reached the city limits of Baton Rouge, her hands were shaking so hard she could barely hold on to the steering wheel. She didn’t see the shocked expressions on the faces of other drivers as they passed her, or of the people at the crosswalks as she stopped for lights. She was too focused on not passing out and keeping the car in the proper lane.

She glanced up at a street sign as she braked for another red light. The words kept blurring and running together, but if she wasn’t mistaken, the hospital was just a couple of blocks down on her right. She turned on her signal. Just as the light went green, she felt herself fading.

“God, help me,” she whispered, and jammed the shift into Park just before she passed out.

“Susan! Susan Blackwell! Can you hear me? Open your eyes, Susan. You’re in a hospital.”

Cari moaned. Someone was yelling. Didn’t they know enough to speak softer? Her head was killing her.

She could feel someone taking off her clothes, which didn’t make sense. It wasn’t time for bed.

“Susan? You’re in a hospital. My name is Dr. Samuels. Can you tell me what happened to you?”

Images moved through Cari’s mind in disjointed flashes. Something red on the leaves on the forest floor. Wind whipping through the trees. Panic! Why panic? Running. The sky turning dark. Mother screaming. Oh Lord. Oh Lord. They’re gone.

She felt a hand on her shoulder, then heard a woman’s voice near her ear. “Susan, my name is Amy Niehues. I’m a nurse. Do you hurt anywhere besides your head? How did you get all these splinters in your hands?”

Cari inhaled slowly. Everything hurt, but she couldn’t wrap her mind around the words long enough to answer before she lost consciousness again. The next time she came to, she was aware enough to realize she was in a hospital. A momentary swell of relief rushed through her. She’d made it. She was safe. On the heels of that emotion came the memory of what had happened. The tornado. Her family. Everyone gone.

Breath caught in the back of her throat. She would never hear their voices again. Never feel their arms around her. Never laugh with them. Never have her father walk her down the aisle. She might be a grown woman, but she’d just been orphaned.

Tears welled. A sob burned at the back of her throat. She covered her face with her hands, but the images from the storm were seared into her brain. What started out as a simple sigh of defeat turned into a scream. And once she started screaming, it didn’t feel like she could stop.

Amy Niehues came running, as did several of her coworkers. Cari’s room quickly filled as they began frantically trying to find the source of her discomfort. They kept asking her if she was in pain. They didn’t know, and Cari couldn’t tell them, that the pain wasn’t fixable. There were no pills or treatments that would make what she was feeling go away. She didn’t notice when Amy shot a sedative into her IV, but in a few minutes she closed her eyes and the room fell silent.

A doctor stood at the foot of her bed, studying her chart. He looked at her, then over to the nurse beside him.

“Amy…has anyone been able to locate her parents?”

“They’ve been dead for several years.”

“What about extended family?”

“We’re not sure,” Amy said. “Someone contacted her place of employment, and we’re just waiting for someone to get back to us.”

The doctor handed the chart back to the nurse, gave Cari one last glance, then left the room.

Mike Boudreaux was in his office, pacing between the windows and his desk as he spoke to his assistant on the other end of the line.

“It doesn’t matter, Kelly. You tell them they have the only offer they’re going to get. They can either accept it—and me—or lose it all. I’m not the one who ran that company into the ground, and I’m also not the one who embezzled the entire company retirement fund. I said they could keep all the employees on the present payroll, but…the CEO is out. He didn’t know how to keep his own company safe from the accountant who embezzled all their money and ran with it. What happens to him is the state of Ohio’s problem, but no way in hell am I putting his boss in charge of a company I own.”

“Yes, boss. I’ll make sure they understand that.”

“See that you do,” Mike said, then frowned when he heard his housekeeper’s footsteps coming down the hall. She was running, and Songee Wister never ran.

Songee burst into his office carrying the house phone. He could tell from the look on her face that something was wrong.

“There’s a nurse asking for you,” she cried, as she thrust it in his hands. “Something has happened to Miss Susan.”

Mike’s heart sank as he put the phone to his ear. Susan wasn’t just an employee, she was his personal assistant, as well as a very good friend.

“Hello. This is Mike Boudreaux.”

“My name is Loretta Sawyer. I’m the public liaison at Baton Rouge General Hospital. Do you have an employee by the name of Susan Blackwell?”

“Yes, she’s my personal assistant,” he said. “What’s happened to her? Is she all right?”

“We’re not sure,” Loretta said. “She’s injured, as if she’s been in some kind of accident, although the paramedics who brought her in said there was nothing wrong with her car. It’s possible she has been the victim of a crime, but at this point, we just don’t know. We’re calling you because she has you listed as her emergency contact.”

“Yes, yes, I’ll be right there,” Mike said, then realized he didn’t know which location. “Wait! Are you calling from Mid-City hospital, or the Bluebonnet location?”

“Bluebonnet, on Picardy Street,” she said.

“Okay, thanks,” Mike said, and disconnected. He was already running toward the hall to get his car keys when Songee met him at the door.

“Your keys,” she said, as he handed her the phone.

“Thank you, Songee. As always, you’re a step ahead of me.”

“Is Susan all right?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “I’ll call when I know something. In the meantime, it wouldn’t hurt to send up one of your prayers.”

“Yes, sir,” Songee said. “I’ll make it a powerful one…just in case.”

She stood and watched until the taillights of his car disappeared down the driveway, then went back inside with praying on her mind.

Physical pain brought a rude awakening. Every heartbeat throbbed throughout her body. Her hands were stiff and bandaged, and for a moment she couldn’t remember why. Then the memories flooded back…ugly, mind-numbing memories. Struck again with overwhelming sorrow, tears were already brimming as she opened her eyes.

Then she gasped.

A stranger—a man with dark hair and angry green eyes—was leaning over her bed. His voice was soft, his words accusing.

“I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but you’re not Susan Blackwell. Talk now, or I’m calling the police.”

Cari’s stomach knotted as panic shot through her. She couldn’t be outed—not like this. Not—yet.

“You don’t understand,” she mumbled, and grabbed at his wrist. “Susan and I are cousins. I needed to—”

She heard a swiftly indrawn breath, then the man quickly stepped back. The anger on his face slowly shifted to understanding. He put a hand on her arm, as if to steady her.

“Carolina? Is your name Carolina?”

Cari shuddered on a sob as the tension eased.

“Yes, but how did you—”

“I’m Michael Boudreaux, Susan’s boss…and friend. The hospital called me when you were brought in. Susan always said you two looked alike, although it’s hard to tell beneath the bruises and bandages.”

“Oh, thank God,” Cari said. She’d heard Susan talk about him for so long that her panic shifted to hope. Maybe he could help.

Mike frowned.

“What happened, Carolina?”

“Cari…please.”

“Cari it is. Why the deceit? Why did you enter the hospital under Susan’s name?”

Cari’s eyes welled again, but this time, tears rolled. She hadn’t planned on telling on herself quite this soon, but Mike Boudreaux’s unexpected appearance gave her no choice.

The moment Mike saw the tears, he knew the answer wasn’t going to be good.

“Susan’s dead. My mother and father are dead. The storm…there was a tornado at our farm.”

“Sweet Jesus,” Mike muttered, then turned away, overcome by shock.

For a few moments all Cari saw was the stiff set of his shoulders. Panic swept through her. What was he going to do? Would he out her to the world before she had time to protect herself?

Then, all of a sudden, he turned back. His eyes were wet with tears, but his voice was steady as he lightly touched her shoulder and asked, “Is that what happened to you?”

She nodded, then wished she hadn’t, because the motion made her sick.

Mike frowned. This wasn’t making sense. “How did you get here? Why didn’t you go to Bordelaise for medical treatment? That’s where you live, right?”

Cari couldn’t stop crying. Every time she tried to answer, the words seemed to swell and choke at the back of her throat.

Mike sighed. Obviously this wasn’t a good time to push. But something was off. Unless…

“I think I understand,” Mike said. “I was told you were found unconscious at a stoplight in Baton Rouge. You were driving Susan’s car. Her stuff was in it. They assumed you were her, right? Don’t worry. I’ll straighten all this out for you.”

When he moved, Cari grabbed his wrist, then winced at the pain in her bandaged palms. “No! Don’t!” she cried. “You don’t understand.” She swiped at her tears with the edge of her sheet, then took a breath, trying to calm her thoughts. “Just before the storm hit, I walked up on a neighbor in our woods. He was…he was…oh God…just saying it aloud makes no sense.”

“What was he doing?” Mike persisted.

“Digging a grave to bury the dead man wrapped up in the rug beside him.”

“What the hell? You witnessed a murder?”

“Not the actual murder. Just the disposal of the body. He started running after me. I lost my phone while I was trying to get away. I just needed to get home. The tornado hit just as I reached the house. I lived through it. My family didn’t. It wasn’t until I found Susan’s body…her injuries were mainly to her…” Cari shuddered, then covered her face with her hands. “Oh God, oh God…to her face.” She shivered, then made herself continue. “I knew I had to hide until I figured out what to do, so I put my coat on Susan’s body, knowing she would be identified as me, and ran.”

Mike swallowed past the knot in his throat. Susan Blackwell had worked for him for seven years. He adored her and depended on her—as a friend and as his personal assistant. To know her life had ended like this was devastating. But his sorrow was obviously not on the same level as Carolina North’s losses.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, and then turned away and walked toward the windows overlooking the parking lot to gather his own emotions.

Cari’s head was pounding. All of a sudden, she knew she was going to be sick—again.

“Mr. Boudreaux… Mike! I think I’m going to throw up,” Cari said.

Mike spun and rushed to her side, grabbing the wastebasket and holding it up at the side of the bed as Cari leaned over. She didn’t feel his hand on her back or see the empathy on his face. All she knew was that by the time she’d finished, her nurse was in the room, waiting with a fresh washcloth to wash her face.

Cari fell back onto the pillow with a groan. “Oh my God, I am so sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for. You’re fortunate to still be alive,” Mike said.

The nurse checked Cari’s IV flow, eyed Mike curiously, then left to get something for Cari’s nausea.

Once again, Cari and Mike were alone. He spooned a couple of ice chips into her mouth, then waited for her to chew them. When he thought she could handle the questions, he started talking again.

“Why didn’t you go straight to the Bordelaise authorities?”

“And say what? That I saw my neighbor burying a body in the woods?”

“You knew the man?” Mike asked.

“Unfortunately, yes. Lance Morgan. I grew up with him…. His family’s land joins ours on two sides. Lance is a lot of things, but stupid isn’t one of them. There’s no way he buried that body there. Not after I saw him. When I realized he wasn’t still chasing me, I knew he’d gone back to move it. He would have buried it somewhere else. By the time I would have gotten to the authorities, it would be my word against his, and I’ve got a big hole in my head. He’d just claim my story was nothing more than a hallucination from the injury. His parents are dead, but he comes from an old and prominent family. Mine has been around almost as long, but it would just be my word against his. I didn’t recognize the dead man, which means he wasn’t a local, which means no missing person case to back up my claim. In fact, given our history, Lance could laugh it off and lay it all on our past.”

“How so?” Mike asked.

“A couple of years ago we were engaged, until I caught him cheating on me. I called it off. He could claim I was just trying to get back at him for what he did to me.”

“Oh.”

Cari grimaced. “‘Oh’ is right. But it wasn’t until after the tornado when I found Susan that…this occurred to me. No one in Bordelaise knew she’d driven down for the night. And her car was the only one that hadn’t been damaged in the tornado. Her face was…” Cari bit her lip, struggling with her composure. “We’re the same size. Same color hair and hairstyle. And we’d both been wearing white T-shirts and jeans. Lance had seen me earlier, so when I put my coat on her body, I did it hoping she’d be identified as me. It might have been the wrong thing to do, but I was hurt and needed time to think. Lance had already killed once. He would have no problem getting rid of the only witness to his crime.”

“What a mess,” Mike muttered.

“You have no idea,” Cari said, then closed her eyes. She didn’t intend to keep them closed, but a combination of meds and exhaustion soon pulled her under.

Mike watched Carolina drifting in and out of consciousness, and was surprised by the strong connection he felt. Maybe it was because she looked so much like Susan. And maybe it was because of the courage and ingenuity she’d shown in such a dangerous situation.

Courage was something he admired.

Over the years, Michael Boudreaux had become a force to be reckoned with in business, but in his youth, he’d been just another kid on the streets of Baton Rouge. His grandparents had still been alive, clinging to former glory in their old plantation house outside of the city, while his mother and father held regular jobs. His father had worked for a manufacturing company, while his mother had been a pre-school teacher. As the “pretty boy” in his classes, he’d often had to prove his worth with his fists. As a result, he learned the true meaning of courage, and to never be the first one to quit—–at anything.

It was that attitude that made him so formidable in his own career. His parents had died within a year of each other while he was in college. His grandparents had passed a couple of years later. He’d inherited the run-down plantation, as well as the row house in the city where he’d grown up, and now he was completely alone in the world.

When he was twenty-two, he sold the little row house for a tidy sum to a company that needed land to expand, then he invested the money. One thing had led to another, until years passed and he had become known as what some might call a corporate shark. He did what he did without apology, but he did it while maintaining his hometown residency in Baton Rouge.

Mike could have lived an opulent lifestyle in any of the country’s big cities, with limousines and fine dining, and beautiful women at his beck and call, but he’d chosen not to. He was tall and lean, with black hair and green eyes, and a stubborn streak inherited from his Cajun ancestors. And when he’d made his first million dollars, he’d renovated the old Boudreaux plantation outside of Baton Rouge and had lived there ever since. He traveled all over the world when job and duty called, but his roots ran deep in the Louisiana bayous.

For the past few years, Susan Blackwell had been a large part of his life. Now he had to face that she was gone. Sad for himself, and for the woman before him, he laid a hand on her arm.

Cari stirred as she felt his touch. When she opened her eyes, their gazes locked. Hers was unflinching. And in that moment, Mike made a promise.

“I’ll help you through this. I’ll make sure you stay safe.”

Cari sighed, then bit the inside of her lip to keep from crying. “Then you need to start by calling me Susan.”

“Right,” Mike said, then stepped back and shoved his hands in his pockets. “For now, just know I’ve got your back.”

A huge weight had suddenly been lifted from Cari’s shoulders. “Thank you.”

“It’s the least I can do…for Susan,” Mike said, as his voice broke.

Tears welled again, but Cari blinked them away. “For Susan,” she echoed.

At that point the nurse came back and shot a syringe full of something into Cari’s IV. A few minutes later, Cari was out.

But Mike wasn’t sleeping. He’d made a promise, and he didn’t make those lightly. He was already on a mission to find out all he could about Lance Morgan. Finding Morgan’s weakness would be the first step in learning the identity of the man he’d murdered, which would also be the first step in making sure Carolina North stayed alive.

By the time Lance reached Bordelaise, it was obvious the tornado’s damage was widespread. Houses were missing roofs. Trees were down everywhere, as were a large number of power lines. Even a cell phone tower had been twisted into a tangle of wire and metal, probably the reason he’d been unable to reach 911.

Main Street was a melee of cop cars, ambulances and fire trucks from at least half a dozen neighboring communities. It was obvious that the tornado had been on the ground when it came through town. The courthouse and nearby jail had taken direct hits, as had a grocery store, a lawyer’s office and a beauty shop. He didn’t know where to go to notify rescue services about the Norths.

Finally, when he’d driven as far as he could go, he parked, then started walking. Then someone called his name.

“Hey! Lance!”

He turned around. It was Lee Tullius, one of the parish police officers, standing by a panel van. Lance started toward him at a jog.

“Thank God you’re here!” Lee said. “We need some able-bodied volunteers to help move residents from the nursing home into the hospital.”

“I’ll be glad to help,” Lance said. “But I came into town to report three deaths.”

Lee paused, then put down the cots he’d been unloading. “Who and where?”

“Out at the Norths. Frank, Maggie and Cari are all dead. I drove over there right after the storm and…”

His voice broke. He didn’t have to fake the tears in his voice and eyes.

Lee knew Lance and Cari had once been a couple, and that they’d grown up together.

“Well, damn. I’m really sorry to hear that,” he said, then gritted his teeth. “This might sound cruel, but right now, we’re trying to focus on the living.”

“But they’re just…they’re lying out in the open. Birds…animals…just anything could get them.”

Lee sighed, picturing the pretty, dark-haired girl he’d known who’d grown up to become a famous writer, then palmed his radio. “Tullius here. Over.”

Vera Samuels, the daytime dispatcher at the police department, picked up. “Go ahead, Lee. Over.”

“Got a report of three dead bodies at the Frank North farm southeast of Bordelaise. Need them picked up ASAP. Over.”

Vera started to cry. “All of them? Over.”

“Ten-four,” Lee said. “We need the bodies retrieved before the animals get to them. Over.”

“Oh my God…I went to school with Cari,” Vera said, as she struggled to speak through tears.

“So did I,” Lee responded. “Get some people out there, and get them back as fast as possible. I’m afraid they won’t be the only ones. Over.”

“Ten-four and out,” Vera said.

Lee hooked the handheld back onto his belt loop and then looked at Lance.

“Mission accomplished. Now, about the nursing home…”

“Right,” Lance said, and started down the street at a lope.

By the time the last residents of the nursing home had been moved to the hospital, Lance was muddy and sick to his stomach. One old fellow, a man named Warren, had died in his arms on the way out of the building. Because the man was wheelchair-bound, Lance had been forced to pick him up and carry him through the debris-strewn hallways. He hadn’t known the guy was dead until he went to put him down on a gurney outside to be taken to the hospital.

“This one’s gone,” the EMT said.

Lance’s eyes had widened in disbelief. “That’s impossible,” he said. “He was talking to me when I picked him up.”

“Too much stress and strain,” the EMT said. “Don’t worry about it. No one’s going to blame you.”

Maybe not for this one, Lance thought, and once again, accepted his unbelievable luck that Cari North had perished only minutes after walking up on him in the act of hiding a crime. He shook off the shock and nervously swiped his hands down the front of his shirt.

“He was the last one on that wing,” Lance said.

The EMT nodded. “Then he’s the last one period,” he said. “Report back to the town square. It’s where emergency services has set up office. I’m sure someone else could use your help. We also have a missing kid.”

“Oh, no, who?” Lance asked.

“J.R. and Katie Earle’s little boy, Bobby.”

Lance tried to remember what the little boy looked like but couldn’t. All he could do was shake his head as he walked away. On the way back downtown, he tried his cell phone again, as he had been doing off and on, checking to see if they’d restored reception. To his relief, the connection bars finally showed up.

After what had happened, he knew his brother, Joe, who lived in Savannah, would be frantic. He wanted to let him know he was okay, and that Morgan’s Reach had survived the storm. But before he could punch in the number, his phone suddenly rang.

He saw the caller ID and then bit his lip as emotion swamped him. It was Joe. His voice was thick with tears as he answered.

“Joe, I was just about to call you. I’m okay. I’m okay.”

“Thank the Lord,” Joe said. “I’ve been trying to call you for hours.”

“The lines have been down all day. I just now was able to get a connection.”

“Where were you when the tornado hit? Is the house okay? What about the livestock?”

Lance could hardly admit he’d been burying a dead body.

“I was out, but on the property. By the time it passed and I could get home, I was afraid the house had taken a hit. However, we were lucky. It has some damage, but nothing serious. A few missing shingles, barn’s missing a corner of the roof, and there are some windows broken. Otherwise, we were fortunate.”

“Thank goodness,” Joe said. “What about Bordelaise?”

Lance hesitated and took a deep breath. Telling Joe the news was going to be as difficult as finding the Norths’ bodies.

“It got hit pretty bad. A lot of the buildings around the town square are gone or damaged beyond repair. The nursing home was also damaged. The back of the jailhouse was hit. And someone just told me there’s a missing child.”

“Lord, Lord,” Joe whispered. “I can’t believe it!”

“That’s not all,” Lance said.

“What?” Joe asked, the sense that something awful had happened clear in his voice.

“The North property took a direct hit. There isn’t a building standing, and… Joe…”

“Yeah?”

“Frank, Maggie and Cari…they’re all gone.”

“What do you mean, gone? As in they weren’t there when it happened?”

“No, Joe. They’re dead.”

There was a long moment of what was probably stunned silence, then Lance could hear Joe crying.

“It’s awful, Joe. I was the one who found them.”

“Oh, Lance…I’m so, so sorry,” Joe said. “I’ll get the first flight out and be there as soon as possible. Don’t worry. Whatever happens, we’ll get through this together, just like we did when Mom and Dad died.”

“Thanks, Joe. If I’m not home when you get here, I’ll be in Bordelaise. They need all the help they can get.”

“Take care of yourself,” Joe said. “You’re all I’ve got.”

The line went dead in Lance’s ear. He dropped his cell phone in his pocket, then swiped at the tears on his cheeks. There was still so much to be done before the world stopped spinning.

Three

Cari woke just as a nurse walked into her room.

“Good morning, Susan. My name is Tammy Bowen. I’ll be your nurse today. Did you sleep well last night?”

“Off and on,” Cari said.

Tammy frowned. “You should have asked for something to help you sleep. Rest is important to healing.”

“I’ll remember that,” Cari said. “Right now I need to go to the bathroom.” But when she started to sit up, the room started spinning. “Yikes,” she said, and grabbed the bed rails to keep from falling.

Tammy quickly moved to her side. “Careful, dear. Let me help you.”

Cari gratefully accepted the offer. By the time she came out, the nurse had a sink of warm water waiting for her to wash her face and hands.

The simple act turned out to be more difficult than Cari expected. Between the IV still in her arm and the dizzy spells she kept having, she wound up with almost as much water on the front of her gown as on her face.

“Don’t worry about it,” Tammy said, as Cari brushed uselessly at the wet streaks on her gown. “I’ll get you a dry one after your bath.”

“Thank you,” Cari said. “I’m sorry to be so helpless.”

Tammy smiled as she helped Cari back to bed.

“Honey, if you weren’t, you wouldn’t be here, remember?”

Cari managed to return the smile. “It’s just that I’m usually the one doing the helping.”

“So now you know how others feel who need help.” Tammy added, “What you need to do is quit worrying and concentrate on getting better.”

“You’re right,” Cari said. “Thank you.”

Tammy fussed with the sheets as Cari settled against the pillows. “Hang on, Susan. I’m going to raise the head of your bed a little bit. Your food will be coming soon.”

It was the name Susan that reminded Cari of what lay ahead, and with that realization came the pain.

Tammy noticed Cari’s change in mood as she turned on the television. “Do you need anything for pain? Doctor left orders. Don’t try to be brave and do without. It just slows down your healing.”

Cari knew the meds would make her sleepy, but in the grand scheme of things, she supposed sleeping was a better way to pass the time than being awake and crying, which made everything hurt worse.

“I guess,” Cari said.

At that point an aide entered, carrying a tray with Cari’s breakfast.

“Oh look, breakfast is here,” Tammy said with professional cheer. “Eat while it’s hot. I’ll be right back with your meds.”

Cari’s stomach lurched as she eyed the food. It certainly didn’t look like her mother’s cooking. And the moment she thought it, her vision blurred. Trying to focus on something besides the memory of her parents’ bodies amid the tornado debris, she reached for the button on the side of her bed and upped the volume on the TV. She scanned several channels until she found local news, then listened absently while poking at the food without eating it.

It wasn’t until she heard the word Bordelaise that she realized the story was a report on the aftermath of yesterday’s storm. She focused in on the video clip, immediately recognizing the town square—or what was left of it—then turning her attention to what the on-site reporter was saying.

“As of 7:00 a.m. this morning, there have been four confirmed deaths from yesterday’s tornado. Twenty-nine people have been hospitalized with injuries of varying severity, and one seven-year-old boy is still missing. Authorities have yet to confirm that his absence is due to the storm. The parents have been divorced for almost a year, and at this time, the authorities have not been able to locate the father, which has led to suspicions of family abduction.

“The town itself has been devastated. Court was in session when the courthouse was hit. The nearby jail was also heavily damaged. Four prisoners who had been incarcerated there are still unaccounted for. As you can see from this clip, several farms in the surrounding area were also destroyed. This house, which was southeast of Bordelaise, was leveled, and all three occupants were killed.”

Cari shuddered. The footage they were showing from the air was of her home—or what was left of it. Seeing the devastation from this perspective was even more shocking. Part of the smokehouse roof was in the pasture on the far side of her car. She was heartsick, wondering if her parents’ bodies had been recovered when this footage had been shot.

Trying hard not to start weeping again, she reached for her orange juice and took a sip. Anything to shift her focus from the overwhelming need to cry. Then the door to her room opened and Mike Boudreaux walked in.

It wasn’t the first time she’d noticed how handsome he was, and how well he wore his clothes, which today happened to be khaki-colored slacks and a navy blue polo shirt. She would have guessed that, as a teenager, some might have called him too pretty for a boy. But age had lent a measure of character to his face, honing angles and tightening muscles, and turning him into a very handsome man. Still, what he looked like was the last thing she needed to be thinking about.

Mike didn’t know what had preceded his arrival, but he didn’t need to look twice to see what was going on. Between the tears in Carolina’s eyes, the uneaten food on her tray and what she was watching on television, she was seconds away from a meltdown.

“Good morning,” he said, then leaned over the bed and turned off the TV. “How did you sleep? You aren’t eating your food, but on second thought, from the looks of your tray, smart move.”

Cari’s misery shifted to fury when the television screen went dark. How dare he come in and start directing her life? She didn’t answer to him. If she wanted to spend the day bawling, it was her right. She was the one who’d lost her whole family. She was the one trying to dodge a killer.

Mike saw the anger spreading over her face and knew hysterics had been averted when she picked up her fork and pointed it at him.

“Thank you so much for stopping by. Don’t let the door hit your ass on the way out,” she said.

It was all he could do not to grin. She was amazing. Carolina North might be down, but she was definitely not out. She might look like Susan, but she sure didn’t act like her. Susan had been a phenomenal assistant, but she never would have stood up to him like this. He watched as Carolina stabbed her fork into the food and took a bite of what were most likely tasteless scrambled eggs, eating as if they were the best thing she’d ever put in her mouth just because he’d implied the food was inedible. She spread jelly on the soggy toast and then ate until it was gone, all the while ignoring his presence.

Satisfied that his ruse had worked, Mike watched her without comment. She might hate his guts, but for the moment, he would gladly bear the brunt of her anger. When she’d finished her meal, he decided to add a new topic.

“The doctor is releasing you today.”

The news was not unexpected, but at the same time, it was a little unsettling. Here, Cari felt safe. Once she was out on her own again, there were big decisions to make.

“Good,” she said.

“But he doesn’t recommend you stay on your own…at least not for the first week. I am issuing an invitation for you to come to my house. I know I ticked you off, but there was a reason behind it.” His voice softened. “I’m sorry I was so damn bossy, but do you still feel like crying?”

Cari eyed the man with new appreciation as it began to soak in why he’d been so pushy.

“No, I don’t. I guess I should say thank-you, both for your empathy and your offer.”

“So…will you accept?” Mike asked.

“At the risk of sounding unappreciative, I really don’t have a choice. This is the first time in my life that I’ve been so completely at the mercy of others. I will come stay with you, and I thank you for the offer.”

Mike thrust his hand forward.

“Truce?”

Cari clasped it carefully.

He nodded, satisfied that all was going according to plan. “I’m going down to the business office to settle your bill. When I come back we’ll—”

“Wait!” Cari said. “You don’t need to do that. I have money.”

Mike shook his head. “No. Carolina North had money. Susan has money, too, but I don’t think you’ve thought through the legal liabilities of your impersonation. You can’t spend Carolina’s money, because everyone thinks she’s dead, and right now you want them to go on thinking that. You can’t spend Susan’s money, because that would be theft, as well as fraud.”

Cari groaned. “I hadn’t thought of it from that standpoint.”

Mike gently touched the bandage on the side of her head. “That’s because you’ve got a monumental boo-boo on your thinker.”

“A boo-boo on my thinker?”

Mike grinned. “My nearest neighbors have a three-year-old. He’s one of my favorite people. I was borrowing some of his vocabulary to cheer you up.”

Cari wondered if he knew how sexy he looked when he grinned, then ignored the thought. “Once again, I find myself thanking you for your generosity and compassion.”

“No biggie,” Mike said, and handed her a business card. “This has my cell number, in case I’m not here when the doctor makes his rounds and gives you your marching orders. Just call me. I’ll come pick you up.”

Cari took the card, then glanced up, studying the set of his jaw and the cut of his cheekbones. He looked like a man used to getting his way. Still, she was grateful.

“Thank you, Mike.”

“You’re welcome, tough stuff.”

Cari frowned. “Tough stuff?”

“I can’t call you Carolina, for obvious reasons, and I’m not going to call you Susan. I call it like I see it, and you, my lady, are tough with a capital T.”

Cari blinked. “Was that a compliment or a criticism?”

“In the business world, they call me a corporate shark, because I do what I have to do to make something feasible and profitable, even when it’s at others’ expense. I don’t feel guilty for it. I’m not responsible for the mess the company I’m buying is in. They got there all by themselves. I’m just saving them from financial ruin in a way that works for me, too. You’re doing what you have to do to keep yourself safe, and at the same time, you’re seeking justice for a man you don’t know, all at your own risk. In my book, that makes you damn tough…and quite a woman.”

Cari felt her face getting hot, and the look in his eyes made her nervous. “Thanks,” she said, and then quickly looked away.

Mike knew he’d said enough. “So…is there anything you need?”

“I don’t have any clean clothes. Susan’s suitcase was in her car, but I don’t know where that is.”

“They towed it. I’ve already gotten it out of the impound yard. It’s parked at my house, but I put the suitcase in my car, figuring it would come in handy, so I’ll bring you up a change of clothes. And since the key to her apartment was on her key ring, I’ll take you by her house after you’re released, so you can get some of her things.”

Cari shuddered, just thinking of going through Susan’s clothes.

Mike noticed her reaction, then winced. “I’m sorry. That was unfeeling of me, to assume you wouldn’t mind wearing Susan’s belongings. If you’ll write down your sizes, I’ll go get some new things for you myself.”

Tears welled once more, but Cari managed to maintain her emotions. “That’s not necessary. Susan wouldn’t care, and if the situation were reversed, she would wear mine.”

“Okay, but don’t hesitate to let me know if you change your mind.”

Cari squinted her eyes, as if judging him anew. “Thank you for understanding.”

“I’ll be waiting for your call,” he said, then left.

She shoved aside the tray table with the congealing leftovers, and then nestled down into her pillows as the door closed behind him. It felt as if Mike Boudreaux had taken all the energy in the room with him. Weary from too much thinking and too many meds, she closed her eyes.

Just to rest.

She was still asleep when the doctor came in on rounds.

After a whirlwind of orders she didn’t remember, she dressed in the clothes Mike had left at the nurses’ station. A short while later, she’d been properly discharged and was down in the lobby, sitting in a wheelchair with an orderly at her side, waiting for her ride.

Her head was throbbing. Every time she moved, something hurt. She was still waiting for her latest pain meds to kick in when she saw Mike drive up.

“There’s my ride,” she said, pointing to the gleaming black Cadillac just pulling under the breezeway. The orderly began pushing her toward the exit, but Cari’s gaze was fixed on the man striding purposefully toward the doors.

He must have run home, because he was dressed now in dark slacks and a white knit shirt. Besides the fact that he was undeniably stunning, he emanated power. Cari couldn’t help but wonder why Susan had never mentioned that.

“Ah…ready to go, I see,” Mike said, as the orderly pushed her wheelchair through the exit doors and up to his car. “Easy does it,” he said gently, helping Cari out of the wheelchair and into the front seat, then proceeding to buckle her in as if she were a child.

“Thank you,” she said, as Mike leaned across her to fasten the seat belt.

At the sound of the click, she suddenly flinched.

He frowned. “Damn. Did I hurt you?”

“No. I’m just jumpy, I guess.”

“You’re allowed,” Mike said softly, but instead of pulling back, he gazed straight into her eyes. With less than a foot between them, he carefully eyed the bruises on her skin and the dark shadows under her eyes, and resisted the urge to kiss her.

“You’re going to be okay,” he said softly.

Cari’s gut knotted. He was so close she could have counted his eyelashes. Then she amended the thought. They were too thick to count. The last man she’d been this close to had been Lance, but that was when they’d still been intimate. The thought of Lance killed the surge of interest she’d just felt, as her mood shifted to anxiety.

Lance!

She couldn’t help but wonder what the hell he was doing now. Probably privately congratulating himself on the news of her death while playing the part of the grieving friend and ex-lover all over Bordelaise.

Mike gave her another quick glance, then closed the door and circled the car to slide in behind the wheel. “Are you okay?”

She nodded.

“Still up to stopping by Susan’s house? And please don’t hesitate to say so if you’re not. I can easily get some stuff for you later.”

“No, no, I’d rather do it myself, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure thing,” Mike said, then put the car in gear and headed for Susan’s. Within fifteen minutes, he was pulling into the driveway. “Hang on,” he said, as he killed the engine. “I’ll help you out.”

Cari waited for him once again, grateful for his assistance as he steadied her on the way to the door. The more time passed, the stiffer she was getting. There were bruises all over her body, which left her with nothing but guesses as to what had happened to her during the tornado.

Mike was going through his own set of issues. He steeled himself as he opened the door, knowing Susan would never greet him again with that happy smile. Still, whatever it was he was feeling, it was nothing compared to what must be going through Cari’s mind.

When he glanced at her, he knew his instincts had been right. She looked like a lost child. Without thinking, he slid his arm around her shoulders, bracing her for what lay ahead.

“Chin up, tough stuff.”

Cari nodded as she gazed around the room. “I haven’t been here in a couple of months, but I know where everything is.”

“I’m coming with you,” Mike said. “No lifting, pushing or pulling for you until you’re better. Oh. Wait. I brought one of my suitcases for you to pack up some stuff. I’ll go get it out of the car.”

Cari moved farther into the living room as Mike ran back out.

The first thing she noticed was the flashing light on Susan’s answering machine. Once again, she was reminded of how involved her impersonation was becoming. There must be appointments to cancel, people who would be expecting answers to their calls. She looked for a pen and paper, and then sat down in the desk chair and punched Play.

The first three calls were nothing more than reminders for appointments. But it was the fourth call that left her shaking.

“Miss Blackwell. I’m Hershel Porter, with the parish police in Bordelaise. Lance Morgan gave me your name and number. I need you to call me back at your earliest convenience regarding a matter of extreme importance.”

“Oh Lord,” Cari said. She knew what was coming. Susan, being the next of kin, was about to be notified of the deaths.

Mike came back in with the suitcase, saw her face and hurried to her.

“What’s wrong?”

Cari played back the message without speaking.

Midway through, Mike’s hand was on her shoulder. By the time the message was over, he knew she had yet another bridge to cross. She was about to become the next of kin—to her own death.

“What are you going to do?” he asked.

“Make the call,” she said, then took a deep breath, bracing herself for what was coming.

Mike pulled up a chair and sat down beside her.

“I’m here if you need me.”

Cari tried to smile but felt too much like weeping to complete the effort. Her hands were shaking as she dialed the number, then waited for the call to go through. When the police picked up, she went another step deeper into her impersonation of Susan by lengthening her drawl and softening her tone.

“This is Susan Blackwell. I’m returning a message from Chief Porter.”

“Oh!” the dispatcher said. “One minute, please.”

Cari recognized Vera’s voice. She wanted nothing more than to weep on her old friend’s shoulder. Instead she struggled to maintain composure, waiting for Hershel to come on the line. When she finally heard him, she bit her lip, needing pain to shift her focus from breaking down.

“Miss Blackwell?”

“Yes. I had a message to call you?”

She heard him take a deep breath and knew this wasn’t easy for him. He was a few years older than she was, but, like her, he’d been born and raised in Bordelaise.

“Miss Blackwell, I don’t know if you remember me or not. I think we’ve met several times through the years.”

“Yes, I remember you,” Cari said. “Please…what’s wrong?”

“I’m afraid I have some bad news. The tornado that came through Bordelaise on Sunday hit your aunt and uncle’s property. I’m so sorry to tell you, but Frank, Maggie and your cousin were all killed.”

Cari’s breath caught. Hearing it said aloud—like this—sealed the awful truth. She didn’t have to fake the sorrow.

“Oh Lord… Lord,” she said softly.

“They were at the farm when the tornado hit. Their bodies have been taken to Sumner’s Funeral Home here in Bordelaise. The funeral director has been notified and is expecting your call. Again, I’m so sorry for your loss.”

Cari’s voice was shaking. She felt like she was going to throw up. “They’re all the family I had left.”

“I know. I’m so sorry.”

Cari started to cry.

“Would you like the number to the funeral home?” Porter asked.

“Yes…no…yes, I guess.”

All the while Cari was saying the words, the weight of her reality was hitting anew. By the time she got the number, she was sobbing. She disconnected, then collapsed.

“I can’t do this. I can’t. I need to see my mother. My daddy. Susan… I can’t bury them long distance. I have to be there.”

Mike ached for her. This was, in truth, a hell of a mess. “Don’t worry. We’ll figure something out,” he said, then handed her his handkerchief. “Are you going to call the funeral home now?”

Cari wiped her eyes, blew her nose, then took a deep breath. “Not yet. I need to think a few minutes. I think I’ll go pack first. Maybe by the time I’m finished, I’ll be able to face talking to someone else.”

“What can I do?” Mike asked.

She pointed to the suitcase. “Carry that into the bedroom for me, I guess.”

“Absolutely,” he said, and followed her down the hall.

Cari started into Susan’s bedroom, then hesitated, once again, staggered by the enormity of what she was about to do. But all it took was remembering Lance and the dead man, and she knew she had no choice. She set her jaw, then strode across the room to the closet as Mike put the suitcase on the bed.

“Let me know when you’re through and I’ll carry it to the car for you,” he said, then left her on her own.

Cari stared at the closet door for a few more moments, then took a deep breath and reached for the knob. The moment she opened the closet, the scent of lavender hit her like a slap in the face. She shuddered. Lavender. A scent she’d always associated with Susan. Now it would be hers—at least for a time.

Gritting her teeth, she quickly sorted through the clothes on the hangers, choosing several outfits, then carrying them to the bed. She packed quickly, anxious to be gone before her emotions caught up with her again. By the time she’d filled the suitcase, she also had underwear, shoes and sleepwear, along with an assortment of Susan’s makeup. Besides being the same height and size, they shared the same skin tone and hair color, so whatever she used would pass, although the lipstick colors were more subdued than what she would have worn.

She fastened the suitcase and started to drag it off the bed, then remembered the doctor’s orders and stopped. Healing was what she had to do first. Undoing the rest of this mess would come later.

As she started down the hall, the sound of her footsteps on the hardwood floors alerted Mike. He came to meet her, his expression wreathed in concern.

“How you doing, cher?”

The tenderness in his voice was nearly her undoing. “Not as well as I’d like,” Cari said. “The suitcase is on the bed. Thank you for carrying it for me.”

“Yeah, sure,” he said, leaving her to make her way into the living room.

Suddenly anxious to be out of this house and away from her cousin’s ghost, she went back to the desk and eased down in the chair. There was still the matter of calling Sumner’s Funeral Home, but while she’d been packing, she had come up with a plan.

Her head was pounding, and there was a bitter taste in her mouth as she picked up the phone. “God. I need this day to be over,” she muttered, and made another call to Bordelaise.

Her call was answered promptly, and once again, she recognized the voice. Sarah Beth Spellman had worked for Sumner’s for as long as Cari could remember, which meant she needed to be careful not to give herself away.

“Sumner’s Funeral Home, Sarah Beth Spellman speaking.”

“This is Susan Blackwell. I’ve been told the North family…my family members…were taken there.”

“Yes, they’re here,” Sarah Beth said. “And, honey…I just want you to know I’m so sorry.”

Cari pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes, trying not to say too much, or somehow give herself away, but Sarah Beth’s sympathy was getting to her. It was even more difficult to talk to her than it had been talking to Hershel Porter.

“Thank you,” Cari said shakily.

Sarah Beth continued. “We all know you’re the only surviving family member, so the lawyer for the family has had us wait until you were notified to see if you wanted to be the one to make funeral arrangements.”

“I do…. I just have a couple of problems right now,” Cari said.

“You just name a day and time when you want to come in and make arrangements. We’ll do everything we can to make this as easy as possible for you.”

Cari took a deep breath. Lord help me make this work. “I’m grateful for your offer, but I’m going to have to make an unusual request of you.”

“We’ll be honored to do anything we can,” Sarah Beth said.

“I suffered a serious accident a couple of days ago. I just got out of the hospital this morning, and at the moment I’m unable to travel. Not being able to make arrangements in person is devastating to me, but I have no choice. Would it be asking too much if you would—”

At that moment Cari caught a glimpse of a framed photo of herself and Susan, taken last Christmas in front of her mom and dad’s Christmas tree, and came undone. With her focus gone, she was unable to stop the harsh, ugly sobs tearing up her throat.

“I’m sorry… I can’t… I—”

Suddenly the phone was taken out of her hands. She was vaguely aware of Mike’s deep, steady voice, explaining who he was to Sarah Beth and making decisions she couldn’t make for herself. Heartsick to the depths of her soul, she pushed herself up from the chair and stumbled into the kitchen.

She got a glass from the cabinet and thrust it under the faucet, letting it fill, then overflow, unable to stop weeping long enough to take a drink. Suddenly Mike’s arms were around her, and then he was taking the glass out of her hands and pulling her hard against his chest. She didn’t know he was crying with her, but it wouldn’t have mattered.

“Go ahead and cry, cher…cry,” he said softly. “Let it all go. I know…. I know…. It hurts like hell, and you and I both know it’s not fair. I’m sorry. I’m just so, so sorry.”

Cari’s hands were fisted, her anger only slightly less than her sorrow. She tried to push away, but he wouldn’t let her go. Finally she collapsed against him as she screamed, “God…oh God…all I keep wanting to ask is why? Why did they all have to die? Why didn’t I die with them? How can a life go from happy to over that fast?”

“But your life isn’t over,” Mike said. “I don’t know why this happened the way it did, but you owe it to yourself and to your family not to waste what you’ve been given. Live for yourself, and for them.”

Cari knew he was right, and she held on to Mike as if he were her lifeline, leaning on his strength because all of hers was gone. She cried until her eyes were swollen and it hurt to breathe. And with the last of her tears, her legs went out from under her and the room began to spin.

Mike grabbed her just as she went limp. “We’ve been here too long,” he muttered, and carried her into the living room, out the door and back into his car. He cupped her cheek briefly. “I’ll be right back,” he promised, then closed the door.

Cari leaned against the headrest and closed her eyes, wanting this all to be nothing but a nightmare. A hell on earth that would go away just as soon as she opened her eyes. But when she did, all she saw was Mike coming out of the house with a suitcase full of her cousin’s clothes. Their gazes met.

Her heart thudded hard against her chest.

Oh, sweet Jesus. He’s been crying, too.

It was then that she remembered that he, too, had a reason to grieve.

Susan.

Had their relationship been more than boss and employee?

Had he loved her?

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