Читать книгу Danger at Her Door - Beth Cornelison - Страница 5

“Megan Hoffman, you’re under arrest.”

Raising her gaze from the latest you’re-over-the-hill-at-thirty birthday card from her colleagues, Megan met the unyielding stare of the police officer standing beside her chair in a private room of an upscale coffee shop. Her fellow teachers had convinced her to join them for lattes and birthday cake on their way home from school, and, though tired, Megan had accepted the thoughtful offer.

But the policeman staring down at her quickly put a damper on any fun she’d been having. “E-excuse me?”

The sight of the uniform prodded a memory that lurked daily at the corners of her thoughts, and a shiver crept down her spine. Shock rendered her mind blank and her jaw slack.

“I have a warrant here for your arrest, Miss Megan,” he said, arching a black eyebrow.

“What on earth for?” She realized too late how loud and panicked her voice sounded. Casting a nervous glance around the table at the other teachers, she found all eyes on her. Even Principal Wilkins witnessed the unfolding drama with a peculiar, amused expression on his face.

Clearing her throat, Megan repeated the question more calmly.

A smile touched the corner of the officer’s lips, and that hint of a grin, along with his informal use of “Miss Megan,” rang warning bells in her head.

The young police officer unfolded a sheet of paper and gave it a once-over. “According to this, you turned thirty today.”

Megan blinked, confused. “Yes, but—”

The officer reached behind his back and whipped out his handcuffs.

The loud whoosh of rushing blood filled her ears and drowned out his reply. Numbly, she watched the bright flash of silver swim before her eyes. He tugged her arm up and snapped the cold metal shackle to her wrist. She froze in shock as he quickly threaded the cuffs under the armrest then shackled her other wrist as well. Her panicked yelp rang mutely in her ears, as if from under water. She fought the imprisoning cuffs, jerking her hands back to free them. No use. The cuffs fettered her to the chair. No! Not again! Please, God, not again!

The blare of music, reverberating from the white plaster walls, snatched her from her dazed struggle. Galled by the turn of events, she searched the faces of her fellow teachers and sought an ally.

The usually stoic third-grade teacher smiled and sipped her Coca-Cola. Propped next to the creams and sugars on the condiment counter, the physical education instructor laughed. At the end of the table, the principal’s secretary bit her lip to cover a giggle. “It’d been so long since you had a date, we figured you could use a man for your birthday!”

The secretary’s comment brought a murmur of chuckles from the rest of the table, but the swirl of panic spinning through Megan’s brain muddled her thoughts and made it difficult to comprehend what was happening.

The police officer turned her chair and stepped into her line of vision, his broad chest obscuring her view of her colleagues. The pounding beat of music echoed her heart’s frantic rhythm. An all-too-familiar sense of terror washed through her, paralyzing her limbs. Megan fought for a calming breath.

On some level, she realized this was a birthday prank. But the raw memories of other handcuffs, another fake policeman, and a desperate battle for her life erased any humor in her colleagues’ ploy.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to shake off the haunting images that flickered through her mind. Just as she drew a reinforcing breath and peeked up at the faux officer, he ripped his shirt open and leaned dangerously close to her.

Her attacker pinned her wrists with one hand while he tore at her shirt with the other. Her scream tangled with the sound of ripping fabric.

Megan flinched and kept her eyes shut. Her anxiety snowballed, choking the air from her lungs. A fresh surge of the anguish she’d spent the past five years subduing swept through her, immobilizing her.

“Stop!” The desperate, strangled quality of her voice surprised even Megan. Past and present twined around each other.

An insistent voice in her head impelled her to move her frozen arms. She fought the hard shackles binding her until her wrists stung.

“Come on, Megan. Be a sport! It’s all in fun!” the science teacher called over the thumping music.

Drawn back from the memories that taunted her, Megan heard the giggles around her fade to curious whispers.

“Please stop! Just let me go!” She knew her behavior, her pleas, would raise questions—questions she wasn’t ready to answer. If she’d thought she’d outrun the past, she’d been wrong. A bitter brew of emotions swirled in her gut, biting, clawing. But one ever-present emotion reigned over them all.

Fear.

For five years, fear had been her constant companion. She’d battled it, bargained with it and analyzed it. Yet no matter how she hated it and prayed to be free of it, fear ruled her life.

The stripper grabbed the buckle on his pants, and she wailed, “No! Stop!”

Tears streamed down her cheeks and dripped from the tip of her nose. With her hands cuffed to the chair, she couldn’t even wipe the drops of moisture, the visible evidence of her agony.

“All right, hotshot. That’s enough. Joke’s over. She’s obviously not amused.”

Megan recognized Principal Wilkins’s voice but kept her head down until the music stopped and the shadow of the stripper moved away from her. How did she face the other teachers? How could she explain her reaction to their prank? She couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Not after the response she got to the truth last time.

Sucking in a deep breath, she searched for the strength to fight down the demons again. Somehow she had to find a way to put the horror of that night, five years before, behind her. So much of her life had been put on hold because of that tragic night—her master’s degree, her impending marriage, children.

How could she think of a future until he was locked up for good? For her own sake, for every woman in Lagniappe Parish, Louisiana, she wouldn’t rest easy until he was permanently behind bars. Maybe then she could rebuild her life and rid herself of the debilitating fear.

“Megan? Are you okay?” Principal Wilkins asked. When he laid a soothing hand on her shoulder, Megan flinched away.

“Chill out, lady. It was all in fun. Geez!” The stripper crouched beside her and unlocked the handcuffs.

Rubbing her sore wrists, she glared at the nearly naked man. “You have a warped idea of fun.”

She glanced at Mr. Wilkins. “If it’s all the same to you…I’d like to go h-home now.”

He nodded and put a hand under her elbow. “I’m sorry, Megan. When the ladies approached me with the idea, I had misgivings. I only agreed to this gag because it was off campus and after school hours, I—”

“I’ll be all right. Really.” Despite her noble attempt to stand alone, Megan wobbled as she rose. Remnant adrenaline left her body trembling as she stumbled across the coffee shop for the door. She avoided eye contact with her coworkers, but she felt the weight of their confused and concerned stares following her.

The heels of her navy pumps pounded a resonating cadence as she hurried down the sidewalk to her car. Her resentment for the man who’d ruined her life flared, and latte and cake soured in her stomach.

The drive home, past fields of cotton and Spanish moss-draped cypress trees rising from muddy bayous, calmed her. The serene beauty of north Louisiana always soothed her after a difficult day, but she craved a serenity that could last longer than her twenty-minute drive home. More than anything, she needed a peace that could permeate her heart and soul and push the ugliness of her attack out once and for all. She was tired of being a prisoner of her fear, ready to put the past behind her and move on. But how?

When she pulled onto the quiet, residential street where she lived, she sighed in relief. Soon this horrible day would be over. No more birthday cards from well-meaning friends, teasing her about being “over the hill.” No more reminders that, at thirty, she was still alone and her childbearing years were disappearing. And no more policeman strippers.

Megan shuddered.

Huffing her frustration, she climbed out of her Honda Civic and headed to the back door of her small, brick house. As soon as she pushed through the door, dumping her stack of files and papers on the kitchen counter, Sam, her German shepherd, greeted her with his usual enthusiasm. As she relocked the door, he jumped on her with a slobbery lick and a wildly wagging tail. Good ol’ Sam.

Her loyal friend. Her canine garbage disposal. Her lethally trained protector.

“Hey, Sam. Give me a minute to change clothes, and we’ll go for our walk, okay?” Sam responded with a bark that could only be interpreted as Yes!

After throwing on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, Megan took Sam’s leash from the hook beside the back door. Sam pranced and circled her with unrestrained exuberance.

“Hold still! I can’t hook your leash with you wiggling around like that.”

Sam woofed, and if she hadn’t known better, she’d have sworn the dog grinned at her. The corner of her mouth lifted in bittersweet response, and a fresh lump of emotion clogged her throat. “You crazy dog. What would I do without you?”

Wiggling loose and scratching at the door, Sam seemed to say, Yeah, yeah. Enough of that. Let’s cruise!

With a deep cleansing breath, Megan shoved down her maudlin thoughts and unlocked the door for Sam. The late-August heat and inescapable Louisiana humidity hung in the air like a suffocating blanket. By the time she’d walked one block with Sam, sweat beaded on Megan’s forehead and dampened her back. Despite the hot weather, she picked up the pace, hoping a little exercise might help clear her mind and exorcize the day’s demons. Sam loped along beside her, his tongue hanging out of the side of his mouth and his eyes bright with excitement.

They jogged past the old homes of the Lagniappe Garden District, many of them recently remodeled by new tenants, and Megan waved at neighbors who worked in their yards or rested in rocking chairs on their front porches.

As she neared her house after circling the block, Megan watched a young girl, with dark ponytails flying, dart into the street. The child ran to intercept her and Sam.

“Hi! Can I pat your dog?” the girl asked, even as she wrapped her arms around Sam and ruffled the fur behind his ears. Sam licked the girl’s face, and she giggled.

“Um, sure, sweetie.” Megan glanced across the street to the empty yard where the girl had been playing. The house had recently been bought by a new owner, and Megan had been meaning for days to introduce herself to the new resident. Most of her neighbors knew her and Sam well because of their daily walks and because she made a point of meeting and greeting them. For security reasons, if nothing else, it paid to know who lived around you. The older residents, who stayed home all day, kept an especially close watch on the comings and goings in the area, which pleased Megan immensely. She’d learned the hard way one could never be too careful.

Finding no sign of a parent or older sibling watching the little girl, Megan twisted her lips in a scowl. “Honey, does your mommy know you’re playing outside?”

The girl, whose age Megan estimated at around four years, peeked up at her with a puzzled look. “My mommy? Nuh-uh. My mommy went away.”

Burying her face in Sam’s fur again, the girl continued scratching Sam behind the ears. Sam sat down, his tail thumping the sidewalk, and tipped his head to accommodate his new friend’s loving hands. Clearly, Sam had found canine nirvana.

“Well,” Megan said in her best teacher’s voice, “you didn’t look before you crossed the street. Your mommy would be real sad if you got hurt by a car.”

The child peered up at her again, wrinkling her freckled nose. “I told you my mommy went away. How would she even know if I gotted hurt?”

“Well, she…uh.” Megan paused and chewed her lower lip. “Can you tell me where your mommy went? To the store? To work? Do you have a babysitter?”

“Nuh-uh. Just my daddy. Daddy hasn’t got me a new sitter yet.”

Squatting down to eye level with the girl, Megan studied the child’s freckled face. As a teacher, she’d been trained to look for signs of abuse, but this child showed none of the telltale marks. Her pink sundress was wrinkled but clean, and the child appeared healthy and happy.

So where was her guardian?

“Is your daddy home? Does he know you’re outside playing?”

Her mood was already grim thanks to the stripper prank and gag card reminders that her prime childbearing years were passing her by. But her concern for this child’s poor supervision started a slow gnawing in the pit of her stomach.

The dark-haired girl shrugged her shoulders. “He locked me out.”

“Locked you out?”

When Sam licked her face, the child grinned. “He kissed me!”

“Your father locked you out of your house?” Megan asked patiently, determined to find out why the girl lacked a chaperone.

Bobbing her head in affirmation, the little girl asked, “What’s your name?”

Realizing she wasn’t likely to get a satisfactory explanation to her own questions, Megan followed the girl’s lead.

“I’m Megan, and this is Sam. We live down the street in the red brick house.” Megan pointed toward her house, but the girl ignored the gesture, her attention absorbed by Sam. “What’s your name, sweetie?”

“Caitlyn. I wish I had a dog, but Daddy won’t let me. He says dogs is too much trouble, and the last thing he needs now is more trouble.”

Megan mulled over the child’s remark about her father not wanting more trouble and factored in the vague comment that her mother had gone away someplace. Other people might consider Caitlyn’s home life none of their business and bid the girl goodbye as they walked away.

But not Megan.

As a teacher, she was duty-bound by law to investigate and report neglect. To her, those who looked the other way were as guilty as negligent parents.

“Come on, Caitlyn, let’s go see your daddy.” She took the child’s hand and led her across the street, making a point of reminding the girl to look both ways before they crossed.

Sam trotted along beside them contentedly, his ears perked and alert. He seemed intrigued by the change of course, and his nose searched the air for new smells.

“You know what?” Caitlyn skipped as they crossed her yard.

“What?”

“This mornin’ when Daddy was making breakfast, our toast caught on fire!” Caitlyn giggled and covered her mouth with her hand.

“Oh, my!” Megan clapped a hand to her cheek, adding the sort of animated and enthusiastic look of surprise her first graders loved. “What did he do?”

Caitlyn’s eyes twinkled with a mischievous gleam. “He threw the toast in the sink like this. Oo, ah, ow!” The little girl imitated her father juggling the burnt toast from hand to hand. “Then he said a bad word! Wanna hear it?”

Surveying the girl’s impish expression, Megan lifted an eyebrow. “No, thank you. I feel sure it’s a word you shouldn’t be repeating.”

Caitlyn shrugged. “Yeah. That’s what Daddy said, too. He said it was a grown-up word, and it slipped out on accident.”

Megan figured she had to give the girl’s father credit for at least trying to cover his gaffe. But he still had a bit of explaining to do for his inattention to his daughter’s whereabouts at the moment.

They tramped up the brick steps to the front porch together—woman, child and dog—and Caitlyn wiggled the doorknob. “See? Locked out!”

Megan pounded on the front door. When no one answered after a few moments, she pounded again.

“Are you mad at me?” a tiny voice squeaked.

Glancing down at the girl, Megan met a wide, dark-eyed gaze that melted her heart. Tears puddled in Caitlyn’s eyes, and Megan caught her breath. “Oh, no, darling. I’m not mad at you. Really.” She knelt beside the girl and tugged on her ponytail. “I just want to be sure you are safe and that your daddy knows where you are. Okay?”

She flashed Caitlyn an encouraging smile, winning a bright grin in return. Finally the doorknob rattled, and as the front door swung open, Caitlyn sidled behind Megan.

Turning her gaze toward the portal, Megan encountered bare feet and a pair of long masculine legs. Her gaze drifted upward, past a damp blue towel wrapped low on lean hips, to a broad, bare chest. Tiny rivers of water trickled down the firm, flat stomach to disappear beneath the towel.

Megan’s mouth went dry. Images of the stripper’s gyrating hips flickered in her memory. Yet where the stripper had evoked terrifying memories, this wet, masculine body stirred a more innate female response, something physical and wholly unexpected. Unsettling in a way that had nothing to do with fear.

“Can I help you?”

The question jerked her attention back. She gasped and rose to her feet. The man at the door dwarfed her by several inches. As Megan gaped, an awkward flip-flopping in her gut, water dripped from his hair and puddles collected at his bare feet.

“You…w-were in the shower.” Megan grimaced and gave herself a mental thump on the head for stating the obvious.

“Uh…yeah.” A lopsided grin, much like Caitlyn’s, tugged the corner of his mouth.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize. I—”

He shrugged a muscular shoulder dismissively. “Whatever. Lately, finishing much of anything without interruption is a rarity.” His smile turned wry, exasperated. “So—” He raised a palm. “Was there something you needed or can I go back to my shower?”

Just like that, the reality that she was standing there conversing with this nearly naked man slammed home.

Megan swallowed hard, and the bravado she’d mustered to challenge his parental negligence slipped.

If his dishabille bothered him, he didn’t let on. He had the presence of a man who knew how to wield control of a situation.

But Megan hadn’t felt truly in control of her life in years. She slid a hand into Sam’s thick fur to draw strength and comfort from her canine protector’s presence. Squaring her shoulders, she mustered the presence of mind to meet the man’s hazel eyes.

“I presume you’re Caitlyn’s father?” Megan reached behind her and guided the girl into view.

His brow furrowed, and his gaze flew to the little girl. “Caitlyn, what have you done now?”

“Nothing!” Caitlyn whined.

“Did you know she was outside…by herself?” Megan placed meaningful emphasis on the last words. “Locked out?”

He looked baffled for a moment. “No. How—? She was supposed to be locked in! Caitlyn, how did you get outside?”

Caitlyn ducked her head and picked at a scab on her arm. “The window.”

“What window?” her dad asked, frustration rife in his tone.

The child aimed a finger at a sill where the screen had been popped out, cockeyed.

The man’s eyes rounded. “Caitlyn! How’d—”

He stopped and drew a slow breath before raising his gaze to Megan’s again. “Thank you for bringing her home.”

Warmth and appreciation filled his mossy brown eyes, and Megan’s body answered with a tug of feminine interest she hadn’t felt in so long she almost didn’t recognize it. But she couldn’t deny the gut-level attraction to her new neighbor that zipped through her veins, steamrolled by a dose of adrenaline. Her reaction to this man was unexpected, overwhelming. Tantalizing.

And what are you going to do about it? a voice in her head asked.

The man tugged lightly on Caitlyn’s ponytail, deep affection lighting his eyes along with exasperation. “And, no, I didn’t know she was outside. I locked the doors to keep her inside while I was in the shower.” He sighed tiredly, tiny creases beside his eyes adding to his roguish appeal. “I thought she was watching the video I put on for her.”

Megan nodded mutely while her thoughts raced and her stomach performed another forward roll.

It’s still too soon. How can you even think of starting something with a man until you get your head straight? Until you’ve put the attack behind you in every way?

Caitlyn’s father tightened the towel on his hips then held his hand out. “I don’t usually meet new neighbors in my birthday suit, but under the circumstances…I’m Jack Calhoun.”

His birthday suit. Oh, heavens!

Her pulse increased its tempo, and a tiny quiver shook her knees. She raised an unsteady hand and gave his a quick shake. “Megan Hoffman. I’m at one twenty-two. The red brick across the street.”

Jack leaned out the front door far enough to glance toward her house. “So now I know where to go to borrow sugar. Or—more likely—tranquilizers.” Jack cut a side glance to her. “Kidding. Sort of.”

Megan caught a whiff of his spicy deodorant soap, and a sensuous tingle slid over her skin. She rubbed goose bumps from her arms, despite the muggy day. Her response to Jack rattled her, caught her off guard.

And off guard was a position she’d promised herself to never be trapped in again.

The past five years had been all about finding stability and control over her life.

“Well, I’m sorry if Caitlyn bothered you. Clearly I need to further explore all potential egresses from the new house before my next shower.” He flashed another heart-tripping grin that he divided between Megan and his daughter, and he reached down to take Caitlyn by the arm. “Back inside, young lady. Pronto.”

“Awww, Daddy.” The girl pouted and pulled against her father’s restraining hand.

“Cait, I’m not going to argue with you. You’re in big trouble already, missy.” Clutching at his towel with one hand, Jack pulled firmly on Caitlyn’s arm to lead her in the door.

“Noooo!” Caitlyn whined.

A low, deep growl drew Megan’s attention away from the protesting girl. Jack, too, turned a startled look to Sam, whose teeth were bared. The fur on Sam’s neck bristled. Megan blinked in surprise then recognized why Jack’s parental force with his daughter and Caitlyn’s cries had triggered Sam’s training. “Sam, no. Down!”

Sam quieted but kept a vigilant stare on Caitlyn’s father.

Jack lifted a wary gaze to Megan. “Is your dog always so…uh, easily riled? I know how Caitlyn is with dogs, and if your dog has a problem with kids, I’ll make sure to keep her away from…Cujo there.”

Megan lifted her chin. “Sam would never hurt a child.”

Jack shot her a skeptical look and shrugged. “Just the same, Caitlyn doesn’t always know where to draw the line with dogs. I’d feel better if you didn’t let her play with your dog without supervision.”

Megan huffed a short laugh of disbelief. Who was he to warn her about leaving Caitlyn unwatched?

“It wasn’t my dog who crawled out a window to play outside, Mr. Calhoun.” Megan tugged Sam’s leash and turned to leave.

“Touché.” The rich baritone melody of Jack’s low laugh followed her down the steps.

“Good luck sealing all the exits and keeping Miss Adventure under surveillance,” she called over her shoulder.

“Oh, wait…”

Megan paused and pivoted back to face Jack. Sam strained against his leash, eager to get home for supper.

“You wouldn’t know any good babysitters with combat training, would you? Being new in town, I’m having a hard time finding anyone I trust to keep an eye on Miss Adventure.”

“Hmm…” Megan bit her lip as she thought. “Nobody comes to mind at the moment…but I’ll keep my ears open.”

“Thanks. Someone with a lot of patience and eyes in the back of their head would be best.” Jack gave her a wave and backed inside. “Nice to meet you.”

Megan returned his wave, and as she crossed the street toward her own yard, she found herself wearing a sappy smile. Even if she wasn’t ready to jump back into the dating game—yet—she liked Jack. His sense of humor and easygoing nature made him approachable. And though it seemed he had his hands full with Caitlyn, he clearly loved his daughter.

Entering her house, Megan was greeted by the insistent ring of her phone. She took the time to relock her door then nudged Sam out of the way as she hurried to answer the call.

“There you are! I was getting worried when you didn’t answer and the machine didn’t pick up.”

“Hi, Ginny.”

Ginny West had been Megan’s counselor and best friend since they met at the women’s center just after Megan’s attack. They’d spent hours talking, bonding, working through Megan’s recovery efforts, and later bemoaning Ginny’s own issues with her well-meaning but meddlesome family.

Megan unhooked Sam’s leash. “Maybe I was just ignoring you after that cruel birthday card you sent! When you turn thirty, look out! I’m not pulling any punches.”

“Are you watching the news?” Ginny interrupted. Her best friend’s voice sounded uncharacteristically agitated.

“No. Why?”

“Turn it on. They made an arrest. It’s all over the news.”

Megan didn’t need to ask what the arrest was for. The man who had attacked her and several other local women in a string of home invasion rapes had been the focus of enough conversations between Megan and Ginny to make such inquiry unneeded.

Megan grabbed her remote and aimed it at her TV. When the local news filled the screen, Megan watched as a man in handcuffs was shoved into the back of a police cruiser.

“The five-year-old Gentleman Rapist case had gone cold until the arrest today,” the reporter’s voice-over said. “The similarities between the attacks Smith is charged with and the unsolved attacks in the Gentleman Rapist case prompted police to investigate Smith for the older assaults as well.”

“Is it him? Can you tell?” Ginny said.

Absorbed by the pictures on her TV, Megan had almost forgotten she had Ginny on the phone until her friend spoke.

“I can’t see him. The cop’s in the way.” Megan’s palms sweated, and her stomach roiled. Heat crept through her limbs and stung her cheeks as buried anger clawed its way to the surface. The idea that this man on her TV screen could be the man responsible for her suffering prodded the dormant rage and frustration she’d had to tame years ago in order to function, to preserve her sanity.

But seeing a flesh-and-blood target for her anger after so many years fueled the simmering tempest in her blood. This could be the man responsible for stealing years of her life, for the humiliation of the exam when the E.R. collected the rape kit evidence, and the invasion of her home as the forensic team picked through her possessions. The isolation as her impatient fiancé and friends drifted away. The frustration of dealing with well-meaning coworkers and neighbors who labeled her a victim and treated her with kid gloves, when all she wanted to do was forget what had happened. Megan swallowed the rising bile in her throat as the images on her TV reopened the Pandora’s box of emotions and memories.

“The results of DNA tests on samples taken from Smith won’t be known until late next week, officials said,” the reporter’s voice-over continued. “Based on discrepancies in the evidence collected during the five-year-old Gentlemen Rapist investigation, authorities believe a copycat rapist could have been responsible for several of the attacks. Police wouldn’t say if Smith is believed to be responsible for the initial series of attacks or if he’s thought to be the copycat assailant.”

Megan walked slowly toward her living room, squeezing her phone in one hand and jabbing up the volume with the remote in her other hand.

“The serial rapist was dubbed the Gentleman Rapist by police,” the monotone voice of the reporter continued, “because the assailant tricked his victims using gallant politeness and offers of assistance. His victims admitted him into their homes or cars when he pretended to be a Good Samaritan helping with their flat tire or an off-duty policeman conducting security checks of area homes in light of the rising crime rate.”

Megan’s heart kicked and self-disgust knotted in her chest. She fell into the latter category. She’d let a strange man into her house because she’d blindly trusted his police uniform and friendly assurances.

“You know what this means, right?” Ginny asked calmly, pulling Megan from her self-flagellating thoughts.

“What it means?”

“They’re gonna call you to come down and identify him. View a lineup.”

Megan’s legs gave out, and she collapsed on her couch with a gasp. “I—I can’t.”

“Megan, he can’t hurt you anymore. If this is the right guy, he’s in police custody, and he won’t be going anywhere near you again. No judge in his right mind would grant him bail. It’s just a lineup. I’ll go with you if you want.”

Megan nodded, her mouth dry, then realized Ginny couldn’t see her answer. “Yes…please.”

The news report cut to the mug shot of the man named Smith who’d been arrested. Megan studied the picture, and her heart sank. Acid pooled in her gut.

She squeezed a throw pillow to her chest and blinked back tears. Despite the optimism of the reporters that the police finally had a break in the unsolved case, the nightmare wasn’t over for her. No matter what else the man on the television had done to get himself arrested, he wasn’t her attacker.

The man who’d sent her life into a tailspin five years ago was still out there.