Love Inspired Suspense July 2015 #1 (48 page)

“Really?” Her voice was a couple pitches higher than normal. “Any matches?”

“Yeah. They all belong to an Elaina Thomas.”

Her eyebrows lifted in question, a facade of nonchalance layered thinly over panic. “You mean it was a woman who broke in?”

“That's how it appears. There's only one problem. Elaina Thomas died almost three months ago.”

Her brows drew together, and she gave a couple of rapid blinks. “How—how is that possible?”

Anger flared in him. More lies. He was giving her a chance to come clean, but she was choosing to continue the deceit. Just like his brother.

“Don't play me, Meagan.” He narrowed his gaze. “Or should I call you Elaina?”

Her eyes fell to her hands. They were still folded, but clenched so tightly her fingers were discolored. Fear radiated from her. Suddenly she seemed small and fragile. And so alone.

Tenderness forged a path through the anger and burrowed deep in his heart. In that moment, she wasn't just a possible fugitive, living under an alias, hiding a dark and deceptive past. She was a woman, scared and vulnerable.

But he had to ask the hard questions. It was his job.

“Elaina Thomas was charged with first degree murder. Then the charges were dropped. What happened?”

“I didn't do it.”

“Are you running from the circumstances surrounding that murder? Is that why you faked your death?”

She shook her head but otherwise didn't respond.

“Then tell me. Why did you run? Why did you go to the extremes that you did? What are you afraid of?” He kept his tone soft and gentle. He couldn't be stern with her now if he tried. It would be like kicking a defenseless child.

So much time passed that he didn't think she would answer. Finally, she drew in a long, shaky breath and lifted her gaze to his face. Her eyes still held fear. But something else was there, too—determination.

She shook her head. “I can't.”

“Did you commit a crime?” Not that she would tell him if she had. But maybe he would be able to sense if she was lying. “Are you running from the law?”

“No.”

It was just a single word. But the conviction behind it blasted holes in the suspicions he had had since the moment someone had branded her a killer.

“Then what are you running from?” Or more likely,
who
?

She shook her head again. “I can't tell you. I can't tell anyone.”

He leaned forward and lightly touched her jean-clad leg. “Tell me what you're afraid of. I can help.”

“No.” She crossed her arms in front of her, as if suddenly chilled. “No one can help.”

“Meagan,” he began, then stopped. That wasn't even her name. “You faked your death. You're living under an alias. What kind of a cop would I be if I just accepted your claim that you're not running from the law?”

“What are you saying?”

“I think you know what I'm saying. Give me one good reason to not haul you in.”

Her eyes widened, and fear flashed in their depths. “I'm not a killer. I've never committed any kind of crime. I've never even had a speeding ticket.” Her tone turned pleading. “Please believe me.”

“I don't have that option. As an officer of the law, I can't just let this go. Tell me what you're running from.”

She shook her head again, so adamantly her hair bounced against her cheeks. “He'll kill me.”

“Who?”

“Edmund.”

“Edmund who?”

“I can't tell you. If he ever finds out that I'm alive, he'll hunt me down. He won't rest until I'm dead.”

Hunter leaned forward again and locked gazes with her, hoping she would see the sincerity in his eyes and let down her guard. “No, he won't. We'll protect you. But you have to let us know what we're protecting you from.”

She sank her teeth into her lower lip while indecision flashed across her features. Seconds stretched into a half minute.

“Please tell me, Meagan. Let me help you. Who is Edmund?”

Finally, she straightened her spine and raised her chin, her decision apparently made. “I can't. It's not just me. He said if I ever left, he would kill my mother and sister, too.”

Just what Hunter had suspected. Meagan was running from a psycho ex-boyfriend.

Or was the whole thing one big con? She had already been charged with murder, then managed to get out of it.

She seemed sincere, the fear in her eyes real. And he was usually a pretty good judge of character. But he really didn't know her. She'd been on Cedar Key for less than three months. And since she kept to herself, he had spent very little time with her, none in a social setting. Would he even recognize a lie from her? Not if she was good.

Like his brother. He seemed to have been born with the ability to lie. And steal and cheat and deceive. And somehow still come out on top. Those laughing blue eyes and that smooth, easy manner had kept him out of a lot of trouble. Then the charm had run out. Instead of a slap on the wrist, he'd gotten fifteen years.

Was it possible Meagan was a con artist, too? That risk wasn't his to take. He gave it one last shot.

“We can protect you.”

She crossed her arms, her jaw set. “No.”

He rose to his feet with a sigh. He had tried to get her to level with him, but gentle prying was getting him nowhere. What he was about to do would put a permanent rift between them. But she was leaving him no choice.

“Fine. We'll play it your way.”

“Where are you going?”

“To get a warrant.”

“For what?”

“All employment records for Darci's Collectibles and Gifts. I'm guessing we'll find a falsified I-9. That's a federal offense.”

Meagan's eyes widened and filled with panic. But she still didn't speak. He crossed the room and reached for the doorknob.

“Abelli.”

He withdrew his hand. “What?”

“Abelli. Edmund's last name is Abelli.”

He eased back into the recliner, relief surging through him. She was going to talk. But she wasn't happy about it. Her arms were still crossed in front of her, and she stared straight ahead, her jaw tight.

“Who is Edmund Abelli? A crazy ex-boyfriend?”

“Fiancé.”

“You wanted to break things off, and he wouldn't let you leave?”

She nodded.

“Did you get a restraining order?”

She shook her head. “I tried.” Her tone was flat, without emotion. “He caught me before I could even make it to the courthouse.”

Hunter's gut tightened, and though he really didn't want to know, he asked the question, anyway. “What did he do?”

She turned her head until her eyes met his. “For the next week I could hardly walk.”

The nonanswer told him everything he needed to know. He clenched his fists, trying to beat back the fury pumping through his veins. Not just crazy. Abusive. And Edmund had apparently gotten away with it.

Hunter drew in a slow, calming breath. “Did you go to the police?”

She shook her head. “He said he would do the same thing to my little sister, except worse. And I knew he would. He had ways of keeping me in line.”

Meagan began to rock back and forth, her eyes squeezed shut against the memories assaulting her. His chest tightened, and the urge to draw her into his arms was almost overpowering. But it wasn't his place to offer comfort. He was a cop, and she was a suspect. There were distinct lines he couldn't cross.

He sprang to his feet. Forget professionalism. He eased onto the couch next to her and draped an arm across her shoulders. She tensed, but only for a moment.

“It's okay.” He kept his tone soothing. “He can't hurt you now. You've got friends here, people who will do everything they can to protect you.” He was one of them. And at the moment, he would love to get his hands on this Edmund character.

“No.” Meagan had stopped rocking, but shook her head, the motion adamant. “You can't protect me. No one can. Edmund is slick. He's killed before. And he'll kill again.”

“He's a killer?” What kind of man had she gotten tangled up with? A thug? A mob boss?

“I don't have proof. At least not evidence that will stand up in court. And definitely not with his team of fancy lawyers. But I have this.”

She stood and moved to the desk in the corner of the room. After pulling open one of the drawers, she removed a thick book. Inside was a sheet of paper folded in thirds. She handed it to him, and he opened it. There was no signature. The salutation simply said “Edmund.” A chill settled over him as he read.

I found her. But no one needs to know. Meet me in the atrium at midnight with $1,000,000 in unmarked bills, and I'll quietly disappear.

Hunter handed the letter back to her. “Found who?”

“I don't know. But I can make a good guess. I did some research, and four years before Edmund met me, he was engaged. Finding information on her was easy. Patti Wallace. She was the daughter of one of the prominent families in the area and regularly made it into the society pages of the local papers.”

Meagan drew in a deep breath. “But the articles got more and more disconcerting. She had a lot of suspicious injuries. Lots of bruises, a dislocated shoulder and a broken arm, with an excuse to go along with each one. Then she disappeared.”

“Disappeared?”

“Yep. They never found a body, and although they questioned Edmund extensively, they were never able to prove anything.”

“So you think Edmund killed his ex-fiancée, and someone found out about it and was blackmailing him?”

“That's exactly what I think. That someone was Edmund's gardener, Charlie.”

“Did Charlie succeed?”

“Charlie's dead.”

At his raised brows she continued, “There's an atrium in Edmund's house. That's where I found Charlie, his head bashed in with a brass candlestick. My fingerprints were all over it, because it was mine. Edmund had given it to me as a peace offering the first time he hit me. I hated it because of what it represented. But Edmund could never know. So I put it where he suggested, in my studio, and just kept my back to it while I painted.”

Hunter's chest clenched. The fact that she could still paint, still create things of beauty under those circumstances, showed what she was made of.

“Anyway,” she went on, “at the time of Charlie's death, Edmund had a solid alibi. He had supposedly gone to his house in Maine. The caretaker of the place vouched for him. So did the airline.
I
even backed up the story. That was where he said he was going, and I had no reason to question it.”

Hunter remained silent and let her talk. Now that the barriers had come down, she was spilling everything.

“A month later, I found the blackmail letter. It was in the atrium, slipped between a boulder and the greenery behind it. I used to do a lot of my sketching in there, and one of my favorite places to sit was on that boulder overlooking the waterfall and pond. I believe that what I found was a copy of the one given to Edmund, that Charlie put it there for me, in case something went wrong.”

“It was nice of him to warn you, but he should have taken what he found to the police. Then you could have gotten your life back. Instead he got greedy and left you to fend for yourself.”

She shrugged, apparently not feeling any of the dislike for the man that he felt. “I considered Charlie a friend. But he had a gambling problem. A few days before he died, he told me he had borrowed money from some really bad dudes. I think they were going to kill him if he didn't pay up. So he was desperate. He saw this as his only way out.”

Hunter frowned. He wasn't as quick to forgive as Meagan was. But something told him she wasn't one to hold grudges. Or judge people harshly. Maybe he could learn a thing or two from her.

She returned to the couch and sank down next to him. “The blow was delivered by someone left-handed. I am, so that made me a suspect. Especially when combined with the fact that I was in the house and my fingerprints were on the candlestick. But Edmund is left-handed, too. Knowing what I know now, I believe someone who looked like Edmund boarded that plane to Maine.”

“Did you go to the police with any of this?”

“No. Without a body, I didn't have solid enough proof. Anybody could have written that blackmail letter. With Edmund's resources, he would have hired the best attorneys money could buy and gotten out of it. Then he would have killed me.”

“So you faked your death.”

She nodded. “If I'd just run away, he would have gone after my mom and sister. He had to believe I was dead.” Her shoulders slouched and she looked over at him, her eyes sad. “And now I suppose you're going to turn me in.”

Silence stretched between them for several moments while her comment circled through his mind. Telling the authorities in California was out of the question. No way was he going to take a chance on Edmund getting his hands on Meagan. Besides, she had no warrants out there. She had no warrants anywhere. They had run her prints through IAFIS, and, other than the murder charge, which had been dropped, she was clean.

Of course, there was the issue of the I-9. But he wasn't willing to turn her in for that, either.

“No, I'm not. But you have to guarantee me that you've come clean and told me everything.”

She drew in a slow breath. “I have.”

“I want to do some checking. I'd love to see this guy put away for a long time.”

She straightened, her back ramrod straight. “No, he can't know. He can't even suspect that I'm alive.”

He placed his hand over hers. “Meagan, can you trust me?”

Her eyes locked on to his and held. She seemed to be searching, but for what, he didn't know. Apparently she found it. The tension left her body, and she leaned back into the couch cushions.

“I trust you.”