The Unforgiven

Praise for national bestselling author
P
ATRICIA
M
ACDONALD
and her spellbinding novels of suspense

“When I see a new Patricia MacDonald book on the shelf, I buy it instantly, and I am never disappointed. She is one of my all-time favorites.”

—Linda Lael Miller,
New York Times
bestselling author

“One of the best practitioners of romantic suspense.”

—
The Plain Dealer
(Cleveland)

THE GIRL NEXT DOOR

“A gripping, multi-layered novel of love against all odds, and danger at every turn. I read it start to finish in one sitting!”

—Carla Neggers,
New York Times
bestselling author

“Building suspense with each chapter Patricia Mac-Donald’s
The Girl Next Door
has a devious plot.… A dark tale with an unexpected twist.”

—
The Orlando Sentinel

“A well put-together thriller…
The Girl Next Door
displays [MacDonald’s] considerable writing ability along with the appealing protagonist and the requisite chills.”

—
The Plain Dealer
(Cleveland)

“MacDonald, the master of the small-town tragedy, delivers another sure winner.”

—
Booklist

“Fans of Mary Higgins Clark will want to read
The Girl Next Door.
”

—
Midwest Book Review

“Patricia MacDonald tells a good story.”

—
Charlotte Observer

“Compelling suspense… enthralling.”

—
Romantic Times
(Top Pick)

STRANGER IN THE HOUSE

“Fans of taut suspense stories will appreciate [this] thriller with a twist.”

—Harriet Klausner

SUSPICIOUS ORIGINS

“I could not put this book down. Patricia MacDonald is now on my list of favorite authors.”

—Tess Gerritsen,
New York Times
bestselling author

“Moves at such a brisk pace that readers will finish the book in one sitting.”

—
Midwest Book Review

“A superb story [with] a gratifying surprise ending.”

—
Romantic Times

“Grabs the reader.… [An] emotional and psychological ride.”

—
Old Book Barn Gazette

NOT GUILTY

“Absolutely intriguing! I couldn’t put the book down.”

—Lisa Jackson,
New York Times
bestselling author

“A finely honed masterpiece of psychological suspense.… Even when you think you know what will happen next, MacDonald twists the plot in a new and startling direction.”

—Lisa Gardner,
New York Times
bestselling author

“MacDonald kept me guessing and kept me on the edge of my seat.”

—Kay Hooper,
New York Times
bestselling author

“A roller coaster of the unexpected.”

—Iris Johansen,
New York Times
bestselling author

Also by Patricia MacDonald

The Girl Next Door

Suspicious Origin

Stranger in the House

Not Guilty

The sale of this book without its cover is unauthorized. If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that it was reported to the publisher as “unsold and destroyed.” Neither the author nor the publisher has received payment for the sale of this “stripped book.”

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 1981 by Patricia J. MacDonald All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

For information address Pocket Books, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, New York 10020

ISBN-13: 978-0-7434-2365-6
ISBN-10: 0-7434-2365-8
eISBN-13: 978-0-7434-3727-1

First Pocket Books printing December 2005

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

POCKET STAR BOOKS and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

Front cover image by CORBIS

Manufactured in the United States of America

For information regarding special discounts for bulk purchases, please contact Simon & Schuster Special Sales at 1-800-456-6798 or [email protected]

For Beans and Carlito

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

At every turn, Jane Rotrosen, Sandi Gelles-Cole, and Jackie Schwartz provided help and encouragement. Each of them has my heartfelt thanks.

The Unforgiven

Cover
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Prologue
Chapter: 1
Chapter: 2
Chapter: 3
Chapter: 4
Chapter: 5
Chapter: 6
Chapter: 7
Chapter: 8
Chapter: 9
Chapter: 10
Chapter: 11
Chapter: 12
Chapter: 13
Chapter: 14
Chapter: 15
Chapter: 16
Chapter: 17
Chapter: 18
Chapter: 19
Chapter: 20
Chapter: 21
Chapter: 22
Chapter: 23
Chapter: 24
Chapter: 25
‘The Girl Next Door‘ Teaser

PROLOGUE

The chill light of the moon cast the shadow of bars across the face of the young woman lying rigid on the steel frame bunk. She could hear the steady drip of a faucet, and the uneasy noises of restless women trapped in their own nightmares, echoing through the concrete caverns of the prison. It was almost peaceful now.

Tonight as every night, her fellow inmates lay writhing in the straitjackets of their own dreams. But knowing this brought her little comfort. With the dawn they would be released from their private fears. Ghoullike, they would glide from their cells, seeking her out. Female vampires who stalked by day. “Maggie, honey, whatsa matter? Too good for a little fun with us? Fuck you, bitch. We’ll kick your ass, bitch.” Alternately crooning and cursing, they pursued her, mocked her. She had tried to keep apart from them. That was enough to make them want to destroy her.

A feeling of bitterness coupled with relief stole over her. Tomorrow, when they called out to her, she would not be there. By then, she would be gone. They would
probably miss her. They would have to find another victim.

Maggie slid down to the end of the bunk and then crouched beside it. She lifted up the thin mattress and groped beneath it, being careful not to rattle the webbed metal of the frame. After a minute she found what she wanted. She grasped the plastic bottle and pulled it toward her, half rolling it along the frame. When she had maneuvered it almost to the edge, she lowered the mattress on it and stood up unsteadily.

In the corner of her cell under the narrow, barred window was a metal folding chair. She lifted up the chair and placed it so that it faced the bed. On the shelf above the sink she found her metal cup. She brought the cup over and placed it on the seat of the chair. Then she reached under the mattress again and pulled out the bottle. A harsh cough from across the tier startled her, and she froze where she was. But the sleeper cleared her throat and did not awaken.

Maggie clasped the bottle to her chest. It had not been easy to procure. She had stolen it after supper from a cart outside the shower rooms. Sooner or later, someone would notice it missing. She had to act quickly. Holding it up to the light of the moon, she could see the label, which read, “disinfectant.” She unscrewed the cap.

The smell of the caustic liquid assailed her nostrils and caused her stomach to turn. Without giving herself time to think, she poured the liquid into the cup and
placed the bottle beside it on the chair seat. She sat as if mesmerized, staring at it.

The configuration of the objects on the chair seat struck an odd, long-forgotten chord in her. She was reminded of an altar, or a table prepared for the Last Supper. An anguished laugh rose to her throat. This was certainly her Last Supper, she thought. She was about to commit a mortal sin. It didn’t matter. She was damned anyway. That was what Sister Dolorita always reminded her when she came to visit.

Her visit this morning had been unexpected, but that was not unusual. She’d brought no message from Maggie’s mother, and that, of course, was also as usual. Maggie realized that she no longer even hoped for a word from her.

The guard had come by at the start of the lockout, as the others were filing off to the exercise yard, to tell her that the nun was waiting for her in the visitors’ room. After nearly two years of these intermittent visits, Maggie knew what to expect. She had nearly refused to go, but she had felt herself propelled to the audience by some misplaced weight of obligation. Sister Dolorita had stood throughout the interview, her black eyes like rosary beads in her pasty face, boring into Maggie’s. She ordered Maggie to confess, as she always did, and Maggie insisted wearily, as she had time and again, that she had not killed Roger.
That
crime was not among her sins.

When she’d returned to her cell she’d found the journal she had been keeping lying exposed on her pillow. It was soggy. Soaked in urine. They had been busy
while she was gone. The ink blotched and ran on the pages as if a million tears had been cried over it. The smell of the befouled diary was revolting.

Maggie looked from the cup and the bottle on the chair to the sodden book, which lay in the corner of her cell. She was twenty-two years old and she had endured this hell for nearly two years. She had another ten ahead of her if she was lucky. She could not survive it. She was sure of that. The irony was that if Roger were alive, if she only knew that he was there, on the outside, and that he believed in her, she might be able to make it. Tears sprang to her eyes. She ignored them. She did not want to feel sad. She did not want to feel anything. The thought sprang to her mind that her mother would feel utterly vindicated when she heard.

Maggie sat up straight and gazed at the chair in front of her. Then she reached down and picked up the cup. She brought it to her lips. The smell made her want to vomit, but she forced her stomach to relax. She looked away for a moment and drew in a deep breath. She held it, and then she drank, gulping down the vile liquid.

Almost instantly, she froze. Her eyes bulged, and the cup fell from her hand, clattering to the floor near her feet. Maggie clapped her hand to her mouth, and a few dark streams ran out over her fingers. She stood halfway up and lurched forward, grabbing for the chair. Then, both she and the chair crashed to the floor. The liquid disinfectant ran from
the bottle in rapid trails out through the cell and into the corridor.