An indelicate snort met her statement. Dont get attached. Youll be leaving there soon.
Anne sighed. I know. Thanks for the reminder. As if she could forget. How soon?
Hard to say. The D.A. has you scheduled to testify right before closing arguments so you wont have to come back to New Jersey until them.
Hows the trial going so far?
Slow. Ill be in touch. And, hey
Yes?
Everythings going to be all right. Youll get through this, you know Youre strong.
The reassurance soothed some of Annes tension. If only she felt strong. Thanks.
Call if anything else strange happens. You can always reach me at this number.
Will do.
Anne clicked off and tried for some deep, calming breaths as she pulled her car into her parking space right in front of her building door.
Inside the safety of her studio apartment, Anne was greeted by a large white Persian cat with only one eye and a pink collar sporting a dangling, sparkly tiara charm.
Relaxing her voice, Anne said, Hello, sugar. She picked the cat up and snuggled her close. For a moment Princess allowed the contact before squirming to get away. Anne set the cat back on the floor with a sigh. Sometimes she wasnt sure if the cat loved her or not.
A few days after moving to Boston shed gone to the humane society looking for a guard dog and ended up with a cat. The minute shed seen the feline, she fell in love with the ball of fluff named Princess and had brought her home.
Princess marched straight to her bowl, tail stuck in the air, and meowed.
Ah, were hungry. Anne opened a can of food and left Princess to her dinner.
Making her way over to the Murphy bed, Anne kicked off her shoes and stretched her toes. She hated heels, but the role she was playing required sensible pumps and the itchy dress suit. Thankfully bare legs were an acceptable style. The thought of nylons made her shudder.
She changed into soft cotton pajamas and crawled under the down comforter. Her mind wouldnt quiet down however. Her thoughts kept churning through the morass of danger that lurked. Was Cam a student or a henchman for Raoul Domingo? Would one of them slit her throat as she slept? As she came out of the school building? Went to the grocery store? Would she ever feel safe?
And what of the professor? And how much she enjoyed being around him?
Thinking about Patrick was more productive than angsting about the threat she couldnt control.
There was something very steady and reassuring about him that drew her in and made her wish he could see her as she really was.
But he might not be so nice to her then.
The social-status-conscious associate professor wouldnt want to socialize with a woman who had barely passed high school and had grown up in a trailer in the backwoods.
She punched the pillow with a groan. The sooner she got his computer up and running, the sooner she could move on to another project and another professor before her time was up in Boston.
She couldnt afford to get too chummy with anyone.
Or attached.
She was pretty sure she could keep from revealing her past, but she wasnt sure that she could keep her lonely heart from wanting what she couldnt have.
A friend. Love. A life without fear.
As one day turned in to two days of deleting, replacing and reformatting, Annes eyes stung with grit and fatigue stiffened the muscles in her neck and shoulders. Shed figured out how to convert the old computer software into a language the new software could easily and readily read, but just to be on the safe side shed been reading through each file and would occasionally find a trouble spot that she had to manually correct.
Though the subject matter of economics wasnt something she found interesting, shed certainly learned a lot. There was one file that looked huge and shed been saving it for last.
She glanced at the computer clock. She should be able to finish with the files and get the docking station set up before Patrick returned to his office.
She clicked to open the file, Turned Up Side Down expecting to see more charts, theories and statistics, but instead she found herself staring at a work of fiction.
A novel. Written by Patrick McClain.
Both curiosity and the desire to make sure the file hadnt lost all of its formatting urged her to read.
Fascination kept her glued to the words.
Soon she was hooked into the story of a young boy who loses his father and must step into the role of man of the house.
She laughed at the antics of the boy and his siblings and fought tears of empathy for the characters. She reached the last page with a satisfied sigh, yet knew shed seen some formatting issues but shed been so engrossed in the story that she hadnt wanted to stop reading to fix.
Shed have to read through it again. She rubbed at her eyes. It would be easier if she could read the words from a hard copy. She began printing off the book, while her mind raced with thoughts of the story and Patrick.
She realized she knew very little of his private life. Was this book autobiographical or purely fiction? If autobiographical, she was in deep trouble.
Werent damaged hearts notorious for falling for their like?
After his meeting with the department chair, Patrick headed to his office, expecting to find Anne waiting for him with his computer ready to go and trusting his files to be intact.
Instead he found his office door wide-open and Anne sitting in his chair, her fingers clicking on the keyboard. Off to the side his printer hummed as it rhythmically spat pages into the tray.
Patrick couldnt help the little glow of approval in his gut for how hard the woman worked. A very admirable trait. She definitely had surpassed his expectations, her fashion choices notwithstanding.
Tonight, though, she wore another ill-fitting, conservative dress suit, and her spiked hair seemed especiallybarbed. Her normally creamy complexion held a hint of makeup and beneath her dark lashes, circles of fatigue marred her delicate skin.
She glanced up. Her wary smile made him feel as if hed walked in on something he shouldnt have.
Hello. He stepped through the doorway and hovered near the desk.
Uhhi. Im sorry, I had hoped to be done by now. This last file has been sticky.
No problem. He glanced at the printer. Whats this?
Your book.
Distress grabbed his throat as he reached for the top page. He barely glanced at the words. His agitation increased until shock and rage choked him.
She was printing his book.
How could you?
Would she ever feel safe?
Annes thoughts kept churning through the morass of danger that lurked. Would a hit man slit her throat as she slept? As she came out of the school building? Went to the grocery store?
And what of Professor Patrick McClain? And how much she enjoyed being around him?
Thinking about Patrick was more productive than worrying about the threat she couldnt control. There was something very steady and reassuring about him that drew her in and made her wish he could see her as she really was.
But she couldnt afford to get attached to anyone. She was pretty sure she could keep from revealing her past, but she wasnt sure that she could keep her lonely heart from wanting what she couldnt have.
A friend. Love. A life without fear.
MILLS & BOON
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TERRI REED
At an early age Terri Reed discovered the wonderful world of fiction and declared she would one day write a book. Now she is fulfilling that dream and enjoys writing for Steeple Hill Books. Her second book, A Sheltering Love, was a 2006 RITA® Award Finalist and a 2005 National Readers Choice Award Finalist. Her book Strictly Confidential, book five of the Faith at the Crossroads continuity series, took third place in the 2007 American Christian Fiction Writers Book of the Year Award. She is an active member of both Romance Writers of America and American Christian Fiction Writers. She resides in the Pacific Northwest with her college-sweetheart husband, two wonderful children and an array of critters. When not writing, she enjoys spending time with her family and friends, gardening and playing with her dogs.
You can write to Terri at P.O. Box 19555, Portland, OR 97280, or visit her on the Web at www.loveinspiredauthors.com, or leave comments on her blog at http://ladiesofsuspense.blogspot.com/.
Double Jeopardy
Terri Reed
And those who know your name put their trust
in you; for you, O Lord, have not forsaken
those who seek you.
Psalms 9:10
To my children; you are my joy and my blessing.
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
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
EPILOGUE
QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION
PROLOGUE
March
Gunfire!
The plush private suite on the top floor of the Palisades Casino and Resort in downtown Atlantic City, New Jersey rocked with the deafening noise of gunfire, echoed by the screams of its once-privileged occupants.
The womans heart slammed painfully against her ribs and a cry burst from her lungs. The tray of glasses she held fell to the carpeted floor with a thud, the liquor soaking the rug. The stench of alcohol mixed with the smell of gunpowder. A potent combination.
She dove behind the free-standing bar. Crouched and shuddering with terror, she clapped her hands over her ears to muffle the retort of weapons firing and the sounds of men dying.
Oh, God in Heaven, please, help me, she prayed, rocking on her heels. She didnt know why she was praying. Did God even exist? But if there was a time to glom on to any hope that He was real, now was that time.
A mans body dropped to the floor beside her. She gasped. Jean Luc Versailles, the owner of the Palisades, groaned. Thankfully he wasnt dead, but a deep crimson stain spread across the white dress shirt beneath his tuxedo jacket.
Adrenaline pumping, she grabbed him by the arm and struggled to drag him closer to the relative safety behind the bar. Tears clogged her throat and ran down her cheeks. He had always been nice to her.
You have to get out of here, Jean Luc said with a croak, his voice expressing the pain reflected in his dark eyes.
Youre hurt, she said inanely, her mind trying to recall her first-aid training from high school P.E. Like that had prepared her to deal with a gunshot wound.
Pressure. She had to apply pressure to stop the bleeding. Gagging from the sight and smell of blood, she yanked two bar towels from the shelf beside her and pressed them to his shoulder. She cringed as more gunshots filled the air.
His hand fastened around her wrist like a vise. My jacket pocket. Get my wallet.
Keeping one hand firmly on the towels, she slid out his black leather billfold from the inside pocket of his tailor-made jacket with her free hand.
Now what? she asked.
He closed her hand tightly around the billfold and thrust it against her stomach. Take the money. Use it. Disappear. He let go of her and pushed himself up to a seated position, the bar at his back. Escape through the wall panel. Run and dont stop. Go.
Acutely aware of the massacre taking place on the other side of the bar, she whispered, I cant leave you. We need the police.
No police. He struggled to his knees, swayed slightly, and reached around her. From behind several liquor bottles he pulled out a large silver gun.
She shrank back, wishing shed called in sick today. Wishing Jean Luc hadnt invited Raoul Domingo to his private suite. Wishing she were anywhere but here.
But wishing never did any good.
His dark gaze pierced her. On three.
What about you?
He got a foot beneath him. Just go. One. Two. He staggered to his feet, the gun raised in his shaky hand. Three!
Self-preservation, survival instinct, whatever, took over. She scrambled to her feet and in a half-crouch ran toward the mirrored wall.
The sight reflected there made her stumble. Her heart thumped in her chest. Anticipation wound a tight knot in her gut.
Any moment the blast of a bullet would slam into her. But she didnt want to die here today. Every muscle in her body, tightened in readiness, made movement painful.
She flung the potted fichus out of the way and pushed desperately at the edge of the mirrored wall.
A slight click and the wall opened. She squeezed through into Jean Lucs opulent private bedroom in the hotel. The blur of red satin and black leather assaulted her already heightened senses as she dashed for the door leading to the hall on this floor.
Cautiously she peered out.