Blackout (Sins of the Past Collection)

Lynette Eason

Description

A young woman once implicated in a robbery gone wrong finds herself at risk years later when the real culprit is up for parole. The loot taken that night has never been found and he believes she knows where it's hidden--only her memory of that night has always been unreliable. Can she remember enough to find her way to safety?

Informations

• Publié par: Baker Publishing Group
• Date de parution: 04 octobre 2016
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781493403981
• Langue: English

Extrait

Cover
Title Page
Copyright Page
© 2016 by Lynette Eason
Published by Revell a division of Baker Publishing Group P.O. Box 6287, Grand Rapids, MI 49516-6287 www.revellbooks.com
Previously published in Sins of the Past: A Romantic Suspense Novella Collection
Ebook edition created 2016
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
ISBN 978-1-4934-0398-1
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright Page
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Sneak Preview
About the Author
Books by Lynette Eason
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Back Cover
ONE
M acey Adams wished she could remember the sins that haunted her. Because if she could remember, then maybe she would be able to figure out who was trying to kill her—or drive her mad.
She stood with her back against the wall, a butcher knife clutched in her right hand, facing the kitchen door. Could he get in? She’d locked the doors and checked the windows. Just like she did every night. Tremors wracked her slight frame, and she wished she’d thrown a coat on over her sweatshirt. Anger surged through her along with the adrenaline. It was two in the morning. She shouldn’t have to be worried about someone trying to get into her house.
Her eyes landed on the windowsill above the sink, where she’d left her phone after talking to her sister almost four hours ago. A conversation that had brought on the nightmare that had awakened her. Or had it been the noise under her bedroom window that had interrupted her restless doze? She didn’t know. It didn’t matter.
All that mattered was that she’d come into the kitchen to get her phone, and now it wasn’t where she’d left it. And the window was open, letting in the freezing night air.
The phone’s glaring absence mocked her, but that didn’t shake her nearly as much as the black hole of the open window. Had he been able to climb in? Was he in her house even now? Hiding? Waiting? She shuddered. Did she dare go outside and run? Or was he out there?
Desperation choked her. She moved to the cordless phone on the counter and turned it on. Held it to her ear.
Dead silence.
Fear now had a stranglehold around her throat. No cell phone, no landline, no alarm. And a possible intruder in her home. A whimper escaped her lips, and one unsteady step at a time, she walked to the open window. Tremors shook her, but she had to close and lock it. She couldn’t leave it open. He could come in that way. If he wasn’t already inside.
Close the window, close the window. Two more steps. She stood in front of the sink, staring at the window, bracing herself for someone to reach in and grab her. She almost couldn’t do it. Almost couldn’t lift her arms.
Do it!
She forced her arms up, grasped the window, and slammed it shut. She twisted the lock and let out a shuddering breath. No one had grabbed her, and the featureless face she saw so often in her dreams hadn’t appeared. She pressed a hand over her racing heart.
Without taking her eyes from the window, she backed from the kitchen into the foyer. The hair on the back of her neck prickled and she spun. No one behind her. But what about in the hall closet? She pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle a sob.
Her wooden front porch creaked, and Macey stiffened, her blood renewing its rapid surge through her veins. She whirled to stare at the front door, at the knob. It gave a slight turn to the left then stopped. It jiggled to the right then again to the left.
Terror clamped down on her lungs, and she struggled to breathe even as she stayed still, her mind racing, flipping through escape scenarios and discarding each one. But the wiggling doorknob told her one thing: he wasn’t inside.
She tried to envision how she could protect herself. The knife in her hand would require close contact, and that was the last thing she wanted. If she went out the kitchen door and through the garage, he could see her. Could she climb out of her bedroom window? Maybe.
Her head pulsed and a bright light flashed behind her eyes. Woods, trees . . . the feel of the rain . . . the pain of the gunshot wound in her shoulder, the smell of the freshly turned earth that was supposed to be her grave.
She blinked fast, wondering at the images forcing themselves to the forefront of her mind even while she listened for the intruder. She knew she’d been shot six years ago, she had just never been able to remember the details.
Her breathing now came in short, gasping pants and a fine sheen of sweat broke out across her forehead. Her fingers, clenched around the knife’s handle, protested the tight grip. She loosened them slightly.
Silence slithered over her. Had he left? Her ears strained in the dark quiet. Or was he just waiting? Or perhaps looking for another way in?
Minutes passed without another sound. Finally she dared to move to the front door, just to check the lock one more time. Then back into the kitchen to check that door. Also locked. But the top half of it was glass. Easily broken should he decide to smash through it.
She turned away and let her gaze bounce from shadow to shadow. Did she dare turn on a light?
Her spine tingled, and the hair on her neck stood up straight. She spun back toward the kitchen door.
Saw the black face that had no eyes, no nose, no lips.
She dropped to the floor and screamed.
And screamed.
And screamed.

Chad Latham sat straight up in his lounge chair at the first terrifying cry. His blanket fell away from his shoulders and he shivered in the cold November night air as he tried to discern where the cry had come from. What was it? An animal?
When the second scream came, he bolted from his deck toward Macey Adams’ house. By the third chilling screech, he’d already used his pile of firewood to enable him to vault over the fence that separated the two small yards. The roar of a car engine registered, but it was the direction the screams had come from that he focused on. Macey.
He raced up the front porch and pounded on the door. “Macey, it’s Chad. Are you okay?” Sobbing reached his ears. Was she inside or outside? “Macey?”
“Chad? Is anyone else out there?”
He looked around. “No, it’s just me. Open up.” He heard rustling, shuffling, the click of the door unlocking. The door opened a crack.
Concern for the fragile sound in her voice made him step toward her. “Hey, what’s wrong? What happened?”
“Someone tried to break in.” She backed up and let him in. He shut the door and faced her as she paced the small foyer. “I—I couldn’t find my phone even though I left it on the win dowsill in the kitchen and the window was open, but I know I closed it and the alarm didn’t go off and then he looked in my door and he didn’t have a face and—” She pressed her hands against her temples. “Ugh! Why can’t I remember?”
“Whoa, hang on.” She wasn’t exactly hysterical, but she wasn’t making any sense either. He took her hand and led her from the small foyer into the open-concept living area. He gestured to the couch. “Sit down. I’m going to check everything, then you can tell me what happened.”
“No!” She grasped his hand. “Don’t leave me.”
The frantic fear in her voice stopped him. “Fine. Fine, I won’t go anywhere, but I need to call it in. The guy could still be in the area, looking to hit another house.”
She ran a shaky hand over her face. “Right. Of course.”
Chad stayed right next to her while he reported the attempted break-in. While he talked, she seemed to calm slightly, but shivers still shook her thin frame every so often. He went to the thermostat and adjusted it then lowered himself into the chair opposite her.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I probably woke you up with my screams.”
“I heard the screams, but they didn’t wake me.” At her raised brow, he shrugged. “I was sitting outside on my deck.”
She blinked. “Oh.”
His lips flattened. “I have my own memories that keep me awake. Probably not as bad as your nightmares, though.”
“I hate nightmares,” she whispered. “Especially when I’m not even asleep.”
“Tell me what happened.”
She shuddered and goose bumps pebbled her bare arms. Her cheeks reddened. “You’ll think—”
“What? I’ll think what?”
“That I’m . . . that . . .” She lifted her hands in a hopeless gesture. “I’ve tried to leave the past behind, Chad, but it won’t let me.”
“Then tell me.”
“I can’t,” she whispered.
He pulled her against him and she let her forehead drop against his chest.
Chad blew out a soft breath. He’d met Macey when she’d moved in almost two years ago. In those two years they’d spoken on a regular basis, shared a few late-night talks when they’d been iced in last winter. He’d even borrowed the clichéd cup of sugar two or three times, but he’d never scratched the surface of the shell she’d built around herself. If she’d shown an inkling of interest, he’d have asked her out long ago. But she hadn’t.
It had been a bit of a blow to his healthy ego, but he’d survived and committed himself to just being her friend.
For now. He’d noticed her withdrawing even more in the last two months, and she’d avoided him any time he tried to bring up the subject. It was frustrating. Maddening. Because he did care about her. But he’d left her alone and now realized he probably shouldn’t have given her quite so much space.
He grasped her hand and tilted her chin to look into her eyes. They looked tired, weary. Scared. And much too old. And she’d lost weight. Something had happened recently.
“I think you need to tell me.”
She leaned away from him, pulled her hands from his, and rubbed them on her sweatpants.
“Macey, I’ve known you for two years. We’re friends. Or at least I thought we were.”
“Yes, we’re friends. Of course we are. But I . . .”
“Then tell me.” He cupped her soft pale cheek, and for a brief moment, she leaned