скачать книгу бесплатно
“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.
