Danger at Her Door. Beth CornelisonЧитать онлайн книгу.
she had to find a way to put the horror of that night, five years before, behind her. So much of her life had been put on hold because of that tragic night—her master’s degree, her impending marriage, children.
How could she think of a future until he was locked up for good? For her own sake, for every woman in Lagniappe Parish, Louisiana, she wouldn’t rest easy until he was permanently behind bars. Maybe then she could rebuild her life and rid herself of the debilitating fear.
“Megan? Are you okay?” Principal Wilkins asked. When he laid a soothing hand on her shoulder, Megan flinched away.
“Chill out, lady. It was all in fun. Geez!” The stripper crouched beside her and unlocked the handcuffs.
Rubbing her sore wrists, she glared at the nearly naked man. “You have a warped idea of fun.”
She glanced at Mr. Wilkins. “If it’s all the same to you…I’d like to go h-home now.”
He nodded and put a hand under her elbow. “I’m sorry, Megan. When the ladies approached me with the idea, I had misgivings. I only agreed to this gag because it was off campus and after school hours, I—”
“I’ll be all right. Really.” Despite her noble attempt to stand alone, Megan wobbled as she rose. Remnant adrenaline left her body trembling as she stumbled across the coffee shop for the door. She avoided eye contact with her coworkers, but she felt the weight of their confused and concerned stares following her.
The heels of her navy pumps pounded a resonating cadence as she hurried down the sidewalk to her car. Her resentment for the man who’d ruined her life flared, and latte and cake soured in her stomach.
The drive home, past fields of cotton and Spanish moss-draped cypress trees rising from muddy bayous, calmed her. The serene beauty of north Louisiana always soothed her after a difficult day, but she craved a serenity that could last longer than her twenty-minute drive home. More than anything, she needed a peace that could permeate her heart and soul and push the ugliness of her attack out once and for all. She was tired of being a prisoner of her fear, ready to put the past behind her and move on. But how?
When she pulled onto the quiet, residential street where she lived, she sighed in relief. Soon this horrible day would be over. No more birthday cards from well-meaning friends, teasing her about being “over the hill.” No more reminders that, at thirty, she was still alone and her childbearing years were disappearing. And no more policeman strippers.
Megan shuddered.
Huffing her frustration, she climbed out of her Honda Civic and headed to the back door of her small, brick house. As soon as she pushed through the door, dumping her stack of files and papers on the kitchen counter, Sam, her German shepherd, greeted her with his usual enthusiasm. As she relocked the door, he jumped on her with a slobbery lick and a wildly wagging tail. Good ol’ Sam.
Her loyal friend. Her canine garbage disposal. Her lethally trained protector.
“Hey, Sam. Give me a minute to change clothes, and we’ll go for our walk, okay?” Sam responded with a bark that could only be interpreted as Yes!
After throwing on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, Megan took Sam’s leash from the hook beside the back door. Sam pranced and circled her with unrestrained exuberance.
“Hold still! I can’t hook your leash with you wiggling around like that.”
Sam woofed, and if she hadn’t known better, she’d have sworn the dog grinned at her. The corner of her mouth lifted in bittersweet response, and a fresh lump of emotion clogged her throat. “You crazy dog. What would I do without you?”
Wiggling loose and scratching at the door, Sam seemed to say, Yeah, yeah. Enough of that. Let’s cruise!
With a deep cleansing breath, Megan shoved down her maudlin thoughts and unlocked the door for Sam. The late-August heat and inescapable Louisiana humidity hung in the air like a suffocating blanket. By the time she’d walked one block with Sam, sweat beaded on Megan’s forehead and dampened her back. Despite the hot weather, she picked up the pace, hoping a little exercise might help clear her mind and exorcize the day’s demons. Sam loped along beside her, his tongue hanging out of the side of his mouth and his eyes bright with excitement.
They jogged past the old homes of the Lagniappe Garden District, many of them recently remodeled by new tenants, and Megan waved at neighbors who worked in their yards or rested in rocking chairs on their front porches.
As she neared her house after circling the block, Megan watched a young girl, with dark ponytails flying, dart into the street. The child ran to intercept her and Sam.
“Hi! Can I pat your dog?” the girl asked, even as she wrapped her arms around Sam and ruffled the fur behind his ears. Sam licked the girl’s face, and she giggled.
“Um, sure, sweetie.” Megan glanced across the street to the empty yard where the girl had been playing. The house had recently been bought by a new owner, and Megan had been meaning for days to introduce herself to the new resident. Most of her neighbors knew her and Sam well because of their daily walks and because she made a point of meeting and greeting them. For security reasons, if nothing else, it paid to know who lived around you. The older residents, who stayed home all day, kept an especially close watch on the comings and goings in the area, which pleased Megan immensely. She’d learned the hard way one could never be too careful.
Finding no sign of a parent or older sibling watching the little girl, Megan twisted her lips in a scowl. “Honey, does your mommy know you’re playing outside?”
The girl, whose age Megan estimated at around four years, peeked up at her with a puzzled look. “My mommy? Nuh-uh. My mommy went away.”
Burying her face in Sam’s fur again, the girl continued scratching Sam behind the ears. Sam sat down, his tail thumping the sidewalk, and tipped his head to accommodate his new friend’s loving hands. Clearly, Sam had found canine nirvana.
“Well,” Megan said in her best teacher’s voice, “you didn’t look before you crossed the street. Your mommy would be real sad if you got hurt by a car.”
The child peered up at her again, wrinkling her freckled nose. “I told you my mommy went away. How would she even know if I gotted hurt?”
“Well, she…uh.” Megan paused and chewed her lower lip. “Can you tell me where your mommy went? To the store? To work? Do you have a babysitter?”
“Nuh-uh. Just my daddy. Daddy hasn’t got me a new sitter yet.”
Squatting down to eye level with the girl, Megan studied the child’s freckled face. As a teacher, she’d been trained to look for signs of abuse, but this child showed none of the telltale marks. Her pink sundress was wrinkled but clean, and the child appeared healthy and happy.
So where was her guardian?
“Is your daddy home? Does he know you’re outside playing?”
Her mood was already grim thanks to the stripper prank and gag card reminders that her prime childbearing years were passing her by. But her concern for this child’s poor supervision started a slow gnawing in the pit of her stomach.
The dark-haired girl shrugged her shoulders. “He locked me out.”
“Locked you out?”
When Sam licked her face, the child grinned. “He kissed me!”
“Your father locked you out of your house?” Megan asked patiently, determined to find out why the girl lacked a chaperone.
Bobbing her head in affirmation, the little girl asked, “What’s your name?”
Realizing she wasn’t likely to get a satisfactory explanation to her own questions, Megan followed the girl’s lead.
“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