Hidden Identity. Carol J. PostЧитать онлайн книгу.
had even expressed a desire to find her and thank her publicly.
The problem was, Meagan Berry didn’t want to be found.
Hunter passed the Tundra he’d left parked at the curb and continued down the sidewalk. But before he could reach her, a silver Intrepid pulled into the space in front of her. Anna Johnson climbed out and approached her.
“Someone came into Nature’s Landing looking for you this morning.”
Hunter slowed his pace, then stopped. He was close enough to hear the conversation, but Meagan hadn’t yet noticed him.
“Oh, yeah?” Her tone was nonchalant. Her posture was anything but. She stood in profile, back stiff, and her face had lost three shades of color.
“Yeah. Said he was a reporter. He had a picture of you printed from that news story they did on the senator.”
If Hunter wasn’t sure before, now he had no doubt. With Anna’s comment, the last of the blood drained from Meagan’s face. She dropped both bags into the basket on the front of her bike, swung her leg over the bar and sank onto the seat.
“What did you tell him?”
“Absolutely nothing.” Anna pushed her salt-and-pepper hair away from her face and continued. “I didn’t like the guy. Something about him put me off the minute he walked in the door. He seemed like a tough guy, used to pushing people around and getting his own way. He threw your picture down on the counter, demanding to know whether you had stayed in any of the vacation rentals we manage. I told him I couldn’t give him that information, that it was confidential.”
“Thank you.” Meagan’s tone was heavy with gratitude. “You probably gathered from the news coverage that I’m not too crazy about reporters.”
“I did. And I didn’t like this one. He said that since he was a member of the press, I had to give him the information. I guess he thought if he got a little threatening, I’d be intimidated enough to spill the beans.” She planted her hands on her hips and took a stubborn stance. “He underestimated this old Southerner. I don’t like bullies. You bully me, and I’ll just dig in my heels harder.”
Hunter smiled. He hadn’t seen this side of Anna before. Raised in Alabama, she was the epitome of the Southern belle. But she apparently had a stubborn streak.
She dropped her hands, then crossed her arms. “Just before he stormed out the door, I told him not to bother checking with any of the other establishments on the island, because they wouldn’t tell him anything, either.”
“Thank you.” The gratitude was still there. “Did he happen to say what news agency he was with, or did he have a press badge?”
Creases appeared between Anna’s eyebrows as she pondered the question. “No, I can’t say that he did, which is odd. You would think if he was trying to throw around his status as a reporter, he would have at least flashed a badge.”
“What did he look like? You know, so I can be sure to avoid him.”
“Maybe five-ten, muscular, dark hair really close cropped, like a buzz cut. And he had a faint scar. Right here.” She traced a short diagonal line across her cheek with one painted nail.
Meagan’s eyes widened only briefly before the facade of nonchalance fell back into place. But Hunter had seen what he needed to during that brief, unguarded moment—recognition. And dread.
She gave a jerky nod. “I’ll be on the lookout.”
Thunder rumbled in the distance, and Anna headed into The Market. He resumed his walk down the sidewalk. Meagan wouldn’t be happy if she thought he’d been eavesdropping.
He called out a greeting. “How’s it going?”
Concern flashed across her features. Then she gave him a forced smile. She was probably wondering how much he had heard.
“It’s good. I just rode down for some milk and eggs. I didn’t have anything for breakfast tomorrow.”
He cast a glance upward. The sky was darker now, the rain closer. “I can put your bike in the back of the truck and drive you home.”
“Thanks, but I’m all right.” She eased her bicycle into the road. A sudden flash lit up the sky, followed by a much-too-close crash, and she ducked. “Maybe I’ll take you up on that.”
Once seated in the truck, she folded her hands in her lap and sat straight and stiff, avoiding his gaze. He pulled away from the curb and headed down D Street. After turning onto Fifth, he glanced her way. She looked every bit as uncomfortable as she had when she climbed into the truck. Unfortunately, it was going to take a lot more than a four-block drive for her to let go of her uneasiness and relax with him.
As he turned into her driveway, his headlights swept across the front of the darkened house. A porch spanned its length, with a window on each side of the door, dressed with sheer curtains.
He tensed, all his senses on high alert. Did he just see movement inside?
Meagan reached for the door handle. “Thanks for—”
He held up a palm, eyes glued to the window. Beyond the curtains was a living room area. A wall at the back separated it from what was probably the kitchen. Had someone slipped behind that wall, startled by the truck’s headlights?
“What is it?” It was just three words, spoken in the softest whisper, but fear permeated each one.
Before he could answer, a crouched figure darted from behind the wall and disappeared out the back door. Judging from Meagan’s gasp, she saw it, too.
He turned off the engine, jumped out and pocketed the keys. “Stay here, and keep the truck locked.”
When he rounded the rear of the house, no one was there. He hesitated only a moment, eyes straining in the darkness. A fence bordered the back, the boundary of the yard behind Meagan’s. A hedge separated her property from the one next door. He charged off in that direction.
No one was in that yard, either. He sprinted along the hedge toward the street, then into a couple more yards. Finally, he admitted defeat and jogged back toward his truck. Another series of streaks lit up the sky, and thunder rumbled. But the storm seemed to be moving away. It might bypass them altogether.
As he approached his truck, apprehension shot through him. Meagan was gone. His gaze shot to the darkened house. If she had gone inside, she would have turned on the lights. Had the intruder circled around and forced her from the truck?
“Meagan?” No answer. He called her name again, louder and sharper.
Something moved in his peripheral vision, and he snapped his head around in time to see her rise inside the truck. He almost crumpled in relief. She had apparently been crouched on the floorboard, hiding.
He tapped on the window. She was in the seat now, eyes wide. Since she didn’t appear anywhere near ready to unlock the door, he used the key.
“I’m sorry. He got away.”
She nodded, but made no move to get out. Her green eyes were still wide, her face pasty in the shadows inside the truck. She looked so vulnerable, it kicked his protective instincts into overdrive.
“I’m going to call for help. Then we’ll go in together. Okay?”
She nodded again. She appeared stunned. Shell-shocked. She was hiding from someone. And terrified of being caught.
How long had it been? Just since coming to Cedar Key? Or had she lived other places, too, taking off whenever that someone got too close? Living like a nomad. Always looking over her shoulder. Never safe. Never at rest. He had to find a way to help her. But she would have to tell him what she was afraid of.
He made the call, then pocketed the phone. “The police are on the way. Let’s go inside. I’ll stay with you.” He would bring her bike in later.
He took her hand to help