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Danger at Her Door
Beth Cornelison


Megan Hoffman was desperate to keep her past hidden.She'd moved to a small town, started a new job and changed her name. A fresh start couldn't erase the danger she'd left behind. Or heal the scars fear had branded on her soul. But she was making it, one day at a time. Until Jack Calhoun moved in next door.The crack reporter had an instinct for rooting out lies–and an overprotective urge honed as a single dad. With her enemy still lurking, Megan found trusting Jack with her secrets meant trusting him with her life. And Jack's deadline was looming….









Danger at her Door

Beth Cornelison







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


To Paul, my husband and best friend!


Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20




Chapter 1


“Megan Hoffman, you’re under arrest.”

Raising her gaze from the latest you’re-over-the-hill-at-thirty birthday card from her colleagues, Megan met the unyielding stare of the police officer standing beside her chair in a private room of an upscale coffee shop. Her fellow teachers had convinced her to join them for lattes and birthday cake on their way home from school, and, though tired, Megan had accepted the thoughtful offer.

But the policeman staring down at her quickly put a damper on any fun she’d been having. “E-excuse me?”

The sight of the uniform prodded a memory that lurked daily at the corners of her thoughts, and a shiver crept down her spine. Shock rendered her mind blank and her jaw slack.

“I have a warrant here for your arrest, Miss Megan,” he said, arching a black eyebrow.

“What on earth for?” She realized too late how loud and panicked her voice sounded. Casting a nervous glance around the table at the other teachers, she found all eyes on her. Even Principal Wilkins witnessed the unfolding drama with a peculiar, amused expression on his face.

Clearing her throat, Megan repeated the question more calmly.

A smile touched the corner of the officer’s lips, and that hint of a grin, along with his informal use of “Miss Megan,” rang warning bells in her head.

The young police officer unfolded a sheet of paper and gave it a once-over. “According to this, you turned thirty today.”

Megan blinked, confused. “Yes, but—”

The officer reached behind his back and whipped out his handcuffs.

The loud whoosh of rushing blood filled her ears and drowned out his reply. Numbly, she watched the bright flash of silver swim before her eyes. He tugged her arm up and snapped the cold metal shackle to her wrist. She froze in shock as he quickly threaded the cuffs under the armrest then shackled her other wrist as well. Her panicked yelp rang mutely in her ears, as if from under water. She fought the imprisoning cuffs, jerking her hands back to free them. No use. The cuffs fettered her to the chair. No! Not again! Please, God, not again!

The blare of music, reverberating from the white plaster walls, snatched her from her dazed struggle. Galled by the turn of events, she searched the faces of her fellow teachers and sought an ally.

The usually stoic third-grade teacher smiled and sipped her Coca-Cola. Propped next to the creams and sugars on the condiment counter, the physical education instructor laughed. At the end of the table, the principal’s secretary bit her lip to cover a giggle. “It’d been so long since you had a date, we figured you could use a man for your birthday!”

The secretary’s comment brought a murmur of chuckles from the rest of the table, but the swirl of panic spinning through Megan’s brain muddled her thoughts and made it difficult to comprehend what was happening.

The police officer turned her chair and stepped into her line of vision, his broad chest obscuring her view of her colleagues. The pounding beat of music echoed her heart’s frantic rhythm. An all-too-familiar sense of terror washed through her, paralyzing her limbs. Megan fought for a calming breath.

On some level, she realized this was a birthday prank. But the raw memories of other handcuffs, another fake policeman, and a desperate battle for her life erased any humor in her colleagues’ ploy.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to shake off the haunting images that flickered through her mind. Just as she drew a reinforcing breath and peeked up at the faux officer, he ripped his shirt open and leaned dangerously close to her.

Her attacker pinned her wrists with one hand while he tore at her shirt with the other. Her scream tangled with the sound of ripping fabric.

Megan flinched and kept her eyes shut. Her anxiety snowballed, choking the air from her lungs. A fresh surge of the anguish she’d spent the past five years subduing swept through her, immobilizing her.

“Stop!” The desperate, strangled quality of her voice surprised even Megan. Past and present twined around each other.

An insistent voice in her head impelled her to move her frozen arms. She fought the hard shackles binding her until her wrists stung.

“Come on, Megan. Be a sport! It’s all in fun!” the science teacher called over the thumping music.

Drawn back from the memories that taunted her, Megan heard the giggles around her fade to curious whispers.

“Please stop! Just let me go!” She knew her behavior, her pleas, would raise questions—questions she wasn’t ready to answer. If she’d thought she’d outrun the past, she’d been wrong. A bitter brew of emotions swirled in her gut, biting, clawing. But one ever-present emotion reigned over them all.

Fear.

For five years, fear had been her constant companion. She’d battled it, bargained with it and analyzed it. Yet no matter how she hated it and prayed to be free of it, fear ruled her life.

The stripper grabbed the buckle on his pants, and she wailed, “No! Stop!”

Tears streamed down her cheeks and dripped from the tip of her nose. With her hands cuffed to the chair, she couldn’t even wipe the drops of moisture, the visible evidence of her agony.

“All right, hotshot. That’s enough. Joke’s over. She’s obviously not amused.”

Megan recognized Principal Wilkins’s voice but kept her head down until the music stopped and the shadow of the stripper moved away from her. How did she face the other teachers? How could she explain her reaction to their prank? She couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Not after the response she got to the truth last time.

Sucking in a deep breath, she searched for the strength to fight down the demons again. Somehow 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 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.

The man who’d sent her life into a tailspin five years ago was still out there.




Chapter 2


After drying off and dressing in a T-shirt and jeans, Jack walked into the living room where his daughter sprawled on the floor watching her favorite cartoon video. He took a moment to collect himself, deciding how to address Caitlyn’s disobedience. Again. Nothing he said to Caitlyn seemed to get through to her.

“Caitlyn, we need to talk.”

Thank goodness his neighbor—Megan, she’d said her name was—had returned his wayward daughter in one piece.

He grinned as he remembered the stunned expression that had washed over Megan’s face when she’d seen him wearing only a towel. He’d caught the spark of interest that flickered in Megan’s eyes, too. Discerning, jade eyes. Yeah, he’d done a little looking of his own. His new neighbor was a beautiful woman. The fact that she cared enough about Caitlyn’s interests to bring her home scored points for her, as well.

He just hoped his inability to control his rambunctious daughter’s wanderings hadn’t colored her against him. Jack was definitely interested in getting to know Megan better. Much better.

But when? That was the problem.

Sighing, Jack dismissed thoughts of dinner and dancing with Megan. As it was, he barely kept his head above water. What little free time he had belonged to Caitlyn—time to read her books and listen to her talk about preschool. Maybe if he could carve out more quality time with her, Caitlyn wouldn’t feel compelled to crawl out windows or finger paint the kitchen with peanut butter and jelly when his back was turned.

But his job at the newspaper didn’t allow him more time with his daughter. If only he could figure out how other single parents balanced work and kids. If only Lauren hadn’t walked out on them…

Jack pinched the bridge of his nose and shoved the “if onlys” out of his mind. The fact remained that Lauren had walked out on their five-year marriage, and no amount of regret or wishing would change that. He had to figure out how to be a single dad before his failings as a parent resulted in bigger problems than Caitlyn crawling out a window while he was in the shower.

Dragging a hand down his face, he strode over to the TV and jabbed the power button. Cinderella’s mice friends faded to black.

When Caitlyn faced him, her lower lip poked out in a pout. “But Cinderella’s my favorite.”

“I know that, munchkin, but you’ve already watched it twice today.” Jack sat on the edge of his worn-out plaid sofa and struggled for the right words to discipline his daughter.

“Caitlyn, haven’t I told you that when I’m working or in the shower or on the phone, you have to stay inside? I can’t be two places at once, and you can’t go in the yard without someone to watch you.”

“But there weren’t any cars in the street!” Caitlyn whined, her protest giving Jack new insight to her disobedience.

He knitted his brow in a frown. “You’re also supposed to stay away from the street.”

“I had to pat the doggie!” Caitlyn spread her hands and gave him a look that said she felt her excuse exempted her from punishment.

Sitting straighter, Jack patted his leg and wiggled his fingers to motion Caitlyn closer. She gave him her I-know-I’m-in-trouble-but-aren’t-I-cute look to counter his fatherly scowl.

“Honey, you can’t go in the street. Ever. Not without an adult holding your hand. And I’ve told you before not to pat strange dogs. Not all dogs are nice.”

“Sam was nice, and so was Megan.” Caitlyn scratched a mosquito bite on her arm and shrugged.

Jack quirked an eyebrow. He didn’t bother to argue the fact that Sam didn’t seem so nice to him.

“I think Megan looks like Cinderella.” Caitlyn grinned and pranced over to him, twirling like a ballerina. “Did you think she was pretty, Daddy?”

What he thought about Megan was too racy for a four-year-old. Megan’s petite body had enticing feminine curves, and although she hadn’t worn much makeup, her cheeks had been flushed pink from the summer heat. Jack felt his own brow warm as he thought of other ways Megan could get flushed and out of breath. With him.

“Daddy?”

Caitlyn’s summons snapped him out of his sultry daydreams. “Yeah, I thought she was pretty.”

For crying out loud, he didn’t even know if Megan was married. He had no business fantasizing about her. Even if he was in the midst of months-long sex depravation.

Caitlyn clambered onto his lap, her bony knees and elbows jabbing him awkwardly. “Can I go to her house sometime and play with Sam?”

“I don’t know, Cait. Sam’s not the sort of dog I want you playing with. He was pretty big and—” Mean.

She slapped her arms across her chest and poked out her lip. His little drama queen.

Cut to the chase. You’ve got an article to write.

“You could get hurt if you don’t obey the rules. The rules are: don’t go outside alone, don’t go in the street and don’t pat strange dogs. Okay?”

“But I didn’t get hurt!”

“Caitlyn, the point is—”

The loud jangling of the telephone interrupted the point.

“Don’t move. I’ll be right back,” he told Caitlyn and shoved off the sofa.

Snatching up the phone, he balanced the receiver on his shoulder while he rummaged through the freezer for a frozen dinner he could zap in the microwave for Caitlyn’s supper. “H’lo?”

“Jack? Burt, here.”

As soon as his boss said his name, Jack winced. With all the interruptions this afternoon, he hadn’t finished his article for tomorrow morning’s edition. Without looking at the clock, he knew he’d missed his deadline.

“Burt, I know. I’m late. I’m sorry.”

Aggravation knotted Jack’s stomach. He’d never get the big story assignments and lead headlines if he couldn’t even get the fluff articles on Burt’s desk by deadline. Generally, Burt Harwood, the news editor, cut him a lot of slack. He knew Jack’s situation as a single father in a new town. He made allowances for Jack missing a deadline here and there.

But Jack didn’t want allowances. He wanted better assignments, bigger pieces to write, more credit for his journalistic talent. He wanted to prove to his boss he could handle his job and his family.

He could do it. He would do it. Lauren had given him no choice.

“Listen, Burt, I’ll have the piece on the sheriff candidates’ rally finished tonight.” He expelled a whoosh of air in frustration. “Give me until nine. Caitlyn goes to bed by eight, and I’ll e-mail you the article as soon as it’s done. I swear. Things have been crazy around—”

“Listen, forget the candidates rally for now. We’ve got something breaking down at the police station.”

Jack perked up. He smelled a big story. This could be his break. Finally.

“They’ve arrested a guy—some white-collar banker type—turned in by his girlfriend. They think he could be connected to an old serial rape case they never solved. One the cops dubbed ‘The Gentleman Rapist’ because the guy gained entry to the women’s houses by posing as a cop doing courtesy security checks. The Good Samaritan ploy.”

Good Samaritan… Jack’s thoughts flickered briefly to Megan. Her shy smile. Her flushed cheeks and clingy, sweat-dampened T-shirt.

With a shake of his head, Jack refocused his thoughts. “Burt, I want this story. Give me this one, and you won’t be sorry.”

“Can you get down to the police department tonight and get the particulars for the morning edition?”

Jack grimaced as he slid Caitlyn’s dinner in the microwave. “Not tonight. I don’t have a babysitter.”

“Then I’m sending Parker.”

Jack’s stomach clenched in irritation. “Look, Caitlyn has preschool in the morning. I’ll be free to talk to the cops then. I’ll talk to the guy’s neighbors. I’ll call his first-grade teacher if I have to, but I’ll get you the story. You know I can write a better story than Parker. I’ll find a fresh angle, something that the TV guys and the Lagniappe Herald missed.”

Jack raked his fingers through his hair, searching for the tidbit that would tip the scales in his favor. He hoped that mentioning the Herald, the other newspaper in town, would appeal to Burt’s competitive nature.

“I’m sending Parker.” Burt hesitated and sighed. “But you can pick up the story in the morning. After I see what you and Parker each bring to the story, I’ll make my final assignment. Don’t let me down on this, Jack. This is the biggest story to break in this town for months.”

“I hear you, Burt. And I won’t let you down.”



The next morning, Megan stared at the men lined up behind the one-way glass and fought the urge to throw up. Anxiety, anger and frustration twisted inside her until she thought she might shatter under the pressure.

But not now. Right now she had to pull herself together. She had a job to do. The sooner she did her job, the sooner she could get out of the small room where the walls seemed to close in on her. The stale odor of cigarettes and the noxious fumes of floor cleaner hung in the air, contributing to her queasiness.

More unsettling were all the uniforms gathered around her, the men with guns on their hips and badges on their chests.

Policemen are our friends, she’d taught her class on career day. They protect us and help us during emergencies.

But the man who had attacked her had exploited her trust in a police uniform, used that trust to get inside her home. And the sea of blue uniforms was a too-vivid reminder of the army of officers who’d replied to her 911 call and tramped through her home gathering evidence. They’d asked endless questions when all she wanted to do was block out the horrid images and escape the sounds replaying in her head.

Beside her, Ginny hovered quietly, her hand on Megan’s shoulder in a silent show of support.

“Do you recognize anything about any of them?” The police detective in the dark room with them asked his questions in low, modulated tones. Ginny and the detective had taken pains to make Megan’s task as easy on her as possible. Still, the notion that one of the men in the next room, lined up for her inspection, could be the man who’d haunted her for five years sent a chill slithering down her spine.

When she tried to answer, no sound left her mouth. After clearing her throat, Megan tried again. “I recognize number three. He’s the man I saw on the news last night.”

The detective shifted his weight and scribbled in the small notebook in his hand.

“But—” Her gaze remained locked on the glowering faces behind the window.

In the periphery of her vision, the detective stopped writing and raised his head. “But what?”

Drawing a slow, shaky breath, she shoved down her discouragement. “I can’t say with any conviction that he, or any of the others, is the man who—” When Megan faltered, Ginny reached for her hand and squeezed it. “The man who raped me.”

Facing the detective, Megan sighed. “God knows I wish I could. But the man who attacked me had a lightning bolt tattoo on his forearm. And…he was balding and—”

A shudder race through her, remembering the face that she’d worked five years to erase from her nightmares. “He’s not any of those men.”

“You’re sure?”

She heard frustration in the detective’s voice. With a nod, she glanced back at the lineup of men, and the knots in her stomach tightened. The man she recognized from the television stared straight ahead. His light gray eyes stabbed her like shards of flint.

As cold and frightening as his pale glare was, the menacing eyes she recalled so vividly from the night of her attack had been dark brown, almost black. The man in the lineup had no decoration on his arm, nor any scar indicating the removal of a lightning bolt tattoo. Though she wanted to believe her assailant had been caught, the inconsistencies led her to the only conclusion that made sense.

Her rapist still walked the street.

“I’m sure,” she whispered. “Wanting him to be the right one doesn’t make him so.”

The detective nodded and shoved away from the wall where he’d propped during her viewing. “All right. Thank you for coming down, Miss Hoffman. The officer at the desk will have some papers for you to sign. That’s all.”

Megan raised her head as the officer opened the door and held it for her and Ginny. “I’m sorry.”

Ginny frowned at her and tucked a wisp of her pale blond hair behind her ear. “You have nothing to apologize for.” Lifting Megan’s purse from the floor, Ginny handed her the bag and met Megan’s gaze with unwavering certainty in her blue eyes. “You’re not to blame for anything that’s happened since the day that bastard hurt you. This guy doesn’t fit the description of your assailant, and you’ve done nothing wrong by saying so.”

Megan slid her purse strap over her shoulder and flashed her blond friend a weak smile. “Right, right. I know that. I do.”

“I know you know it. I want you to believe it.”

“I’m working on that part.” Before her friend could respond, Megan hurried through the open door and into the corridor, eager to escape the confines of the dark, stuffy room. She spotted the ladies’ room down the hall and made a beeline for it.

She barely got the stall door closed before her stomach pitched and heaved.

“Megan? Are you all right?” Ginny called to her.

Wiping her mouth with a wad of toilet paper, she sagged against the side of the stall. “Just dandy.”

“Can I do anything for you?”

Bless Ginny’s heart. How could she have survived any of this horror without Ginny’s levelheaded reassurance and unflappable friendship? Opening the door, Megan staggered out of the stall and to the sink to rinse out her mouth. “Do you have a breath mint or a piece of gum?”

Ginny rummaged through her purse and extracted a roll of peppermint Life Savers. “How about one of these?”

Megan splashed water on her face then nodded. “Perfect.”

“All in the line of duty.” The blonde rubbed Megan’s arm. “Feel better now or would you like to sit down somewhere?”

“No, I’ll be fine. I just want to sign those papers and get out of here.” Megan popped one of the mints in her mouth and glanced in the mirror as she reached for a paper towel to dry her face. Her complexion seemed waxy and pale, and puffy bags under her eyes testified to her sleepless night. Her liberal use of water to cool her cheeks left her mascara smudged and damp tendrils of her hair plastered against her neck. In short, she looked a wreck.

Wadding the paper towel in a ball, she jammed it in the trash by the restroom door and followed Ginny out to the front desk. The officer at the desk handed her several forms to sign. She scratched her name in sprawling script in the designated blanks, eager to shake the dust of this morning’s task from her sandals and go home.

“Megan?”

She lifted her gaze to find a familiar pair of hazel eyes studying her, and her pulse went haywire.

Jack Calhoun.




Chapter 3


“Jack,” Megan whispered, drawing a shaky breath.

Just yesterday this man’s nearly naked body and warm smile had awakened long-dormant desires deep inside her. Today, his coffee-brown hair brushed the collar of a wrinkled, white button-down shirt, and he wore a pair of loose-fitting khaki pants. But Megan could still see his wide, chiseled torso and muscular legs in her mind’s eye, and the mental image snagged the breath in her lungs.

He stuck out his hand for her to shake. “Hey, neighbor. I thought that was you.”

A rakish grin lit his face, and like a summer breeze, a pleasant warmth skimmed through her.

“Hi,” she rasped. Painfully aware of how ragged she looked, Megan took his hand. His long fingers curled firmly around hers.

Warm. Confident. Secure.

She mustered a smile, despite her jumpy nerves, but when she tried to pull her hand back, Jack held tight, giving her fingers another squeeze. The strength of his grip sent wings of ill-ease fluttering through her.

Her attacker pinned her wrists above her head, immobilizing her.

Megan gasped as the full-color memory flashed in her mind. She yanked her hand free from Jack’s and clasped it over her galloping heart.

“Ginny West.” Quickly Ginny sidled in front of Megan and grabbed Jack’s hand, giving Megan the moment she needed to catch her breath.

Good ol’ Gin. So often, she seemed to be one step ahead of Megan, anticipating every emotional swing, every need.

Jack greeted the blonde politely then turned his gaze back to Megan. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he cocked his head and tugged his mouth in a crooked but disarming grin. “What are you doing at the police station? No trouble, I hope.”

Megan swallowed hard, fumbling for an answer. He couldn’t know the truth. If her neighbor found out, how long would it be before the whole street knew her past? She’d worked so hard to protect her secret and rebuild her life.

When she met his inquisitive expression, a sinking sensation swamped her. She’d struggled for five years to conquer her past, to regain control. But in the hazel warmth of Jack Calhoun’s incisive gaze, Megan felt exposed, lost.

And vulnerable.

The intelligence and concern in his green-brown gaze seemed to cut through pretenses and see straight to her soul.

“She came with me to pay my parking ticket,” Ginny said smoothly.

Megan didn’t deny her friend’s white lie, but she didn’t like starting her relationship with Jack with a deception.

“Pesky things, parking tickets. Huh?” When Jack grinned, a dimple pocked his cheek, and Megan’s stomach did a little flip-flop.

Steeling herself, she raised her chin and pulled in a cleansing breath. “Yeah. Pesky’s a good word for them.” She adjusted the strap of her purse on her shoulder. “Speaking of pesky, I’m, um…sorry if I came off as nosy or bossy yesterday. It’s just seeing Caitlyn alone like that, running across the street…well, it scared me. For her. I’m a first-grade teacher, see, and I guess I’m a bit sensitive about kids—”

Jack placed a warm hand on her arm to halt her argument. “No apology needed.”

Startled by his touch, Megan darted her gaze up to his. Just as it had yesterday, the heat in his mossy brown eyes burrowed to her core, nudging a purely feminine response…and a quiver of reciprocal apprehension.

“In fact,” Jack said, “I should be thanking you again. My daughter has boundless energy which she uses for getting in to rather…creative mischief. I appreciate your interest in her.”

Megan nodded. “I know her creative mischief is a challenge now, but it also shows her natural intelligence and curiosity. She seems like a very bright little girl.”

“Thanks.” Jack’s grin spoke for his fatherly love and pride.

“Well, I need to run. I’m already late for work.” Mustering another smile for her neighbor, she sidestepped toward the door, only to bump in to Ginny.

“Yeah, I’m running a little late myself.” He inclined his head toward the back halls of the police department.

Megan’s breath stilled. “You’re a cop?”

“No,” he replied, chuckling. “I’m a reporter for the Lagniappe Daily Journal. I’m following up on a story.”

A reporter. Not a cop. But almost as bad.

No doubt he was a pro at asking questions, digging up information. A reporter was not the kind of person she needed to spend much time around if she wanted to keep certain aspects of her past a secret.

Megan felt the blood drain from her cheeks, and she swayed woozily.

Jack’s brow furrowed. “Megan, you okay? You look sort of pale.”

“Yeah. I, uh—”

Again Ginny rose to the occasion. “Well, it was nice meeting you. Tell Caitlyn ‘hi’ for us.”

She took Megan’s arm and pulled her toward the front door.

Jack’s puzzled gaze followed them.

As Megan stepped outside, the Louisiana humidity slammed into her as if she’d walked into a wall. The heat sapped what little energy she had left after rehashing painful details of her assault for the police then losing her breakfast in the ladies’ room.

Ginny gave her curious sidelong glances as they made their way to Ginny’s Jeep Cherokee.

“My, my, my.” Ginny shook her head and clucked her tongue like a mother scolding an errant child.

“What?” Megan drilled her friend with an exasperated glare.

“You’ve been holding out on me.” Ginny colored her tone with an exaggerated note of disappointment.

“Come again?”

“If you want to give that gorgeous hunk of man the cold shoulder, that’s your business. But I thought we were friends. Couldn’t you have sent him in my direction if you didn’t want him? Is that too much to ask?” Ginny gave her a teasing grin and pulled out into the flow of downtown Lagniappe traffic. “How long have you been hiding Mr. Tall, Dark and Dimpled from me?”

Megan gaped at Ginny in disbelief before sighing. Ginny’s teasing normally lifted her spirits. She realized that must have been Ginny’s aim, but the attempt at levity chafed at the moment.

Troubling thoughts about the man sitting behind bars at the police station made joking about anything else difficult. “I’m not hiding him or anyone else from you, Gin. He’s my new neighbor, and I only met him last night.”

“Your neighbor, eh? How convenient.” Ginny’s eyes lit with humor. “So are you blind or did you notice that he’s as attractive as sin?”

Not wanting to encourage her friend on this track, she shrugged. “Yeah, maybe.”

“He sure was checking you out.” Ginny cut her glance from the road to give Megan a calculating grin. “I didn’t see a ring. I think you should—”

“Not interested.”

“Megan, he’s gorgeous. And employed! That’s more than I can say for the last bum I dated.”

Huffing her impatience with the direction of the conversation, Megan turned toward the passenger-side window and tried to forget the pathetic impression she must have made on Jack Calhoun this morning. If her bleak appearance wasn’t bad enough, she’d stuttered and jumped at his touch like an idiot.

She studied the buildings as they passed, remnants of a once-thriving downtown. The empty shells of restaurants and banks lined the narrow streets, harkening to a pre-mall era.

On some level, Megan empathized with those dilapidated buildings. Before her attack, she had flourished. But the self-assured graduate student, engaged to her boyfriend of four years and ready to take on the world, crumbled that horrible night.

The trauma left her a ghost of her former self. Graduate school took more effort than she could give while nursing her broken spirit, and she’d dropped out. Like the shoppers who fled downtown for the suburban mall, her fiancé had abandoned her, unable to cope with her withdrawal and impatient with her lengthy recovery. The outgoing, undaunted young woman she’d been now lived behind locked doors and slept with a dog who’d been trained to attack on command.

“May I ask why not?” Ginny’s question intruded on her thoughts, and Megan turned back toward her friend.

“Why not what?”

“Why aren’t you interested in a charming, gorgeous, employed, interested man? Are you planning on living like a hermit the rest of your life?”

Though delivered in Ginny’s typical get-off-your-butt-and-stop-feeling-sorry-for-yourself manner, Megan understood the loving concern behind the sarcastic question.

“I’m not opposed to dating someone. I do want to get some semblance of a normal life back, but…” She paused and chewed her lower lip. An image of Jack Calhoun as he’d looked yesterday, wearing only a towel, filtered through her mind.

Square jaw. Hard chest. Broad shoulders.

Testosterone personified. A tremor raced through her.

“But?”

“But not him.” Megan wrapped her arms around her middle to calm the uneasy quiver.

Ginny frowned and shook her head. “Why not him? He seemed pretty nice, and he’s totally gorgeous. What’s the problem?”

While she tried to verbalize her reluctance, Megan stared down at her shoes. “He’s too…male.”

“Meaning?”

The car bounced over a set of defunct railroad tracks, and she grabbed the armrest for balance. If only she had something comparable to an armrest in her life, something she could cling to for balance and security. From the day she’d met Ginny down at the women’s counseling center, her mentor and friend had told her that “something” had to come from inside her. Things, even other people, made nice security blankets, but real, lasting peace-of-mind and self-assurance came from deep within oneself. Though she’d made significant progress in reclaiming her life, Megan hadn’t yet rediscovered the spring of pure self-confidence she’d lost. But she kept hoping, kept searching.

“What do you mean, ‘he’s too male’?”

With a sigh, and knowing how pitifully weak and irrational her reason made her sound, she expounded. “When I met him yesterday, he was wearing a towel. Only a towel.”

Ginny arched a well-manicured eyebrow. “Oh, yeah? And?”

“And he’s…all muscled and toned and…male!”

“Sounds good to me.”

Her friend’s glib response belied the woman’s insight into what bothered Megan, she knew. Ginny was prodding her, trying to make her vocalize her fears. The first step to conquering the demons was naming them, bringing them into the light for scrutiny. Only then could she begin tearing those little devils apart, piece by piece.

“Look, you know I’m not afraid of men,” Megan argued. “It’s not as bad as that!”

“Then how did you feel when you met him?”

Shutting her eyes, Megan pictured Jack Calhoun in her mind again. “Vulnerable.”

“Why?”

“Because he…could overpower me.” She scowled. That excuse fell short, and she knew it as well as Ginny did.

“So could most men, but you aren’t afraid of other men. Not even Billy. And he bench-presses two hundred and fifty pounds.” Ginny sent her a skeptical glance.

“Billy’s different. He’s your brother. He’s in high school. He—”

“Doesn’t get you hot and bothered like Mr. Neighbor does?”

Megan jerked her gaze to Ginny’s smug expression. “What?”

“That’s it, isn’t it?” Ginny stopped for a red light and turned to face her passenger. Her knowing eyes, honed like razors, cut through Megan’s defenses and denials. “You’re attracted to him, and it scares you. Because attraction could lead to a date, and a date to a relationship and a relationship to intimacy.”

The light changed, but Ginny didn’t move, not even when the car behind them blasted its horn. The piercing intensity in her eyes softened when Megan’s silence confirmed her assertions.

“I’m not ready.” Megan whispered her admission, yet it seemed to reverberate in the quiet car. Swallowing past the knot forming in her throat, she allowed the rest of her fears to float to the surface. She had to face them in order to move past them. “What happens if I get involved with someone, someone I really like, and when the time comes to…be intimate, I freeze.”

“If he’s got any kind of decency at all, he’ll understand and be patient with you, support you and—”

“Greg didn’t.” The icy memory of her fiancé’s desertion due to her inability to make love to him stabbed her heart.

Ginny huffed and shook her head. “Greg was a self-centered ass. We’ve been over this before. There are men out there who can be gentle and understanding and supportive. The ones who aren’t simply aren’t worth your time.”

Megan looked away, unable to stand Ginny’s unrelenting stare any longer. That gaze saw too much. As much as she loved Ginny’s insightfulness and friendship, she hated those qualities, too. Sometimes she wished Ginny would leave her alone, let her hide behind her locked doors and lick her wounds. Instead, Ginny pushed her, probed her, gave her little leeway for excuses. She demanded so much from Megan because she cared that much, too.

“The light’s green,” she told Ginny, hoping her nonresponse would make the point that she hadn’t the energy for any more questions.

She knew Ginny didn’t consider the topic of Jack Calhoun closed. What’s more, since Jack was her neighbor, she knew she’d have to face the reporter—and her disturbing attraction to him—again.

And again.

Somehow she’d have to come to terms with her confusing feelings for Jack Calhoun.




Chapter 4


One evening later that week, Megan sat at her computer reviewing the lesson plan she’d drawn up for the upcoming week, but Sam’s restless barking filtered in from the backyard, making it difficult to concentrate. Grumbling over the interruption, she walked to the window and opened it.

“Sam!” she called through the screen, “Pipe down, would ya? I’m trying to work.”

Sam’s barks softened to a whimper at the sound of his master’s voice.

“Thank you!” Leaving the window open, she strolled back to her computer, stretching the kinks from her shoulders. No doubt her well-trained guard dog was protecting her house from a vicious squirrel again.

Although Sam had been through training similar to a police dog’s, he was first and foremost a dog. A dog who hated squirrels. But for Megan, Sam’s foibles made him that much more lovable.

She’d never regretted the decision to get Sam for protection. His gentle disposition and loyalty made him a trusted companion, as well as her guardian. His presence in the house at night, and most often sharing her double bed, gave her a reassurance she needed. Experience had taught her that danger could find you even in the sanctity of your home.

Ginny called Sam a crutch, but even if Megan didn’t rely on the German shepherd for added protection, she’d keep him for the unconditional affection and companionship he offered. Her self-imposed isolation over the last five years made for a lonely existence.

Returning to her lesson plan, she scanned the calendar for a day when one of the girls in her class could bring her puppy for show and tell. Megan decided to tie in the puppy’s visit to a lesson on responsibilities to pets or similarities between animals or—

Sam’s barking intruded on her thoughts again. But now the timbre of Sam’s bark had become dark and ominous. His snarling and growling sent a chill creeping over her skin. Apprehension accelerated her pulse. Surely a squirrel wouldn’t set Sam off like this. Did she have a prowler?

Megan froze…until the wail of a child’s terrified scream rent the air.

As she flew to her window, Megan realized Sam’s barking had now stopped. From the open window, she searched her fenced backyard for him.

But Sam was gone.

Icy horror washed over her. Where was Sam?

Another chilling scream shattered the quiet neighborhood, coming from the street in front of her house. Moving stiffly, her limbs wooden with dread, Megan made her way to her living room and peered out the front window. Her heartbeat slammed against her ribs as she spotted Sam across the street and two houses down. In Jack Calhoun’s front yard.

Sam stood over the crumpled figure of a dark-haired little girl.

“No!” Denial rattled from her dry throat.

Jack burst through the front door of his house at that moment, leaping down his porch steps in a single bound. “Caitlyn!”

Megan heard the fright, the horrible anguish in the father’s voice, and bile rose in her throat. She’d believed herself familiar with every form of fear that existed.

She’d fooled herself.

The panic that coiled around her heart sprang from the tenderest place in her soul…her love for children. The idea that she could be even remotely responsible, through Sam, for any harm to a child filled her with unimaginable grief. Adrenaline, born from her horror, propelled her to the door. Her sandal-shod feet pounded the pavement as she raced down the street to Sam.

And Caitlyn.

Oh, God! Poor Caitlyn! Please let her be all right! But the nearer she got to the child, the more evident it became that she wouldn’t get the answer she hoped for with her prayer. The girl lay deathly still. Bright red tears on her fragile arm seeped blood into the grass.

Jack snatched up a plastic baseball bat littering his yard amongst other lawn toys and tried to ward off the dog. “Get away from her, you vicious beast!”

Sam snarled and snapped at the bat, but he remained poised over the girl’s body. Jack tried to move in closer to reach his daughter, only to be chased back by Sam’s angry bark.

Sam’s fur bristled, and he squared off with Jack, a low, menacing growl rumbling from his chest.

“Sam!” A sob wrenched from Megan’s throat. She gulped for air as she stumbled up to the grassy lawn. Her stomach knotted when she saw the child’s mauled arm and scratched neck and face. “Oh, no!”

“Do you see what that animal of yours did?” Jack screamed at her, his face dark with rage. “So he’d never hurt a child, huh?”

Her chest squeezed painfully as she heard her assertion tossed back at her in a scathing tone, and she stared at the proof of her apparent misjudgment.

“I—I’m sorry. I never imagined—” Hot tears streamed down her cheeks, and without waiting for a reply, she raced up the steps of Jack’s porch and into his house.

She found his cordless phone on the kitchen counter and punched in 911. Even before the emergency operator came on the line, she grabbed a kitchen towel and was rushing back outside.

“Get your devil dog away from my daughter!” Jack shouted when he saw her return to the yard.

Megan’s throat closed when she tried to call Sam off. Gripping Jack’s phone with a trembling hand, she stepped closer to the dog and child, sucked in a deep breath. “S-Sam, n-no! Down!”

While Megan hurriedly gave the operator Jack’s address and asked for an ambulance, Jack nudged the bat toward the German shepherd again. Sam barked and snapped at the bat.

“Stop poking him! He thinks you’re the enemy!”

“Damn right, I’m his enemy! I could kill the monster for this!” Jack’s face contorted with anguish, and Megan’s heart thundered.

“Please, put down the bat and step back! I have to calm him down!”

He hesitated and cast her a wary, angry glance.

Tears stung her eyes, and his image blurred. “Please.”

Stepping back with a venomous glare riveted on Sam, Jack set the bat on the ground. “There. Now get rid of him!”

Megan shoved the phone into Jack’s hand. A muscle in his jaw ticked, and his hard stare shifted to drill into her. Any trace of warmth she’d seen earlier in the week at the police station had disappeared. Anger radiated from him like the waves of heat rising from the pavement. Pressing the phone to his ear, he said, “No, we haven’t moved her.”

Inching closer to Sam, Megan clucked her tongue. “Easy, boy. It’s okay now. He’s a friend.” She saw Jack’s brow furrow in disagreement with her last statement. Wetting her lips, she focused her attention on the task at hand. “Down, Sam. Come here, boy. Come here.”

Sam turned his head to look at her and wagged his tail. With a whimper, he licked Caitlyn’s face then trotted over to Megan’s side.

Immediately, Jack flew to Caitlyn, falling to his knees. “Caitlyn? Sweetie, it’s Daddy.” His voice broke, and the love and concern in his tone twisted Megan’s heart.

“Down! Stay!” she told Sam fiercely. The dog settled on his stomach and laid his chin on his outstretched paws. The black eyes that peered up at her reflected the same sweet eagerness to please that characterized the Sam she knew and loved. The Sam that could attack a little girl puzzled and horrified her.

Megan hurried back across the yard, crouching beside Jack as he stroked the hair back from Caitlyn’s face. She used the towel still clutched in her hand to staunch the bleeding on Caitlyn’s arm. “Caitlyn, sweetie. Can you hear me?” she crooned.

“Four years old. Almost five,” Jack said into the phone then glanced around at Megan. “A dog attacked her. No, she’s unconscious.”

When Jack fell silent, Megan met his worried gaze. “Let me drive you two to the hospital. I want to do something to help.”

“An ambulance is on its way.” A muscle twitched in his jaw, and he hitched his head toward Sam. “Just get that damn animal out of my yard.”

Though his anger and distrust of Sam were justified, his brusqueness still chafed. Surely he didn’t think she’d let this happen? That she would ever knowingly let any harm come to a child?

Megan gnawed her lip while acid churned in her gut. No matter how it looked, she couldn’t believe Sam had hurt Caitlyn. He was trained to protect, to defend.

Frowning, she stood and took a step back. The distant wail of a siren heralded the approach of the ambulance.

Jack said something to the operator, then with a glance down the street, he disconnected the call.

He sent Megan and Sam another accusing glare as he pushed to his feet. “As soon as I know Caitlyn’s all right, I’m going to call animal control. That dog is dangerous and should be locked away.”

Megan’s eyes widened in shock and dismay, and her chest tightened. “Locked away? But—”

Jack stalked past Megan toward the street to flag down the ambulance, ignoring her protest.

She stayed back, her heart in her throat, as the EMTs assessed Caitlyn’s condition and loaded her into the ambulance. She watched numbly as Jack hopped into his Tacoma to follow the emergency vehicle to the hospital, leaving her standing in his front yard, shaking.

She whispered a prayer for Caitlyn’s recovery then blinked back tears as she stared at Sam. Jack couldn’t take Sam from her. He just couldn’t! She needed Sam’s friendship, cherished his loyalty and depended on his protection.

Her crutch. When Ginny’s assessment rang in her ears, a hollow sensation tugged at her chest. Maybe Sam was a crutch. But weren’t crutches made to help patients healing from an injury?

She was healing, too. Slowly. She’d just had a minor setback this week because of the renewed activity around the Gentleman Rapist case. The revived memories.

And the unsettling reminder, in the form of a handsome new neighbor with sexy hazel eyes, of all she was missing while she licked her wounds.

She had to rejoin the dating world and let a man into her life someday if she was going to have the family and future she wanted. Jack Calhoun brought home in vivid color the rut she’d allowed herself to get into in the name of protecting herself. And now, if he had his way, he would send another piece of her protective wall crashing down.

Because losing Sam, even for just a little while, would mean losing her sense of security.



Leaning over the railing of the hospital bed, Jack gently wrapped his hand around his daughter’s and rested his forehead on his arm. Guilt gnawed at him. He blamed himself for Caitlyn’s injury, for the sorry state of his life. For the way he’d lashed out at Megan.

When Caitlyn mumbled something, he opened his eyes to check on her, but she slept on. She’d drifted in and out of sleep for the past half hour, since the E.R. doctor had admitted her to a private room overnight for observation. Even though the doctor had assured him that Caitlyn would make a full recovery and that Jack had time to grab a bite of dinner before her sedative wore off, Jack had stayed put. He refused to leave Caitlyn and risk having her wake up in her hospital room alone.

His daughter seemed so tiny, so frail lying in that big hospital bed. When he thought about how much worse Caitlyn’s injuries could have been, that he could have lost her, icy fingers closed around his heart. If he hadn’t been so absorbed in the article he’d been writing about the history of the Gentleman Rapist case, maybe he’d have realized Caitlyn had snuck outside again.

Of course, the real culprit in all of this was that monster…that canine terror. Megan’s dog.

Yet he’d seen the alarm and sorrow in Megan’s eyes when she arrived on the scene and as they loaded Caity in the ambulance. An overwhelming protective urge had swamped him, and he’d wanted to draw Megan into his arms and comfort her. Despite the distraction of the devil dog and his deep concern for Caitlyn, he’d still had the gut-level yearning to soothe the troubled look in his neighbor’s eyes. Those big, expressive green eyes.

Jack sighed. He’d been far too harsh with her, allowing his fear for Caity to morph into an ugly, undeserved lambasting of his neighbor. Megan’s anguish tangled inside him even now. He longed to hold her close, calm her trembling, whisper his apologies against her smooth skin. How would she feel, nestled in his arms?

Squeezing his eyes shut, Jack shook his head to dispel the image. What in the world was he doing daydreaming about a beautiful woman when Caitlyn lay injured in a hospital bed?

Caitlyn whimpered, and her head rolled to one side on her flat, hospital pillow.

“Caitlyn, honey? Daddy’s here. Can you hear me, baby?”

“I’m not a baby,” Caitlyn grumbled in a sleepy voice. “My arm hurts.” Her bottom lip poked out in a familiar pout.

“I know, munchkin. I’m sorry.”

Stroking her hand with his thumb, he thought how small and fragile her little hand looked, and his chest constricted. She was so tiny, so dependent on him. He had no room to mess up. He had to do a better job taking care of Caitlyn because she had no one else.

Jack picked up the cup beside the bed. “You want a sip of water?”

She shook her head, her eyes heavy-lidded. “Daddy, do they give awards to doggies if they’re heroes?”

Knitting his brow, he fumbled to answer her out-of-left-field question. He’d become accustomed to her fastball questions catching him off guard, and he’d learned to anticipate, with some success, where the questions might lead.

“I suppose if a doggie did something very brave, they might give him some kind of award.”

Caitlyn nodded and closed her eyes for a moment.

“I think you should sleep now. The doctor wants you to stay in bed until you feel strong again.” Jack brushed a kiss on her forehead.

Caitlyn’s eyes fluttered open again. “I want to watch Cinderella.”

“It’s at home, munchkin. We’ll see it later.”

“Daddy?”

Jack yawned, his own fatigue catching up with him. “Yeah, munchkin?”

“Can we give Sam an award?”

Jack’s chest clenched. “Sam?”

“Miss Megan’s doggie.”

Jack heard a gasp. Raising his head, he found Megan standing by the door, a small teddy bear in one hand and her other hand pressed to her mouth in surprise. Her pale face showed her strain and worry, and those emerald eyes flashed with apprehension. “Megan, what are you—?”

“I was worried about Caitlyn. I needed to know she was all right.” Her tongue darted out to wet her lips, and his eyes locked on the moistness left on her full, bowed mouth. Desire kicked him in the gut.

“She has a broken arm and a load of stitches.” He gritted his teeth and felt his nostrils flare as he huffed his frustration with the whole situation. “She’ll probably have scars for the rest of her life.”

“Oh, Jack.” Megan pressed a hand to her mouth, and tears welled in her eyes.

Jack turned away, a fresh dose of self-censure for his abrasiveness twisting in his stomach.

“I’m so sorry this happened. Sam’s usually protective and gentle with children. I just can’t understand what…why…” Megan tugged nervously at the pearl earring in her lobe. Her brows knitted with concern. “Can I do anything…anything at all for you or Caitlyn? I know I can’t make this up to either of you, but—”

“Megan?”

Jack’s and Megan’s gazes both flew to the bed where Caitlyn stirred.

Caitlyn rolled her head to the side and peered over at Megan. “Sam…” She hiccuped a sob then swiped at her eyes with her good hand. “Sam’s my h-hero.”

Jack blinked. Held his breath. Wrinkled his brow. “Why’s that, Caity?”

Megan hesitated only a moment before stepping to the other side of the bed. She placed a hand on Caitlyn’s knee and tucked the stuffed bear by Caitlyn’s shoulder. “What happened with Sam, honey?”

A fat tear spilled from Caitlyn’s eyelashes, and she turned her wide dark eyes toward Jack. “I wanted to pat the big doggie. I thought he’d be nice like Sam. But he wasn’t.”

Jack could feel his heartbeat slow. Another dog?

“What big doggie, munchkin? Sam?”

“Not Sam. The other one. The white one. H-he bit me and growled and—” Caitlyn’s voice broke, and she sniffed as she cried. “Sam saved me. He chased the other dog away.”

Jack raised his gaze to meet Megan’s. “A white dog? You know the neighbors better than I do. Can you think of a white dog in the area?”

Megan drew her brows together as she frowned. “No. It must’ve been a stray.”

“Which means that dog could be anywhere now.” He sighed his frustration. “Great.”

Despite her clear concern over the idea of a mean stray in the neighborhood, the tension surrounding Megan visibly eased. Her dog had been exonerated.

The hope, relief and dawning of understanding reflected in Megan’s eyes were the mirror opposite of the feelings spreading through his chest. Remorse for his false accusation, dread that another vicious dog was loose somewhere in the neighborhood and compunction for the grief he’d caused Megan by jumping to conclusions about her dog gnawed at him.

Megan’s eyes filled with tears, and she drew her bottom lip between her teeth.

Jack expected to see gloating or accusation in his neighbor’s expression. But he didn’t. As her gaze clung to his, something passed between them, something beyond apologies or vindication. Something a lot like expectation.

Now that Sam’s innocence had been established, where did that leave them? The attraction he felt for Megan had to be as plain as the wrinkles in his shirt.

“Megan, I…” He fumbled for a place to start. “I’m sorry for the way I—”

The harsh trill of the phone beside Caitlyn’s bed interrupted him, breaking the spell that had held her gaze on his for the past few electric moments.

He expelled a disappointed breath through pursed lips as he snatched up the receiver. “Hello?”

“Jack? It’s me.” Caitlyn’s mother sounded distracted, hurried. “Why is Caitlyn in the hospital?”

Jack wanted to believe the inflection in his ex-wife’s voice reflected concern for her daughter, but all he could honestly identify was surprise, inconvenience. He absorbed Lauren’s tepid reception of the news about Caitlyn like a prize fighter’s punch in the gut. He rubbed the back of his stiff neck and wondered how he could have so totally misjudged the woman he’d once married.

Had he missed the signs of her fickleness? Had he ignored clues that she could selfishly cast her child and marriage aside, claiming she needed her freedom?

“Jack? Jack, are you there?”

He sighed and pushed his troubling thoughts out of his mind for another time. “Yeah, I’m here.”

“So what happened?” Lauren asked in a tone that she might have used to discuss the weather.

What happened? Not “how is she?” Not “can I come?” But what happened? Jack squeezed the receiver tighter. He wanted to throw the question back. What happened, Lauren? What happened to us?

“She was bitten by a dog.” He glanced up at Megan, who was clearly trying to give him at least the impression of privacy for his call. Her attention was now focused on Caitlyn as his daughter drifted back to sleep.

“Is that all? You called me about some little dog bite?” Lauren’s impatient tone called his attention back to the phone.

Flexing his fingers then balling his hand in a fist, Jack counted to ten before he answered. “She has twenty-seven stitches and a broken arm.”

“So why is she in the hospital, for heaven’s sake? I’ve never heard of hospitalizing someone for a broken arm.”

“Because she lost a lot of blood and went into shock. She’s better now and resting, but I thought you should know about it…in case you wanted to come—”

He heard Lauren sigh. “Jack, I’m leaving for London in the morning. I can’t just drop everything whenever Caitlyn skins her knee.”

Because he was already edgy from the afternoon’s events, Lauren’s dismissal of her daughter lit Jack’s temper. “This is a little more serious than a skinned knee, Lauren! You’re her mother, for God sake. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?” His tone could have frozen the phone lines all the way to Lauren’s apartment in Texas.

He should have known this conversation would go sour, should have waited until Megan wasn’t around to overhear.

“Of course it means something, Jack! But like I’ve told you for months, I wasn’t cut out to be Betty Homemaker. It’s not me. I’m not mother material and don’t want to try.”

“You should have thought of that before we had a daughter, Lauren.”

He should have known better than to get into this argument with his ex again, but her blasé dismissal of her child grated, especially now.

“If Caitlyn is too much for you to handle then my parents—”

Jack bristled. “Never. I love my daughter, and I will do whatever it takes to care for her. Alone. Tell your parents I will not give them custody of Caity. Ever. Sorry to have bothered you with your daughter’s trauma. I won’t make that mistake again.” He wished he could slam down the receiver to make his point. Instead, the disconnect button gave an unsatisfactory blip when he jabbed it.

His pulse throbbed at his temple, and he clenched his teeth until his jaw hurt. He stared at the floor, seething, until a gentle voice reminded him he wasn’t alone.

“Maybe I should leave.”

He jerked his head up and met a sympathetic green gaze. He pinched the bridge of his nose and released a harsh breath of frustration. “I’m sorry you had to hear that.”

“She’s not coming, is she?” The sad, perplexed tone of Megan’s voice stood in such stark contrast to Lauren’s indifference that it caught Jack off guard for a moment. Made him ache all over for his motherless daughter. He needed to scream, to punch something. Instead, he cracked his knuckles and held Megan’s compassionate gaze.

“No.”

She licked her lips again and turned her eyes toward Caitlyn. A profound grief and disbelief filled their depths. Lifting her chin, she faced him once more. “I want to help, Jack. Please.”

He pushed to his feet and paced restlessly across the room. “Thanks, but no. I’ll manage.”

“You don’t have to just manage. Let me help. I can bring you some dinner or sit with Caitlyn. Do you have something you need to do for work?”

“Nothing as important as my daughter. It’ll have to keep.” Jack slid his hand over his face, thinking of the unfinished article still glowing on his laptop screen at his house.

His laptop.

“Unless…” He pivoted to face Megan, who was straightening Caitlyn’s covers.

Megan glanced up. “Yeah?”

“Would you bring me my laptop? It’s on my kitchen table. I was working on an article when I heard Caity scream and…”

“Oh, uh…sure.” Megan’s face brightened, clearly glad to be able to do something to help.

He dug in his pocket for his house keys. “Thank you. I appreciate this more than you can know.”

She waved him off. “Forget it. Glad I can help.”

“You’ll need to save the file before you close it and bring the extra battery from the black case beside the chair.”

She nodded and smiled. “Right. Back in a jiffy.”

“Megan?”

She stopped at the door and looked over her shoulder.

“I’m sorry. I was an ass this afternoon, screaming at you about your dog. Accusing him of…”

When he let his sentence trail off, she lifted a corner of her mouth. “Apology accepted. I admit the evidence was pretty damning. But I know Sam. I know his nature and his training. He’d never hurt Caitlyn. I swear.”

“So it seems.” Jack shoved his hands in his pockets and jangled the coins there. “I also apparently owe you a debt of gratitude. If he, in fact, chased some other dog away…”

He hesitated. Care for some salt on your crow?

Megan’s smile brightened a bit. “I’ll pass your thanks on to Sam. He definitely gets an extra Snausage tonight.”

Jack gave her a lopsided grin and stroked a hand along his chin. “Tell him he’s got a whole box of dog treats coming from Caitlyn’s dad.”

She nodded and ducked her chin, glancing shyly to her feet. “I’m just glad Caitlyn will be okay. I was so scared for her….”

Megan sighed and looked over at his daughter, who was resting peacefully in the bed. The tender expression Megan wore as she watched Caitlyn sleep twisted inside Jack. In the past week, this woman had shown more loving concern for his daughter than Lauren had in the past year. That alone was enough to get Jack’s attention, even before he factored in his neighbor’s kindness and sense of humor or her sexy lips and heavenly curves.

“So…” He paused and cleared his throat. “Are we…okay?”

Megan shifted her gaze to him. Her lips parted as if to speak, but she hesitated.

“Give me a second chance, Megan. I’m really not such a belligerent oaf…usually.”

She fidgeted with her earring again and gave him a forced smile. “Yeah. We’re fine. I, um…I’ll be right back with your computer and files.”

Quickly Megan slipped out the door, out of sight, and Jack kicked himself. Her hesitation and lukewarm reception of his apology said what Megan was too polite to say.

He’d screwed up. Big-time. He’d freaked when he’d seen Caitlyn bleeding, seen Megan’s dog hovering over his daughter. His daughter’s injury was more his fault, because of his inattention, than anyone else’s. And he’d taken his fear, his guilt and his frustration out on the one person who least deserved his wrath.

As soon as Caity was released to go home, he would find some way to make amends with Megan. She deserved no less.



Megan drove home, lost in thought. She was still mulling over Caitlyn’s claim that Sam had saved her from another dog, when she turned onto her street and spotted two vehicles parked in front of her house. The sedan had a light bar on top and an insignia on the door. The truck had something like a cage in the back and black letters printed on the side.

A-N-I-M-A-L C-O-N-T-R-O-L.




Chapter 5


A prickling sensation chased down Megan’s neck as Jack’s promise to have Sam taken away echoed in her brain. “No!”

She wheeled her car into her driveway and leaped out. “Wait!” she cried to the sheriff deputy who watched as another man took Sam with a stiff lead to the waiting truck. “That’s my dog! You can’t do this!”

The deputy turned to her as she raced across the yard.

Panic rose in her throat, choking her. She’d be lost without Sam. He was the only reason she could sleep at night. His presence and protective instincts gave her the peace-of-mind she needed to live alone while her rapist walked the streets.

And she loved Sam. They’d been best friends from the day he’d come home with her from his trainer’s house. At a time when so many other friends had drifted away from her, Sam had been her anchor, her unconditionally devoted companion.

“Are you Megan Hoffman?” The sheriff’s deputy pulled a folded sheet from his pocket.

She swallowed hard, fighting down her learned fear of the uniform before her. She stood several feet away from the man, and when he stepped toward her, she backed up warily.

“Yes, I’m Megan. I-I know what Mr. Calhoun must have told you earlier. But Sam didn’t attack his daughter! I just left the hospital, and Caitlyn told us there was another dog.”

The deputy took a deep, tired breath, and for an instant, Megan sympathized with his unpleasant duty of overseeing the removal of a woman’s pet.

“Ma’am, all I have to go on is the report filed from the hospital. According to the information taken in the emergency room tonight, your dog attacked a little girl.”




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