Debby Giusti - The General's Secretary

TRUSTING THE WRONG PERSON CAN BE DEADLY...

Lillie Beaumont’s dark past has just turned up on her porch—fatally wounded. The dying words of the man imprisoned for killing Lillie’s mother suggest hidden secrets. Criminal Investigations Division special agent Dawson Timmons agrees. He has his own motive for seeking the truth, and it gives Lillie every reason to doubt him. But even as they reluctantly begin to face painful secrets together, Dawson fears that a murderer is waiting to strike again. And this time, Lillie is right in the line of fire....

Sirens sounded in the distance.

“Lillie, the police are coming. You don’t want them to find you here.”

Reason tangled through her fear.

“I’m going to let you go. Leave the room. Take the back road. Meet me at the truck stop one exit north on the highway.” His hand eased up ever so slightly. “Do you understand?”

She nodded.

He drew away from her and stood.

Scampering to her feet, Lillie raced for the door and threw it open. Light filtered into the darkness. She turned, seeing the special agent bend down and pick up something from the rug.

Dawson Timmons was a fool to think she would meet him anywhere except at the military police headquarters on post.

“You dropped something, Lillie.” The key dangled from his hand.

The sirens screamed in the distance. Not much time to get away.

DEBBY GIUSTI

is a medical technologist who loves working with test tubes and petri dishes almost as much as she loves to write. Growing up as an army brat, Debby met and married her husband—then a captain in the army—at Fort Knox, Kentucky. Together they traveled the world, raised three wonderful army brats of their own and have now settled in Atlanta, Georgia, where Debby spins tales of suspense that touch the heart and soul. Contact Debby through her website, www.debbygiusti.com, email debby@debbygiusti.com, or write c/o Love Inspired Suspense, 233 Broadway, Suite 1001, New York, NY 10279.

The General’s Secretary

Debby Giusti

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Cast your cares on the Lord and He will sustain you;

He will never let the righteous be shaken.

—Psalm 55:22

This story is dedicated to

our brave men and women in uniform.

May the Lord protect them from harm.

To my wonderful husband and beautiful family.

Thank you for your love and support.

To the Seekers who make the journey so much fun.

To my critique partner Anna Adams.

To Emily Rodmell, my editor,

and Deidre Knight, my agent.

Thank you!

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

EPILOGUE

Dear Reader

Questions for Discussion

Excerpt

ONE

Lillie Beaumont gasped for air and fought her way through the dream that came too often. Her heart pounded a warning as she blinked open her eyes, allowing the dark outline of her bedroom to sweep into focus. She lifted her head off the pillow and anticipated the distant thunder before the sound reached her ears.

Low. Rumbling. Menacing, like cannon fire at nearby Fort Rickman, Georgia.

Weeding her fingers through the sheets, she grasped for anything that would calm her spinning stomach and racing pulse.

Another rumble, this time closer.

Then another and another in rapid succession, each encroaching on her space, her air, her life.

The thunder escalated, its cadence steady like the giant footfalls of an evil predator, stalking an unsuspecting prey. Only Lillie wasn’t oblivious to its approach. She knew the storm, felt it in her inner being, breathed it into her soul where she battled the terror and torment of a thousand deaths.

Another volley. Her airway constricted. She touched her throat, yearning to be free of the stranglehold of fear that wrapped around her neck.

Don’t cower. Face your phobia. The words of reason echoed in her head.

“Something happened before she came to us,” her foster parents had told concerned friends after taking Lillie into their home when she was a child. “Our little girl is terrified of storms.”

She wanted to laugh at the understatement. Instead, tears trickled from the corners of her eyes.

The musky scent of wet earth and damp air seeped through the partially open window and filled her nostrils, like the cloying odor of that night so long ago. Eyes wide, she stared into the darkness, anticipating the next bright burst of lightning.

A blast of thunder rocked her world, hurling her from the bed. She ran, as she always did, her footfalls echoing on the hardwood floor. No matter how much she longed to ignore the gathering storm, she had no control over the memories that made her relive the terror of that night so long ago.

In her mind’s eye, she was once again four years old.

“Mama,” young Lillie had cried, longing to be swooped into her mother’s outstretched arms.

Instead, he had opened the bedroom door.

“Go back to bed, child.”

The door had closed, leaving Lillie alone in the hallway, huddled in a ball, shivering with fear, tears streaking her face and trembling body.

Another round of thunder, followed by a kaleidoscope of light that blinded her eyes and made the past fade and the present come back into focus.

Finding the corner, the twenty-nine-year-old Lillie crouched, knees to her chest, heart on a marathon race as thunder continued to bellow. Rain pummeled her copper roof, the incessant pings reminding her of the gossip of the townspeople after her mother’s remains had been found fifteen years ago.

Murdered. Sealed in a steel drum. Buried beneath the earth.

“Mama,” she whimpered, trying to be strong enough to fight off the memories.

Outside, the storm raged as if good and evil battled for her soul, only she was too weak, too crazed, to fight off the attacks.

A pounding.

Close, persistent. Rap, rap, rap.

“Lillie?”

Someone called her name.

“Lillie, open the door.”

“Mama?”

She ran to the front of the house, undid the lock and flung open the door. Frigid rain stung her face, soaking her pajamas and mixing with her tears.

“Help me, Lillie.”

A man she knew only from newspaper photos stood before her. Mid-fifties, with gray, rumpled hair and weather-worn skin stretched across a bruised and bloodied face. Doleful eyes, swollen, suffering, seemingly entreated her to forget the past and think only of his need. “They...they found me...beat me.”

His hand stretched to hers. A small metal key dropped into her palm.