Lori L. Harris - Secret Alibi

The look in his eyes, though quickly concealed, was all the proof Lexie Dawson needed. Jack Blade—a man she had slept with and still dreamed about—actually thought her capable of murder.

“Would you be willing to let me test your hands for gunpowder residue?” Jack asked. “I’d like to rule you out as a suspect.”

Lexie sat there for several seconds, weighing the request. If her husband had been murdered—no one would believe she was innocent. She had motive, opportunity and they would find gunpowder residue on her hands.

“I spent the afternoon at the gun range, trying out a new pistol.”

“Any witnesses?”

“Maybe two or three,” Lexie said. “And if you’re through with me, I’d like to go now.”

Jack stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Unfortunately, I’m afraid not,” he said. “In fact, I need to read you your rights….”

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For Mavis Allen, with gratitude.

Lori L. Harris has always enjoyed competition. She grew up in southern Ohio, showing Arabian horses and Great Danes. Later she joined a shooting league where she competed head-to-head with police officers—and would be competing today if she hadn’t discovered how much fun and challenging it was to write. Romantic suspense seemed a natural fit. What could be more exciting than writing about life-and-death struggles that include sexy, strong men?

When not in front of a computer, Lori enjoys remodeling her home, gardening and boating. Lori lives in Orlando, Florida, with her very own hero.

Jack Blade—He worked undercover on some of the meanest streets in America before taking the job as Deep Water’s police chief. But he knows even quiet streets aren’t always safe. And justice isn’t always so easy to find—even for the innocent.

Lexie Dawson—Without an alibi, this pharmaceutical rep might just find herself on Florida’s death row.

Dr. Dan Dawson—A successful obstetrician and Lexie’s ex-husband. Who would want him dead?

Dr. Fleming Whittemore—Dan Dawson’s partner. Lexie considers him a close friend. But is he? Or does he have his own agenda?

Alec Blade—Jack Blade’s older brother. A top FBI profiler, Alec retired from the FBI after his wife’s brutal slaying and moved to Deep Water, hoping to rebuild his relationship with his brother. It seems as if Alec has brought Jack only more trouble.

Katie Blade—Less than a year ago, targeted by a brutal killer, she fought back and survived. Now she and Alec Blade are happily married.

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

10:30 p.m. Deep Water, Florida

What had happened to him?

Unable to move, unable even to lift his head off the desk blotter, Dan Dawson attempted to focus on his surroundings, but couldn’t. The room—his home office—seemed to be a mishmash of colors, one bleeding into another.

The objects closest to him were clearer—the paper clip and the gold pen appeared almost jewel-like as they floated against a bloodred background. Those a few inches beyond were blurred and indistinct.

As he was staring at the paper clip, his eyelids slammed shut, cutting off the one sense that seemed to be working, the one thing that kept him feeling connected to his surroundings. Even as the panic ripped through him, he tried to fight it. But it was as if he’d been closed into a box—a coffin.

His eyelids suddenly sprang open, the sharp reentry of light painful but not unbearable.

Don’t panic. Panic was…was counterproductive.

Stay calm. Approach it as if it was one of his patients who was in trouble. He needed to…he needed to do… What? He tried to focus, but it was as if his brain had locked him out.

Vitals. Like a life ring, the word suddenly floated past in the black sea of nothingness, and he grabbed on tight. If he really concentrated, he realized he could feel the air moving in and out of his chest. Respiration slow and shallow, but steady.

A sudden explosion of pain struck at the base of his skull, then ravaged downward through him, sucking the air from his lungs. His throat muscles contracted hard, and he felt his body gasp for oxygen.

What the hell was wrong with him?

His sluggish mind grappled with and discarded possible diagnoses. Stroke? Too young. Cardiomyopathy? Overdose? He hadn’t taken any drugs in months…or had he? Had he taken something tonight?

Sweat slid slowly down his back, morphing into a living thing, a parasite that devoured his life force before escaping through his pores and oozing downward toward the floor, toward escape. Like rats from a burning building.

A distorted sound shattered the silence. Not in the room with him, but in the foyer or the kitchen. He felt a warm rush of relief. Rescue. He would be rescued.

Dan again tried to raise his head, but it was like trying to lift a watermelon that dangled from the end of a swizzle stick.

When he attempted to speak, the muscles of his throat refused to cooperate, the sound coming out more a cough than a plea.

More noise drifted from beyond the room. Drawers opening. Closing. Not in a hurry, but slowly, as if someone wanted to go unheard.

A shapeless shadow entered the room. For a moment, he thought he’d imagined the movement, but then, as the form passed in front of the flickering light from the fireplace, he realized he hadn’t.

Dan again tried to speak, but the pitifully weak sound that came from his lips was barely audible. “Help…”

The shadow made no attempt to render aid. Dan’s vision partially cleared, and he made out a hand encased in latex. The disembodied hand hovered ghostlike, and then slowly slid open the top right drawer of the desk.

With sudden lucidity, Dan knew what had left him paralyzed. Worse, he knew what was about to happen.

And this time, there was no controlling the panic.

LEXIE DAWSON GLANCED longingly at the exit of Baldacci’s.

Even before she had arrived for this business dinner, it had been a long day for her, and the conversation among the three surgeons at the table had drifted into more technical realms. As a pharmaceutical rep of a large drug company, she was well versed in her product, but not this stuff.

Fortunately, none of the three seemed to notice that her attention had shifted.

Dr. Dennis Rafferty, the oldest and least forward-thinking of her three guests, had chosen the upscale, overpriced restaurant, which was located in what eighty years ago had been Deep Water’s theater house. Back then, the interior would have been quite ornate, but now, all that remained of the once-gracious building were exposed brick walls and large, unadorned windows, giving it the warmth of an empty operating room.