Terri Reed - Double Deception

“This is unbelievable.” Kate’s voice escalated with each syllable. “Of course I’m afraid. You’ve just arrested me.”

“How did your husband die?” Brody asked.

She flinched. The anger drained from her eyes before her gaze shifted downward. “He was murdered,” she answered at last, sounding forlorn and defenseless.

Her distress affected Brody. He didn’t want to be affected. He wanted to stay detached, uninvolved. But his protective instincts reared up, refusing to be ignored. “By whom?”

“I don’t know.”

“And you’re afraid you’re next?” He hadn’t meant his tone to sound harsh.

Though her peaches-and-cream complexion turned to chalk, she lifted her chin and sat up straighter. The staunch bravado may have returned, but she couldn’t quite hide the anxiety in her eyes.

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grew up in a small town nestled in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada. To entertain herself, she created stories in her head and when she put those stories to paper, her teachers in grade school, high school and college encouraged her imagination. Living in Italy as an exchange student whetted her appetite for travel, and modeling in New York, Chicago and San Francisco gave her a love for the big city, as well. She has also coached gymnastics and taught in a preschool. She enjoys walks on the beach, hikes in the mountains and exploring cities. From a young age she attended church, but it wasn’t until her thirties that she really understood the meaning of a faith-filled life. Now living in Portland, Oregon, with her college-sweetheart husband, two wonderful children, a rambunctious Australian shepherd and a fat guinea pig, she feels blessed to be able to share her stories and her faith with the world. She loves to hear from readers at P.O. Box 19555, Portland, OR 97280.

Be strong and courageous, do not be afraid or tremble at them, for the Lord your God is the one who goes with you. He will not fail you or forsake you.

—Deuteronomy 31:6

To my husband, my hero. I love you always and forever.

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

QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

Brody McClain hated storms.

The pounding rain and swirling wind off the Nantucket Sound were relentless, like the nightmares that had plagued him for five years.

Old anger resurfaced and burned in his gut.

With a shake of his head, he pushed the memories aside and focused his attention back on the small cottage. Concentrate.

Lightning streaked across the sky and reflected off the windowpanes of the dark house, making the dormer windows glow like large, luminous eyes.

Brody crouched behind the branches of an ancient rhododendron. The blood in his head thudded in tempo with the rapid beat of his heart. He gritted his teeth, forcing his breathing under control.

After a moment, his vision cleared and his eyes adjusted to the night. Drops of rain streamed down his back, plastering his cotton shirt to his skin. Should have grabbed a jacket, McClain.

From beyond the house, above the roar of the churning surf crashing against the cape, a seagull’s high-pitched squawk protested the downpour.

I’m with you, buddy.

Blinding lightning pierced the midnight sky. More rumbling thunder nipped at its heels. Brody narrowed his gaze, staring at the large multipaned window near the front door, waiting impatiently for another flash to confirm what he thought he’d just seen.

Finally the light came. In that second of stunning brilliance he saw the silhouette.

Someone was in the house.

His fingers tightened around the grip of his Glock. He’d drawn his sidearm as he’d approached the house, heeding the familiar, gentle nudging he’d learned to respect. Only once had he ignored that inner signal. That mistake had cost him everything.

But that was then. Now…Brody moved soundlessly along the wraparound porch toward the back door. He tried the knob. Locked.

He pulled out a ring of keys and skimmed his finger along the flat surface of each, searching for the correct raised letter. He found the key marked with a K. He slipped it into the lock and opened the door.

A noise beyond the storm outside caught Kate Wheeler’s attention. Just scraps of sound really, like a hinge in need of oil. The noise went perfectly with the eerie shadows that played along the covered furniture, making the white sheets appear ghostly. Musty staleness mingled with the salty scent of the Atlantic Ocean permeated the air.

She shivered in the darkness, her imagination wreaking havoc on her nerves with thoughts of some unknown assassin stalking her.

Outside, the wind howled across the Nantucket Sound, a forlorn noise that echoed through the house.

Fighting to keep her anxiety from turning into panic, Kate leaned against the wall.

Lord, I’m really scared. I need Your courage.

She never should have come here tonight. She should have done the smart thing and waited for morning before coming to the house she hoped held answers to her husband’s death. But patience wasn’t one of her virtues.

Now she was stranded. The airport limousine service had disappeared long ago and the cell phone tucked in her purse was useless, the battery dead and the recharge cord forgotten at home. Given the circumstances of Paul’s death, she should have been more cautious.

Ever since his funeral the previous month, she’d had the uneasy feeling someone was watching her.

The sensation followed her everywhere, the constant impression of eyes observing her every move, taking stock, waiting for the right moment to attack.

I told them you have it.

Paul’s dire words rang in her head. If only she knew what “it” was.

Her condo in Los Angeles had been ransacked twice, which led her to believe that they—whoever they were—hadn’t found the mysterious object. She hoped she’d find answers to her questions here in this small Massachusetts town, starting with this place—a house she’d known nothing about.

She glanced around as hurt burrowed in deep. How long had Paul owned this oceanfront cottage? Why had he bought a house when he’d refused to purchase one with her, his wife?

Once she would have expected the trappings of a normal marriage.

Paul’s courtship had been the epitome of romance. They’d met at a Chamber of Commerce mixer. She’d been taken with his blond good looks and professional demeanor. He’d wooed her with candlelit dinners, roses at her door every Friday and touching love letters. She hadn’t been able to resist his hard press. He’d represented stability and security: everything she longed for, everything that had been missing in her childhood.