Marion Laird - No Place To Run

About the Author MARION FAITH LAIRD shares a house with her mom and a gazillion books. She plays assorted musical instruments, including the organ at her church, composes and arranges music, sings, acts, and occasionally indulges in artwork. She’s always had characters running around in her brain, and is glad she has a new way to share them with others. In addition to the arts, Marion loves making things. She’d time-travel to the Renaissance if she could to study art technique, but she’d always come back home for her computer. Growing up in a navy family, Marion has lived from one end of the U.S. to the other, and changed schools and curricula like some kids change shoes. Her peripatetic upbringing has given her a lifelong love of travel and learning, as well as awareness that while people’s customs may differ, their hearts are the same. Marion is a member of Romance Writers of America and American Christian Fiction Writers.

Title Page No Place to Run Marion Faith Laird www.millsandboon.co.uk

Bible Verse Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid. —John 14:27

Dedication For Mom, who inspired me to read because she always was, and to write because she wrote and told amazing stories! I’m glad she’s here to read this. And for Dad, who always encouraged me to follow my dreams. I wish he could hold a copy of this book, but I’m sure he knows.

Acknowledgments Acknowledgments Acknowledgments ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN EIGHT NINE TEN ELEVEN TWELVE THIRTEEN FOURTEEN FIFTEEN SIXTEEN SEVENTEEN EIGHTEEN NINETEEN TWENTY EPILOGUE Dear Reader Questions for Discussion Extract Copyright Special thanks to my friend Anne, who introduced me to Love Inspired books back when they were Steeple Hill. I believe I can safely say that if it wasn’t for her, this book wouldn’t have been written. She’ll always have a special place in our hearts’ albums. I’m indebted to the generous writers who helped me fine-tune my first chapter and cover blurb entry in Mills & Boon’s annual So You Think You Can Write contest, especially Laura Hamby, Valerie Parv, Rachel J. Stevens and Kathi Robb Harris. I also thank Danica Favorite, who assured me that the editors would contact anyone whose work they wanted to see, even if the manuscript didn’t make it past the first round of voting. Many thanks to Tina James, who requested the full manuscript and a synopsis, Lynette Eason, who helped me improve my synopsis, and to Elizabeth Mazer, my editor, who called and bought the book! Through the revision process, she’s helped make it so much better than it was in its beginning! Thanks also to Cheryl Wyatt. I’ve started many a story from her writing challenges (although not this one). I also appreciate the writing challenges on the Community Boards at Mills & Boon, and the interactive novel writing at PanHistoria.com. It’s been said it takes a village to raise a child. I’m beginning to think it takes a village to nurture a writer! Many thanks to all my “villages,” and to more of my “villagers,” (in alphabetical order) Diana Cosby, Margaret Daley, Nell Dixon, Rachelle McCalla, Shirlee McCoy, Camy Tang and Janet Tronstad.

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

NINETEEN

TWENTY

EPILOGUE

Dear Reader

Questions for Discussion

Extract

Copyright

ONE

The note was unsigned.

Don’t think you can get away with it.

The computer printout lay on the pile of library in-mail, as innocent as a rattlesnake ready to strike. Lorie stared at the words for one frozen moment as her heart began to race. She couldn’t hear. Couldn’t see anything except the note.

This couldn’t be happening.

Not now.

Not after her prayers had been answered to let her begin rebuilding her life in Dainger County.

By the time the other librarian, Jen Burkhalter, loped into the office and slung her denim purse onto the coatrack, Lorie was shivering.

“The weather’s gorgeous. I think spring decided to stick around a little longer.” Jen’s head jerked in a double take, her short black hair quivering. “What’s wrong? Are you cold? You look like a deer in headlights.”

Lorie sent a silent prayer heavenward. Help! Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she shook her head. “I’m fine.”

Jen stuck her fists on her generous hips. “Don’t try to put one over on a mom. If you’re fine, I’m a sunflower in a cornfield. Now what’s the problem?”

It took a moment for Lorie to calm down sufficiently to speak. “Have you heard any talk about my moving back to town?”

Jen looked surprised. “You mean trash talk? No. Why?”

You can do this. Taking a deep breath for courage, Lorie nodded at the note. “Look at the in-box. Somebody doesn’t want me here.”

Jen peered into the in-box, adjusting gold wire-rim glasses. “Oh, my. Get away with what?”

Murder.

But it wasn’t.

An icy shiver of doubt skittered up Lorie’s spine. What if someone thought it was?

Get a hold of yourself. This isn’t San Diego.

Lorie pulled herself together. “Maybe they left it on the wrong desk.”

“With your name on it?” Jen jerked her thumb in the direction of Lorie’s Head Librarian plaque. “Stop grasping at straws. Everybody knows who the new head librarian is. You haven’t touched the paper, have you?”

Lorie shook her head. “I’ve read enough mysteries to know that’s the worst thing I could do.”

“Then you also know we need to call the sheriff’s department.”

Call the law? Fear stabbed Lorie in the gut. “But what if this is just a prank?”

“What if it isn’t?”

Lorie winced.

“Grimace all you want to, but if you don’t call them, I’m going to.”

“All right.” Lorie’s sigh ruffled the papers on her desk. “We’d better use the phone at the main desk, in case there are fingerprints.”

“Good idea.” Jen followed Lorie out the door, closing it after them, the automatic lock clicking into place.

As she reached for the phone at the circulation desk, Lorie’s stomach roiled. Lord, why me? If she never had to talk with another person in law enforcement, it would still be too soon.

You can do this. Her inner pep talk wasn’t working. You have to.

She glanced back at Jen. “What’s the phone number?”

“You could just dial 911.”

“It isn’t an emergency. It’s just a—” What was it exactly?

“A personal threat.” Jen finished the thought for her. “Something you can’t afford to take lightly.”

“You don’t know the phone number, do you?”

“Here.” Jen punched in seven digits and shoved the beige receiver at Lorie.

“Dainger County Sheriff’s Department.”

The receptionist’s voice was warm, honeyed and very Southern. She also sounded vaguely familiar, but Lorie couldn’t put a name to the voice. Just hearing the words “Sheriff’s Department,” Lorie swallowed hard and almost hung up. Jen, noticing her hesitation, glared at her.

Lorie cleared her throat. “This is Lorie Narramore at the county library. I’d like to report an incident.” There. She’d said it, as if the note were the only thing wrong.

“Why, Loretta Lee, is that you?”

Lorie rolled her eyes. A few years in California had eliminated Loretta Lee from her name. A few minutes in Daingerville brought the ponderous moniker back.

“Yes, it is.”

“This is Vangie Rae Sutherland. Used to be Vangie Rae McCormick, remember?”