Kerry Connor - Stranger in a Small Town

She asked gently, even as she was painfully afraid she knew the answer.

“It doesn’t matter. I don’t need anybody.”

“I don’t believe you. And it’s too bad, because you have me.”

His eyes tracked over her face, lingering at her mouth, his own working slightly. She knew what was about to happen. And this time she didn’t step away.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For my grandfather

A lifelong mystery reader, Kerry Connor first discovered romantic suspense by reading Harlequin Intrigue books and is thrilled to be writing for the line. Kerry lives and writes in New York.

Maggie Harper —Her determination to restore an infamous old house puts her at odds with an entire town—and a killer who would do anything to stop her.

John Samuels —The stranger in town offers Maggie his help—but not the truth about his identity or his motives.

Greg and Emily Ross —Their murders continue to cast a long shadow over the town where they lived—and died.

Annie Madsen —Maggie’s closest friend in town. Even she disapproves of Maggie’s plans for the house.

Irene Graham —Annie’s mother is full of answers. Are they the ones Maggie is looking for?

Dalton Sterling —The builder wants Maggie’s house. How far will he go to get it?

Clay Howell —He doesn’t like people who ask questions about the Rosses.

Janet Howell —A woman who seems to be keeping secrets. Her own or someone else’s?

Paul Winslow —A man whose temper hasn’t calmed in thirty years.

Teri Winslow —The babysitter was close to the Rosses. Does she possess information that could lead Maggie to the truth?

Prologue

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

Epilogue

In the dark of night, the house appeared no different from the others on the street. The lack of lights masked its details, making it nothing more than another shapeless silhouette on the block. The trees bracketing the property provided concealing shadows that hid the rest of the lot from view.

It was only when the clouds briefly parted, allowing the pale moonlight to shine down upon it, that it became clear just how different this house was. Several of its windows had cardboard covering jagged, gaping holes in the glass. The roof sagged in more than one place, as did the railing on the wide front porch. Its front lawn was patchy and choked with weeds. Without the sheltering darkness, it was obvious that unlike every other house on this quiet residential street, this one hadn’t been occupied for some time.

Nearly thirty years now. Ever since the murders.

No one wanted to live in a place where two people had been brutally killed. Few even wanted to look at it, preferring to ignore its existence entirely, as though it would be so easy to forget what had happened within its walls.

For others, such blissful ignorance wasn’t possible.

Standing in the shadows on the other side of the street, a lone figure stared at the structure and imagined what it would be like to watch the house burn to the ground.

It wouldn’t take much. Perhaps only a single match. A flick of the wrist to create the flame and another to toss it into the building. Then it would be done. A house that old, that decaying, would likely go up in an instant and burn just as quickly. It would happen so fast no one would be able to stop it. Not the neighbors who did their best to ignore the house’s existence and had no interest in seeing it remain standing. Not the volunteer firefighters who would take their time coming to a vacant house no one cared about. Not even the woman currently sleeping inside, the woman whose stubborn, ridiculous insistence on trying to restore the house had brought back so many painful memories.

It should have been done years ago. Only the fear of being caught, of returning to the scene of the crime, had prevented it.

But now, no matter how fierce the need to avoid it, it was impossible not to return. Night after night. A compulsion that would remain as long as the house stood, as long as there was somewhere to return to.

No. Determination surged, hard and desperate and unrelenting. It had to end.

The woman had proven difficult to scare off so far. That would change. No matter what it took.

The woman had to be stopped. The house had to be destroyed.

Only then would it be possible to forget exactly what had happened here.

And why.

2:00 a.m.

Maggie didn’t have to check her watch to know what time it was. She’d felt every minute ticking away from the moment she’d crawled into the sleeping bag and settled in for the night.

Staring into the darkness, she waited. Not for sleep.

For trouble.

She didn’t know what form it would arrive in. The shattering of glass. A beam of light piercing the dark. A floorboard creaking from the weight of a foot that shouldn’t be there.

So she waited. For one of them. For all of them. For the trouble she knew deep in her bones would be coming eventually. It was the entire reason she was here, on the living-room floor of this decrepit old house, when she could be in an actual bed in more comfortable surroundings. To catch the vandal responsible for the damage the house had suffered the past two weeks.

The silence echoed around her. The wind knocked at the windows, rattling the glass or whistling through holes in the tape holding the cardboard in place over the broken ones.

Another minute ticked by. Then another.

The moments that passed without incident provided no relief. Her tension grew the longer she waited, her certainty rising.

It was possible that her presence had scared off whoever was responsible for the damage. The broken windows. The cut electrical line. Anyone who saw her truck parked out front would know she was here right now, waiting for them, ready to catch them. Could driving them away really be that simple?

She’d like to think so. But she didn’t. The town’s obsession with the house and what had happened here was even creepier than the event itself. She’d endured too many comments, too many pointed glances, over the past few weeks to think they’d be so easily dissuaded. They wanted her to give up, they wanted her out of the house. If anything, they might like the idea of acting when she was here, causing havoc under her very nose.

Not tonight. Not on my watch.

Maggie clenched her fists tightly and listened even closer, determined not to miss the telltale noise when it came.

She heard nothing. Only the whistle of the wind and the empty, endless silence echoing around her.

That didn’t mean there wasn’t someone out there. But if there was, the person was managing to move with the utmost stealth, not making a single revealing sound.

Like a killer had once done, stalking the halls in the middle of the night to claim two victims.

And like them, she wouldn’t even know anybody was here until it was too late.

A burst of emotion made her lurch upright, her heart suddenly pounding in her chest. She threw the top of the sleeping bag aside and climbed to her feet, eyes scanning every inch of the darkness, unable to sit still any longer as the feeling hammered through her veins.