seen overseas in women who had suffered much.
For a minute he imagined what this must be like for her—homeless, on the run, at the mercy of a stranger. A big stranger. She was so tiny and frail-looking, yet he suspected within hid a core of steel. It took courage to pack up and leave everything you knew. He couldn’t imagine doing it....
“When did your husband beat you?”
At first she didn’t answer, and the pink of her cheeks warned he’d stepped over an invisible line. Coop suspected she was ashamed of the incident and what happened to her.
He gentled his voice. “I only want to know if you need medical attention. If you don’t want to talk about it, tell me.”
Meg’s head bobbed in a jerky nod, and she looked away. “He wasn’t that bad this time. But the time I ran off last year, before my grandmother got sick, that was very bad. I was in the hospital for a week. When I returned home, Sophie was gone. I found her in a shelter known for euthanizing dogs.”
Cooper wanted to find her husband and show him exactly what he thought of men who beat women and animals. He’d had plenty of experience in dealing with those types and didn’t tolerate them well.
Drawing in a deep breath, she picked up Sophie and hugged her until the dog whined. He started toward her, but Meg flinched.
It would take time for her to trust him. Sighing, he took the pad and pen by the old-fashioned rotary phone hanging on the kitchen wall and scribbled his cell. “Service out here is sporadic, but I installed special equipment to boost the signal. I’m going to call your cell to make sure it works.”
After he dialed the number, the cell phone he’d plugged in at the counter began to chirp. Nodding, he hung up the phone.
“Everything’s okay.”
“I wish I could believe you.”
“No one knows you’re here,” he assured her. “Only Jarrett and Lacey, and they wouldn’t tell a soul. You’re safe. And no one has the phone number of this cottage except my mom and me. Tomorrow we’ll move you up to the main inn.”
Wishing he could make her believe him, he snatched up his jacket from a peg by the door, along with his Stetson, and tugged on his gloves.
Cooper paused at the kitchen door. “Remember, you need anything, just call me. You’ll be fine.”
The dog looked at him and growled.
“You too, furball.”
Then he winked at Meg, opened the door, went onto the sunporch and into the storm.
* * *
When Cooper left, she peered outside, watching him struggle against the howling wind. Meg rubbed her arms, shivering from nerves, not the cold. Certainly it was warm enough here. But she hated being alone in this cottage. And how did she know he wouldn’t turn her over to Prescott? Judging from the faded, worn furnishings, Cooper didn’t have much money. Money could influence people, even those with the best intentions.
She’d seen it before too many times. But Lacey trusted him. And she trusted Lacey. It would suffice for now.
Not for long. Prescott would find her eventually.
The only person she could trust besides Lacey was Randall Jacobs, the longtime family friend who worked for the company. Randall had invented the fiber they used for racquetball paddles and Meg got the idea to incorporate it into flexible body armor.
After Randall discovered the material was too unstable to stop bullets, he pleaded to halt production. Prescott ignored his entreaties. So Randall hid copies of Prescott’s internal confidential documents ordering the shipment of the defective vests to Boston.
He’d told Meg he would give her those documents for her to turn over to federal authorities, and then give himself protection under the federal whistleblower act.
She picked up the cell phone and checked the charge. She’d texted Randall while on the road. He had this number and promised to call by tonight to arrange to meet her at his family’s summer house in a nearby town. What if something happened? Could someone trace this phone back to her? She’d been so careful.
Where could Randall have hidden those documents?
Sophie trotted on her heels into the living room after Meg washed the bowls and cleaned up. Sitting before the fire, she stared at the flickering flames.
Leaving Sophie to doze before the fire, she went into the bedroom and fetched her grandmother’s quilt. Meg wrapped it around herself and curled onto the sofa.
“I miss you, Gran,” she whispered. “Why did you have to leave me?”
Letticia Taylor had been a healthy seventy-year-old until a few months ago, when she began to sicken. She died in the hospital two weeks ago, Meg stroking her chilled blue-veined hand.
Prescott attended the funeral, and a few days later, they went to the family attorney in Boston. Bert Baxter informed Meg that Gran had left everything to Prescott. Everything.
She was literally cashless and powerless.
The sexy Cooper with his crooked grin and burning blue eyes assured her this cottage was safe. He would protect her.
No one can really protect me.
She hadn’t been safe all those times before when she’d tried to escape Prescott, and she had no real confidence Cooper Johnson could deliver on his promise.
Meg turned on the television in the living room. It was an older model, and nothing compared to the wide-screen HDTV in her mansion.
She channel surfed, restless, until landing on a news channel. And then she stiffened as she recognized the familiar surroundings. It was a news report from Florida, with several police cars surrounding a BMW she knew...for she had been there the day he’d bragged about getting that “sweet” car.
No, please no.
The television news reporter was talking.
“Murder in Palm Beach! The body of Palm Beach millionaire Randall Jacobs was found this morning inside his car in a public park near a playground. There are no suspects at the time and police are investigating...”
Meg snapped off the remote and stared at the blank screen. Wind pushed at the windows, howling to get inside.
Her chest hurt and her throat tightened. “Randall, oh God, I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
Randall Jacobs, the only man she trusted, the only one who had the evidence to convict her husband and send him to jail, far out of reach, was dead.
It didn’t matter if Cooper Johnson had a room filled with weapons. She wasn’t safe here. Prescott had murdered Randall. She knew it.
Wrapping her arms around herself, Meg paced the living room, thinking hard.
She went into the kitchen and unplugged her cell phone from the charger.
The light blinked, indicating a voice mail. She dialed it and listened, her blood turning to ice.
Randall.
“Meg, they’re after me.” A small, gruff laugh, filled with terror. “Should never have stayed in this game, but I got greedy. I’m sorry. I’m so damn sorry for what I did.”
Sounds of a train going by in the background. Randall’s voice became more frantic and he spoke in a rush.
“Meg, I don’t have much time and I can’t be certain this phone isn’t bugged. Prescott’s in deeper than I thought. It’s not him you have to worry about...it’s his new friends with deep pockets, and they’re planning something big. Be careful. The documents and