trembling, she shut off the phone. Meg jotted the numbers down on a nearby pad. Then she looked at the cell phone. Police were investigating and would trace the phone number back to her.
Pulling open drawers, she pawed through their contents until she found an old-fashioned meat tenderizer. Perfect. Meg removed the battery from the cell phone and then set the phone on the floor and smashed it. Then she took the shards and placed them in a plastic bag to dispose of later.
It was a prepaid cell phone with a new SIM card that she’d paid for in cash. The police could call the number and use the phone to track her down. Randall’s call came three hours ago. Enough time for them to start checking out his phone calls.
The numbers played over in her head: 43.961281 and -71.058542. Tears burned her throat. Randall had lived a lavish lifestyle, jet-setting and spending money extravagantly, but he was a good man at heart, wanting to do the right thing.
And now he was dead because of it.
She went to the fireplace and warmed her ice-cold hands. All she had as clues were the numbers and a vague message about her heart.
What did those numbers mean?
A loud crash sounded outside, making her jump. Sophie barked and scrambled to her feet. Meg’s blood turned to ice. Immobilized with fear, she stared in the direction of the kitchen.
Right outside the sunporch.
Turning off all the lights, wishing she could bank the fire as well to plunge the room into total darkness, Meg took a deep breath. Gathering all her courage, she peered out the living room window that paralleled the sunporch. Fat snowflakes swirled in the storm, making it difficult to see, despite the dim glow of the porch light. Tree branches scraped against the side of the house like nails against a chalkboard.
The crash was probably the wind knocking over one of the clay planters on the steps. It made no sense that Prescott had found her, unless he’d traced her to Jarrett and Lacey...
Meg ran to the fireplace and seized the poker, carrying it like a weapon. She found the coat Cooper had left for her, hanging on a peg in the sunroom. Sophie trotted behind her, but she motioned for the dog to stay quiet.
Taking a deep breath, she opened the door. If something was lurking outside, she wasn’t going to hide in here, cowering in fear.
She was so tired of being afraid all the time.
Snow pelted her face, danced around in the air as she stepped onto the landing. The tiny light outside did little to illuminate the gloom. Wind whipped at her hair, sending tiny stinging needles into her skin.
Meg held up the fireplace poker, ready to swing at an unknown assailant. But no one was outside. The clay pot, containing only dirt, had been knocked over and lay in shards on the snowy ground. Nothing. Just the pot, knocked over by the wind. Still she stood there for a minute, listening to the wind howl and the trees moan under the storm, cold snaking down her spine.
A deeper cold she knew would never leave, not until she’d freed herself permanently from Prescott’s clutches.
Finally, the cold became too much to bear and she returned inside.
Meg set down the poker on the kitchen table. Using the kitchen phone, she dialed the toll-free number Lacey had given her.
Her former sorority sister answered on the first ring. “SOS.”
“Lacey, it’s Meg. I made it here, but I’m not staying.” She spoke in a rush, worried the connection would get cut off.
“Meg! We were worried about you.” Her friend’s relief was obvious. “Stay there with Cooper. You’re in a safe house now. We need you to stay put until we can find another place to move you.”
Move me. Like I’m furniture, only the moving meant putting more people at risk. Her throat tightened. She’d already played havoc with too many lives and endangered good people. It had to end now.
Fingering the diamond around her neck, she thought of the cash it would bring if she pawned it. Enough to find another place to run and hide, until she could figure out the numbers Randall had left her.
She hated pawning her grandmother’s jewel, but Gran would understand. Meg’s hand trembled as she gripped the phone. “No. I have a little money. I’ll find a place on my own. Thank you, but I can’t risk it.”
“Meg, please, I know you’re scared, but Cooper is the best...”
“You don’t know my ex. He’s ruthless and has enough money to make anyone vanish. You both aren’t safe. If he finds out you helped me... I can’t risk your lives, Lacey.”
“Nothing’s going to happen to us, Meg,” Lacey told her. “Jarrett takes every precaution when it comes to our underground railroad of aiding women in distress. Coop’s going to give you a new ID, new passport, driver’s license...but it will take a little time.”
“I don’t have time. It won’t matter.” She gripped the phone and thought of Randall, and his cheerful, round face, now frozen in death. “Cooper Johnson can’t help me. He has his hands full here.”
“Cooper is a professional soldier and he’ll make sure you’re safe. He’s okay, Meg. Trust him,” Lacey told her.
“I can’t stay here. And you and Jarrett and Fleur are in danger, because if Prescott finds you...”
A crackling over the phone and mumbling in the background.
“He’s not going to touch Lace, or Fleur, and if he gets within one hundred miles of our house, I’ll be on him, Meg. Stay with Coop.” The deep, rumbling tones of former Navy SEAL Lt. Jarrett Adler sounded confident and assured.
But she could not take chances.
“Watch yourselves.” Meg hung up the phone, then she went to the window, worried about the storm. No time to go out in this mess. She had no car, and for now, she was stuck.
Stuck in a cottage with someone outside. She lifted the checked curtain at the kitchen window and peered out into the darkness again.
Was someone out there now, watching her every move?
Fear soured in her stomach. The barn couldn’t be far. She suddenly couldn’t stand to be alone anymore. She found Sophie’s leash and hooked her up and took the key to the front door off the peg in the kitchen.
“Come on, Sophie. We’re going to find Cooper.”
* * *
“Easy, girl.”
Coop finished walking Betsy around the barn, cursing the storm that kept the mare inside. Then he rubbed down Betsy once more for the night. He lifted the latch on the stall door and locked it behind him. In the stall next to Betsy’s, Adela poked her head out and looked at him suspiciously.
“Hey, Adela,” he murmured. He went to the minifridge where he kept carrots and apples and medication for the animals, and fished out a red apple. Coop unlatched her stall door and stepped inside.
But Adela backed away, laying her ears back.
Still wouldn’t take food from his hand. He needed to work with her more, needed time to work with her.
“It’s okay, girl. When you’re ready.” Backing out of the stall, he fumbled with the finicky catch and let himself out. Coop set the apple down on a bench to try later.
In the aisle, he sat on the chest containing cleaning equipment and pulled out his cell phone. After scrolling through messages, laughing at a stupid joke one of his teammates sent, he clicked onto a news station from Palm Beach County.
Needed to see what else he could find out about Meg.
And then he saw a headline screaming in bold type: Palm Beach Millionaire Found Shot to Death.
Coop’s heart raced. He read through the article, and then set his phone