Deceptions. Cynthia Eden

bag from the top of the closet.

      Her brows climbed. “You have a suitcase. That’s exactly what you have—”

      He opened it. Notebooks and photos spilled out.

      “Okay, I’m impressed.” She knelt on the floor next to the photos. “How did you know that anything was in there?”

      “Because all of the other bags were covered in a layer of dust. This one wasn’t.” He started thumbing through the photos. After a few moments he gave a low whistle. “This is you.”

      She peered over his shoulder. Yes, that was her. A shot of her that had been taken right after Nate’s murder. A police officer was pushing her into the back of a patrol car.

      For just a moment, a memory of that scene flashed into her mind. So strong and clear.

      “Miss...what happened here last night?” The cop’s eyes had been kind.

      At first, anyway.

      “There was so much blood.” She leaned forward and picked up another photo. Revulsion poured through her. That shot—it was one of the crime scene photos. Nate’s handsome face was so still, and the pool of blood beneath him was clear to see. So much blood.

      “In the picture, you didn’t have any blood on you,” Mac said.

      “No...no, I—I only touched him once. To see if he had a pulse.” But even then, she’d known it was too late.

      Mac’s head tilted. “I need to know everything, Elizabeth. Just what went down in your past?”

      Hell.

      “You know you have to tell me.”

      “I can’t tell you what I don’t know.” She saw another photo. This one was of the cabin’s exterior. The snow had been so white. It had been so cold. She’d been in that closet, shivering, for hours and hours before she’d heard the voices of the police officers.

      “Elizabeth—”

      “What’s in the notebooks?” That mattered. She reached for one, flipped it open, and she saw her name at the top of the page. Her name and age and—

      Possible accomplice? The words were written in a rough script.

      Her phone rang, making her jump and drop the notebook. She pulled out the phone and read the words on her screen. Unknown caller.

      “Put it on speaker,” Mac instructed her.

      She slid her finger over the screen and then hit the icon for the speaker.

      “I know where you are,” the low voice told her.

      “And I’m getting sick of you calling me,” Elizabeth fired back.

      Mac’s gaze shot to her. It seemed like—admiration?—lit his stare.

      “Don’t worry, Elizabeth. This will be your last call.”

      A shiver slid down her spine.

      “I knew you’d search his house. Did you find the surprise I left for you? Tick, tick...”

      Mac swore. He grabbed her arm, dragging her to her feet. The photos and the notebooks fell from her lap.

      “Stop!” Elizabeth said—the order both to Mac and the psycho on the phone. “I don’t know what you—”

      “Goodbye, Elizabeth,” that voice told her. “You can’t hide this time. I see you. And the new lover. You’ll go out together in a blaze of fury.”

      A blaze of... Understanding burst through her. He’d said tick, tick.

      Mac dragged her out of the closet. “There’s a bomb! We need to get out of here!”

      But the evidence was in there! They couldn’t leave the photos and the notebook. She jerked away from him and ran back for the closet.

      “Elizabeth, no!” Mac bellowed. Then he grabbed her and—

      They didn’t make it out.

      An explosion shook the house. Fire erupted in a big, tumbling wave, spiraling out from the den. Mac threw his body toward Elizabeth, and they hit hard in the closet, falling even as the world exploded around them.

      * * *

      WHEN THE FIRE lit the sky, he smiled. Two more problems eliminated.

      That had been easy. He’d made that last call to assure himself that Elizabeth was inside the house. It wouldn’t have done for her to be outside when the bomb exploded. But he’d been able to tell by her fear—you were inside, weren’t you, Elizabeth? Did it hurt when the fire erupted? Did you have time to scream?

      The fire was so big and bright. When would a neighbor call the fire department? How long would it be before the victims were hauled out?

      The explosion would never be traced back to him. Steve’s so-called evidence would be destroyed. The last link—Elizabeth Snow—would be dead.

      He didn’t have to worry about the past any longer.

      Time to concentrate on his future. Retirement was definitely in order.