The Cop's Missing Child. Karen Whiddon
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you no harm. I wasn’t aware being a newcomer and taking a walk were crimes.”
Narrowing her eyes, she studied him, apparently not buying his too-easy, confident patter. In his experience, overly suspicious or outright paranoid people usually had something to hide. But then again, she had a point. He was a stranger who was following her, and her former husband had been a drug dealer. No doubt, looking over her shoulder had been deeply ingrained in her psyche. She’d be foolish not to worry. And one thing he’d learned about Emily Gilley, formerly Cavell, was that she was anything but stupid.
Finally, she took a deep breath, exhaling it slowly.
“Look,” she said, her tone reasonable this time rather than furious, “you’ve been following me way too closely. What matters is that you’ve made me very uncomfortable.” Swallowing hard, she studied him, her caramel gaze unflinching. “And even though this is a small town, one can’t be too careful.”
It was especially true for a woman like her, with so many secrets to hide.
He nodded, feigning chagrin. “Again, I apologize. If I’d known I was frightening you, I would have dropped back or—” he grimaced ruefully “—I would have tried to pass you.”
Rather than accept his apology, she straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. “You said you’re new in town, right?”
“Yes.” Relieved and slightly surprised that getting to know her was going to be this simple, he gave her a practiced, easy smile, holding out his hand. “Mac Riordan.”
Instead of a handshake, she simply continued to stare him down. Only when he’d dropped his hand and frowned did she speak again in a cool, measured tone. “Welcome to Anniversary, Mac Riordan. I don’t know who you are or what you want, but in the future, please leave me alone.
Tamping down shock, he feigned confusion instead. “Ma’am, I—”
Backing up slightly, she tilted her head and peered up at him. “Let me ask you something. Are you the one who mailed me the note? It was postmarked Dallas. Is that where you’re from?”
“Note?” He eyed her warily. Had someone tipped her off about his arrival? “What note? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You didn’t send me an anonymous note? Cut out letters on white paper?”
Was this a joke? Then, as he realized what she’d said, his former cop instincts made him ask, “Is someone sending you threatening notes?”
Again he got the sharp, brown-glass stare, as if she thought if she tried hard enough she could read his mind. Since he’d been looked at all kinds of ways by all sorts of people in his previous life in law enforcement, he let her. Silence was often the best interrogation method of all.
“You didn’t answer my question. Are you from Dallas?”
“No,” he fired back. “Albany, New York. Now tell me about this note.”
“That’s none of your business,” she said calmly, her spine so rigid he thought it might snap. Then, apparently considering he might in fact be harmless, she swallowed, still eyeing him warily.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be so rude. I’ve got to go.” She mouthed the words, sounding anything but. Without another word, she marched off, her spiky dark hair ruffling in the breeze.
Watching her slender, lithe body as she went, he couldn’t help but respect that she knew enough to be wary. Because if their situations had been reversed, he’d have done exactly the same. People on the run from former lives couldn’t afford to befriend curious strangers.
This was exactly the reason he had to make sure he gained her trust—no matter what it took.
Even as she hurried away, Emily Gilley felt the tall, dark-haired stranger’s gaze boring into her back. She felt flushed and hot, though not entirely from her brisk walk. Instead, she worried about the man with the striking cobalt eyes. At first glance, the tinge of gray in his hair had made him look older by at least a decade. But up close, his rugged face appeared to be only a few years older than she. Mid-thirties, perhaps, a handsome, muscular man who moved with easy grace. Any other woman would have been intrigued by his blatant masculinity, his self-confident virility.
Not she … she knew better. Sex on the hoof didn’t last past the morning, and men like him were nothing but trouble. After all, she’d been married to one once.
This man singled her out. Why? She couldn’t help but wonder if this attempt to appear older was deliberate, an effort to camouflage who he really was—or what he was.
He was a threat. She couldn’t believe his sudden appearance the same day after getting her first threat since moving here was a mere coincidence. How could it be?
The unsigned note that had appeared in her mailbox that morning had been similar to the ones she used to get back in New York. Letters cut and pasted from a magazine, the three sentences read exactly like the ones she’d received before. Her stalker—and Ryan’s, for the note always mentioned her five-year-old son by name—had somehow found her here, in an innocuous small Texas town.
This meant it was time to move on.
She considered, suddenly exhausted by it all, she could run again. Or she could stay—and fight.
Because quite frankly, she liked living here in Anniversary, Texas. She’d made friends, and while her receptionist job at Tearmann’s Animal Clinic wasn’t glamorous, she loved the sheer ordinariness of it. All in all, she’d made a cozy home for herself and her son here.
Damned if she would give that up without a battle. She’d paid enough for crimes she hadn’t even committed. Never mind that she’d been completely clueless about her husband’s nefarious activities. A lot of people thought she should still be held equally responsible, especially now that Carlos was dead.
Without any idea why, she’d always assumed the threatening notes had come from one of Carlos’s mistresses. She knew of two, and there’d probably been more. Any one of them could have viewed his death as a breach of promise and his wife as the rival who got everything—especially since Emily had always suspected one of those women had been the one to birth her son and give him up for adoption, no doubt at Carlos’s urging. She could only hope he hadn’t forced the issue, which would mean there was another woman out there mourning the loss of her son.
Even though Emily could definitely sympathize if that was the case, she was Ryan’s mother now, and she’d made a good home for him here. The only thing she wanted to do was pretend her former life had never happened. All she’d brought with her from that life was her son. He was all that mattered.
Hurrying from the walking trail and across the parking lot to Sue’s Catfish Hut, she refused to look over her shoulder at the man. She sensed him still standing where she’d left him, watching her. She could feel his gaze burning into her back.
“Afternoon, Letty.” Lifting her hand in a friendly wave to the elderly cashier, Emily slid inside the empty booth. She spent quite a few of her sixty-minute lunches exactly the same way—a brisk walk around the park and then a bite to eat at Sue’s with her friend Jayne Cooper.
“Hey, lady.” Jayne plopped into the seat opposite her. Jayne’s normally frizzy blond hair had been tied back in a ponytail. She worked in the police station down the street, one of three dispatchers. “Who was that man you were talking to in the park? He looks like that new guy who moved here from up north somewhere. I can’t remember his name.”
Surprised, Emily tensed and then forced herself to relax. Good grief, she was tired of being suspicious of everything and everyone. She’d honestly believed she’d gotten over that, until the stalker’s note timed with the appearance of the strange man had brought all her old fears back to life.
“He said his name is Mac Riordan. He said he’s new in town.”
“That’s right, he is.” Snapping her fingers,