Critical Impact. Linda Hall
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“Why did you come here, of all places?” Stu asked, looking at Anna’s profile.
“I came here,” Anna said, “because I was hoping it would help me remember something.” She looked back at the blasted-out building and shook her head. “I didn’t do this, you know. I wish you would believe me….”
Stu looked at her intently and said, “I came here, I followed you, because I wanted to tell you that I do believe you. Arresting you was a mistake.”
She stared at him for several more minutes before she whispered, “You believe me?”
“I do.” And in so saying, Stu knew he was putting himself in a compromising position. He was a police officer. It was his job to remain objective. And, of course, there was all that evidence against Anna. He didn’t know what he was going to do about that….
LINDA HALL
When people ask award-winning author Linda Hall when it was that she got the “bug” for writing, she answers that she was probably born with a pencil in her hand. Linda has always loved reading and would read far into the night, way past when she was supposed to turn her lights out. She still enjoys reading and probably reads a novel a week.
She also loved to write, and drove her childhood friends crazy wanting to spend summer afternoons making up group stories. She’s carried that love into adulthood with twelve novels.
Linda has been married for thirty-five years to a wonderful and supportive husband who reads everything she writes and who is always her first editor. The Halls have two children and four grandchildren.
Growing up in New Jersey, her love of the ocean was nurtured during many trips to the shore. When she’s not writing, she and her husband enjoy sailing the St. John River system and the coast of Maine in their thirty-four-foot sailboat, Mystery.
Linda loves to hear from her readers and can be contacted at [email protected]. She invites her readers to her Web site, which includes her blog and pictures of her sailboat, www.writerhall.com.
Critical Impact
Linda Hall
MILLS & BOON
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They that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint.
—Isaiah 40:31
CONTENTS
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
EPILOGUE
LETTER TO READER
QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION
ONE
When Anna Barker reached out to open the heavy wooden door of City Hall, she was hurled backward in a blinding flash and a crush of ear-rupturing noise.
It happened fast. One second she was carrying her grande latte, her large stage makeup bag and several books of photographs, and trying to avoid the leering glances of the mayor, the next she was flattened on the ground beside the building, nose pressed into the grass.
She lay there, stunned. She didn’t move, couldn’t. At first nothing hurt. And then everything did. Her left arm was sprawled next to her body and her other hand was up next to her face. She felt a burning on her neck and shoulders. She raised her hand to check the liquid. Blood? No. Hot coffee. She could tell by the smell of it. She had spilled her coffee.
A spasm of coughs rattled her chest. She spat out some dirt. That small exertion sent coils of pain through her core. She took tiny breaths—deep ones hurt—and tried to steady herself. Everything around her was noiseless, still and surreal. It was like she had been cast into some deep, suffocating cave. She opened her eyes and was filled with a horrid sense of terror. She couldn’t hear herself cough. She felt, but didn’t hear, the groans that welled up from inside her. She blinked and the movement hurt. She was confused. Where was she? What had just happened?
Gingerly, she tried to take stock of her surroundings. She was lying on a patch of lawn in front of the City Hall building in Shawnigan, Maine. Anna’s brain told her to rise, to get up, to run, but the rest of her body would not respond.
She tried to remember. First, she had been walking up toward City Hall, then the mayor had come, accosted her and finally gone in ahead of her. Next thing she knew there had been that thunderous sound and bursting light. And she had ended up here. Could it have been the bomb? It had to be the bomb. But no, the bomb for the mock disaster wasn’t scheduled until tomorrow. And it wasn’t going to be a real bomb, anyway. Just smoke and noise. A simulation.
Maybe something about the bomb had gone terribly wrong.
Her throat was raw and she forced herself to move her head, cast a backward glance toward the building she had almost entered. All she saw was bricks, gray stones and rubble. Where was Mayor Johnny Seeley? He’d been just ahead of her. And earlier two of her esthetics students, Hilary and Claire, had gone inside. She had come early to talk with Hilary. Were they somewhere in all that rubble? Were they okay?
Her eyes felt scratchy. Why was everything blurry? She guessed that her contact lenses must have come out in the blast. She raised her head.
People were running toward her, climbing over shattered pieces of the fountain that used to be in front of City Hall. Splashing through the water that gushed from its broken facade. Through hazy eyes she saw the lights of police cars. She shifted her gaze and saw the back of a broad-shouldered man in a red shirt leaning over and gesturing to a woman. Her hand was raised and she appeared to be holding something. Were they looking at her? She wished she could see better.
Was that…? No. It couldn’t be! Was it Peter? Had he followed her to Maine? No! She squinted and tried to clear her gritty vision. She turned away, lest he see her, come for her…
She needed to get up, scramble away from this place. Away from him. But she couldn’t move her body.
Help me! God, help me!
In the opposite direction from where Peter was, she saw a man running toward her, his hands cupped around his mouth. He was calling to her, but she couldn’t hear a thing.
She