Top Secret Identity. Sharon Dunn

      ONE

      A wave of terror washed over Morgan Smith when she heard the tapping at her window. She gripped the book she’d been reading a little tighter. Someone was outside the caretaker’s cottage. Had the man who had tried to kill her in Mexico found her in Iowa?

      Though she’d been in witness protection for two months, her fear of being killed had not subsided. Only a few days ago, she’d left Des Moines for the countryside and a job at a stable because she’d felt exposed in the city, vulnerable. She’d grown up on a ranch in Wyoming, and when she worked as an American missionary in Mexico, she’d always chosen to be in rural areas. Wide open spaces felt safer to her.

      With her heart pounding, she rose to her feet and walked the short distance to the window, half expecting to see a face contorted with rage or clawlike hands reaching for her neck. The memory of nearly being strangled made her shudder. She stepped closer to the window, where there was only blackness. Yet the sound of the tapping had been too distinct to dismiss as the wind rattling the glass.

      A chill snaked down her spine.

      Someone was outside.

      If the man from Mexico had come to kill her, it seemed odd that he would give her a warning by tapping on the window.

      She thought to call her new boss, who was in the guesthouse less than a hundred yards away. Alex Reardon seemed like a nice man. She’d hated being evasive when he’d asked her where she had gotten her knowledge of horses. She’d been fortunate to get the job without references. Her references, everything and everyone she knew—all of that had been stripped from her, even her name. She was no longer Magdalena Chavez. Her new name was Morgan Smith.

      The tapping came again, this time at a different window. She whirled around. Paralyzed by terror, she couldn’t bring herself to take a step. Did he intend to torment her before he moved in for the kill? With the description she gave them, the U.S. Marshals had tracked down a name for the man who had tried to kill her—Josef Flores, a mercenary for hire, a muscular man known for wearing white suits and killing his victims with his bare hands. But they hadn’t caught him yet.

      Her pulse drummed in her ears as silence pressed on her from all sides. It had taken her weeks to get out of Mexico alive. Twice, Josef had found her and tried to strangle her. She could still see his bloodshot eyes as he vowed to kill her.

      The trouble had started when she became suspicious of some of the practices at the agency where she assisted with international adoptions. Babies were being escorted into the States, instead of adoptive parents coming to Mexico to pick up their children. The behavior of some of the birth mothers was peculiar. At first, they would decide against adoption. Then they would return, days later, saying they’d changed their minds. The young mothers seemed afraid at that second visit. She’d just begun to look through old records and try to contact the mothers when Josef had come after her in her office late at night.

      The marshals had agreed to provide her with protection and a new identity because they thought her case might be connected to a larger kidnapping and illegal adoption ring.

      Now she stared at the dark window and took in a raspy breath. If what had happened to her was connected to a larger crime, it wouldn’t only be Josef who came after her. There could be others.

      The knob on the locked door turned and rattled.

      She’d been a fool to think the U.S. Marshals could keep her safe.

      Clutching her book tighter to her chest, she waited for the moment when the attacker would break down the door and come after her. Morgan steeled herself against the rising panic. She wasn’t going to give up that easily. She grabbed her phone to dial 911 but couldn’t get a signal in the cottage. She glanced around the room for possible weapons and hiding places.

      The door stopped shaking. She waited for a few minutes, tiptoed across the floor and then peeked out the window.

      A motion-sensitive light came on in the distance by the stable. She recognized the broad shoulders and denim jacket of Alex Reardon.

      What if her would-be attackers hurt Alex? She couldn’t let that happen.

      Pushing her fear aside, she wrapped her hand around the doorknob, turned it and raced outside. Her feet pounded across the hard-packed dirt toward the stable. She was out of breath by the time she caught up with Alex.

      “Alex, what are you doing out so late?”

      “I thought I saw somebody run toward the stable.” His wavy brown hair appeared soft in the moonlight. “I need to check it out.”

      “I know—they tapped on my window and shook my door handle. Maybe we should call the police.” Fear resonated through each word she uttered.

      “Call the police?” He hesitated, probably wondering why she was so panicked. “Why would we do that? My guess is it’s just some teenagers messing around. It’s happened before. Nothing we can’t handle on our own.”

      Impulsively, she grabbed his upper arm. “I’ll go with you then.” If something happened to him at her expense, she would never forgive herself.

      “All right.” Alex shone the flashlight in her direction. “Are you okay to take the inside of the stables? I’ll search around the perimeter. We’ll meet at the other end.” His voice filled with concern.

      “I suppose that would be best...” She let go of his arm. “To split up.”

      His gaze rested on her long enough for her to feel uncomfortable. He probably thought she was flighty, which was not the impression she wanted to give. If only she could explain to him why she was reacting this way. “We could stay together if you want.”

      “No, we’ll go with your plan.” Her voice held an intensity that seemed out of place.

      He shook his head, clearly confused by her heightened emotions. “Morgan, we live in a really safe part of the country. In all the time that I’ve lived here, the worst it’s ever been was just some bored teenagers looking for something to do.” The compassion she heard in his voice helped her let go of some of her fear. “If you do get scared, I won’t be far away.”

      “Okay, I’ll search the inside of the stable,” she said feeling a little more at ease.

      He gave her a reassuring pat on the shoulder and disappeared around the side of the stable.

      Morgan stepped into the stable. The door had not been locked, a responsibility that probably fell to her. She was still learning all her duties. She clicked on the lights. By design, the lighting was minimal and subdued to keep the horses calm. She’d need the flashlight to search the dark corners of the barn. She flung open the equipment box and retrieved it. Several of the horses were standing, and the stomping of their hooves and their jerking heads indicated they’d been

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