Stranger in the Shadows. Shirlee McCoy

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      Stranger in the Shadows

      Shirlee McCoy

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      MILLS & BOON

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      To Brenda Minton who makes me laugh when I

       want to cry. Thanks for the brainstorming sessions

       and the pep talks, but mostly thanks for being you.

      And to Bob and Jan Porter and

       Dick and Carolyn Livesey who are

       true encouragers.

       Thanks for always cheering me on!

      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

      CHAPTER FIFTEEN

      CHAPTER SIXTEEN

      CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

      CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

      CHAPTER NINETEEN

      CHAPTER TWENTY

      CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

      CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

      CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

      CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

      CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

      CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

      EPILOGUE

      ONE

      It came in the night, whispering into her dreams. Silent stars, hazy moonlight, a winding road. Sudden, blinding light.

      Impact.

      Rolling, tumbling, terror. And then silence.

      Smoke danced at the edges of memory as flames writhed serpentlike through cracked glass and crumbled metal, hissing and whirling in the timeless dance of death.

      Adam! She reached for his hand, wanting to pull him from the car and from the dream—whole and alive. Safe. But her questing hand met empty space and hot flame, her body flinching with the pain and the horror of it.

      Sirens blared in the distance, their throbbing pulse a heartbeat ebbing and flowing with the growing flames. She turned toward the door, trying to push aside hot, bent metal, and saw a shadow beyond the shattered glass; a dark figure leaning toward the window, staring in. Dark eyes that seemed to glow in the growing flames.

      Help me! She tried to scream the words, but they caught in her throat. And the shadow remained still and silent, watching as the car burned and she burned with it.

      The shrill ring of an alarm clock sounded over the roar of flames, spearing into Chloe Davidson’s consciousness and pulling her from the nightmare. For a moment there was nothing but the dream. No past. No present. No truth except hot flames and searing pain. But the flames weren’t real, the pain a fading memory. Reality was…what?

      Chloe scrambled to anchor herself in the present before she fell back into the foggy world of unknowns she’d lived in during the weeks following the accident.

      “Saturday. Lakeview, Virginia. The Morran wedding. Flowers. Decorations.” She listed each item as it came to mind, grabbing towels from the tiny closet beside the bathroom door, pulling clothes from her dresser. Black pants. Pink shirt. Blooming Baskets’ uniform. Her new job. Her new life. A normality she still didn’t quite believe in.

      The phone rang before she could get in the shower, the muted sound drawing her from the well-lit bedroom and into the dark living room beyond.

      “Hello?” She pressed the receiver to her ear as she flicked on lamps and the overhead light, her heart still racing, her throbbing leg an insistent reminder of the nightmare she’d survived.

      “Chloe. Opal, here.”

      At the sound of her friend and boss’s voice, Chloe relaxed, leaning her hip against the sofa and forcing the dream and the memories to the back of her mind. “You’ve only been gone a day and you’re already checking in?”

      “Checking in? I wasn’t planning to do that until tonight. This is business. We’ve got a problem. Jenna’s gone into labor.”

      Opal’s only other full-time employee, Jenna Monroe, was eight months pregnant and glowing with it. At least she had been when Chloe had seen her the previous day. “She’s not due for another four weeks.”

      “Maybe not, but the baby has decided to make an appearance. You’re going to have to handle the setup for the Morran wedding on your own until I can get there.”

      “I’ll call Mary Alice—”

      “Mary Alice is going to have to stay at the store. We can’t afford to close for the day and between the two of you, she’s the better floral designer.”

      “It doesn’t take much to be better than me.” Chloe’s dry comment fell on deaf ears, Opal’s voice continuing on, giving directions and listing jobs that needed to be done before the wedding guests arrived at the church.

      “So, that’s it. Any questions?”

      “No.

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