prodded the dormant rage and frustration she’d had to tame years ago in order to function, to preserve her sanity.
But seeing a flesh-and-blood target for her anger after so many years fueled the simmering tempest in her blood. This could be the man responsible for stealing years of her life, for the humiliation of the exam when the E.R. collected the rape kit evidence, and the invasion of her home as the forensic team picked through her possessions. The isolation as her impatient fiancé and friends drifted away. The frustration of dealing with well-meaning coworkers and neighbors who labeled her a victim and treated her with kid gloves, when all she wanted to do was forget what had happened. Megan swallowed the rising bile in her throat as the images on her TV reopened the Pandora’s box of emotions and memories.
“The results of DNA tests on samples taken from Smith won’t be known until late next week, officials said,” the reporter’s voice-over continued. “Based on discrepancies in the evidence collected during the five-year-old Gentlemen Rapist investigation, authorities believe a copycat rapist could have been responsible for several of the attacks. Police wouldn’t say if Smith is believed to be responsible for the initial series of attacks or if he’s thought to be the copycat assailant.”
Megan walked slowly toward her living room, squeezing her phone in one hand and jabbing up the volume with the remote in her other hand.
“The serial rapist was dubbed the Gentleman Rapist by police,” the monotone voice of the reporter continued, “because the assailant tricked his victims using gallant politeness and offers of assistance. His victims admitted him into their homes or cars when he pretended to be a Good Samaritan helping with their flat tire or an off-duty policeman conducting security checks of area homes in light of the rising crime rate.”
Megan’s heart kicked and self-disgust knotted in her chest. She fell into the latter category. She’d let a strange man into her house because she’d blindly trusted his police uniform and friendly assurances.
“You know what this means, right?” Ginny asked calmly, pulling Megan from her self-flagellating thoughts.
“What it means?”
“They’re gonna call you to come down and identify him. View a lineup.”
Megan’s legs gave out, and she collapsed on her couch with a gasp. “I—I can’t.”
“Megan, he can’t hurt you anymore. If this is the right guy, he’s in police custody, and he won’t be going anywhere near you again. No judge in his right mind would grant him bail. It’s just a lineup. I’ll go with you if you want.”
Megan nodded, her mouth dry, then realized Ginny couldn’t see her answer. “Yes…please.”
The news report cut to the mug shot of the man named Smith who’d been arrested. Megan studied the picture, and her heart sank. Acid pooled in her gut.
She squeezed a throw pillow to her chest and blinked back tears. Despite the optimism of the reporters that the police finally had a break in the unsolved case, the nightmare wasn’t over for her. No matter what else the man on the television had done to get himself arrested, he wasn’t her attacker.
The man who’d sent her life into a tailspin five years ago was still out there.
Chapter 2
After drying off and dressing in a T-shirt and jeans, Jack walked into the living room where his daughter sprawled on the floor watching her favorite cartoon video. He took a moment to collect himself, deciding how to address Caitlyn’s disobedience. Again. Nothing he said to Caitlyn seemed to get through to her.
“Caitlyn, we need to talk.”
Thank goodness his neighbor—Megan, she’d said her name was—had returned his wayward daughter in one piece.
He grinned as he remembered the stunned expression that had washed over Megan’s face when she’d seen him wearing only a towel. He’d caught the spark of interest that flickered in Megan’s eyes, too. Discerning, jade eyes. Yeah, he’d done a little looking of his own. His new neighbor was a beautiful woman. The fact that she cared enough about Caitlyn’s interests to bring her home scored points for her, as well.
He just hoped his inability to control his rambunctious daughter’s wanderings hadn’t colored her against him. Jack was definitely interested in getting to know Megan better. Much better.
But when? That was the problem.
Sighing, Jack dismissed thoughts of dinner and dancing with Megan. As it was, he barely kept his head above water. What little free time he had belonged to Caitlyn—time to read her books and listen to her talk about preschool. Maybe if he could carve out more quality time with her, Caitlyn wouldn’t feel compelled to crawl out windows or finger paint the kitchen with peanut butter and jelly when his back was turned.
But his job at the newspaper didn’t allow him more time with his daughter. If only he could figure out how other single parents balanced work and kids. If only Lauren hadn’t walked out on them…
Jack pinched the bridge of his nose and shoved the “if onlys” out of his mind. The fact remained that Lauren had walked out on their five-year marriage, and no amount of regret or wishing would change that. He had to figure out how to be a single dad before his failings as a parent resulted in bigger problems than Caitlyn crawling out a window while he was in the shower.
Dragging a hand down his face, he strode over to the TV and jabbed the power button. Cinderella’s mice friends faded to black.
When Caitlyn faced him, her lower lip poked out in a pout. “But Cinderella’s my favorite.”
“I know that, munchkin, but you’ve already watched it twice today.” Jack sat on the edge of his worn-out plaid sofa and struggled for the right words to discipline his daughter.
“Caitlyn, haven’t I told you that when I’m working or in the shower or on the phone, you have to stay inside? I can’t be two places at once, and you can’t go in the yard without someone to watch you.”
“But there weren’t any cars in the street!” Caitlyn whined, her protest giving Jack new insight to her disobedience.
He knitted his brow in a frown. “You’re also supposed to stay away from the street.”
“I had to pat the doggie!” Caitlyn spread her hands and gave him a look that said she felt her excuse exempted her from punishment.
Sitting straighter, Jack patted his leg and wiggled his fingers to motion Caitlyn closer. She gave him her I-know-I’m-in-trouble-but-aren’t-I-cute look to counter his fatherly scowl.
“Honey, you can’t go in the street. Ever. Not without an adult holding your hand. And I’ve told you before not to pat strange dogs. Not all dogs are nice.”
“Sam was nice, and so was Megan.” Caitlyn scratched a mosquito bite on her arm and shrugged.
Jack quirked an eyebrow. He didn’t bother to argue the fact that Sam didn’t seem so nice to him.
“I think Megan looks like Cinderella.” Caitlyn grinned and pranced over to him, twirling like a ballerina. “Did you think she was pretty, Daddy?”
What he thought about Megan was too racy
