Killer Secrets by Marilyn Pappano

Author:Marilyn Pappano [Pappano, Marilyn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2017-12-08T18:04:43+00:00

Chapter 7

The woman’s eyes went dark with concern and worry and something else: doubt. She looked around again before refocusing on me. “Honey, are you okay?” she asked cautiously. “Did you have a fight with your dad? Does he know where you are?”

I’m not angry, I’m not trying to get back at him, I’m not lying, I’m trying to save your life! I screamed the words but knew they had voice only in my head. I glanced toward him but didn’t see him. That didn’t mean he was gone. He always moved someplace where we couldn’t see him, not until we walked through whichever door he had chosen and it was too late. This time I could feel him watching me. My skin tingled and burned as if he could use sheer hatred to make me burst into flames. My stomach was so twisted, so filled with helplessness and rage, that I felt as if I was on fire.

“Please,” I whispered. “Please believe me. I don’t want him to hurt you. I don’t want him to kill you. Just run away. Find a security guard or a police officer or someone so you can get out of here. Just go now!”

Slowly she hung the dress back on the rack and turned to face me. I was almost as tall as she was, and I saw the instant it occurred to her that I was big enough to hurt her if I tried. She pretended to be casual about it as she took a step back, but I could see she thought I was crazy, probably dangerous to myself if not to others. Part of her wanted to take my advice and run. Part of her—the part that loved her niece so dearly, the part that made her my father’s favorite victim—couldn’t just walk away and leave an unstable girl by herself in the middle of the store.

“Come on, honey,” she said. She swallowed hard, like she wished she’d never seen me, and took my hand. “Let’s go find your father. Whatever’s wrong, it’ll be all right. I’m sure he’s worried sick about you. Come on.”

Tears filling my eyes, I wrapped my fingers so tightly around hers, thinking maybe I could stop her, maybe she wasn’t up to dragging my seventy-five pounds across the floor. Her hand was so warm and soft. I dreamed of hands like that. Hands that didn’t cause pain. That preferred stroking over slapping. That didn’t leave marks and nightmares with every touch.

Then I looked up and saw him, and the ice of his hatred washed over me, numbing me. Defeating me. The little bit of courage I’d found was gone. He’d always said no one would believe me if I told stories about him, and he’d been right. But I’d been stupid enough to try.

And now I was in more trouble than I’d ever imagined.

—Excerpt, The Unlucky Ones by Jane Gama

Cedar Creek was aptly named, flowing from the woods with cedar trees greedily grabbing every

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