True Lies Read Free

bought his story along with the amiable harmlessness of his persona.
    But there was nothing harmless about this situation. He was shaken by his temporary lapse from the cool professionalism that had been second nature to him in the past. How could he forget, even for a second, who he was. And who she was. So what if she was beautiful, if she stirred something inside him that he had thought long dead? In the end it didn’t make any difference. After all, he was here to do a job.
    And part of his duties could include sending Emma Cassidy to prison.
    * * *
    Emma could feel his gaze on her, boring through the thin cotton of the shirt that was beginning to stick to her back. She clasped her hands in front of her, hoping he wouldn’t see the tremors that shook them.
    God, what a complete fool she had made of herself. He was nothing but some innocent accountant on vacation, and he had been scared practically witless by the sight of her hunting bow. She shouldn’t have done it, but the moment she had seen that camera pointing in her direction, all the old memories had resurfaced and in her anger she hadn’t been thinking straight.
    Of course, he was nothing but a tourist. What else could he be up here? This was Maine, not New York. There was no longer any need to check through her curtains to see whether she could elude the reporters that had staked out the house. There were no flashbulbs to blind her as she moved freely about her property. No one knew her here. To her neighbors she was simply that lady with the plane. Besides, she was old news. It had been over three years since she’d changed her name and escaped from the fishbowl her life had become.
    She glanced over her shoulder. Bruce Prendergast smiled with that endearing nose crinkle and juggled his camera in front of him while he fumbled with the lens cap. A twinge of remorse traveled through her. He hadn’t done anything to deserve such a hostile welcome. He couldn’t possibly know how she felt about reporters. She loathed them for what they had done to her and her family. She hated them almost as much as she hated cops.
    Relax, she ordered herself as she pushed open the front door of the cabin and waited for Bruce to catch up. He stumbled on the slab of rock that served as a step, then tugged on the brim of his baseball cap and grinned sheepishly.
    Poor soul, she thought as she led the way inside. He was no reporter. He was exactly what he appeared to be. Besides, so far Hugh hadn’t sent her anyone who had caused her problems—the crusty old mechanic was a shrewd judge of character. How could she have felt threatened, even for a moment, by this awkward, soft, overweight tourist?
    “Hey, nice place you have here,” he said, pausing in the doorway to glance around the main room.
    She took off her hat and hung it on the hook beside the door while she imagined how her home would appear to a stranger. It wouldn’t tell him much about her. There were no photographs on display, no souvenirs of the trips she had once taken, no trace of the elegant furnishings that had graced the Long Island estate. Everything in this central, all-purpose room of her cabin was modest and functional, from the overstuffed blue corduroy sofa and armchair to the scratched, footstool-height coffee table. There was nothing here to steal, or to conceal, except what was locked inside the sturdy rolltop desk.
    “You must be quite an avid reader.” His shoes scuffed across the wood floor as he ambled toward the bookshelves that lined the far wall. With his hands in his pockets, his baggy jacket dragged on his rounded shoulders, emphasizing his stooped posture. “Wow. You've got everything from Stephen King to Jane Austen. I love to read whenever I can find the time.”
    “Oh? What interests you?”
    “Anything, even the backs of cereal boxes.” He turned in a slow circle, taking in the rest of the room. “But I have to admit that I'm partial to a good whodunit.”
    “Why don’t you sit