Desperate Strangers

His secrets might break her heart

but hers could get them killed!

Nick Simon is using his “fiancée,” Julie Peterson, as an alibi—and her amnesia means she doesn’t even know they only met at the scene of her accident. But when someone starts calling with threats of murder, Julie is drawn even closer to the only man who can protect her. Will she remember the deadly secret she carries before a murderer can strike again?

CARLA CASSIDY is an award-winning, New York Times bestselling author who has written more than one hundred and twenty novels for Mills & Boon. In 1995, she won Best Silhouette Romance from RT Book Reviews for Anything for Danny. In 1998, she won a Career Achievement Award for Best Innovative Series from RT Book Reviews. Carla believes the only thing better than curling up with a good book to read is sitting down at the computer with a good story to write.

Also by Carla Cassidy

Desperate Strangers

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Scene of the Crime: Bachelor Moon

Scene of the Crime: Widow Creek

Scene of the Crime: Mystic Lake

Scene of the Crime: Black Creek

Scene of the Crime: Deadman’s Bluff

Scene of the Crime: Return to Bachelor Moon

Scene of the Crime: Return to Mystic Lake

Scene of the Crime: Baton Rouge

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Desperate Strangers

Carla Cassidy

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-07876-4

DESPERATE STRANGERS

© 2018 Carla Bracale

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

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

Epilogue

Extract

About the Publisher

Chapter One

He wasn’t a killer, but tonight he intended to become one. Nick Simon ran silently through the sultry July night. His heart beat faster than he imagined a meth head’s pounded after one too many hits.

Not that he knew anything about drugs. In his thirty-three years he’d never even tried one. He’d always done the right thing. He paid his taxes on time, had never gotten a traffic ticket. He tried to be a good man, a thoughtful neighbor, and yet tonight he intended to murder a man he’d never met.

The flashlight, ski mask and gun in his pocket burned as if lit with the fires of hell. His thin latex gloves wrapped around his hands like alien skin.

At this time of night he hoped his victim was sound asleep. He hoped he didn’t awaken to see Nick before he fired the gun. Nick didn’t want to see that kind of terror in anyone’s eyes. But if anyone deserved to be terrorized and killed, it was Brian McDowell.

Nick slowed his pace when he was less than a block away from Brian’s home. He tried to control the beat of his heart by taking in slow, measured breaths and releasing them equally slowly. Sweat tickled down the center of his back and wept down the sides of his face.

The night air was thick...oppressive, but it was dangerous to go in frantic. Frantic made mistakes and the last thing Nick wanted was to wind up in prison. A dog barked in the distance and he jumped closer to a stand of bushes.

At just after midnight on a Sunday this neighborhood had been quiet. There had been no traffic to hide from as he’d made his way the three blocks from where he’d parked his car.

Get in, get it done and get out. He pulled the ski mask from his pocket. He had his instructions and if he accomplished this kill, another man would murder Steven Winthrop...the person who had destroyed Nick’s life.

For just a moment a wild, unbridled grief stabbed through him. Debbie... Debbie. His dead wife’s name screamed in his head as visions of the last time he’d seen her flashed in his brain. Bloody...broken and gasping her last breaths. He mentally shook himself and just that quickly the grief transformed into a dark rage so great it nearly took him to the edge of madness.

He yanked on the ski mask and then withdrew the gun from his pocket. Justice. It was what he and five other men were looking for. Justice that had been denied. The six of them had forged an unholy alliance to make sure justice was finally served.

With the sickness and rage of loss still burning in his soul and ringing in his ears, he walked faster toward Brian’s house.

The instructions he’d received along with the gun had indicated that Brian had to die between the hours of midnight and one, and that his house wasn’t air-conditioned so entry could be easily made through an open window.

When he reached the red-brick ranch house, he skirted around the side. If he was going to change his mind about this, now was the time.

It wasn’t too late for him to run back to his car and drive home without the bloodstains of another human being on his hands. But Brian McDowell wasn’t just any other man. He was a thief and a murderer. He’d beaten an old woman to death during a home invasion.

The cops had done their jobs. Brian had been arrested and charged with the murder when items belonging to Margaret Harrison had been found in his home. He’d been charged with the crimes and a year ago he’d stood trial. He’d been found not guilty when the evidence had mysteriously disappeared from the police department.

More important than anything Brian had done was the knowledge that if Nick killed Brian tonight, then somebody else would murder the man who had raped and killed Nick’s wife.

With full conviction, Nick stepped around the side of the house and immediately saw the shattered glass of the sliding back door. A large red pottery planter lay smashed next to the door. What in the hell?

He approached closer, tension tightening his chest to the point of pain. He fumbled in his pocket for the flashlight. He clicked on the light and gasped.

Brian McDowell was just inside the door...on his back...with his throat slashed and what appeared to be a V carved into his forehead. The blood was bright red, obscene vivid splashes of death on the white T-shirt the man wore. The coppery scent of blood hung in the air, half choking Nick.

He stumbled backward, bile rising up in the back of his throat. He swallowed several times against it as he turned first to the left then to the right to make sure he was still all alone in the dark. With trembling fingers, he yanked off the ski mask.

Run. The internal command held a frantic urgency and he immediately complied. He turned, ran back around the house and headed down the sidewalk in the direction he had come. His brain reeled with questions.

How? Who was responsible? Granted, Brian McDowell was a creep who any number of people might want dead. But what were the odds that somebody would kill him on this particular night, during this particular hour?

Who had gotten to Brian just a short time before him?

He couldn’t help the edge of relief that fluttered through him. The man was dead and Nick hadn’t had to pull the trigger. He wasn’t even sure he would have been able to shoot him. Still, he needed to tell somebody, but the men had all agreed there would be no phone calls between them, nothing that could be easily traced.

He’d see them in a week’s time when they all attended a meeting of the Northland Survivors Club. The place where they had all met a little over nine months ago.

Nick was two blocks from where he’d parked when a car without headlights came careering down the street. He froze and stared in horror as it crashed head-on into a large tree.

The car stopped running. The hiss of steam coming from the broken radiator was the only sound in the night. Run, that internal voice screamed. The last place he needed to be was down the street from a murder in the middle of the night with no reason to be there.

Run, that voice urged again. But he couldn’t just walk away from the scene of the accident. Nobody had gotten out of the car yet, which meant somebody was probably hurt.

The airbag that had shot out with the crash depleted enough that one person was evident—a woman slumped over the steering wheel.

Even knowing he was putting himself in danger, there was no way Nick could just walk away. He yanked off his gloves and stuffed them into his pocket, and then hurried to the passenger door and pulled it open.

“Hello?” Her long dark hair hid her face. He knew better than to attempt to move her in any way.

Dear God, was she dead? He scooted onto the seat and picked up one of her lifeless hands. He quickly felt for a pulse. There...her pulse beat erratic and faint.

Crap, he didn’t even have his cell phone to call for help and she needed medical attention as soon as possible. Noticing her purse on the seat between them, he quickly opened it and pulled out her cell phone.

He called 9-1-1, reported the address of the accident and that medical aid was needed. It was only after he disconnected from the call that a new panic set in.

If he hung around for help to arrive, then how was he going to explain his presence there? He’d done his duty, he’d made the call. Surely he could sneak off now.

He had one leg out of the car when she moaned. The pitiful mewling tugged at his heart and pulled him back into the car. “It’s going to be all right,” he said. “I’ve called for help.”

She didn’t move, nor did she moan again. Still he remained sitting next to her, bound to her by a whimper as he faced his own ruin.

He fumbled in her purse, withdrew her wallet and looked at her identification. Julie Peterson. She was thirty-one years old and lived less than a block away. An emergency contact listed her parents’ phone number.

He stared at her driver’s license picture for a long moment. Julie was a very attractive woman. He glanced at her left hand. No wedding ring. As the swirl of red and blue lights approached, a desperate plan formulated in his mind.

Although he wished her no ill-will, if she would just stay unconscious until they got her to the hospital, then Nick could establish an alibi. It was risky, but this whole night had been something out of a nightmare.

The next few minutes flew by as both a cop car and an ambulance arrived. The first order of business was getting the unconscious Julie Peterson out of the car and onto a stretcher.

Once the ambulance pulled away, Officer Tim Brown faced Nick. “You want to tell me what happened here tonight?” A tow truck pulled up where the ambulance had been.

The gun and ski mask in Nick’s pocket once again burned with sickly guilt. “Uh... Julie and I had an argument. She got angry and jumped into the car. I got in the passenger seat and, before I knew it, we’d hit the tree.”

“I’m surprised you aren’t hurt since your airbag didn’t deploy,” Officer Brown replied. Nick’s stomach muscles clenched. Did the man suspect something wasn’t right? A vision of Brian McDowell, bloody and dead, exploded in Nick’s brain.

“Was there any alcohol involved here tonight?”

“No, none.” He hoped like hell Julie Peterson wasn’t a drunk.

“And specifically what is your relationship to Ms. Peterson?”

“Fiancé. I’m her fiancé.” The words blurted out of him without thought of consequence. He just wanted to be allowed to leave.

“Can I see some identification?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t have any on me. I ran out of the house to stop her and didn’t think to grab my wallet.”

“Your name?” The officer took down Nick’s name and address, and then patted him on the back. “The tow truck will take care of the car and I’ll get you to the hospital. I’m sure you’re worried sick about her.”

The hospital? His web of lies coalesced to form an imaginary noose around his neck. When Julie Peterson regained consciousness, all his lies could potentially result in a real noose around his neck for the murder of Brian McDowell.

The ride to North Kansas City Hospital took only fifteen minutes and, during that time, Officer Brown talked about the hot weather and how the humid, intense heat made people snap.

“Crime is always up during a heat wave like this,” he said. “Thank God the weathermen are predicting a few cooler days next week.” He shot Nick a quick glance. “You’re a bit overdressed for July.”

Once again Nick’s heartbeat raced to a sickly pace as his brain struggled to make a rational response. “I have to wear warm clothes whenever I go to Julie’s place. I swear that woman keeps her thermostat at fifty degrees during the summer.”

Officer Brown chuckled. “My wife and I fight over the thermostat in our house all the time.”

They parked at the hospital and, to Nick’s dismay, Officer Brown accompanied him inside the emergency waiting area. “Julie Peterson was just brought in by ambulance,” Officer Brown told the woman at the receptionist desk. “Please let her doctor know I’ve got her fiancé here with me.”

“I appreciate your help,” Nick said to him as he sank down into one of the chairs.

“It’s my job.” The officer sat in the chair next to Nick’s.

Nick had hoped to shake the man and get out of there. Even though the cop had his name and address, he seriously doubted there would be any follow-up on the accident. But there would definitely be follow-up when Julie Peterson told everyone she didn’t have a fiancé and she’d never seen Nick before in her life.

His stomach muscles twisted into a dozen painful knots as his mind displayed a horrifying picture of Brian McDowell. He’d scarcely had time to process that scene when the car crash had occurred.

And now he sat, next to a police officer, with a ski mask, gloves and a gun in his pocket that he’d intended to use for committing a murder. When Julie awakened and denied knowing him, would he be frisked?

The two men sat side-by-side for the next hour. Officer Brown made small talk and Nick could only hope he responded as a worried fiancé, but he couldn’t stop thinking about the gun in his pocket and the fact that he was seated next to a cop.

Finally a tall, balding doctor walked into the waiting room and headed for Nick and Officer Brown. They both stood, although Nick was sure Tim Brown’s heart wasn’t beating as frantically, as desperately, as Nick’s. His wrists turned icy, as if feeling the cold bite of handcuffs around them.

“How is she?” Nick asked after the doctor introduced himself as Dr. Mitch Carlson.

“The good news is her physical injuries are relatively minor considering the circumstances. She has some bumps and bruises and a mild concussion,” Dr. Carlson replied.

“Can I ask her a few questions?” Officer Brown asked.

Dr. Carlson frowned. “Now I’ll tell you the bad news. She doesn’t remember anything about the accident.”

Nick held his breath. Hopefully, Brown would leave with this news and he could get out of there within minutes. God, he needed to escape.

“In fact,” Dr. Carlson continued, “the last memory she has is of her birthday party ten months ago. She can’t remember anything that happened between then and now. She’s been moved to a room for observation.” He turned to look at Nick. “I told her that her fiancé was here and she’s asking to see you.”

“I’ll come with you,” Officer Brown said. “I’d just like to follow up with her.”

Dr. Carlson nodded. “I’ll take you both to her room.”

Nick followed the doctor and the police officer down a hallway with a sense of overwhelming dread. Was her strange amnesia real? Within seconds he’d find out. He’d either walk out of there with his lies intact or he’d be called out. With no good reason to be on the street where the accident had occurred, he’d eventually be tied to a murder he hadn’t committed.

* * *

JULIE PETERSON WAS AFRAID. She’d been afraid since she’d opened her eyes in the ambulance with no idea of what had happened to her or where she was.

She’d been told she’d been in a car accident. The nurse had explained to her that her car had hit a tree. But those facts weren’t what scared her the most.

Why couldn’t she remember the accident? More importantly, why was she missing ten months of memories? And since when did she have a fiancé?

Surely when she saw the man she was in love with, her memories would come tumbling back. Maybe, when her head quit pounding so fiercely, she’d remember everything.

She attempted to sit up as the doctor, a uniformed police officer and a tall stranger came into the room. “Julie, thank God you’re all right.” The very hot man clad in a pair of jeans and a black hoodie that clung to a pair of broad shoulders rushed to her side and picked up her hand.

This man, with his forest-green eyes and handsome, chiseled features was her fiancé? How had she gotten so lucky? And why, oh, why, didn’t she remember anything about him?

“It’s Nick, honey,” he said. “You don’t remember me?” Her anxiety must have shone on her face. “It’s okay. Everything is going to be just fine.” He released her hand and she immediately felt bereft.

“Ms. Peterson, I’m Officer Brown. Do you mind if I ask you a couple of questions?”

“No, I don’t mind, but I doubt I’ll be able to answer them,” she said. She wished Nick would take her hand again. Even though she couldn’t remember him, his hand around hers had brought her a small bit of comfort.

And she needed to be comforted at this moment. As the officer asked her questions about the accident, she tried as hard as she could to remember even the smallest detail about what had happened. But there was nothing.

“The last thing I remember is going to the Italian Gardens for my birthday. My parents were there, along with my brothers and my sister. But since my birthday is in two months from now, I’m missing almost a full year of memories.”

A hollow wind blew through her as she shifted her gaze from the police officer to the doctor. “Is this kind of thing normal?” she asked, although she knew it wasn’t.

“Sometimes it occurs that after a traumatic event like a car accident, the patient has no memories of that particular event,” Dr. Carlson replied. “It’s the way the brain protects you from emotional pain and trauma. I haven’t dealt with a patient who has the kind of amnesia we’re talking about here. My advice would be to go home and surround yourself with familiar things and people. Don’t stress yourself and hopefully those memories will return quickly.”

Hopefully? The pounding in her head intensified. She glanced back at Nick. How could she have no memories of dating, of falling in love with him? What else had happened in the ten months she’d forgotten?

“I hope your recovery happens quickly,” Officer Brown said. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to work.”

“If your memories don’t come back on their own within the next six to eight weeks or so, then I’ll refer you to a neurologist who might be able to help,” Dr. Carlson said when Officer Brown had left the room. “I recommend no driving for the next week to ten days, and you take it easy. In the meantime, you’re our guest for the rest of the night.”

Once again she looked at Nick. “Will you stay here with me?”

“We can get you a pillow and a blanket,” Dr. Carlson said to Nick.

“Of course I’ll stay,” Nick replied after a moment of hesitation.

“I’ll send in a nurse,” Dr. Carlson replied, and then he was gone, leaving her alone with a man, a virtual stranger, who she apparently loved but didn’t remember.

“I hope you don’t mind staying. I feel so alone right now,” she said. It was such an inadequate statement. She was overwhelmed and terrified by her brain’s malfunction. How had this happened? Why had it happened? She hadn’t sustained any serious injuries that might explain it.

He sat on the beige recliner next to her bed. “You aren’t alone.”

“Aren’t you warm in that sweatshirt?” It seemed an odd choice of clothing for a July night. She only knew it was July because the doctor had told her.

“Yes, I am.” He got up from the chair. “I’ll be right back.” He disappeared into the adjoining bathroom.

This was so awkward. He knew everything about her...about them, and she knew nothing. Her fiancé. Had a wedding date already been chosen? What did he do for a living? Did they live together? Just thinking about what she didn’t know hurt her head.

Nick stepped out of the bathroom, his sweatshirt a wad in his hands. The man had been a hunk in the hoodie. He was even more so in a white T-shirt stretched tight across his shoulders and chest.

He placed the black sweatshirt on another chair and then once again sat in the recliner. “Are you sure you can’t remember anything about me?”

“Nothing. I’m so sorry, Nick. If we’re engaged, then I’m sure I love you madly, but you’re going to have to fill in a lot of blanks for me.”

“I’ll do the best I can.”

“Thank God, you weren’t hurt in the accident. My car...?”

“It was towed to Jerry’s Ford. Tomorrow you’ll need to call your insurance company to get things squared away.”

“Was I still driving a blue Ford Focus?” What might have changed in the past year? Did she still live in the same house? Oh, God, had anyone she loved died?