Silent Run
Praise for the novels of Barbara Freethy
Silent Run
“Hooked me from the start and kept me turning the pages through all the twists and turns. Silent Run is romantic suspense at its best.” —JoAnn Ross
“Barbara Freethy writes romantic suspense that delivers on all counts—a terrific love story, and suspense that begins to build on the first page and doesn’t let up until the last. I could not turn the pages fast enough.” —Mariah Stewart
Played
“An exciting page-turner. . . . This top-notch author delivers top-notch thrills.” —Romantic Times (41⁄2 stars)
“Reading this story was almost like going on one of those spooky rides as a kid: You expect something to happen, you think you know where it will occur, and then something jumps out at you from an unexpected area.” —Mystery News
Taken
“Terrific and twisty intrigue makes this novel choice reading. . . . An amazingly gripping, fascinating mystery!” —Romantic Times (41⁄2 stars)
“Another crowd-pleasing page-turner in the first of a tricky romantic suspense series.” —Publishers Weekly
“Romance sizzles between the wary protagonists in this riveting page-turner.” —Library Journal
Don’t Say a Word
“Barbara Freethy at her best!” —Carla Neggers, author of Dark Sky
“Don’t Say a Word has made me a Barbara Freethy fan for life!” —Diane Chamberlain, author of The Bay at Midnight
“Dark, hidden secrets and stunning betrayal . . . potent and moving suspense. Freethy’s storytelling ability is top-notch.” —Romantic Times (41⁄2 stars)
All She Ever Wanted
“A haunting mystery . . . I couldn’t put it down.” —Luanne Rice
“A suitably eerie atmosphere.” —Publishers Weekly
“A gripping tale of romantic suspense. . . . BarbaraFreethy is a master storyteller. A fascinating blend of romance, mystery, and suspense. Don’t miss it!” —Romance Reviews Today
Golden Lies
“An absolute treasure, a fabulous, page-turning combination of romance and intrigue. Fans of Nora Roberts and Elizabeth Lowell will love Golden Lies.” —Kristin Hannah
“A rich and compelling tale.” —Library Journal
Summer Secrets
“Barbara Freethy writes with bright assurance, exploring the bonds of sisterhood and the excitement of blue-water sailing. Summer Secrets is a lovely novel.” —Luanne Rice
“Freethy skillfully keeps the reader on the hook, and her tantalizing and believable tale has it all—romance, adventure, and mystery.” —Booklist (starred review)
“An intriguing, multithreaded plot, this is an emotionally involving story . . . sure to please Freethy’s growing fan base. . . . Like Kristin Hannah’s novels,[it] neatly bridges the gap between romance and traditional women’s fiction.” —Library Journal
Further praise for Barbara Freethy
“In the tradition of LaVyrle Spencer, gifted author Barbara Freethy creates an irresistible tale of family secrets, riveting adventure, and heart-touching romance.” —Susan Wiggs
“A fresh and exciting voice in women’s romantic fiction.” —Susan Elizabeth Phillips
“Superlative.” —Debbie Macomber
“If there is one author who knows how to deliver vivid stories that tug on your emotions, it’s Barbara Freethy.” —Romantic Times
Other Novels by Barbara Freethy
Summer Secrets
Golden Lies
All She Ever Wanted
Don’t Say a Word
Taken
Played
ONYX Published by New American Library, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.) Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England Penguin Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.) Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.) Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi – 110 017, India Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, North Shore 0632, New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.) Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa
Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
First published by Onyx, an imprint of New American Library, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
Copyright © Barbara Freethy, 2008 All rights reserved
registered trademark—marca registrada
ISBN: 1-4295-9996-0
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
publisher’s note
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.
The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
To Terry, Logan, and Kristen for all their love and support
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Many thanks go to Andrea Cirillo and Annelise Robey at the Jane Rotrosen Literary Agency for always providing such great support and inspiration. I also appreciate the many hours of brainstorming, lunches, chocolate, and Starbucks coffee shared with Candice Hern, Carol Grace, Bella Andre, Monica McCarty, Tracy Grant, Jami Alden, Anne Hearn, Kate Moore, Lynn Hanna, Barbara McMahon, and Diana Dempsey. I couldn’t have done it without them. Also thanks to the Fog City Divas, who help keep me up to date on everything happening in the world of books, at www.fogcitydivas.com.
Prologue
Large raindrops streamed against her windshield as she sped along the dark, narrow highway north of Los Angeles She’d been traveling for over an hour along the wild and beautiful Pacific coastline. She’d passed the busy beach cities of Venice and Santa Monica, the celebrity-studded hills of Malibu and Santa Barbara. Thank God it was a big state. She could start over again, find a safe place to stay, but she had to get there first.
The pair of headlights in her rearview mirror drew closer with each passing mile. Her nerves began to tighten, and goose bumps rose along her arms and the back of her neck. She’d been running too long not to recognize danger. But where had the car come from? She’d been so sure that no one had followed her out of LA. After sixty miles of constantly checking her rearview mirror she’d begun to relax, but now the fear came rushing back.
It was too dark to see the car behind her, but there was something about the speed with which it was approaching that made her nervous. She pressed her foot down harder on the gas, clinging to the wheel as gale-force winds blowing in off the ocean rocketed through the car, making the driving even more treacherous.
A few miles later the road veered inland. She looked for a place to exit. Finally she saw a sign for an upcoming turnoff heading
into the Santa Ynez Mountains. Maybe with a few twists and turns she could lose the car on her tail, and if her imagination were simply playing tricks on her, the car behind her would just continue down the road.
The exit came up fast. She took the turn on two wheels. Five minutes later the pair of headlights was once again directly behind her. There was no mistake: He was coming after her.
She had to get away from him. Adrenaline raced through her bloodstream, giving her courage and strength. She was so tired of running for her life, but she couldn’t quit now. She’d probably made a huge mistake leaving the main highway. There was no traffic on this two-lane road. If he caught her now there would be no one to come to her rescue.
The gap between their cars lessened. He was so close she could see the silhouette of a man in her rearview mirror. He was bearing down on her.
She took the next turn too sharply, her tires sliding on the slick, wet pavement.
Sudden lights coming from the opposite direction blinded her. She hit the brakes hard. The car skidded out of control. She flew across the road, crashed through a wooden barrier, and hurtled down a steep embankment. Rocks splintered the windshield as she threw up her hands in protest and prayer.
When the impact finally came it was crushing, the pain intense. It was too much. All she wanted to do was to sink into oblivion. It was over. She was finished.
But some voice deep inside her screamed at her to stay awake, because if she wasn’t dead yet, she soon would be.
Chapter One
The blackness in her mind began to lessen. There was a light behind her eyelids that beckoned and called to her. She was afraid to answer that call, terrified to open her eyes. Maybe it was the white light people talked about, the one to follow when you were dead. But she wasn’t dead, was she?
It was just a nightmare, she told herself. She was dreaming; she’d wake up in a minute. But something was wrong. Her bed didn’t feel right. The mattress was hard beneath her back. There were odd bells going off in her head. She smelled antiseptic and chlorine bleach. A siren wailed in the distance. Someone was talking to her, a man.
Her stomach clenched with inexplicable fear as she felt a strong hand on her shoulder. Her eyes flew open, and she blinked rapidly, the scene before her confusing.
She wasn’t home in her bedroom, as she’d expected. A man in a long white coat stood next to the bed. He appeared to be in his fifties, with salt-and-pepper hair, dark eyes, and a serious expression. He held a clipboard in one hand. A stethoscope hung around his neck, and a pair of glasses rested on his long, narrow nose. Next to him stood a short, plump brunette dressed in blue scrubs, offering a compassionate, encouraging smile that seemed to match the name on her name tag, Rosie.
What was going on? Where was she?
“You’re awake,” the doctor said, a brisk note in his voice, a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes. “That’s good. We were getting concerned about you. You’ve been unconscious for hours.”
Unconscious? She gazed down the length of her body, suddenly aware of the thin blue gown, the hospital identification band on her wrist, the IV strapped to her left arm. And pain—there was pain . . . in her head, her right wrist, and her knees. Her right cheek throbbed. She raised a hand to her temple and was surprised to encounter a bandage. What on earth had happened to her?
“You were in an automobile accident last night,” the doctor told her. “You have some injuries, but you’re going to be all right. You’re at St. Mary’s Hospital just outside of Los Olivos in Santa Barbara County. I’m Dr. Carmichael. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
She shook her head, his brisk words jumbling up in her brain, making little to no sense. “Am I dreaming?” she whispered.
“You’re not dreaming, but you do have a head injury. It’s not unusual to be confused,” the doctor replied. He offered her a small, practiced smile that was edged with impatience. “Now, do you feel up to a few questions? Why don’t we start with your name?”
She opened her mouth to reply, thinking that was an easy question, until nothing came to mind. Her brain was blank. What was her name? She had to have one. Everyone did. What on earth was wrong with her? She gave a helpless shake of her head. “I’m . . . I’m not sure,” she murmured, shocked by the realization.
The doctor frowned, his gaze narrowing on her face. “You don’t remember your name? What about your address, or where you’re from?”
She bit down on her bottom lip, straining to think of the right answers. Numbers danced in her head, but no streets, no cities, no states. A wave of terror rushed through her. She had to be dreaming—lost in a nightmare. She wanted to run, to scream, to wake herself up, but she couldn’t do any of those things.
“You don’t know, do you?” the nurse interjected.
“I . . . I should know. Why don’t I know? What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I remember my name, where I’m from? What’s going on?” Her voice rose with each desperate question.
“Your brain suffered a traumatic injury,” Dr. Carmichael explained. “It may take some time for you to feel completely back to normal. It’s probably nothing to worry about. You just need to rest, let the swelling go down.”
His words were meant to be reassuring, but anxiety ran like fire through her veins. She struggled to remember something about herself. Glancing down at her hands, she saw the light pink, somewhat chipped polish on her fingernails and wondered how it could be that her own fingers didn’t look familiar to her. She wore no rings, no jewelry, not even a watch. Her skin was pale, her arms thin. But she had no idea what her face looked like.
“A mirror,” she said abruptly. “Could someone get me a mirror?”
Dr. Carmichael and Rosie exchanged a brief glance, and then he nodded to the nurse, who quickly left the room. “You need to try to stay calm,” he said as he jotted something down on his clipboard. “Getting upset won’t do you any good.”
“I don’t know my name. I don’t know what I look like.” Hysteria bubbled in her throat, and panic made her want to jump out of bed and run . . . but to where, she had no idea. She tried to breathe through the rush of adrenaline. If this were a nightmare, eventually she’d wake up. If it wasn’t . . . well, then she’d have to figure out what to do next. In the meantime she had to calm down. She had to think.
The doctor said she’d had an accident. Like the car crash in her dream? Was it possible that had been real and not a dream?
Glancing toward the clock, she saw that it was seven thirty. At least she knew how to read the time. “Is it night or morning?” Her gaze traveled to the window, but the heavy blue curtain was drawn, making it impossible for her to see outside.
“It’s morning,” the doctor replied. “You were brought in around nine o’clock last night.”
Almost ten hours ago. So much time had passed. “Do you know what happened to me?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know the details, but from what I understand, you were in a serious car accident.”
Before she could ask another question, the nurse returned to the room and handed her a small compact mirror.
She opened the compact with shaky fingers, almost afraid of what she would see. She stared at her face for a long minute. Her eyes were light blue, framed by thick black lashes. Her hair was a dull dark brown, long, tangled, and curly, dropping past her shoulders. There were dark circles under her eyes, as well as purple bruises that were accentuated by the pallor of her skin. A white bandage was taped across her temple. Multiple tiny cuts covered her cheekbones. Her face was thin, drawn. She looked like a ghost. Even her eyes were haunted by shadows.
“Oh, God,” she whispered, feeling as if she were looking at a complete stranger. Who was she?
“The cuts will heal,” the nurse said. “Don’t worry. You’ll have your pretty face back before you know it.”
It wasn’t the bruises on her face that filled her heart with terror; it was the fact that she didn’t recognize anything about herself. She felt absolute
ly no connection to the woman in the mirror. She slammed the compact shut, afraid to look any longer. Her pulse raced, and her heart beat in triple time as the reality of her situation sank in. She felt completely vulnerable, and she wanted to run and hide until she figured everything out. She would have jumped out of bed if Dr. Carmichael hadn’t put his hand on her shoulder, perhaps sensing her desperation.
“You’re going to be all right,” he said firmly, meeting her gaze. “The answers will come. Don’t push too hard. Just rest and let your body recuperate from the trauma.”
“What if the answers don’t come?” she whispered. “What if I’m like this forever?”
He frowned, unable to hide the concern in his eyes. “Let’s take it one step at a time. There’s a deputy from the sheriff’s office down the hall. He’d like to speak to you.”
A police officer wanted to talk to her? That didn’t sound good. She swallowed back another lump of fear. “Why? Why does he want to talk to me?”
“Something to do with your accident. I’ll let him know you’re awake.”
As the doctor left the room, Rosie stepped forward. “Can I get you anything—water, juice, an extra blanket? The mornings are still so cold. I can’t wait until April. I don’t know about you, but I’m tired of the rain. I’m ready for the sun to come out.”
That meant it was March, the end of a long, cold winter, spring on the nearby horizon. Images ran through her mind of windy afternoons, flowers beginning to bloom, someone flying a kite, a beautiful red-and-gold kite that tangled in the branches of a tall tree. The laughter of a young girl filled her head—was it her laughter or someone else’s? She saw two other girls and a boy running across the grass. She wanted to catch up to them, but they were too far away, and then they were gone, leaving her with nothing but a disturbing sense of loss and a thick curtain of blackness in her head.