Her Secret Past

by Amanda Stevens

  She came upon the vehicle so quickly, she had to throw on her brakes. The truck crept along the two-lane highway, going no more than ten miles per hour.

  The driver didn’t speed up as she pulled up behind him. If anything, he slowed even more, and Amy had to apply the brakes again, coming almost to a stop. Somewhere ahead was the hairpin curve that would wind the road back toward the river, but she knew she had plenty of time to get around the slow-moving vehicle before the warning stripes appeared on the blacktop.

  Signaling, she pulled into the other lane and accelerated. The truck immediately sped up.

  Feeling slightly panicky, Amy shoved the gas pedal all the way to the floor, and the car gathered speed. When she was almost around and breathing a sigh of relief, the other driver stomped on the gas and the truck leaped forward, flying by Amy, but then slowing until they were once again dead even on the road. She couldn’t get around him, and she couldn’t move in behind him.

  Amy cursed under her breath. The double yellow lines ahead glowed in the headlights. They were nearing the dangerous curve, and she knew she had to make a move quickly. Easing off the gas pedal, she intended to slip into the lane behind the truck, but the driver decelerated, blocking her path.

  Cursing out loud this time, Amy slammed on her brakes. The truck driver did the same, and for a moment, they sat side by side on the road, Amy fuming while the other driver gunned his engine.

  Amy tried to get a look at him, but the windows were tinted too darkly and he’d extinguished his headlights. She couldn’t see inside the truck, couldn’t even tell for sure what color the vehicle was, but it seemed to have a lot of chrome. She could see the metal shining in the early moonlight.

  “What the hell are you doing?” she yelled, knowing the driver couldn’t hear her. But she pictured some yahoo inside, laughing his fool head off at her.

  Or was he laughing?

  A cold chill swept over her as she realized again how isolated she was out here. She glanced in her rearview mirror, but the tractor was still not in sight, and no other vehicle could be seen on the road. What if whoever was in that truck decided to get out? What if he had a gun or a knife? Way off out here, he could do whatever he wanted to her and then haul her body down to the river and throw it in. No telling how long it would be before anyone found her.

  Making sure all the doors were locked, Amy glanced around, weighing her options. Then, her heart hammering, she let off the brake pedal and slammed her foot against the gas. Her rental vehicle was no race car and no match for the powerful engine throbbing beneath the hood of the truck, but Amy didn’t let that stop her. She floored the accelerator, pressing the pedal as hard as she could as she raced toward the curve.

  The truck was instantly beside her, lights still off and matching her speed as they headed into the turn. They were going way too fast. Amy wasn’t sure she could maintain control. What if she met an oncoming car rounding the curve? She was in the wrong lane. They’d crash head-on.

  Holding her breath, Amy leaned into the turn. She whipped the steering wheel as hard as she could to the right, but her rear tire slid off the pavement and sputtered uselessly on the gravel shoulder. She fought the wheel even harder, and for a moment, she thought she’d gotten control again. She thought she was going to make it. But then, terrifyingly, she saw the truck, like a giant, menacing shadow, slipping into her lane, crowding her toward the treacherous shoulder.

  Amy lifted her foot from the gas and pressed her brakes, but the momentum of the car propelled her around the curve, still at a dangerous speed. The truck, towering on its huge tires, moved in for the kill. He bumped her fender, just nudged it really, but it was enough to send Amy’s car careening out of control.

  The wheel spun uselessly in her hand, almost snapping her wrist, but Amy fought it for all she was worth. She slammed on the brakes with both feet. Tires screamed as the car fishtailed, rotating a full circle before coming to an abrupt halt in the middle of the road, just on the other side of the curve.

  She sat for a moment, ears buzzing, head swimming as she numbly tried to decide what to do next. Her windows were up and her doors were locked, but she doubted the precautions would keep her safe from a maniac.

  Sick to her stomach with nerves and fear, Amy watched the truck’s taillights flash as it stopped on the highway several yards ahead of her. Even with the windows up, she could hear the powerful engine gunning, as if the driver were daring her to continue their game.

  Then the headlights came on, and the truck shot forward. Within seconds, it rounded another bend and was lost from sight, but Amy couldn’t be sure the driver wouldn’t stop and wait for her again somewhere up the road.

  She glanced in her mirror. The road behind her was dark and empty, but she knew she couldn’t remain where she was. Someone could come barreling around the curve at any moment, and Amy’s car wouldn’t be visible until it was too late.

  Her hands shaking on the steering wheel, she headed for home. But now there was yet another mystery to be solved. Who had been driving that truck?

  And why had he—or she—tried to kill her?

  CHAPTER NINE

  STILL TREMBLING, Amy pulled into the driveway at Amberly and shut off the ignition, sitting for a moment as she tried to gather her poise. Maybe she’d overreacted, she finally decided. The driver’s actions had been reckless and almost criminally stupid, but it wasn’t likely he’d really tried to kill her. It had probably been some crazy kid out for a little sport, and she’d let herself be lured into a dangerous game.

  Telling herself she’d allowed her imagination to run away with her, Amy got out of the car and let herself into the house. It was quiet inside. The foyer lights were on, but the parlor beyond was dark, as was the dining room.

  “Anyone home?”

  Getting no response, Amy walked out into the kitchen. A delicious aroma wafted on the air. Pots and pans littered the stove and sink, but there was no one in sight. It wasn’t like Lottie to leave such a messy kitchen. In the little more than three days that Amy had been there, she’d observed how particular her stepmother was about cleaning, how fastidiously she kept the house. Amberly was her pride and joy.

  So where was she? What had made her leave in such a hurry?

  Amy started to withdraw from the kitchen, but a slight sound on the back porch drew her attention. A nervous thrill ran up her backbone. Had the truck driver followed her home?

  She glanced around the cluttered kitchen, looking for a weapon. Grabbing a knife, she clutched it in her hand as a shadow moved outside, and then the doorknob slowly turned.

  Almost paralyzed with fear, Amy watched the door open, and then recognizing Lottie, she let out a loud breath of relief. “Thank God it’s you.”

  Lottie started at the sound of Amy’s voice, and her head jerked up. As she glanced at the knife in Amy’s hand, her gaze widened. “Oh, my heavens—”

  Amy dropped the knife, and it clattered into the sink. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

  “I just…didn’t expect to see you here.” Lottie took a moment to catch her breath. Wisps of hair escaped the bun at the back of her head to coil at her nape and around her face. Her cheeks were bright red, as if she’d undergone extreme physical exertion. Or as if she were excited.

  Again Amy wondered where she’d been.

  “I had to go out for a little while,” she explained breathlessly. “I hate to leave the kitchen in a mess like this, but it couldn’t be helped. One of the neighbors called and needed—” She broke off with a nervous laugh, pushing the hair back from her face. “Oh, well, you don’t care about all that. Dinner’s running late, I’m afraid, which is just as well. It looks like you’re just getting home, and I don’t know where everyone else is.”

  She bustled about the kitchen, turning on burners and stacking pans into a sink of soapy water.

  “May I help?” Amy asked.

  “I’ve got everything under control now, but you might go upstairs and
see if Jasmine’s home. I hope she hasn’t gone off with—” Lottie broke off again, glancing at Amy almost apologetically. “She’s at that age, you know. Feeling rebellious. You were the same way.”

  Was that a touch of resentment Amy heard in her voice? “I’m sorry if I made things difficult for you.”

  Lottie looked surprised. “I didn’t mean that. A lot of teenage girls go through that stage. Sometimes I think Fay has never quite grown out of it.”

  Her tone was edged with worry now, and Amy said carefully, “What about Mena?”

  Lottie smiled, her face instantly transforming. “Mena’s different. She’s always been such a quiet, shy girl. Never given me any problems.”

  Amy would have expected that. Of all the family, Mena seemed to be the only one who didn’t have an ax to grind with her. She’d been genuinely warm and friendly, and Amy had enjoyed their evening walks by the river. She’d even come to hope the two of them might be friends. God knows I could use one here. “I’ll go and check on Jasmine.”

  “Bring her along if you find her,” Lottie said, bending to remove a foil-covered pan from the oven. “Dinner is almost ready.”

  * * *

  IT WAS ANOTHER HOUR before everyone finally straggled in. Mena got home first, apologizing to her mother for being late and explaining about a problem she’d had at the paper. Fay came in next, offering no explanations or regrets, but glowering at Amy before breezing upstairs to freshen up.

  Jasmine was the last to appear, dressed in hip-hugger jeans and a short, cropped T-shirt that revealed her young curves in a very provocative manner. As she sat down at the table, her expression was secretive and smug, like a cat who had swallowed the proverbial canary. Amy wondered what her sister had been up to.

  They ate on the back porch again—one of Lottie’s wonderful meals of spiced ham, black-eyed peas and homemade biscuits slathered with butter. Conversation drifted in and out, and finally, after Lottie had served her Coca-Cola cake, Amy said, “Do you know of anyone who owns a dark-colored truck?”

  “Only about half the people in this county,” Jasmine replied, licking icing from her fingers.

  “What about a four-wheel drive with huge tires and a lot of chrome?”

  Jasmine shrugged. “Why do you ask?”

  “Someone almost forced me off the road earlier. I just wondered if you knew who it might be.”

  Lottie clucked her tongue in concern. “I swear, the kids around here get more reckless every year. They’re all driving by the time they’re ten because they have to help out with the crops. But when they get out on the streets, they’re a real menace. Did you happen to get a license-plate number?”

  “No,” Amy admitted. “I should have, but there wasn’t time. I was too busy trying to stay on the road, and besides, it was dark.”

  Fay said, almost slyly, “Conner Sullivan has a four-wheel-drive truck, doesn’t he? I thought I saw him in town earlier.”

  Mena turned to her sister in surprise. “You were in town today?”

  “You’re not the only one who has business to take care of.” Fay took a bite of her cake. “I had a job interview at the hospital, if you must know. Then I went to see Jimmy. He’s taking me to the barbecue tomorrow tonight.” Her gaze met Amy’s almost defiantly.

  “How did the interview go—?” Lottie began, but Jasmine interrupted her.

  “Are you implying Con tried to run Amber off the road?” she demanded.

  Fay shrugged. “She said he seemed hostile to her the other day.”

  “Con wouldn’t do such a thing,” Jasmine insisted, her cheeks coloring in anger.

  Fay just laughed. “Oh, and you know him that well, do you? What is it with the women in this family? Why do you all seem to find that man so irresistible? I don’t even think he’s attractive.”

  “Like James Birdsong is God’s gift to women,” Jasmine mocked.

  Fay’s face hardened into unattractive lines. “Well, at least he’s my age,” she retorted. “And he’s not in love with my sister.”

  “No,” Jasmine agreed with a smirk. “He’s always been in love with mine.”

  * * *

  AFTER THAT LITTLE BOMBSHELL, dinner ended abruptly. Fay threw down her napkin and flounced from the room, and Mena announced she had to get back to the paper. Jasmine left the house without a word to anyone.

  After Amy helped Lottie clean up, she pleaded a headache and went upstairs early. She was exhausted, emotionally drained, and settling in underneath the folds of the mosquito net, she fell asleep almost at once. But dreams plagued her rest—dark visions of a hand reaching out of the darkness and a body falling into the river.

  A woman—her mother she thought—floundered in the water, screaming for help as Amy stood on the bridge, unable to move, unable to save her.

  Then suddenly, Amy was the one in the water, and it was Con who stood on the bridge. He laughed down at her, mocking her, telling her she was getting exactly what she deserved.

  A parade of dark-colored trucks roared onto the bridge, and Jasmine got out of the first one. She went to Con’s side, and they wrapped their arms around each other as they stood laughing down at Amy. Fay stepped out of the next truck, joining the laughter, and then Lottie and Mena. All of them stared down at her, watching her drown and laughing because none of them had wanted her to come back.

  Amy woke up in a cold sweat, her heart pounding in terror. She bolted upright in bed, gazing around the strange room while she tried to tell herself it was only a nightmare. It meant nothing.

  But the dream had seemed so real. And it had left her feeling so disoriented. So alone.

  Parting the mosquito net, Amy struggled to her feet. Moving across the room, she stood at the window, staring out at the darkness. Magnolia trees cast eerie shadows in the moonlit backyard, their pearly blossoms hanging motionless in the still night air.

  Amy started to turn away, but a movement on the river path caught her eye. She held her breath as she watched a figure move stealthily through the back gate.

  Her first instinct was to scream for help, then call the police, but as she hesitated for just a split second, she realized there was something familiar about the person outside. The way he walked with a sort of concentrated effort made her think of Con.

  Then, gasping, she realized the man outside was Con. Why on earth was he here?

  Before Amy had time to analyze her actions, she stepped out of her room into the hallway, lit with moonlight. She could see her way without turning on a light. Which was good, she decided. No sense waking the whole household.

  Letting herself out the back door, she hurried down the porch steps, and only when her bare feet touched the dew-sodden grass did she stop to examine her reaction. What was she doing, slipping out of the house at midnight, dressed in her nightgown, running off to meet a man she’d been secretly married to for nine years, but who also happened to be a stranger?

  Might even be a killer, according to Jasmine.

  Not very smart, Amy, she scolded herself as she slowed her pace to a walk. Moonlight rippled on dark green leaves, making the giant trees come alive in the darkness. She shivered, glancing around the shadowy yard, but Con was nowhere in sight.

  Then, as suddenly and quietly as he’d appeared on the bridge that first night, he was beside her, and Amy’s heart flip-flopped inside her.

  “Do you always have to do that?”

  “What?”

  “Sneak up on me like that. I’m not the enemy, you know.”

  He stared down at her, his expression dark and wary. Amy could see the barest hint of a beard shading his face, making him look almost sinister in the sterling light. “Sorry,” he muttered. “Old habits die hard, I guess.”

  The habit of sneaking up on people or the habit of thinking of her as the enemy? Amy searched his face, wondering how, even without memories, she could still feel so drawn to him. A part of her was very deeply attracted to him, even while another part of her feared him. Feared what he cou
ld do to her.

  In a flash of insight, she realized why she’d allowed herself to become engaged to Reece, knowing all the while something was missing from their relationship. He’d been safe. He’d never generated these dark and dangerous emotions in her. The fear. The attraction. The…need.

  Overcome with the revelation, she turned away from Con and stared at the woods beyond. “What are you doing out here?”

  “I saw Jasmine in town a little while ago. She told me something that worried me.”

  “You were with my sister tonight?”

  “I didn’t say that. I said I saw her.” He paused. “You still think I’m trying to come on to her, don’t you? For God’s sakes, she’s just a kid. What kind of man do you think I am?”

  The kind who would make a woman behave foolishly and act impulsively, the way she had tonight by rushing out here. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have implied there was anything wrong with your having spoken with Jasmine.”

  His eyes were unreadable, but Amy could sense his anger. “I know what people around here think of me. But I’d never do anything to hurt your sister. Or you.”

  He added the last so softly, Amy wondered if she’d really heard him. Her breath quickened, but she managed to ask casually, “What did she say that worried you so much?”

  He cast a glance toward the house, as if concerned he might be overheard. “She told me someone tried to run you off the road tonight. Is that true?”

  Amy shrugged. “It was probably just some kids horsing around. I’m surprised Jasmine even mentioned it to you.”

  “She said someone tried to kill you.”

  His words hung in the still air, like the echo of gunfire. After her initial shock, Amy forced a laugh. “Why on earth would she tell you that? I never said anything of the kind. I just asked if she knew of anyone who drove a dark-colored pickup.”

  “Which, of course, I do.”

  “A lot of people do. I never thought you were the one in that truck,” Amy told him.