Copper Lake Secrets

Get back in the house!

And the tiny voice inside her, echoing nearly as loud as Grandfather’s roar: Run, run, run!

Heart thudding, vision blurring, she spun around and dashed away. Dimly she heard a dog bark, a man shout, but she didn’t slow. Her arms swung, her legs pumping, her strides closing the distance, but, God, not fast enough.

He caught her, arms wrapping around her, holding her close. His breathing was loud in her ears, his voice unfamiliar as he murmured, “It’s okay, Reece, it’s okay. Just an old memory. It can’t hurt you. They can’t hurt you. It’s just you and me and Mick. You’re safe.”

She inhaled sharply, intending to scream, but the scents caught in her nose: soap, shampoo, cologne, dog. She knew those scents. She trusted them.

Jones. Mick.

Pivoting, she wrapped her arms around his neck and held on as if only he could chase away the fear, the ghosts, the memories. Only he could make her feel safe.

She held on for dear life.

Dear Reader,

I’ve always liked things that go bump in the night—in theory, at least. I don’t like to be scared in real life, though having someone like Jones to hold onto could make the shivers more fun.

Jones is the kind of guy who could make everything better. He’s the sort who falls fast and hard; once he gives his trust, it’s given; and he’s kind to crotchety old women and needy puppies. He couldn’t possibly be any more perfect for Reece!

Marilyn

MARILYN PAPPANO has spent most of her life growing into the person she was meant to be, but isn’t there yet. She’s been blessed by family—her husband, their son, his lovely wife and a grandson who is almost certainly the most beautiful and talented baby in the world—and friends, along with a writing career that’s made her one of the luckiest people around. Her passions, besides those already listed, include the pack of wild dogs who make their home in her house, fighting the good fight against the weeds that make up her yard, killing the creepy-crawlies that slither out of those weeds and, of course, anything having to do with books.

Copper Lake Secrets

Marilyn Pappano

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To my husband, Robert, who is also kind to crotchety old women and needy puppies. (Even if they do have you wrapped around their pinkies.)

One, two, three, four …

Counting in her head, Reece Howard moved thirty-eight steps along the ancient brick wall, then counted out another six before reaching the gate recessed into the wall. She counted a lot, but only steps. She’d done it for as long as she could remember—which was only fifteen years with any clarity, a little more than half her life—but who knew why? Maybe she was obsessive-compulsive with that lone manifestation. Maybe she was just freaking nuts. Maybe, her boss suggested—teasingly?—she simply liked numbers.

If that was the case, then she must really like the number thirty-eight. That was as high as she went. No more, no less.

It was a warm October afternoon, and Evie Murphy was keeping her regular appointments in the courtyard of her French Quarter home. Evie was many things to Reece: friend, confidante, counselor, advisor. Officially her title was psychic, and she was very good at what she did, but even her talents had limits.

Evie was waiting at a wrought-iron table and chairs near the fountain. Playing in the grass a few feet away were Jackson, her four-year-old son, and Isabella, her two-year-old daughter. Eight-month-old Evangeline was asleep on a quilt in the nearby shade.

“Aunt Reece!” Jackson flashed her a wicked smile, the very image of his father, and Isabella wandered over, looking around with anticipation. “Puppies?”

“I had to leave the puppies at home today, sweetie. Next time I’ll bring them, okay?” Reece slid into the chair across from Evie, who was looking calm and serene and beautiful. Not in the least like the dark, mysterious “Evangelina” who told fortunes for tourists in the shop that fronted the house.

“How are you?”

A lot of people asked the question, Reece reflected, but few put the sincerity and interest in it that Evie did. She was the only one Reece answered honestly. “Terrible. I had the dream again last night. I woke up soaked in sweat with all three dogs staring at me as if I were possessed. And I didn’t remember a thing except that it had to do with my time at that place.”

She’d used the same words in a recent conversation with her mother, who’d scoffed. Your time in that place? You spent four months with your grandparents in a beautiful Southern mansion, and you make it sound as if you were incarcerated. Really, Clarice.

“Your dreams got worse when your grandfather died. Maybe he’s sending you a message.”

“Like what? I’m next?” Reece retorted. The response startled her, both in its content and vehemence.

Evie’s gaze steadied on her face. “Why would you think that?”

Good question. Why would she think that Arthur Howard wanted her dead? Besides those months she’d spent in his house, she hardly knew the man. When she tried to picture him, she couldn’t bring his face to mind but only images: large, hulking, menacing. And numbers: