Presumed Guilty. Dana R. Lynn
be, all the evidence implicated you. I collected it myself.”
“I know,” Melanie responded bitterly. “But it was all circumstantial. What absolute proof was there?”
The lieutenant made a disgusted sound. “If you were so innocent, why the suicide attempt?”
Distress filled Melanie. An inarticulate sound of pain escaped from her throat, almost like that of a wounded animal. “I didn’t... I wouldn’t...” she choked out, and turned to face the window. This time, the tears would not be held back. They trickled in a slow stream down her cheek.
She heard him sigh again but was determined to ignore him. Awful man. How dare he treat her this way? Even if she had been guilty, she had served her sentence and paid her debt to society. She knew in her heart, though, that she was not guilty. Proving it, however, had been beyond her power. Maybe if she could have remembered the night in question...she shook her head. She needed to move on.
“Melanie.”
She refused to acknowledge him.
“Melanie, I’m sorry.” The words sounded somewhat strangled.
She turned around from the window and glared at him. “Don’t choke on your apology.”
Unexpectedly, he chuckled. A shiver went down her spine at the pleasant sound. Under different circumstances, she might have been attracted to him. As it was, she couldn’t help but view him as an adversary.
“I won’t say that I don’t think you’re guilty, because I do.” Melanie turned away from him. “I will apologize for my unprofessional behavior.”
She nodded in acknowledgment. What else could she say?
The remainder of the thirty-minute drive from Erie to LaMar Pond was silent. Uncomfortable. Melanie kept her gaze fixed on the passing scenery outside her window. Only a few more minutes, she told herself when she saw the sign for LaMar Pond. The car slowed as the lieutenant maneuvered past two Amish buggies. Lieutenant Tucker and Melanie both sighed in relief when her aunt’s house came into view. It would have been humorous if the circumstances had been different.
Dear Aunt Sarah. Even with all the supposed “evidence,” she had refused to believe her only niece could have committed the vile acts of which she was accused. Everyone else abandoned Mel. Her friends, her coworkers at the restaurant, even her fiancé. But not Aunt Sarah. For that alone, Melanie would be forever grateful.
The cruiser turned onto the gravel path that led up to the small cottage Sarah Swanson had built with her husband thirty years earlier. The area remained remarkably untouched in the years that followed. The closest neighbor was half a mile away. Melanie had always loved the peacefulness. The lack of people around appealed to her. Especially now. Impatience grabbed her. She tried to open her door. Locked. Throwing Lieutenant Tucker a scowl, she gestured toward the door. He rolled his eyes as he unlocked it. Ignoring him, she pushed the door open and ran up the front steps.
She stopped. Uneasiness shivered through her. The front door was open. Aunt Sarah never left doors open.
“What’s the holdup?”
She whirled to face the grim-faced man stalking toward her.
“Lieutenant,” she started. Stopped. If she shared her suspicions, he would think she was playing games. Her aunt had probably felt tired and left the door open so her niece wouldn’t have to wait for her to maneuver through the house in her wheelchair. Mel remembered how drama wore her aunt out.
Melanie flattened her mouth into a determined line. Straightening her shoulders, she pushed the door open and entered. And screamed.
* * *
Melanie’s scream pushed Jace into action. He bolted up the stairs. He found Melanie kneeling on the floor beside her aunt’s unconscious body. Tears streamed down her face. She was shaking her aunt’s shoulder and calling her name. No response. Jace glanced around, his eyes alert. Sarah’s chair was still where it had been when she fell out of it. A shattered mug was on the floor. Sarah herself was lying in a puddle of what looked like hot chocolate. Her wispy white curls were matted with the liquid.
Instinctively, Jace fell back on his first-aid training. He glanced around the room, making sure no other dangers lurked before falling to his knees beside Melanie. He could hear the elderly woman’s labored breathing. Together, they carefully turned her onto her back. Melanie gasped at the sight, and Jace could hardly blame her. Sarah Swanson’s eyelids and lips were swollen to three times their normal size.
“Anaphylactic shock?” Jace queried.
Mel nodded in agreement. She raced to the desk against the wall and tore open her aunt’s purse, desperately riffling through its contents.
“Yes!” Triumphantly, Mel held up the object she had been searching for. An EpiPen. Jace made room for her as she rushed back. Throwing herself on her knees next to the prone woman, she jabbed the needle into her aunt’s thigh. Then she sat back on her heels. Jace watched the desperation leave her face as her aunt’s breathing became more natural. Holding Melanie’s eyes, he flipped open his phone and called for an ambulance. Releasing her gaze, he stood. He needed to call the chief and give him an update.
Smash!
Mel screamed again. The brick that had been flung through the window landed with a thud beside her. Glass shards glistened in her hair. In the midmorning sunlight, they resembled diamonds.
Jace barked a request for backup into the radio clipped to his shoulder. He raced to the window. His gun seemed to jump into his hand. He peered outside, squinting as he examined the thick line of trees surrounding the cottage. Nothing moved. A quick glance down, though, showed fresh footprints in the flower bed below the window. Large footprints. Whoever had thrown that rock was probably around six feet tall. Jace figured the person was in shape given how fast they escaped the scene. In the distance, an engine roared to life. Jace let out a frustrated sigh as he realized pursuit would be pointless.
A gasp behind him caused him to whirl. Melanie was staring at a crinkled piece of paper. She was trying to keep it steady, but her hands shook violently. Her face was ashen. She looked as though she might faint. Alarmed, Jace went to her and snatched the paper out of her grasp. She didn’t even flinch.
MURDERER! YOU ARE NOT WELCOME HERE. LEAVE WHILE YOU CAN.
The large block letters had been cut out of magazines and newspapers. Whoever had thrown that rock made sure their handwriting couldn’t be traced. That amount of effort pointed to premeditation. The person had probably been outside the window waiting for Melanie’s return.
Jace scowled. What kind of lowlife threatened women? Sarah Swanson was about as harmless as you could get. And as for Melanie... He narrowed his eyes as he gazed at the young woman. Her face was pale, and her lips seemed bloodless. The dark curls framing her face emphasized the pallor. The haunted look in her velvet brown eyes tore at him. Even knowing her past as he did, Jace disliked seeing her slender frame tremble with fear.
He hated himself for feeling drawn to her. He thought he had banished the attraction four years ago. A flare of resentment surged as he looked at the young woman kneeling on the floor. Hadn’t he learned his lesson? He had let affection cloud his judgment once before, with disastrous results. Never again.
Melanie raised her head. Her eyes met his. His hair stood on end as electricity zapped between them. Then, as if a light had been switched off, Melanie’s eyes became guarded. He could see her exercising every bit of control she had to master her fear and appear calm. She was brave. He’d give her that. He would have expected tears or outright panic. He wasn’t about to complain, though. Having a hysterical woman on his hands would only make a bad situation worse.
To distract himself, he turned his attention to Sarah Swanson. She was still unconscious, but the swelling around her mouth and eyes was noticeably diminished. He could see that her chest was moving now as she breathed, a sure sign that she was improved.
Jace