Desperate Measures. Christy Barritt

in one of the drawers. Inside were his company’s books. She’d glanced at the pages, and what she’d seen had blown her away. Her husband had been scamming people.

      She crunched the numbers and compared the figures to other records left at the house. That was when she’d realized that her husband and his friends had been embezzling from some of the city’s wealthiest. They’d promised a twenty-five percent return on their investments for flipping houses. Instead, her husband and his friends had kept all the profit for themselves.

      She confronted Anthony, and he denied her accusations. Then he’d gotten quiet and asked her not to pursue her theories any further. He’d warned her that asking questions could lead to trouble.

      Samantha hadn’t listened. She’d thought it was just an empty threat. She’d told him he had two days to come clean himself or she was turning the books over to authorities. Anthony had begged her not to.

      Never had she imagined that in those two days, one of his friends would come up with a way to frame her. Nor had she imagined that her husband would be killed in a car crash. And she never would have imagined that Billy, Anthony’s best friend—and a cop—would frame her for Anthony’s murder. He was the mastermind behind everything, the one calling the shots.

      The police had brought Samantha in for questioning, and it became clear she was going to take the fall for Anthony’s murder and the supposed part she’d played in the investment scheme. When she’d been let go on bail she’d grabbed the telltale books and fled.

      It hadn’t been the smartest thing to do. But Samantha had done it.

      Now, here she was today. She’d hidden all the evidence she’d taken with her in a safety deposit box. The law— including Billy, under the guise of doing his job—was chasing her. If Billy found her, she’d pay the ultimate price for her betrayal.

      He wouldn’t get her. The fighting instinct in her knew she wouldn’t let that happen. She’d defend herself—and her son—with every last breath. She’d gotten this far.

      Samantha had been on the run for the past year. Every time there was a hint that Billy or one of his hired men might be close, she’d fled. It hadn’t been an easy life, but it was better to keep moving than chance being killed. Better than it would have been if she’d stayed and been convicted of a crime she hadn’t committed. Then Connor would have no one. Samantha’s dad was long gone. Her mom was in and out of rehab—in other words, unreliable.

      The other men involved just did Billy’s dirty work. Samantha had suspicions he was blackmailing them. That was the way he operated—by manipulation. The man who’d attacked her last night had been a stranger, no doubt someone who’d been hired.

      Billy was serious. He was scary. And he was determined to find Samantha.

      It was too bad the police wouldn’t help. No, the police couldn’t be trusted. Billy and his friends had planted that money in Samantha’s bank account—somehow and someway. Samantha still wasn’t sure about the details. She hadn’t stuck around long enough to find out. To go online now and snoop around was risky. She didn’t want to do anything to lead the police to her door.

      The breeze fanned her face. She closed her eyes for a moment and let herself think about what it would be like to be carefree. To be on this island on vacation. To be able to relax and enjoy herself and have fun without always having to look over her shoulder.

      When she opened her eyes, she realized they were moist. No little girl ever imagined at the beginning of her happily-ever-after story that things would go this horribly wrong. Her life had become a living nightmare.

      She stared at the moon over the bay. It was bright and luminous. It sent a trail of light over the water.

      Samantha glanced over at John’s cabin. The man seemed nice enough. And he kept to himself. That was a good thing. Keeping distance from people was almost a requirement right now. It often left her feeling empty, but at least Connor would remain safe. That was all she could ask.

      At least Connor had made a new best friend in Rusty by being here. Good. The dog would distract him and keep him occupied. John didn’t seem to mind.

      She smiled when she thought about Connor squealing with delight as Rusty chased him along the shore. That boy had always wanted a dog. But she could never get him one.

      What would happen if they had to pick up and leave? A dog would only get in the way.

      She hoped he didn’t become too attached.

      A noise in the distance caught her ear.

      She tensed. What was that? It almost sounded like a scratch.

      She needed to find something—anything—to protect herself with. She glanced around and realized she had nothing in the nearly barren cabin.

      Creeping across the floor, she grabbed a bottle of body spray she’d left on the kitchen table. It wasn’t much, but maybe she could douse the intruder’s eyes and buy some time, if that was what it came down to.

      She paused by her suitcase and listened again. There was that sound. Someone was walking across the porch, nestled close to the wall and just out of her vision.

      If she put the window down, the intruder would hear her and know she was inside. But if she left it up, gaining access to the house would be too easy.

      She hunkered against the wall.

      She glanced across the way. Through the open door across the small hallway, she could see Connor asleep in his bed. He didn’t have a clue what was going on. Good. That was the way she wanted it. For now, at least.

      Another footfall sounded. And then a shadow covered the moon that had once flooded into her cabin.

      She bit back a scream and prepared herself to fight.