The General's Secretary. Debby Giusti

      FOUR

      Dawson saw Lillie spotlighted in the headlights. Fear strained her face. She glanced quickly over her shoulder at the fleeing man and then back at Dawson. She hesitated, as if unsure whether to approach him.

      “Lillie.” He softened his voice and opened his arms to reassure her. “I’m not a threat. You’re safe with me.”

      Her eyes filled with confusion. Then, as if the fog had lifted, she stepped into his embrace.

      Her trembling body molded to him. He drew her closer, touched by her need. As strong as she tried to appear, beneath the facade was a woman who longed to trust someone. Hopefully, to trust him.

      Her head nestled into his shoulder. Tears streamed from her eyes as if an emotional dam had given way. Dawson drew her to himself, a desire to keep her safe surging within him. The warmth of her closeness and the silky softness of her hair sent confusing signals to his heart.

      He had never experienced anything like this dealing with other investigations. Usually he remained uninvolved and in control, but at the moment, his professional side was playing Russian roulette with his emotions.

      His eyes watched the light-colored SUV—maybe an Expedition or Suburban—drive off, wheels screeching in the night as the taillights were enveloped by the fog. The license plate was obscured, but he saw a reflective army decal on the rear bumper. As fast as the maniac was driving, Dawson wouldn’t be able to catch up to him, so he kept his arms around Lillie.

      “Shhhhh,” he soothed, smelling the heady scent of her perfume, a floral mix that made him think of springtime and sunshine—so the opposite of the dark night and heavy fog that surrounded them now. “You’re safe. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

      Except someone wanted to do her harm. Someone who had gunned down Granger because of what he had uncovered. The killer probably thought the ex-con had passed information on to Lillie, information the killer—or killers—didn’t want revealed.

      Anger bubbled up within Dawson. He wanted to slam his fist into the gut of anyone who tried to hurt Lillie. He had to keep her safe, not just because she worked on post and had a very important boss, but because his own father had put her in danger.

      She pulled back and turned her puffy but pretty face toward him. “I...I’m sorry. Usually I’m not this emotional.”

      “Fear has a way of changing everything, Lillie.” He wanted to reassure her. “You were scared. Once the danger passes, the natural response is to release emotion. Tears can be cathartic.”

      She tried to smile as she wiped her eyes.

      He dug his right hand in his back pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, which he held out to her.

      “Thanks.” She patted the cloth against her cheeks and sniffed again as she attempted to laugh. “I feel silly.”

      “Don’t.” He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her toward her car. “Let’s see if we can get you back on the road. Tell me exactly what happened.”

      “The SUV came around the curve too fast. I swerved to avoid a collision.”

      “The same guy who chased after you?”

      She nodded. “When he made a U-turn, I knew he was coming for me. If...if you hadn’t stopped...”

      She didn’t need to finish the sentence. Both of them realized how vulnerable she had been on the back road in the early-morning hours with the heavy veil of fog closing in around her.

      “Did you see his face?”

      She shook her head. “All I could think about was getting away.”

      Dawson hadn’t recognized the man or his vehicle and would be hard-pressed to provide a description other than a large SUV, either white or beige. He hadn’t been able to read the license plate, and the only thing he had seen was the decal.

      Keeping his arm around Lillie, he guided her to a safe spot just a short distance from her Honda. Sliding behind the wheel, Dawson started the ignition and eased down on the accelerator, giving the engine enough gas to move the car forward and free of the trough the wheels had dug earlier.

      After steering onto the blacktop, he put the gear in Park and opened the door. “Looks like you’re good to go. What time do you have to be at your office?”

      “Eight o’clock, but I’m usually there by seven-thirty.” She glanced at her watch. “I need to change before I head to post.”

      “I’ll follow you.”

      “I hate to hold you up.”

      “Not a problem.”

      “Thank you.” She attempted to smile.

      “I won’t let you out of my sight.”

      The drive to her house was uneventful, and soon both cars were parked in her driveway. Ignoring the front entrance, still draped with crime-scene tape, they walked around the house and entered through the kitchen.

      Lillie made a pot of coffee, which Dawson sipped as he looked around her living area. The house was nicely furnished with a contemporary couch and love seat and a mix of antique wooden pieces, including an oak sideboard and carved bookshelves.

      The inlaid wood and the fine lines of the detailed ornamentation verified the pieces were works of art, which Dawson admired. Ironic that, since Lillie didn’t have a family history of her own, she decorated with treasures from someone else’s past.

      Side tables topped with marble—exquisite rock that added beauty to the room—sat on each side of the couch. A few knickknacks were scattered about, and two framed photographs rested atop the mantel. One showed a beautiful woman with a small child in her arms.

      Glancing closer, Dawson recognized Lillie’s sweet face and curly honey-brown hair. The other picture was of an older couple. An adolescent Lillie stood with her arms around both of them. Probably the McKinneys, the foster parents with the big hearts and willingness to open their home to a small child who had no one.

      Dawson instantly knew he liked both of them. His gaze returned to the other photo. Although the picture had faded, he could see the resemblance between Lillie and the woman holding her, no doubt Irene Beaumont.

      Had his father killed her? Dawson’s gut tightened. Turning away from the mantel, he headed for the kitchen and refilled his mug.

      Outside, the fog had lifted, and as he sipped the coffee, the sun colored the horizon.

      “I need to apologize for my actions at the diner.”

      Dawson turned at the sound of Lillie’s voice. She had combed her hair and changed into a stylish dress that hugged her curves and made his breath jam in his throat.

      “I...I was only thinking of myself and my job and what’s happening at Fort Rickman.” Her pretty eyes were filled with compassion. “Your father died this morning. I’m...I’m sorry.”

      He placed his mug in the sink. “I never knew him. Never talked to him until he called a few nights ago. He...he wanted to meet.”

      Dawson pulled in a breath. “My father had rejected me all my life, so I rejected him. Only now—” He shrugged, unable to find the words to express the way he felt.

      She took a step closer. “Granger wanted to make it up to you. He didn’t want his son to be ashamed of him.”

      Since the trial, Dawson had blocked his father out of his life. He hadn’t talked about him or acknowledged him or allowed him into his heart. It was easier to deny him than to accept who his father had been—a convict, a criminal, a killer.

      “I went into law enforcement to right the wrongs my father had committed. Now I find out he may not have been the man I thought he was. That’s hard to get my mind around.”

      Dawson glanced out the window,