Danger at Her Door. Beth Cornelison

in surprise then recognized why Jack’s parental force with his daughter and Caitlyn’s cries had triggered Sam’s training. “Sam, no. Down!”

      Sam quieted but kept a vigilant stare on Caitlyn’s father.

      Jack lifted a wary gaze to Megan. “Is your dog always so…uh, easily riled? I know how Caitlyn is with dogs, and if your dog has a problem with kids, I’ll make sure to keep her away from…Cujo there.”

      Megan lifted her chin. “Sam would never hurt a child.”

      Jack shot her a skeptical look and shrugged. “Just the same, Caitlyn doesn’t always know where to draw the line with dogs. I’d feel better if you didn’t let her play with your dog without supervision.”

      Megan huffed a short laugh of disbelief. Who was he to warn her about leaving Caitlyn unwatched?

      “It wasn’t my dog who crawled out a window to play outside, Mr. Calhoun.” Megan tugged Sam’s leash and turned to leave.

      “Touché.” The rich baritone melody of Jack’s low laugh followed her down the steps.

      “Good luck sealing all the exits and keeping Miss Adventure under surveillance,” she called over her shoulder.

      “Oh, wait…”

      Megan paused and pivoted back to face Jack. Sam strained against his leash, eager to get home for supper.

      “You wouldn’t know any good babysitters with combat training, would you? Being new in town, I’m having a hard time finding anyone I trust to keep an eye on Miss Adventure.”

      “Hmm…” Megan bit her lip as she thought. “Nobody comes to mind at the moment…but I’ll keep my ears open.”

      “Thanks. Someone with a lot of patience and eyes in the back of their head would be best.” Jack gave her a wave and backed inside. “Nice to meet you.”

      Megan returned his wave, and as she crossed the street toward her own yard, she found herself wearing a sappy smile. Even if she wasn’t ready to jump back into the dating game—yet—she liked Jack. His sense of humor and easygoing nature made him approachable. And though it seemed he had his hands full with Caitlyn, he clearly loved his daughter.

      Entering her house, Megan was greeted by the insistent ring of her phone. She took the time to relock her door then nudged Sam out of the way as she hurried to answer the call.

      “There you are! I was getting worried when you didn’t answer and the machine didn’t pick up.”

      “Hi, Ginny.”

      Ginny West had been Megan’s counselor and best friend since they met at the women’s center just after Megan’s attack. They’d spent hours talking, bonding, working through Megan’s recovery efforts, and later bemoaning Ginny’s own issues with her well-meaning but meddlesome family.

      Megan unhooked Sam’s leash. “Maybe I was just ignoring you after that cruel birthday card you sent! When you turn thirty, look out! I’m not pulling any punches.”

      “Are you watching the news?” Ginny interrupted. Her best friend’s voice sounded uncharacteristically agitated.

      “No. Why?”

      “Turn it on. They made an arrest. It’s all over the news.”

      Megan didn’t need to ask what the arrest was for. The man who had attacked her and several other local women in a string of home invasion rapes had been the focus of enough conversations between Megan and Ginny to make such inquiry unneeded.

      Megan grabbed her remote and aimed it at her TV. When the local news filled the screen, Megan watched as a man in handcuffs was shoved into the back of a police cruiser.

      “The five-year-old Gentleman Rapist case had gone cold until the arrest today,” the reporter’s voice-over said. “The similarities between the attacks Smith is charged with and the unsolved attacks in the Gentleman Rapist case prompted police to investigate Smith for the older assaults as well.”

      “Is it him? Can you tell?” Ginny said.

      Absorbed by the pictures on her TV, Megan had almost forgotten she had Ginny on the phone until her friend spoke.

      “I can’t see him. The cop’s in the way.” Megan’s palms sweated, and her stomach roiled. Heat crept through her limbs and stung her cheeks as buried anger clawed its way to the surface. The idea that this man on her TV screen could be the man responsible for her suffering prodded the dormant rage and frustration she’d had to tame years ago in order to function, to preserve her sanity.

      But seeing a flesh-and-blood target for her anger after so many years fueled the simmering tempest in her blood. This could be the man responsible for stealing years of her life, for the humiliation of the exam when the E.R. collected the rape kit evidence, and the invasion of her home as the forensic team picked through her possessions. The isolation as her impatient fiancé and friends drifted away. The frustration of dealing with well-meaning coworkers and neighbors who labeled her a victim and treated her with kid gloves, when all she wanted to do was forget what had happened. Megan swallowed the rising bile in her throat as the images on her TV reopened the Pandora’s box of emotions and memories.

      “The results of DNA tests on samples taken from Smith won’t be known until late next week, officials said,” the reporter’s voice-over continued. “Based on discrepancies in the evidence collected during the five-year-old Gentlemen Rapist investigation, authorities believe a copycat rapist could have been responsible for several of the attacks. Police wouldn’t say if Smith is believed to be responsible for the initial series of attacks or if he’s thought to be the copycat assailant.”

      Megan walked slowly toward her living room, squeezing her phone in one hand and jabbing up the volume with the remote in her other hand.

      “The serial rapist was dubbed the Gentleman Rapist by police,” the monotone voice of the reporter continued, “because the assailant tricked his victims using gallant politeness and offers of assistance. His victims admitted him into their homes or cars when he pretended to be a Good Samaritan helping with their flat tire or an off-duty policeman conducting security checks of area homes in light of the rising crime rate.”

      Megan’s heart kicked and self-disgust knotted in her chest. She fell into the latter category. She’d let a strange man into her house because she’d blindly trusted his police uniform and friendly assurances.

      “You know what this means, right?” Ginny asked calmly, pulling Megan from her self-flagellating thoughts.

      “What it means?”

      “They’re gonna call you to come down and identify him. View a lineup.”

      Megan’s legs gave out, and she collapsed on her couch with a gasp. “I—I can’t.”

      “Megan, he can’t hurt you anymore. If this is the right guy, he’s in police custody, and he won’t be going anywhere near you again. No judge in his right mind would grant him bail. It’s just a lineup. I’ll go with you if you want.”

      Megan nodded, her mouth dry, then realized Ginny couldn’t see her answer. “Yes…please.”

      The news report cut to the mug shot of the man named Smith who’d been arrested. Megan studied the picture, and her heart sank. Acid pooled in her gut.

      She squeezed a throw pillow to her chest and blinked back tears. Despite the optimism of the reporters that the police finally had a break in the unsolved case, the nightmare wasn’t over for her. No matter what else the man on the television had done to get himself arrested, he wasn’t her attacker.

      The man who’d sent her life into a tailspin five years ago was still out there.

      Chapter 2

      After drying off and dressing in a T-shirt and jeans, Jack walked into the living room where his daughter sprawled on the floor watching her