Dark Waters (2013) by Toni Anderson Read Free Book Online Page B

she could pass on to the super—just as soon as he was done. No point in shooting himself in the foot.



CHAPTER 3
    Anna slitted open one eyelid and saw a lethal-looking handgun on her nightstand. How on earth had her life come to this? Sunlight poured through the windows, burning red when she closed her eyes. Her mouth was parched, and she forced herself to sit up, to look around.
    The room was Spartan but elegant. Solid, hand-carved wooden furniture, eggplant-colored bedcovers, and a lone picture of the ocean on the wall.
    The sound of that same ocean drew her to the window and she looked out on a sea that glittered with blue fire all the way to the horizon. Tall snowcapped peaks dominated the hinterland to the north, with rocky outcrops covered in straggly trees surrounding this secluded little cove. She pulled on some clothes, shoved the empty dresser out of the way, and made her way down to the beach.
    No sign of Brent Carver anywhere. Thank goodness.
    He was a lot bigger, brasher, and younger than she’d expected. Her father certainly hadn’t mentioned washboard abs or that intense probing gaze, but then again he wasn’t likely to, was he?For just a moment last night, there had been a dark, hungry look in his eyes that had damn near scared her to death. That’s why she’d panicked and almost run. But he’d been right, she’d needed rest, and he hadn’t hurt her.
    Yet.
    She shouldn’t have come. Grief and uncertainty had driven her onward, without any real plan and with nowhere else to turn. But with the clarity of a good night’s sleep, she realized she should have gone straight to the cops even though they’d never believed a word she’d said in the past.
    Instead she’d run.
    Now she stood at the end of the world—a place so isolated and remote, it had taken a full day to get here. There were more accessible desert islands. She was exhausted after her trip. Mentally wiped. And grief welled up like fresh blood in a deep cut. She needed to figure out what was going on so she could take back control of her life. She breathed in the scent of the ocean and tried to find her equilibrium, but it just brought back even more memories that she’d rather forget. At least she had time to regroup while she figured out if her father had been paranoid, delusional, or just plain crooked.
    The faint tinge of iodine mixed with salt on the breeze. After a moment she slipped out of her sandals and hiked her skirt up to her knees, wading into the water. It kissed her skin with a bright, cold lash, jump-starting all the nerves that had still been asleep.
    She hadn’t been back in the water since the day she’d almost drowned. She’d been a good swimmer once, but that whole time in her life—the rape, the impulsive suicide attempt—had stripped her emotionally to the bone, and she’d avoided all reminders. Today, for the first time in years, she wanted to dive into these cold waters and wash away her worries. Unfortunately, she knew from bitter experience it didn’t work.
    She waded back out of the surf and turned to look at the log cabin. It was more of a mansion than a cabin, gleaming like burnt honey, situated high enough to avoid the worst stormsurges—maybe even a tsunami. Brent Carver had obviously done very well for himself with his paintings. She’d known he was private, almost reclusive, and hid his identity from the world. Her father had talked about him often—full of glowing admiration, but with no real details about his appearance, she realized. Her imagination had conjured a man she was comfortable with, an older gent, someone who was almost frail. This guy was nothing like she’d imagined. He wasn’t kind or old or frail. He wasn’t safe.
    A bald eagle swooped through the air and landed in a tree high above her head. He stared at her with a beady eye that suggested she didn’t belong here.
    “Tell me something I don’t know.”
    “Talking to yourself?”
    She jumped. Brent Carver moved as