Kilting Me Softly: 1 by Persephone Jones Read Free Book Online

not alone. Something else walked the woods with her. Morgan reached into her pocket to retrieve the dagger but found the space empty. That was because it was still buried in Conall McCade’s chest. If she had remembered to pull it out, she would have it now to defend herself. Not only that, but leaving the blade behind meant Conall could still be alive. Whether that was good or bad was a thought for another time.
    Indecision paralyzed her. She could go back but at great risk. She could run but it would be an exercise in futility. The police weren’t stupid and the evidence would eventually lead them to her. It wouldn’t take long for the authorities to identify her because she’d left fingerprints. Not to mention she’d used her sash to tie Conall to the bed. It had her epithelial cells on it. Bodily fluids, hair, fibers. She would never get away with murdering Conall McCade.
    The grass to her left swished and crunched with the weight of footsteps, nearly stopping her dead in her tracks. Then as if with renewed purpose they hurried ahead and she managed to relax a little. She figured it was an animal on the nocturnal prowl for food, dismissing her as harmless. A creeping dread drenched her in sweat.
    What if she were the food?
    The footsteps were directly ahead of her now. Whatever it was, it was flanking her. She stopped and searched the forest ceiling in search of the moon, convinced that light no matter how little, would make her safe.
    “Hey there, little red riding hood…”
    Morgan’s heart skipped a beat. Animals didn’t speak. She laid eyes on what had to be a hallucination. Standing in her path was a man who looked exactly like the one she’d left tied to his bed and with a six-inch dagger buried in his chest.
    “Ohmygod.”
    “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” The man chuckled and took a step toward her. “Except you’re the ghost.”
    “Oh no.” She didn’t expect him to speak. Her nightmare visions of the confrontation she might have with Megan’s killer had never allowed for this. Especially since she believed she’d already confronted him.
    “My little ghost returned from the grave.” He chuckled once more.
    Dear Lord, he thought she was Megan.
    Megan…dead and buried. Megan…robbed of life and love. Megan…no more.
    The lion’s share of Morgan’s fear transformed into pure rage. It was bad enough he’d slain her sister. He wasn’t getting her, too.
    “You.” She shot a glowering stare at his gigantic form. “You murdered my sister! But not before you tricked her, beat her, raped her and tore her to shreds.”
    “Sister?”
    “Megan!” She declared. “Megan Keevy!”
    Like a confused dog, he tilted his head this way and that. Did he even remember her? His green eyes, eerie and inhuman, searched over her trembling figure hungrily. “I did no such thing.”
    Morgan searched her empty pocket for the absentee dagger and cringed. She knew it wasn’t there but the need for self-preservation had her searching for it in vain. “I know who you are and I know what you did.”
    “You’re looking for my brother—my name is Conall.” The thing with the unkempt face and hands grinned unconvincingly.
    Even in the midst of imminent bodily harm, she found room to be insulted by his counterfeit civility. It was nothing but a cheap ploy, a con like a serial killer might use to gain access to his victim. And probably just like the one he’d used to lure Megan to her death. Not to mention the same one he’d used to single-handedly transform her from a grieving family member into a cold-blooded murderer. The bastard didn’t belong in jail. He belonged dead.
    “Liar.” Her heart crumbled at the thought of her fatal mistake. “You’re Ciaran McCade and you’re a fucking monster.”
    “In the flesh.” He grinned, his mouth a frozen rictus of insanity.
    His voice was like a bug in her head, burrowing into her brain. She wanted to rip her ears off and stomp on them just to be rid of