Free Unleashed by Jami Alden Page A

death out here if you stand out in this cold in those sweaty clothes.”
    Caroline let out a slightly hysterical laugh at Melody’s choice of phrase. Yeah, she was liable to catch her death if she wasn’t careful. But now that Melody mentioned it, she was cold, down to her bones, so cold her body trembled and her teeth began to chatter. “I just need to get home,” she said, barely able to force the words from between her clacking teeth and trembling lips.
    “You better let me drive you.”
    Caroline tried to fend off Melody’s offer, only to find her arm seized in a no-nonsense grip as she was steered gently but firmly across two rows of cars to Melody’s powder blue Porsche. “Get in, honey. I couldn’t forgive myself if I sent you home like this and found out later you got into an accident.”
    “Thanks,” Caroline said. “I’m sorry about all this. I think the stress is starting to get to me.”
    Melody clucked and gave her a concerned look as she backed out of her parking space. “You know you can always call us if you need anything.”
    “I know, but you’ve already done so much.”
    “Hey, we trophy wives have to stick together you know. Although,” she slanted a look at herself in the rear view mirror, “I’d say this old trophy is due for another polish.”
    Caroline let out a weak laugh. Part of the reason she and Melody got along was because they were both younger second wives of two best friends and had formed a friendly alliance against the disapproving first wives in their social set. Though they would never be best friends—at the core they were too different for that—Caroline and Melody enjoyed each other’s company.
    And they’d grown closer over the past six months, as Patrick and Melody stood firmly by her, even when she was accused of murdering Patrick’s best friend of over thirty years.
    The initial adrenaline spike was wearing off and Caroline’s knee and hip started to throb where she’d hit the pavement. She risked a look down and saw a nasty road rash decorating her knee. She shifted in her seat to alleviate the pressure in her hip, which hurt even worse. God knew what she was going to find under there when she took her shower.
    Caroline blocked out the pain and leaned against the headrest trying to focus on Melody’s chitchat about how their daughter, Jennifer, was coping with her freshman year at UCLA, trying and failing to shove aside thoughts of the note. Shove aside the knowledge that whoever had killed James had her in their sights.
    James had been found shot to death in their house while Caroline was away, consulting with a client who wanted Caroline to design the closets in her new vacation home in Sonoma. As the investigation intensified, the police quickly dismissed their initial theory that the murder was a home invasion gone wrong and instead seized on Caroline, the scorned wife, as the prime suspect. Terrified, Caroline had started her own digging, going through every detail of James’s life trying to find out who really killed him. She’d told the police about the crying woman and suspicious conversations, but they hadn’t wanted to hear any of it.
    Caroline knew she’d been on to something, because it wasn’t long after she talked to the cops about the mysterious woman that she’d found the first note.
    Back off, or we’ll finish you like we finished James .
    But the cops hadn’t cared about that note or the ones that followed, convinced she’d printed them off herself in an amateurish effort to throw them off the trail.
    She’d hoped, prayed the notes would stop, that maybe they were a cruel sick joke by someone who wanted to mess with her.
    As the weeks since she’d been released lengthened to a month, then two, she half convinced herself it was all a sick hoax. James’s killer wasn’t really out there, biding his time, waiting for the opportunity to silence her before she discovered whatever secrets she wasn’t supposed to find.
    “And