Free Don't Say a Word by Rita Herron Page A

trees and colorful pansies danced in the flower boxes flanking the brick walkway that wove through the garden. This slice of heaven was her reprieve. She hugged her arms around her waist as she examined each section of flowers, sniffed the delicate petals of the lilies, inhaled the scent of magnolias and honeysuckle, and finally stopped to admire the roses. Thankfully all her senses were freed for such enjoyments, unlike after the accident when the only thing she could smell was the strong odor of antiseptic and charred flesh.
    Suddenly a shiver rippled through her, and she glanced toward the dark woods beyond, knowing dangers lurked there, hidden and waiting to pounce. Gators floated just beneath the murky Mississippi, their yellowed eyes piercing the darkness, teeth gnashing and sharpening as they waited to strike. Snakes slithered through the mossy banks and water, curling in the trees, silent vipers that could kill a person with a single bite. And the legends of other monsters, half human, half beast—like the Swamp Devil who’d combed the murk—haunted her with what-ifs.
    What if she left here and one of those monsters came after her?
    Sometimes she ached to leave, while other times she feared she wouldn’t be safe if she did. In her nightmares, her accident hadn’t been an accident at all. Someone had tried to kill her, had caused her disfigurement intentionally when they’d tried to take her life.
    She spun around, feeling a bit agoraphobic, anxious to retreat inside to the safety of her hospital room, when she spotted a man exiting the back sliding glass doors of the solarium. He looked huge in the shadows of the door frame, stood well over six feet with muscled broad shoulders, thick dark hair clipped neatly on his high forehead, and he wore a dark suit and tie. He glanced around the property, his stance rigid and determined, then he seemed to zero in on her. Suddenly he moved toward her, his body controlled, yet he reminded her of a black panther stalking his prey.
    She froze, frantically searching for some place to run, to hide, but he saw her and was coming closer, and there was no way to elude him. Again, that tingling of recognition rippled through her, as if they’d met.
    He had an odd expression on his face, as if he knew her, too.
    * * *
    D AMON STARED AT THE WOMAN walking alone in the garden, the blood pumping through his veins. She resembled the woman in the photo he’d just shown Pace.
    A faint streak of moonlight illuminated her through the weeping willows, making her look like a petite fleur in the night. Except this fleur had her arms wrapped around herself in a defensive gesture that reeked of pain and fear.
    The moment she saw him, she stiffened and began to tremble.
    Wavy brown hair fell across her shoulders, slight hints of red and gold shimmering in the moonlight as if it had been finger-painted in. She was small, probably around five-four, slender but with just enough curves to make a man groan. She backed away, butting into the brick wall as he approached. Dressed in a pale blue summer jogging suit, she shouldn’t have looked sexy, but his libido woke up and screamed. Touching her would be pure heaven to his tortured soul.
    He hesitated, had to regroup. He was here on business, to save his brother, not react like a teenager in lust toward a jolie fille .
    Her fragile stance alerted him to the fact that she was quite afraid of him. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said in a deep, throaty voice. “I’d just like to talk.”
    Her breathing quivered, rattling in the tension-laden quiet. In the distance, cicadas sang and frogs croaked, other night sounds of the bayou whistling in the wind.
    â€œYou’re the agent from the news report?”
    He nodded and removed his badge and ID to show her. So she’d seen the report about Antwaun’s arrest and hadn’t come forward. “Special Agent Damon Dubois.”
    â€œThe brother