The Woman Who Wasn't There

The Woman Who Wasn't There
Marie Ferrarella

Detective Troy Cavanaugh had never met a woman who didn’t like him — until Agent Delene D’Angelo gave him the cold shoulder at a crime scene. Thrown together by a murder investigation, Troy’s attempts to woo the sexy parole officer were met with staunch disinterest. Delene hadn’t escaped the clutches of her abusive ex just to fall prey to another smooth-talking pretty boy, and Troy Cavanaugh was lethally charming. But that’s where the similarities ended — and Delene was learning that Troy had more beneath the surface.When the stakes couldn’t be higher, did she dare risk everything for a chance with this intriguing man?

Marie

Ferrarella

TheWoman

Who Wasn’t There

To Tiffany Khauo and Eddie S. Wu.

I wish you love, now and forever.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Coming Next Month

Chapter 1

The feeling of danger threaded itself through the atmosphere, permeating every inch around her.

Pulsating.

Feeding the kernel of fear within her until it threatened to take over. The fear stole the very air away from her. She began to choke. The panic was tangible.

This isn’t real. It’s not real.

The words throbbed within her head, a mantra she clung to even as she felt herself cascading down the rapids of mounting terror.

And then she heard his voice. She heard it inside her head before it even reached her ears.

“Don’t even think about it. Don’t even think about running away. Don’t you know you can’t?” The voice mocked her without an iota of mirth. “There isn’t a corner of this earth where you can run to hide from me. Not for long. Because I’ll find you. And when I do, you’ll learn what it means to cross me.”

“I could shred the very skin off your bones and no one’ll lift a finger to help you. No one’ll lift a finger against me.”

“Do you understand?”

The words, disembodied, branded her soul.

She couldn’t see him. Only feel his hot breath, tinged with alcohol and malice, along her skin. Along her face, her neck, down to her very toes. It burned.

He was right. There was nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. She was vulnerable. Naked before him as she always was now. In spirit if not in fact.

But it was her spirit that kept her going. The spirit, the courage she’d found deep within her. The spirit he’d tried to rip from her. Grasping it like a solid entity in her hands, she fled. Fled as she was bound to. Because she knew if she stayed, somehow, some way, she’d be dead. He’d see to that. She knew it as well as she knew her own name.

So she ran.

Ran until her lungs ached and her legs threatened to give out beneath her. And then she ran some more. And always, always, she felt his presence right there behind her. Felt it even though she couldn’t see it.

Then suddenly he was there, grabbing her. His two hands wound around her throat and he was choking her. Making the air disappear again.

Even though she still couldn’t see him, his eyes were gleaming above her as his thumbs applied pressure on her windpipe.

“You’re mine. You’ll always be mine. Mine.”

Delene D’Angelo bolted upright in her bed. It took her a moment to realize that the shrieking that had woken her up came from her. She pressed her trembling fingers over her mouth to still the noise.

She couldn’t still the trembling.

It was March. March in the Northern California city of Aurora was still fairly cold, but she was sweating. Her short platinum-blond hair was plastered against her forehead, and the jersey she slept in, the single habit that tied her to her past, adhered to her body as if she’d just been shoved into the center of a pool.

Her body was slick with the perspiration of fear. She threaded her arms around herself and rocked, the motion comforting her only a little.

The sound of her labored breathing filled the small, sparsely furnished loft apartment. Delene did her best to regulate it. To still it as she strained to listen.

Were there any other sounds in the room, hidden by the noise she made? She caught her breath, even though it hurt her lungs. She still felt as if she’d run a long distance. And she had. She’d run for five years.