Save Your Breath (Morgan Dane #6) - Melinda Leigh Page 0,1

house before. He knew only the basic layout of the rooms from what he could see through the windows.

Pushing the door farther, he slid through the opening, then closed it soundlessly behind him, making sure to release the knob slowly. Then he stood and listened. A doorway led from the laundry room into the kitchen. The white-paneled door between the rooms stood open. A few breaths later, a soft beep signaled the reactivation of the alarm system, and he heard Olivia moving around in the kitchen. Footsteps approached, and sweat broke out under his arms. He glanced around, looking for a place to hide. There was a closet across the room, but he wouldn’t make it in time. His heartbeat thudded in his ears as he slid behind the open laundry room door and then pressed his back to the wall.

Then he waited.

He could overpower her here if necessary, but that wasn’t ideal. Olivia looked like a scrapper. She’d fight him. He preferred quick and easy.

Her shadow passed across the doorway, and her steps retreated again. He heard the sound of the refrigerator opening and closing.

He exhaled.

Another door opened farther back in the house. Olivia was going into her bedroom. He crossed the tile in a few strides and opened the closet door. It was full of heavy winter boots and coats. Perfect. She wouldn’t be opening it tonight.

He slid inside to wait for the house to become quiet again.

For Olivia to go to sleep.

For the perfect time to execute his plan.

Chapter Two

Olivia Cruz stared at her open closet. She’d spent the last hour rearranging her clothes for autumn. Technically, mid-September was still summer, but the weather in upstate New York had turned cool over the past week. The leaves were changing color and beginning to fall. Last week, she’d broken out her flannel pajamas. Tonight, she’d moved her sandals to a rear shelf and lined up a few pairs of ankle boots in front.

Now what? She could separate her blouses by color.

This is stupid.

Her closet was already ridiculously, ruthlessly organized.

She had an important decision to make, and she’d been procrastinating for days. She backed out of the walk-in closet and firmly closed the door. Sleep would help. But she’d managed little of that lately, and she dreaded lying in bed, staring at the ceiling for yet another night. She rubbed a lump of indigestion behind her breastbone and padded to the bathroom in search of an antacid.

Her weekly dinner with her family had distracted her earlier in the evening. Her mother had served frijoles negros, Olivia’s favorite traditional Cuban dish. Olivia had overindulged, and the minute she’d left her parents’ house in Albany to make the hour drive back to Scarlet Falls, her true crime research had flashed right back into her mind and unsettled her stomach.

Chewing an antacid, she mulled over her stunning discovery. The implications of what she’d learned further stirred the black beans and rice in her belly. As a journalist, her job was to seek the truth, not play judge or jury. But should she choose to pursue and publish this truth, other people could pay the price for her revelation—possibly with their lives.

Her new book proposal was overdue, but Olivia’s predicament felt like a no-win situation. Ignoring the truth went against all her principles. Then again, so did putting other people in danger.

But how much risk was involved? Could she live with being responsible for even a single innocent person’s death?

Obsessing about her research had translated into three consecutive nights of insomnia. Enough was enough. She didn’t need to make this decision alone. What she needed was outside perspective. She brought the antacids with her into the bedroom, picked up her phone from the nightstand, and checked the time. Eleven o’clock. She sent a CALL ME IF UR UP text message to Lincoln Sharp, her . . .

The word boyfriend seemed silly at their ages. She was forty-eight. Lincoln was fifty-three. They’d been dating for several months, and they spent the night together once or twice a week. She assumed their relationship was exclusive, although they hadn’t specifically discussed it.

Labels weren’t important to either of them, but when she saw him or he called unexpectedly, the stirrings of excitement and joy in her blood made her feel like a teenager. Beyond her attraction to him, she respected him both personally and professionally.

So why had she been stewing over her decision instead of asking for his opinion?

Lincoln owned and operated a private investigation firm. As