Page 12 of Dangerous Lies

Megan’s grip tightened on the strap of her laptop bag. There was nothing she could say. People would believe what they wanted, just like they had ten years ago. She wasn’t that lost teenager anymore, but small towns had long memories.

“Daily special—latte and cinnamon roll!” The barista’s cheerful voice cut through the tension, giving Megan a reason to move. She grabbed her order, muttered a quick thank-you, and made her way to the exit. The bells jingled as someone yanked open the door. Megan stopped short just before plowing into the large man entering the coffee shop.

“Quinton.” Surprise made her voice unnaturally high. She cleared her throat and forced a smile for the Clearview Counseling client. “Hi.”

Broad and stocky, Quinton Jones was a former bodybuilder who’d abused steroids and other drugs to bulk up. He’d been arrested for assault and was court ordered to complete drug rehab and therapy sessions as part of his plea agreement. Megan wasn’t his therapist—her friend and colleague, Douglas O’Neal was—but she knew most of the patients that came into their office by name. The friendly and relaxed atmosphere at Clearview helped clients feel at ease.

Recognition flashed across his meaty features and then Quinton’s gaze slid away from her. “Are you a killer?”

The question shocked her. Around them, the hum of the coffee shop dimmed, as though the world had heard Quinton’s words. Megan knew he didn’t mean to be hurtful—he wasn’t like that. Social cues weren’t his strength, and he often said things others would tiptoe around. Still, the bluntness of his question hit her like a slap.

“I—” Megan faltered, her voice catching in her throat. The curious stares from nearby tables prickled her skin. “No, Quinton. I’m not a killer.”

“People say you murdered someone. They talk about it a lot.” He frowned. “So are they lying?”

She hated this. Hated that the shadow of her past followed her around constantly. Megan’s hand tightened on the coffee in her hand, but the warmth seeping through the paper cup did nothing to ease the block of ice lodged in her chest.

Douglas O’Neal, her friend and coworker, appeared at her side. He was dressed for work in a sweater and slacks, his reddish-brown hair artfully rumpled, a half-drunk coffee in one hand. His laptop was tucked under the other arm. She hadn’t noticed him earlier, but there were a few tables in the back. Douglas often came to the coffee shop to answer emails before heading to the office.

“Good morning, Quinton.” Douglas shot Megan a sympathetic glance before focusing back on his client. He’d obviously overheard some of the exchange and was coming to her rescue. “How’s everything going?”

Quinton’s shoulders relaxed a notch. “I was getting some coffee before our meeting. I saw Megan.”

“Good call on the coffee. It’s cold out there. Try the daily special. The cinnamon rolls shouldn’t be missed.” Douglas’s voice was cheerful and disarming. He placed a reassuring hand on Megan’s back, steering her toward the door. “See you in half an hour, Quinton.”

The slap of crisp air was a welcome relief to her heated cheeks. She fell into step beside Douglas as they crossed the parking lot to their office. “Thanks for saving me back there. Quinton’s questions caught me off guard.” She snorted. “I don’t know why. He only said what everyone else is thinking.”

“Not everyone.” Douglas slanted a glance her way. “I’m sure at least one or two people in there were discussing the secret ingredient in the cinnamon rolls or whether the barista is dating that new guy working at the hardware store. You know, important stuff.”

Megan couldn’t help but laugh. “Critical town matters.”

“Exactly.” His smile dimmed a bit as concern clouded his features. “I know it’s hard when they talk about you, but chin up, Megs. People will move on to something else soon enough.”

Megs. Her old nickname from high school. She’d known Douglas back then, but they hadn’t been close. Since moving back and coming to work at Clearview Counseling, however, their friendship had grown. While Douglas saw all kinds of clients, he specialized in bullied teenagers. His kindness and compassion were born out of his own experiences in school. If anyone knew how difficult it was to be the brunt of gossip, it was Douglas.

“You’re right.” Megan had run away from her problems last time, but now she refused to. Nana’s bout with cancer last year had been a valuable wake-up call. She didn’t have forever with her grandparents. Knoxville was their home, and she’d endured a lot more painful things than mere gossip. “Thanks for being such a good friend, Douglas.”

His smile was warm as he held open the office door for her. “Anytime, Megs.”

Megan crossed the threshold into the small reception area. The soft gray walls and leather couches were both warm and professional. Thick carpeting muffled her footsteps as she made small talk with Douglas about his weekend until he veered off to his office. Megan’s was at the end of the building. She sipped her coffee, happy to discover it’d cooled to the perfect temperature.

Tess Gates, her boss, spotted Megan walking by and waved her into the conference room. The table was covered with paperwork.

“Morning.” Tess rose. Her black hair was arranged in thick braids that twisted into a topknot. The lime-colored suit played off her skin tone, making her appear younger than her fifty-three years. A pencil was tucked behind one ear, and she smiled gently. “I’m glad to see you.”

Megan leaned over and glimpsed financial spreadsheets. “Please tell me you don’t need help with the books. Math was never my forte.”

Tess laughed. “No. Don’t worry. I wouldn’t wish bookkeeping on my worst enemy.” Her expression softened. “I know we already spoke this morning, but if you need to take a break or leave early, just say so. We can cover your clients.”

“Thank you.” The supportive atmosphere was the thing Megan loved best about Clearview. Tess was the best boss she’d ever had. Conscientious, empathetic, and responsible. It was understandable after the assault that she’d want to make sure Megan was in the right headspace to see clients. “I’ll let you know if it gets to be too much. I promise.”

She chatted a few more minutes with Tess before heading for her office. The moment she entered the room, with its soft blue chairs and the wide-oak desk, the stress leached from her shoulders. Outside the world might be chaos, but here… in this space, she had purpose.

A quick glance at her watch confirmed she had fifteen minutes before her first client arrived. Enough time to sort through her inbox. She fired up her laptop, sipping her latte while the system booted. Seconds later, she was reviewing her emails. Megan froze as she scrolled through the messages flooding her screen. Dozens of them. The time and date stamps showed they’d been coming all weekend. All from the same sender, the subject line in all caps.

IT’S NOT OVER. NEXT TIME, I WILL KILL YOU.

EIGHT

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