Colton's Deep Cover

After she removed her outerwear and tossed her purse on the plaid-upholstered couch she’d purchased from the sole furniture store in town, she ducked into her small kitchen and brewed herself a cup of tea. She still had that bookshelf to assemble, but at the moment she wanted nothing more than to sit on the sofa, watch the ten o’clock news and clear her head.

Heading back to the living room, she set her tea on the square glass coffee table, then settled on the couch. She drew a flannel blanket around her legs and flicked the remote control.

The second the screen came to life, sound blared from the television speakers.

“I, Chloe, take you, Felix, to be my lawfully wedded husband.”

Horror slammed into Chloe’s chest with the force of a sledgehammer.

Her eyes nearly bugged out of their sockets as she stared at her younger self on the television screen. Clad in an elaborate lace gown with a scoop neckline and full skirt, twenty-nine-year-old Chloe gazed up at her dark-haired husband-to-be with pure adoration. A white-robed priest stood before the happy couple with a leather prayer book in his hands. In the background, the soft strains of violins could be heard.

Her wedding. Dear God, this was her wedding video.

The video she’d left behind when she fled Malibu.

“I, Felix Moreno, take you, Chloe, to be my …”

Chloe leaped off the couch as if she’d discovered a cockroach in her lap. But no, this was worse than a cockroach. Far more terrifying than her irrational fear of insects.

He was here.

Felix was here.

Panic torpedoed through her. Acid burned her throat, making it impossible to breathe. She sucked in shallow breaths, her body trembling so violently she keeled over, sagging against the arm of the couch for balance. Her wild gaze landed on the DVD player, which was whirring away, the seconds ticking off on the display.

She stood there frozen for several long seconds, then she burst into action, grabbing the first object she saw—a heavy glass paperweight sitting on the coffee table.

Swallowing her fear, Chloe crept toward the narrow hallway leading to her bedroom. As she approached the closed door, her heart thudded against her ribs and her lungs ached, prompting her to take a deep breath.

Call the cops, a little voice ordered.

She faltered in front of the bedroom. If her husband truly was behind that door, she had no chance of fighting him off. Felix was bigger than her, and his anger had always given him an inhuman amount of strength.

She had to call the police, then run out of the apartment and wait until the cops showed up to apprehend Felix.

But what if Felix wasn’t here? What if she called for help and then had to explain to the responding officer why a simple DVD posed such a monumental threat to her? She’d have to confess to the police who she really was, and the news would then find its way to Felix. She’d pretty much be announcing to her husband that she was still alive.

When her palms started tingling and black dots danced in front of her eyes, she realized she’d forgotten to breathe again. Sucking oxygen into her lungs, she straightened her shoulders and tightened her grip on the paperweight. She couldn’t risk calling the cops. Technically, no crime had even been committed—her door had been unlatched and nothing had been stolen as far as she knew.

Gathering her courage, she reached for the doorknob and turned it ever so slowly. Then she braced herself, half expecting Felix to burst out and grab her.

But nothing happened.

She pushed the door open, lifted the arm holding the paperweight and burst into the bedroom.

Empty.

The room was empty. And the closet door was wide-open, revealing more empty space because she still hadn’t gotten around to hanging any of her clothes.

Relief skyrocketed through her. Taking another breath, she ducked out of the room and repeated the same process with the little bathroom across the hall.

Empty.

Chloe’s shoulders relaxed, but tension continued to seize her muscles. Soft voices wafted through the apartment, followed by a burst of applause as the guests who’d attended her wedding cheered for the happy couple.

Feeling as if she’d just had the wind knocked out of her, Chloe trudged back to the living room and sank onto the couch. Her gaze fixed on the screen, on the broad smile gracing young Chloe’s eyes as she walked down the aisle arm-in-arm with her new husband.

Only two copies of that wedding video existed. One sat on the shelf of her father’s room at the nursing home in St. Louis, and she doubted Martin Hathaway even knew it was there and doubted even more that he’d suddenly regained his mental capacity, tracked her down to Eden Falls and left the video in her DVD player.

The other copy? Sitting in the entertainment system in the grand living room of her and Felix’s beachfront mansion.

“He found me,” she whispered, the agony-laced words echoing in the suddenly cold air of her apartment.

Chapter 3

“Amelia, I still need that file.” A pause. “Amelia?” Another pause. “Amelia.”

Chloe’s hand snapped up at the sharp command. She turned to see Derek in the doorway of the filing room, his brown eyes flickering with annoyance. “What?” she asked absently.

“Stu Robertson’s file,” Derek repeated, sounding aggravated. “He’ll be here any minute. He rescheduled his appointment, remember?”

“Oh, right, right. Sorry.”

She darted toward the cabinet that housed the N-R files and flipped through the tabs until she found Stu Robertson’s name. Her cheeks scorched with the heat of embarrassment as she handed Derek the folder.

Rather than leave the room, Derek tucked the file under one arm and eyed her warily. “Are you all right? You’ve been acting strange all morning.”

No, I’m not all right! My psychotic husband left our wedding video in my apartment last night and I’m freaking out!

She bit back the words, deciding she didn’t particularly feel like getting fired today. But she also didn’t blame Derek for looking irritated. She’d been distracted from the moment she opened her eyes this morning. Well, that was not entirely true, considering she’d never gone to sleep in the first place. She’d spent the night tossing and turning in bed, clutching the paperweight and trying to convince her panic-ridden brain that if Felix planned on murdering her, he would’ve done it when she walked through the door hours before.

But no amount of convincing could make her believe that anyone other than Felix had left that horrific surprise for her.

Her husband knew she was alive. There was no other explanation for what happened last night, and although she didn’t know why Felix hadn’t just confronted her outright, the sick souvenir didn’t really surprise her. Toying with people was Felix’s favorite pastime. The man was a psychopath hiding behind a white coat and a prestigious reputation, and she knew better than anyone just how much he liked playing games.

“Amelia?”

Damn it. She’d spaced out. Again.

“I’m so sorry, Derek,” she blurted, a streak of guilt soaring through her. “I’ve been a real pain in the ass today, haven’t I?”

“I wouldn’t put it quite that way, but … yeah.” He offered a sheepish grin. “What’s going on?”

“I didn’t sleep well last night,” she admitted. “I didn’t sleep at all, actually.”

He frowned, switching into doctor mode. “Are you prone to insomnia?”

“Not usually. It was just a fluke, I guess.” She smiled. “Maybe it was the excitement of being offered a permanent position here.”