True Vision Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

  CHAPTER SIXTY

  CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

  CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

  CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT - One week later

  Teaser chapter

  Praise for the novels of Joyce Lamb

  COLD MIDNIGHT

  “Impossible to put down! A spine-tingling whodunit constantly keeps you on the edge of your seat with scenes that will make your toes curl . . . Joyce Lamb is a highly talented writer who knows how to write a captivating suspense novel.”

  —Manic Readers

  “An enjoyable romantic police procedural.”

  —Midwest Book Review

  FOUND WANTING

  “Top-notch suspense . . . Believable characters in an action-packed plot will enthrall readers. Like Tami Hoag and Iris Johansen, Lamb weaves the textures of romance and suspense together in a satisfying read.”

  —Booklist

  “This wonderfully written story is a must read for any fan of romantic suspense! Joyce Lamb is a master storyteller . . . Don’t miss out on one of the best novels ever written!”

  —Romance Junkies

  “Fast-paced suspense, full of twists and turns and nonstop action . . . To find out the many other fabulous nuances of this story, you’ll just have to go and grab yourself a copy!”

  —LoveRomances.com

  CAUGHT IN THE ACT

  “Page-turning suspense and a rewarding romance make for a riveting read.”

  —Booklist

  “Captures readers’ interest from the opening pages.”

  —Romance Reviews Today

  “Lamb is back with another tale of murder, treachery and intrigue . . . Makes for good suspense reading.”

  —Romantic Times

  “Full of shocking twists and turns . . . A wonderful novel that achieves the perfect balance between the romance and the mystery.”

  —LoveRomances.com

  RELATIVE STRANGERS

  “Lamb’s debut novel gets off to a fast and furious start . . . Relative Strangers is a rollicking ride full of blazing passion, nonstop suspense and heart-pounding action.”

  —Booklist

  “Intricate, transfixing and very intense, this is one thriller that will keep you on the edge of your seat. Author Joyce Lamb makes an excellent debut with this true page-turner.”

  —Romantic Times

  Berkley Sensation Titles by Joyce Lamb

  COLD MIDNIGHT

  TRUE VISION

  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)

  Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  Penguin Group Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.)

  Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.)

  Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi—110 017, India

  Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, North Shore 0632, New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.)

  Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa

  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  TRUE VISION

  A Berkley Sensation Book / published by arrangement with the author

  PRINTING HISTORY

  Berkley Sensation mass-market edition / June 2010

  Copyright © 2010 by Joyce Lamb.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  eISBN : 978-1-101-18809-5

  BERKLEY® SENSATION

  Berkley Sensation Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  BERKLEY® SENSATION and the “B” design are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  For Danielle, Michael, Nikole and Zach

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Thanks to:

  • Julie Snider, for your always enthusiastic and creative help on PR.

  • Glenn and Diane Lamb, best party hosts ever.

  • Lisa Kiplinger, Lisa Hitt, Charlene Gunnells, Chantelle Mansfield, Ruth Chamberlain and Karen Feldman McCracken, for being so excited to read the latest manuscript.

  • Joan Goodman, Diane Amos, Linda Cutillo, Maggie Hoye, Susan Vaughan and Lina Gardiner, all extraordinary critique partners.

&nbs
p; • Grace Morgan, for your absolute wonderfulness as a literary agent.

  • Wendy McCurdy, for making me a better writer.

  • And Mom, for everything.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Reporter Charlie Trudeau stood on the curb and stared at the stoplight that glowed red in the March sunshine. This was her life at the moment. Ready to make a difference but waiting for someone else to give the green light. Except the light wasn’t changing.

  The latest story she burned to get into the newspaper, about elderly residents getting ripped off, had been shot down before she’d even gotten the words “local car dealer” out of her mouth. The managing editor had squinted at her over his rimless glasses and growled, “Don’t even go there.”

  So much for journalists being public watchdogs. The drive for advertising revenue had changed much of the newspaper industry from a Rottweiler cornering the bad guy into a fluffy toy poodle begging for a treat. Which meant that using her job to help the innocent, helpless and screwed wasn’t going to happen, at least not in Southwest Florida at the Lake Avalon Gazette.

  “Charlotte?”

  Charlie looked up, surprised as much by the sound of the voice as the name. No one but her mother called her that. She glanced behind herself, checking to make sure the woman had indeed waved at her. Which was silly, really, to think that another woman with the same given name would be standing right behind her.

  “Charlotte!”

  The woman hurried across the street toward her. The rev of an engine startled Charlie out of her confusion, and in the next instant, a sporty white car sped full-bore into the intersection, and into the smiling pedestrian. Charlie lurched forward a step, watching in stunned horror as the woman’s body pitched across the car’s hood, struck the windshield with a horrible thud and flew over the tan ragtop. The car screeched off while the woman’s body tumbled wildly across the pavement before coming to a motionless rest, faceup, in the middle of the street.

  Charlie tore across the asphalt, fumbling for her cell phone to call 911. She dropped to her knees beside the sprawled pedestrian, the phone pressed to her ear. Come on, come on, answer.

  Blood trickled from the corner of the woman’s mouth, and the side of her face was scraped raw. Who knew what other injuries she’d sustained? But, thank God, she was breathing.

  “Hang on,” Charlie told her, grasping her limp right hand and gently squeezing. “I’m calling for help.”

  “911 emergency,” a man with a deep voice said in her ear.

  She struggled for calm. Don’t die. Please, don’t die. “I’m at the, uh, the, uh . . . the intersection of Palm and Main. Behind the newspaper. A woman’s been hit by a car.”

  “I’m dispatching emergency vehicles. I’ll be back with you in less than a minute.”

  “Please hurry.”

  The line went silent. Charlie stared down at the injured woman, not knowing what to do. Should she run to the paper for more immediate help? No, she couldn’t leave her unprotected. She could get hit by another car. And Charlie knew that moving an injured person could cause more damage. So she stayed where she was, the heat from the asphalt leaching through the knees of her khakis, the sun on the back of her neck.

  “It’s okay,” she murmured, not knowing whether the woman could hear her but hoping. “Help is coming. Just hold on.”

  She looked up, expecting to see other witnesses or perhaps the car’s driver fretting about whether he or she had just killed someone. But the area was deserted.

  Hearing a small gasp, Charlie glanced down. Her racing heart jammed into her throat when she saw the pedestrian’s light brown eyes keenly focused on her face, as though she were counting on Charlie to save her.

  “Help is on the way,” Charlie said. “Just keep breathing for me, okay? Nice and easy.”

  Her lips moved. She was trying to say something.

  Charlie stroked her forehead, trying to soothe her. “Please try to save your strength.”

  A wet, gurgling sound issued from the woman’s throat before she could force the words out. “It’s up to . . . you . . . now.” She moistened her lips. “Bring them . . . together . . . Charlotte.”

  Charlie wanted to shush her, to implore her to concentrate on breathing, on hanging on, but she couldn’t stop herself from asking, “Bring who together? I don’t know what you mean. Do we know each other?”

  Instead of answering, the pedestrian tightened her hand around Charlie’s with surprising strength and stared intently into her eyes.

  “Charlotte,” she whispered just before her fingers fell slack, and it took Charlie a few seconds to realize she was staring into the face of a dead woman. Oh, God, no.

  The world abruptly shifted, and Charlie was no longer holding a dead woman’s hand. She was across the street, sprinting toward the intersection, hope and excitement rising in her chest as she spotted the woman she was looking for.

  An engine revs, and I jerk my head up to see a white car bearing down on me. Before I can do anything but flinch, I feel crushing impact, feel myself flying through the air, then the bone-breaking shock of striking the road and rolling uncontrollably.

  In the next instant, Charlie was back, kneeling on the pavement, unhurt, her fingers clamped around the dead woman’s hand.

  Sirens began to scream in the distance.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Charlie stood on the corner with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, watching the unreal scene play out. Three police cars, a fire truck and an ambulance, all topped with flashing emergency lights, crowded the intersection. Emergency workers milled around the perimeter, waiting for the police to do their jobs before they could do theirs.

  A blanket like the one clasped between Charlie’s fingers—gray and scratchy—had been draped over the woman’s body in the road. Wisps of reddish brown hair escaped from beneath the blanket’s edge, lifting lazily on the breeze.

  Alive one instant, and dead the next. So fast, so brutal. Shocking.

  Charlie shivered, clutched the blanket tighter around her as though it would protect her from the harshness of reality.

  “Charlie? Charlie!”

  She turned at the frantic voice behind her. It was Mac Hunter running toward her, his thick, dark hair ruffled by the wind. He wasn’t looking at her, though, his attention on the body in the road.

  Charlie sidestepped into his path, expecting him to focus on her and stop, but he barreled into her, sending them both stumbling. She grabbed at the front of his royal blue dress shirt to keep her balance, and he grunted and brought his hands up to steady her.

  The instant his fingers closed on her forearms, the tableau inside her head shifted so that she was seeing the body in the road but from another angle farther away.

  Reddish brown hair floats on the wind, and I hear the horror-filled voice of an older woman gasp, “Oh, Lord, is that Charlie?” Terror seems to shoot to the top of my head on a chilling wave, and suddenly I’m running.

  In the next instant, she was back in front of Mac, disoriented and off-balance, her wrists grasped in his hands as he stared down at her as if he didn’t recognize her. Then his hazel eyes cleared and a sound that might have been a laugh burst out of him. He pulled her into his arms for a tight hug, burying his face against her neck, his warm breath against her skin. What the—?

  “You scared me, Chuck,” he murmured, pulling back and gazing down at her.

  For once she didn’t object to the hated nickname, too startled by the emotion in his eyes. From Mac? “I’m sorry I scared you,” she said.

  He noticed the blanket around her shoulders, and his relieved smile slipped into a frown. “What happened? Are you okay?”

  She nodded but couldn’t stop herself from glancing at the woman being loaded by paramedics onto a gurney. Not a woman—a corpse. She couldn’t suppress a shudder. “I saw her get hit.”

  “Oh, Christ.” He pulled her to him again, hugged her close while resting his chin on the top of her head. She remembered the
first time he’d held her like this, three months ago. She’d called him after discovering her beloved grandmother had passed away in her sleep. He’d been there in record time, her best friend, and then they’d gone and screwed their friendship, literally.

  He tried to draw her back toward the newspaper. “Come inside. I’ll get you something to drink.”

  “I need to talk to the police, tell them what I saw.”

  “It can wait a few minutes.”

  “It was a white . . . Sebring, I think. Convertible, but the top was up. It didn’t even try to stop. In fact . . . it sped up.”

  “Charlie—”

  “She called me Charlotte.”

  “What?”

  She raised stunned eyes to his. “Mac, she knew me.”

  He whistled the Mission: Impossible theme as he parked the Sebring and sat for a second to wallow in satisfaction. He’d done it. He’d done what had to be done to protect their secret.

  After getting out, he pulled a gray car cover over the convertible. This would hide the damage nicely.

  He thought he’d feel some guilt: He’d just killed a woman. But it was a woman who deserved to die. Just like the other one. They’d both known, and he couldn’t have them, anyone, knowing. Couldn’t let the secret out. It would destroy them, and they’d worked too hard for too long to sit back and let the destruction begin.