The Man She Knew Read online

  Don’t they both deserve a second chance?

  Fourteen years ago, one reckless act cost Ian Sylvestry everything, including the girl he planned to marry. Since then, he has fought hard to turn his life around. Returning to his Baltimore town after serving a prison term was the first step. Winning back Maleah Turner’s trust is a far more daunting challenge. From their first sparks-flying reunion, it’s obvious they still have powerful feelings for each other. In fact, they might be even stronger together now. But if their second chance is going to work, Maleah has to believe that Ian is a changed man. She really wants to believe...but she simply isn’t convinced.

  “So...you were...you were dreaming? About me?”

  A remark like that from the old Maleah might indicate that she felt flattered. But the new Maleah had changed a lot, and Ian couldn’t get a read on what she meant now.

  “I guess you could say that.”

  A tiny smile lifted the corner of her mouth. “Don’t know if I’ve ever been the star of a guy’s dream before.”

  She’d stood center stage in hundreds of dreams during his years at Lincoln. What would she say if he admitted that now?

  Only one way to find out...

  “It probably won’t surprise you to hear that I thought of you a lot while I was...away.”

  Her smile disappeared. Maleah began to fidget, another telltale sign she felt uncomfortable. He searched his mind for a topic to divert the conversation.

  A two-note chime interrupted them.

  Saved by the bell.

  Dear Reader,

  Once upon a time, my Psych 101 professor taught a lesson I’ve never forgotten.

  “The class clown cracked a joke, and his fellow students laughed like crazy. When he repeated it, fewer laughed. He told the joke again, and no one laughed.” He paused, then said, “If the same joke stops being funny when we hear it more than once, what makes us think anything good will come of dredging up past hurts over and over?”

  We all have a past. But what if our mistakes still shame us to the core?

  As a teen, Ian Sylvestry found himself incarcerated after his reaction to his mother’s abandonment sent the dominoes toppling. Upon his release, it took time to convince others that he’d turned his life around, but Ian succeeded—or thought he had—until a chance meeting with the girl he’d left behind.

  Confronted with the man he has become, can Maleah Turner forgive the irresponsible behavior that took him from her?

  Why is it so hard, I wonder, to cope with the sins of our past? Perhaps we need to make this our life motto: “The future is stardust, because you can dream it; the present is clay, because you can mold it; but the past is stone, because you can never change it.”

  Be sure to look for the next book in my By Way of the Lighthouse miniseries. And if you enjoyed The Man She Knew, write me c/o Facebook, Twitter or www.loreelough.com!

  Wishing you nothing but happy memories,

  Loree

  The Man She Knew

  Loree Lough

  Loree Lough once sang for her supper. Her favorite memories of days on the road are the hours spent singing to soldiers recovering in VA hospitals. Now and then she polishes up her Yamaha guitar to croon a tune or two, but mostly she writes. With more than one hundred books in print (eighteen bearing the Harlequin logo), Loree’s work has earned industry accolades, movie options and four- and five-star reviews, but what she treasures most are her Readers’ Choice awards.

  Loree and her real-life hero split their time between Baltimore’s suburbs and the Allegheny Mountains, where she continues to perfect her “identify the critter tracks” skills. A writer who believes in giving back, see the Giving Back page of loreelough.com for details. She loves hearing from her readers and answers every letter. You can connect with her on Facebook, Twitter and Pinterest.

  Books by Loree Lough

  Harlequin Heartwarming

  Those Marshall Boys

  Once a Marine

  Sweet Mountain Rancher

  The Firefighter’s Refrain

  A Child to Love

  Raising Connor

  Devoted to Drew

  Saving Alyssa

  For more books by Loree Lough, check out Harlequin.com.

  Join Harlequin My Rewards today and earn a FREE ebook!

  Click here to Join Harlequin My Rewards

  http://www.harlequin.com/myrewards.html?mt=loyalty&cmpid=EBOOBPBPA201602010002

  This novel is dedicated to my family, whose love and support make writing—even on the tough days—so much easier. I love and appreciate all of you!

  Acknowledgments

  Heartfelt thanks to those who so willingly shared hours of time, expertise and experiences to assure accuracy and authenticity in this story: Attorney Dee Lawrence (former writing student turned successful author in her own right!) for her savvy legal advice; Linda O’Dell (Letters for the Lord prison ministry) for providing details about incoming and outgoing mail in federal penitentiaries; Marty* and George*, reformed convicts who explained prison life and the hardships and prejudice so often faced upon release; Lance*, prison guard who shed light on ex-cons’ struggles to avoid recidivism; Suzanne*, whose long-standing relationship with a convict helped me better understand the dynamics of supporting a man convicted of a felony.

  (NOTE: * denotes names have been changed at the request of these helpful individuals.)

  Contents

  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

  EXCERPT FROM GIRL IN THE SPOTLIGHT BY VIRGINIA MCCULLOUGH

  CHAPTER ONE

  “MALEAH, YOU WANT to explain this?”

  She placed the bowl of mashed potatoes on the dining room table. “Explain wh—”

  When she saw what her brother held in his big hands, the words froze in her throat.

  “Tell me you’re not still mooning over this low-life criminal!”

  “Mooning.” She forced a laugh. “You’re picking up old-people talk from Grampa.”

  “You can’t distract me.”

  She’d made two mistakes: thinking the buffet’s silverware drawer was a good place to hide the photograph, and saying yes when Eliot offered to set the table.

  “It’s no big deal.” Maleah shrugged. And there it was... Eliot’s I’m a decorated cop and I can tell when someone is lying look.

  Maleah shoved a serving spoon into the potatoes. She and Eliot had gone round and round on this subject too many times to count, and she’d lost every round.

  “Only one explanation makes sense. You’ve stayed in touch with him, even though the whole family asked you not to, haven’t you?”

  “First of all, no one asked anything.” Their relentless deman
ds had been the primary reason she’d traded the comfort of her childhood room for a noisy, crowded dorm room at the University of Maryland. “How any times do I have to tell you I haven’t had any contact with him in...” Years had passed since she’d scrawled Leave me alone! Please! across Ian’s final letter. “Why won’t you believe me?”

  He dropped the picture into the drawer and closed it, hard. “Maybe because that creep turned you into an OCD control freak. You can’t sleep with dishes in the sink. And name me one other person who alphabetizes the contents of her pantry and spice rack? Or color-codes and hangs stuff in her closet in order by length.”

  Maleah didn’t bother to explain it was because she’d learned how much one mistake could alter a person’s life—and the lives of everyone close to them.

  “So I like things neat and tidy. Last I checked, it isn’t against the law.”

  He aimed his pointer finger at the ceiling, preparing to add to his big brother tirade, but she cut him off.

  “Eliot, let’s not spoil Grampa’s birthday dinner, all right?”

  “What. Ever.”

  An hour later, her mom suggested getting the dinner dishes cleaned up while the rest of the Turners relaxed in front of the evening news.

  “And then we’ll have coffee and cake while Grampa opens his presents!”

  Maleah’s tension heightened; if she left the room, Eliot would invite a repeat of the for-your-own-good lectures they’d been delivering since that horrible day.

  “Let’s leave them.” Facing her younger brother, she said, “Joe, will you get the TV trays out of the front hall closet while I—”

  “Maleah, honey,” her mother interrupted, “those mashed potatoes will harden like cement if you don’t rinse the plates soon.”

  “I’ll soak them overnight and load the dishwasher in the morning.”

  She’d tackle the job just as soon as her family left, but her mom didn’t need to know that.

  Joe returned with two TV trays under each arm. “Where do you want these, sis?”

  “You can put them right back where you found them,” her mother said. “We’ll have cake and ice cream at the table, like civilized people.”

  He began setting up the trays. “Mom, this is Maleah’s house.”

  Their mother’s lips formed a thin line. “Fine. Do whatever you please.”

  “Happy birthday to me,” Grampa sang off key.

  “Sorry, Grampa,” Maleah said, grinning. “I’ll get the cake.”

  She’d barely had time to turn toward the kitchen when her father said, “Eliot says you have something to tell us?”

  Traitor.

  “As a matter of fact, I do.” Maleah sat on the sofa arm beside Joe. “Got a promotion and a pay raise day before yesterday.” The perfect cover-up.

  Her dad beamed. “That’s wonderful, sweetheart. New title, too?”

  “Assistant Vice President for the School of Autism Services at Washburne-Albert Institute.”

  “Whew. That’s a mouthful!” Joe elbowed her ribs. “Raised-print business cards and the whole nine yards?”

  “And a private office—with a window—and my name in gold letters on the door.”

  “That’s my girl,” Grampa said. “A chip off the ol’ block.”

  “Don’t be silly, Frank. You’re a retired policeman. Our granddaughter is a psychologist.”

  “Hey. I used plenty of psychology on the job, Teresa. At home, too, every time you tried to talk me into getting a safer job.”

  His wife rolled her eyes. Her dad took a sip of his iced tea. “I’m proud of you, kiddo. Real proud.”

  “Ditto that,” Frank said. “Hey, I have an idea. Let’s light the candles on my cake and celebrate two great occasions with one big puff.”

  While Eliot poked candles into the cake, Maleah placed napkins, dessert plates, forks and a book of matches on a big wooden serving tray.

  “Grab the ice cream, will you?”

  “Nice try out there,” he said, opening the freezer door, “but you can’t keep me quiet forever.”

  She’d had about enough of his superior attitude. Maleah faced him head-on.

  “Look. I know you mean well. And I appreciate that you think you’re protecting me from my once-fickle self. But trust me. I don’t need your protection. Besides, there’s a time and place for everything, and this is Grampa’s night.”

  His mouth formed a thin, grim line as he lit the candles. Then he picked up the tray, and marched into the living room singing “Happy Birthday.” The others joined in, and although her heart wasn’t in it, so did Maleah.

  Eliot didn’t say much—and neither did Maleah—as they devoured cake and ice cream. Fortunately, no one seemed to notice the tension between them. Or, if they did, had decided to keep the observation to themselves.

  “You guys are great,” Grampa said after unwrapping his last present. “But y’all went to way too much trouble and spent way too much. Especially you, Maleah.”

  He’d been dropping hints since last Christmas about wanting an e-reader, so Maleah had ordered one and downloaded half a dozen books onto it.

  She patted his bony knee. Would he ever gain back all the weight he’d lost during his chemo treatments?

  “It was no trouble at all.”

  “Speaking of trouble,” Eliot said, “there’s something important we need to discuss as a family.”

  Maleah’s mouth went dry. “Eliot. Please. Don’t...”

  He held up a hand. “They have a right to know. It affects them, too.”

  Mom’s eyes widened and her husband’s brow furrowed.

  “What affects us?” they asked together.

  “Quit beating around the bush, boy.” Grampa scooted to the edge of the sofa cushion.

  Eliot used his chin as a pointer. “Li’l miss party maker over there is still sweet on that felon.”

  Maleah’s cheeks went hot and her heart beat double-time. Which of them would be the first to take her to task for holding on to that photograph? Her father, if she had to guess.

  Her mom said, “Maleah, what on earth is he talking about?”

  She glared at Eliot.

  “It’s nothing, really. He found an old picture hidden away in a drawer, and as usual, jumped to conclusions and decided it means I’m still involved with Ian.” Maleah threw back her shoulders. “I’m not, and that’s the truth. But you know Eliot...”

  “True or not,” her grandfather said, “you have to admit that boy is trouble. Even after all these years, the mere mention of his name is enough to get everybody’s bloomers in a knot. Told you he was no good.”

  “But would you listen?” Eliot put in. “No-o-o. You hung in there like a suckerfish, right up until the sheriff’s deputies dragged him away.”

  Those final moments in the courthouse were as vivid now as it had been that dreary morning: Ian, looking like a terrified boy as one guard slammed the prison van’s side door and another put the vehicle into gear. He’d raised a hand to wave goodbye, but the chain connecting handcuffs to leg irons stopped him. Tears had filled his eyes, and unable to watch, she’d closed her own. By the time she opened them again, the driver had already made the first turn onto Lombard Street and started the hour-long trip to Lincoln Correctional of Central Maryland.

  Joe squeezed her hand. “It’s okay, sis. I believe you.” He faced the family to add, “So she saved one lousy photograph. Big deal. It doesn’t mean she’ll do anything stupid. We’re supposed to be her support system, for cryin’ out loud. If an institution like Washburne-Albert can put their faith in her, why can’t we?”

  She might have hugged him if her grandmother hadn’t said, “Joe’s right. Maleah is a smart girl. She knows what life would be like with...” She wrinkled her nose. “...with a man like that.�
��

  “Then why is she still single?”

  “Same reason as you, maybe?”

  Grampa laughed and Eliot said, “Shut up, Joe.”

  “Person can’t earn college degrees and work her way up the corporate ladder if her mind is on guys and dating and whatnot...”

  “Joe’s right again,” their grandfather said. “There’s no denying our girl has worked hard to get where she is.” He turned toward Maleah. “Tell your newly-confirmed bachelor brother that there isn’t anything going on between you and that ex-con.”

  She raised her right hand. “There isn’t anything going on between me and that ex-con.” Neither Eliot nor her father seemed satisfied.

  “Okay, but just to clarify...when was the last time you were in contact with him?”

  Joe heaved a frustrated sigh. “Aw, Dad. Really?”

  “I know you feel like we’re picking on her, son, but Eliot is right. We need to get to the bottom of this, for her own good.”

  Her younger brother had earned more department commendations than Eliot and their father combined, yet had somehow managed not to turn hard-hearted and suspicious, especially of those closest to him.

  “It’s okay, Joe,” she said. “I brought this on myself by not getting rid of that picture years ago. I don’t want you putting your neck on the chopping block to defend me.” She looked her father square in the eye. “There’s nothing to get to the bottom of, Dad. I was still living at home after Ian’s sentencing, so you know as well as I do that I returned his letters, unopened. All of them. And after I wrote ‘leave me alone’ across the back of that last envelope, you mailed it. And the letters stopped coming.”

  Her grandmother was stuffing her husband’s gifts into a plastic bag. “It’s late. We should all be getting home.”

  Her actions and tone reminded the family that she’d always detested family discord, and one by one, they stood and made their way into the foyer. Amid a flurry of uncomfortable hugs, they complimented Maleah’s dinner and thanked her for having them over.

  Her mom hesitated. “You sure you don’t want help with the dishes, honey?”