Read Online Cold Cold Heart by Tami Hoag - Free Book Online Page B

months—her entire After Dana life—in hospitals living with medical staff and other brain-injured patients with little connection to or interest in the rest of the world.
    Her attention was on the bouquet of pink balloons that adorned a copper mailbox at the end of the street. The house beyond that mailbox was home—a large brick house with blue shutters and interesting rooflines and a yard to showcase the talents of Mercer-Nolan Landscape Design.
    They pulled into the driveway, drawing alongside a black Mercedes SUV with a red, white, and blue sticker in the back window: REELECT MERCE R/STATE SENATE . The front door of the house swung open and Roger came out to meet them followed by a younger man Dana didn’t recognize.
    Roger looked like a man an ad agency would choose to star in a commercial for real estate or home insurance—tall, handsome, with dark hair swept back and Clark Kent glasses. His smile was broad and white. He came around the hood of the car and opened Dana’s door.
    â€œWelcome home, sweetheart!” he said cheerfully, leaning toward her. “How was your drive down?”
    â€œI don’t know,” Dana said. She stared down at the clasp of her seat belt, momentarily stumped as to how to open it. “I wasn’t there.”
    â€œShe fell asleep,” her mother qualified, reaching over the console with impatient hands to unfasten the belt.
    â€œWhat are those people doing here?” Lynda snapped, her irritation directed at her husband. “They have no business being here now.”
    â€œI don’t control the media, Lynda.”
    â€œHow did they find out Dana was coming home?”
    â€œI don’t know,” he answered with sarcasm. “Maybe a dozen pink balloons tied to the mailbox isn’t a good way to keep a secret.”
    â€œCan you fight later?” Dana asked. “I want to get out of the car.”
    Roger offered her a hand to help her out of the vehicle. She straightened slowly as she got out, stiff and achy from the long ride, but she let go of Roger’s hand quickly, nevertheless.
    She cut a glance at the other man, who stood behind her stepfather. He looked to be in his thirties, with a blocky build and a doughy face. He was buttoned up and professional in a jacket and tie, his thin brown hair combed flat to his head. He stared at her with carefully concealed shock. Dana could see it in his eyes and instantly disliked him for it.
    â€œWho is he?” she asked bluntly, tugging the edges of her hood forward.
    Roger glanced over his shoulder. “Wesley Stevens. He’s helping run my campaign.”
    â€œWhy is he here?”
    Roger forced a laugh. “So many questions!” He moved to hug her. “Welcome home, sweetheart.”
    Dana stepped back against the car, frowning. “You already said that. Don’t touch me. I don’t like to be touched.”
    His frown was fleeting, and he quickly turned around even as his eyes darted to the left, looking for witnesses. “I’m sorry, honey. I just want to give you a hug. I’m happy to have you home. We’ve missed you!”
    â€œThen you should have come to visit me more,” Dana said with simple logic.
    â€œI wish I could have.”
    â€œHow does it feel to have your stepdaughter home, Senator? How does it feel to be home, Dana?”
    Dana turned toward the source of the questions. The reporter was standing at the end of the drive maybe a dozen feet behind her mother’s car—a petite blonde with a professional smile that wavered badly as Dana faced her.
    â€œHow does it feel to be home?” she asked again.
    Dana stared at her. They were about the same size. The reporter’s hair was cut in a shoulder-length bob, just as Dana’s had been before it had been shorn off in the hospital. Her blue wool blazer could have come straight from Dana’s own closet.
    Oh my God, I used to be her,
she