Tennessee Takedown (8 page)

He checked the mirror again to make sure no one was following him before using the burn phone from the emergency bag he’d stowed in the car. Because of his hurt shoulder he had to keep the phone on the seat and use the speaker function. It was the only way he could drive and still punch the buttons, since he couldn’t lift his right arm without it hurting like the dickens.

Ashley Parrish was going to pay for that, dearly.

“It’s me,” he said as soon as the phone clicked. “Johnson’s dead, and the state police are looking for me. I’ve got to lie low for a few hours outside of town.”

“Lie low? No, you can’t. You have to do this
now.
”

He tightened his fingers on the phone. Very few people talked to him that way and lived to tell about it. If she were anyone else, he’d cut her tongue out for that. “If I go back right now, this whole thing is over. We both lose everything. Is that what you want?”

“No, no, of course not. I’m just anxious, worried. We don’t have much time. I’m...sorry.”

It probably killed her to say that. He couldn’t help but grin.

“This is a minor blip in our plans. By this time tomorrow, I’ll have Ashley Parrish exactly where we want her.” He slowed and turned down the gravel road he’d been searching for. The bumpy ride sent a sharp pain shooting through his shoulder. He drew a sharp breath, then slowly let it out. “I’ve got to go.”

“Call me as soon as you have her.” She hung up without waiting for him to respond.

He squeezed the steering wheel so hard it bit into his palm. He’d had about all he could take of her orders and her lack of respect. Once he had his money, maybe he’d take the time to teach her a valuable lesson in how to deal with men like him.

He glanced in the rearview mirror again. But this time he didn’t look at the road behind him. He looked at his guest sitting gagged and tied up in the backseat, staring at him with wide, fear-filled eyes—Dr. Brookes.

Chapter Seven

Showering in the police chief’s executive bathroom had been an incredibly awkward experience. Dillon had wrapped Ashley’s feet in plastic garbage bags to keep the bandages dry. Then he’d dragged in two chairs, one for her to sit on and one for her to prop her feet on, which made washing herself a difficult and time-consuming process. But all the trouble had been worth it to finally feel clean again.

Now, sitting with Dillon, Chris and Chief Thornton in the chief’s office, which apparently doubled as a conference room, she felt awkward and sloppy dressed in loose sweats. The clothes were a present her mother had sent last week for her twenty-eighth birthday. She’d never worn them before, had never planned on wearing them, but she’d asked Donna to grab them in case she couldn’t pull on any of her slacks over the bandages. Sure enough, they’d been the only clothes she could get on and she was grateful to have them. She’d have to remember to tell her mother later—much later, when it was too late to worry—that the sweats had turned out to be the best present she’d ever given her.

Now if only her mother had sent her some granola bars with those sweats, she’d be warm, comfy and her stomach wouldn’t be eating a hole through her spine right now. It was getting close to noon and she’d yet to eat anything. That hadn’t mattered until all her other aches and pains went away. Suddenly, it was almost all she could focus on—how hungry she was. If only she could be back home right now, cooking up one of her infamous breakfasts, the kind her brothers used to brag to all their friends about. Cooking was one of the few family traditions she’d actually appreciated.

“Miss Parrish?”

Ashley looked up at the police chief, chagrined to realize he must have been talking to her while she was fantasizing about eggs, bacon and waffles.

“Yes, sir?”

His eyes crinkled at the corners, reminding her of her father and how his smile always reached his eyes. She’d gotten the impression Dillon didn’t care too much for his superior, but she’d found him nothing but charming.

“You must be tired and hungry,” he said. “And we’re obviously boring you with all this talk about the investigations. Detective Gray has volunteered to put you up at his house until we catch the man who abducted you and can ensure it’s safe for you to go back home.”

Ashley straightened in her chair. From the stony look on Dillon’s face, she gathered
volunteered
might not have been the right description. What all had she missed while she’d daydreamed about comfy clothes and hot breakfast?

“Chief, I think there’s been a misunderstanding,” she said. “I don’t live in Destiny. I’m only renting while on assignment here. My lease is up in two days— No, it’s up tomorrow, actually. I don’t need to impose on Detective Gray or anyone else. I’d appreciate an escort back to my house to get the rest of my things, but other than that, all I have to do is jump in my car and go back to my apartment in Nashville.”

“How are you going to drive?” Dillon asked. “Or walk?”

Her face flushed hot remembering the house slippers she’d been forced to wear, since her feet were too swollen to fit in her shoes. Dillon had managed to wash up somewhere and was wearing one of his perfectly pressed suits again, looking ridiculously handsome and rested. And the other detectives—Chris, Max, Randy—had managed to bathe and change, as well. Looking at them reminded her how poor a condition she was in. Driving was the least of her worries. Dillon was right about that.

“I hadn’t thought about the driving part. I’ll get a cab to take me to the airport. I can come back for my car later.”

“The nearest airport is in Knoxville,” Chris piped in. “You’re going to take a cab all the way from Destiny to Knoxville?”

She fisted her hands beneath the table. “I didn’t say I had it all figured out yet. I’m saying, there’s no reason for me to stay here. I don’t
want
to stay here.”

Dillon rested his forearms on his knees. “I know you’re anxious to get out of this town, and I certainly can’t blame you after everything that’s happened. But I don’t think you’ve really thought this through. Three different people have tried to kill or abduct you in the past twenty-four hours. They’ve gone to a lot of trouble, risk and expense to do so. What makes you think whoever’s behind this isn’t going to send their thugs to Nashville if you leave?”

She swallowed, hard. “Honestly, I hadn’t really considered that possibility.”

“You can go to Nashville if you choose,” the chief interjected. “We certainly can’t stop you, and I’d have one of my officers escort you there to ensure you didn’t encounter any problems—not to mention saving you an enormous cab fee. But I agree with Detective Gray. The odds point to one person, a powerful person, being behind all of this. I don’t think they’re going to stop just because you go home. Do you have family in Nashville that might be in danger if you go back?”

“Uh, no. Actually, my family is from...somewhere else.”

“A boyfriend, coworkers, friends?” the chief continued.

Her gaze slid to Dillon. “No boyfriend, but of course I have people I care about back home. You don’t really think they’d be in danger, do you? If I go back?”

“They might be, yes. One of the advantages of a small town like Destiny is that everyone knows everyone’s business. I believe you’re much safer here, with Detective Gray watching out for you, than you’d be at home. And having you here to answer questions and help with the ongoing investigations is quite helpful to us. We’d appreciate it if you’d at least consider staying for a couple of days.”

She chewed her bottom lip. “Are the state police still searching for Iceman?”

His brow furrowed. “Iceman?”

“That’s what she calls the shooter,” Dillon said.

The chief smiled. “Okay, then no, they haven’t found him. They’re still looking, and two of my best trackers are with them. We will find him, eventually. But it’s going to take some time. Meanwhile, I’d feel a lot better knowing you’re safely tucked away with one of my best officers watching over you.”

Dillon shot the chief a surprised look, as if he hadn’t realized the chief considered him to be one of his best officers.

With the chief, Dillon and Chris watching her and waiting for her answer, all her arguments suddenly seemed foolish, and selfish. Stanley Gibson and seven others had died yesterday. If they’d died because someone was after her, then she owed it to them, to their families, to help find their killer in any way that she could.

“All right. I’ll stay.”

* * *

T
HE
SUN
WAS
high in the sky announcing the noon hour by the time Dillon turned his Jeep down a long, dusty dirt road. Ashley was surprised that wherever he lived wasn’t back in town. She’d expected him to want to live closer to the police station. Then again, as small as Destiny was, maybe close was all relative.

She heard the buzz of his cell phone and he reached down and pressed a button without even looking at it.

“Don’t you need to see who’s trying to call you?” she asked.

“It’s the security system at my house. The motion sensors were triggered by my Jeep turning onto the access road. It automatically texts me to let me know I’ve got company coming. It even sends me a picture.” He pulled the phone out and held it up.

The screen showed a strikingly clear picture of his Jeep with him at the wheel and her sitting beside him.

“Impressive,” she said.

“Not half as impressive as all the pictures of stray cows I’ve been texted when they break out of my neighbor’s fence and wander onto my property.” He grinned. “But thankfully the sensor isn’t set to trigger for anything much smaller than that. There are perimeter cameras on the property, too, overkill way out here. But security tends to be on my mind in my line of work. And I’d rather be too careful than careless.”

She nodded, agreeing wholeheartedly.

When the Jeep topped the final hill and Dillon’s home came into view, Ashley’s mouth dropped open. On one side, acres and acres of rolling green grass spread out as far as she could see, dotted with small groups of horses grazing with the backdrop of the Smoky Mountains behind them. On the other side, eight-foot-tall stalks of bone-dry field corn, ready for harvest, marched in rows up and over a hill. All of it was bordered by pristine white wood fences. And smack-dab in the middle, at the end of the road, was a collection of whitewashed clapboard buildings set back behind a two-story, lovingly preserved farmhouse.

“Careful, you’ll catch a fly,” Dillon teased.

“That gorgeous house, this land, those
horses,
they’re all yours?”

“Passed down from my father’s grandfather’s grandfather, through six generations of Grays. Dad didn’t want to deal with the upkeep so he gave it to me. He and Mom moved to a smaller farm not too far from here.” His pride and love for his legacy was evident in his tone and in the way his eyes lit up.

He parked the Jeep beside the house and hopped out. He rounded the car with her duffel bag hanging off his shoulder, opened the door and scooped her into his arms. Him picking her up was becoming a routine she could easily grow accustomed to. But now especially, without the vest and only a dress shirt separating the two of them, it was absolute heaven being cradled against him, feeling his warmth, being able to wrap her arms around his neck.

Since he was staring down at her, probably wondering why she was staring up at him, she rushed to fill the silence. “How many horses are there?”

“Thirty-two. I never planned to have that many. Started with Boomerang and three mares. Naturally, there’ve been some foals born out of that. But mostly, Harmony Haven is a rescue farm.”

“Boomerang?”

“A stallion. He’s whistle trained. He can be galloping away as fast as he can go and if I whistle he turns around and comes right back, like a boomerang.”

She smiled. “You said this place is a rescue farm?”

“We take in horses that are abused or from people who can’t afford them anymore. Our adoption rate is about sixty percent once we rehabilitate the animals. But some have been too traumatized or are too scarred up for anyone to want them. Those are our permanent residents.” He jogged up the wide front steps to the wraparound porch.

“You keep saying ‘we’ and ‘our.’ Does someone else live here, too? Someone else in your family?” She glanced at the large glass oval in the front door as he twisted the knob, and wondered who else she was about to meet.

“I live in the house alone, but my farm manager and half a dozen farmhands live in the bunkhouse out back. Don’t worry. You’ll have plenty of privacy. They don’t come up to the house much. As I said, my mom and dad live up the road, about half an hour from here. But they’re out of state right now, visiting my brother in Montana.”

He carried her in, dropped the duffel bag on the floor and set her on a soft sage-green couch. The floors were a rustic oak and the staircase in the back of the room was framed with a polished oak handrail and bright white wooden spindles. The main room was expansive, but the enormous burgundy throw rug in the middle of the room softened the space and helped make it homey.

“The master suite is on the bottom floor, that door behind you,” he said, pointing over her shoulder. “I’ll change the sheets and move some of my things to one of the rooms upstairs. It will be much easier for you to hobble around on the bottom floor. It’s got its own bathroom, so that will make it easier, too.”

“I hate for you to give up your room for me, but I really appreciate it. I’m not sure I could handle stairs right now.”

“Are you—”

Her stomach chose that moment to rumble. Loudly. Her face flushed hot.

His lips curved up in a sensual smile that was like a punch in the gut. Good grief, the man was sexy.

“I was about to ask if you were hungry,” he teased. “But I think I have my answer. I’ve been cooking for myself for over twelve years now, since the day I left for college. So I reckon I can rustle up something decent to eat. What are you in the mood for?”

“Anything that won’t run away when I stick my fork in it.”

He laughed. “That hungry, huh? You should have said something earlier. We could have grabbed food back in town. Soup and sandwiches are quick so you don’t have to wait long. Sound okay?”

“Sounds wonderful. Thanks.”

He grabbed the duffel and stood. “Chris mentioned he might stop by in a bit to brainstorm on the investigation. I usually leave the door unlocked, but with everything that’s happened, I’m keeping the house sealed up tight. If you see him at the front door, holler at him to use his key.”

“Okay.”

He grabbed a remote control off the thick oak coffee table and set it beside her. “If you want to watch TV, click that top button. The TV will pop up out of the table behind the other couch.”

“Hmm. Sounds like a fancy luxury to have.”

He gave her a droll look. “Electronic equipment isn’t a luxury. It’s a necessity. Especially during football season.”

She rolled her eyes and he grinned again. Thankfully he headed to the bedroom to drop off her duffel bag before he could realize she was debating the merits of grabbing him and pulling him onto the couch with her. A girl could only take so many heart-melting smiles in twenty-four hours without suffering some kind of lust-crazed breakdown.

He headed back through the family room to what she supposed was the kitchen. But she carefully kept her gaze on his eyes this time instead of that devastating smile.

* * *

D
ILLON
REACHED
THE
kitchen and sank into one of the chairs at the table in the middle of the room. He had to take a minute, just one, before making lunch. If Ashley smiled at him one more time he didn’t know what was going to happen. Ever since she’d showered and came out in those sweatpants that molded to the contours of her perfect bottom, he’d been useless as a detective. All he could think about was pulling her onto his lap and kissing her until she begged him to take her to bed.

He drew a shaky breath, trying to focus on something else, anything else but the far-too-appealing woman in the other room. Thornton hadn’t understood his reluctance to keep Ashley at his house. After all, any time some hotshot law-enforcement official or even a witness in a case needed somewhere to hole up, Dillon always offered his house. The only hotel in town was a disaster. And Dillon’s farmhouse was huge, only twenty minutes outside of town, and his security cameras would pick up on any vehicles coming down the road long before they reached the house. But he’d known having Ashley here would kill his concentration. Unfortunately, he hadn’t wanted to admit that to Thornton, so he’d grudgingly agreed to bring her home.