THE SECRET OF CHEROKEE COVE (9 page)

“You must have been pretty young when your parents died.”

“I was twenty. Doyle was nineteen and David was about to turn eighteen. I really had to grow up fast after that.”

“You were in college then, I guess.”

“Doyle and I both were, and David was about to start. Fortunately, Mom and Dad had been big savers. It wasn’t a ton of money—we still had to work through college to pay for it all, sure, but not so much that we didn’t get to graduate on time.”

“Did you go straight to the U.S. Marshals Service out of college?”

“Yes. I thought about trying to join the Alabama State Troopers, follow in my dad’s footsteps, but Doyle talked me into the Marshals Service. He knew it would be a better fit for me.”

“And the chief joined the local sheriff’s department?”

“Not at first. First, he went to Mississippi and worked casino security on the coast. But that didn’t really work out. And then—” She stopped again, her throat bobbing as her expression went very still and closed. “Then he quit his job, went back home to Terrebonne and took a job with the sheriff’s department.”

Nix had a feeling that something had happened to send the chief running home. “Where were you at that time?”

She gave him a strangely distant look, as if she didn’t understand his question.

“When Doyle went back to Terrebonne, where were you working at the time?” he clarified.

“I, uh—actually, I was on leave from the Marshals Service.” She looked down at her hands, which were twisting slowly in her lap. “Something had happened. Something terrible.”

In the center of Nix’s chest, an echo of the pain that lined her face throbbed darkly. He didn’t know whether to push her to tell him the rest or let it go and change the subject. He only wanted to do whatever would erase that pain from her face.

“My brother David was different from Doyle and me,” she said quietly. “He never felt the call to law enforcement. He wanted to serve people in a different way. He joined a charity group called Samaritan’s Vision.”

Nix’s blood iced over. He’d heard of Samaritan’s Vision. Almost anyone who’d watched the news ten years ago had heard of the group, after what had happened to a contingent of volunteers in Sanselmo, a conflict-plagued country on the Caribbean coast of South America.

“Dana—”

“He was in Sanselmo. He was slaughtered by one of the drug cartels that supported the rebels.”

“I’m so sorry.”

She sighed deeply. “So am I. David was the very best of us. Not an unkind bone in his body. Doyle and I used to joke that our parents must have found him under a rock somewhere, he was so different.”

He saw moisture glistening in her eyes and wished he’d changed the subject. But maybe talking about her brother was how she worked through the pain of his loss. She looked so eager to tell him more as she turned to face him, he sat back and let her talk.

She told him about David’s good grades, his cheerful attitude, the way he’d managed to be their comfort when their parents died. “He was shattered at first,” she murmured with a slight smile, “but once Doyle and I were home and we were all together, it was David who helped us get past the pain and remember all the good times. He made us sit down every night for a week and tell stories of life with Mom and Dad.”

“He sounds very special.”

Her face crumpled, breaking his heart. “He was. And it’s all kinds of wrong that he died so young, with so much life still ahead of him.” She brushed away her tears, looking angry at herself for the sign of weakness.

He couldn’t stop himself from touching her face, from cupping her jaw and drawing her closer. Brushing his lips to her forehead, he whispered, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry you’ve lost so much in your life.”

She rested her forehead against his, not pulling away. “When I saw Doyle’s truck lying on its side in the road the other night, my first thought was that I’d lost him, too. That I’d lost everyone I’ve ever loved.”

He’d seen a hint of that fear in her eyes, he remembered. Had felt its cold chill straight down to his marrow.

“He’s fine,” he said softly, lifting his other hand to her face.

She pulled back just far enough to gaze up at him, her eyes warm and languid with what he desperately wanted to believe was desire.

“What are we doing here?” she whispered, and it didn’t sound like a rebuff. It sounded like a plea.

Slowly, deliberately, he lowered his mouth to hers, wanting just a taste, just a light brush of his lips to hers. Just enough to know what it would feel like to kiss those soft pink lips.

But of course, it didn’t happen quite that way. Because the second his mouth touched hers, something exploded inside him, something incendiary, spreading flames through his body like wildfire.

Her hands clutched the front of his T-shirt, pulling him closer, her lips parted in heated response and the world spun wildly, irrevocably off its axis.

Chapter Nine

She was kissing a man she called by his last name. On some level, Dana knew that fact meant something important, that she wasn’t thinking straight. But the truth was, she wasn’t thinking much at all, only feeling. And what she felt was an almost palpable relief, as if this moment in time, with Nix’s mouth moving relentlessly over hers, was something she’d been waiting for her whole life. It seemed to drive away the restlessness that had roamed her soul for as long as she could remember, leaving her feeling only pleasure and contentment.

If she had been thinking, not feeling, that realization would have scared her a lot more than it did.

But Nix’s hands, trailing sensual fire down her throat and over her collarbone, drove anything like thought far from her mind.

His mouth migrated in soft, light kisses away from her mouth and over the curve of her jaw, settling with sweet heat on the skin just beneath her ear. He nuzzled there, a growl rumbling through his chest. “You smell good,” he murmured, giving her earlobe a light nip that made her suck in a deep gasp of air.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

He laughed softly, dropping his chin to the curve of her neck. His beard bristled against the sensitive flesh, sending a scattering of chill bumps across her skin. “You’re welcome.”

Like a little fly buzzing in the back of her mind, a desperate thread of caution tried to catch her attention. She wanted to swat it away, make it leave her alone to enjoy the delicious things Nix was doing to her with his remarkably talented hands and mouth, but she hadn’t lived through a number of dangerous situations by ignoring her cautious side. With a low groan, she slid away from Nix’s grasp and stood, breathing as rapidly as if she’d just run for her life. She took a few steps away from him, ending up in front of the mantel.

“Well, damn,” Nix murmured.

“We can’t do this.” She shook her head, trying to convince her reluctant body that she was doing the right thing.

“We just did.” Nix had walked up behind her, close enough that she felt the heat of his breath stir her hair.

She clenched her fists. “You know what I mean.”

“You mean we shouldn’t.” He murmured the words against her hair, sending a hard shudder of need rumbling down her spine.

She didn’t trust herself to turn around and face him. “I’m here for only a few more days. I need to concentrate on learning everything I can about the attack on my brother. I can’t— I don’t want to complicate everything.”

She heard him take a long, deep breath. The heat of his body dissipated as he moved backward, away from where she stood. A few seconds later, he appeared in her peripheral vision, standing at the window that looked out on the dark woods beyond the cabin.

“Complications,” he said softly. “I don’t suppose I need any of those myself.”

“So we’re agreed?” She made herself turn to look at him.

He leaned against the window frame and looked back at her. “Yeah. We’re agreed.”

“If you’d rather we work separately from here on—”

“I’ll try to control myself.” His mouth quirked. “If you think you can.”

“Somehow I’ll soldier through,” she answered, keeping her tone light.

He grinned at her effort at humor.

She felt as if her legs were going to quiver out from under her, so she returned to the sofa and sat at the far end. “So, between what you learned about Blake Culpepper and what Briar told us about my parents’ accident, which lead should we follow?”

“Both, I think,” he said after a brief pause. He walked back to the sofa and sat on the opposite end, leaving room between them. “I’ll put some feelers out to see if anyone around Bitterwood has spotted Blake Culpepper. See if I can get my hands on a recent picture we can show around.”

“Does he have any outstanding warrants?”

“Not that I know of. I’ll check into that when I get into the office tomorrow, too.”

“And meanwhile, we’ll take a look at the files on my parents’ accident?”

“Absolutely. If you want to meet me at the office first thing tomorrow morning, we can take a look. I’ll be in by eight at the latest.”

“I’ll be there.”

Silence fell between them, tense with what they were leaving unspoken. Finally, Nix rose to his feet and pulled out his truck keys. “Thanks for dinner.”

“You’re welcome.” Politeness, if nothing else, demanded that she stand up and see him out. She tried to keep a careful distance, but the cabin wasn’t large enough for her to get so far away that she couldn’t feel the tangible tug of his masculine appeal. It flooded her with instant heat.

He opened the door and stepped out onto the porch, turning before she could close the door behind him. He gazed through the open door, his expression suddenly serious. “I know you think you should have been able to protect your brothers. Both of them. I’m an older sibling, too. I get it. But it’s not all on you. Maybe you should cut yourself a break.”

Then he turned and disappeared into the darkness, leaving her staring out the door in confusion. Despite the chill of the night air flowing through the open door, she remained where she was until Nix’s truck roared to life and the lights of the headlamps cut a slice out of the darkness as he drove way.

How could he know she felt responsible? She hadn’t said anything of the sort when she’d told him about David’s death.

But it was true, wasn’t it? She felt responsible for his death, felt as if there should have been some way she could have foreseen the outcome of his dangerous trip and done something to stop him. He would have listened to her, wouldn’t he? If she’d begged him not to go?

But she’d tamped down her worries and given him her support. She’d even driven him to the airport and given him a hug and a kiss goodbye, her blessing for his choices.

It was the last time she’d seen him alive.

She closed the front door and locked it, then walked in a fog back to the sofa. As she slumped onto the cushions and pressed her cheek against the back, she imagined she could still smell the clean, masculine scent of Nix’s body in the nubby fabric.

Hell, she could smell him on her, not just in the weave of her cotton T-shirt but on her skin, as well.

She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, remembering the feel of his skin on her skin, his mouth on hers, the frantic thud of their heartbeats hammering chest to chest.

Complications,
she thought, closing her eyes.

Easier to identify than to escape.

* * *

N
IX
ARRIVED
AT
the station earlier than usual, not because he was any more gung ho than the next cop, but because he hadn’t seen the point of lying awake in bed, tormenting himself with all the things he’d wanted to do with Dana Massey, when he could distract himself with work.

Also, he knew if he got to work early, he could catch Briar Blackwood before she left the station at the end of her overnight shift in dispatch. He’d tried to reach Alexander Quinn to get a copy of the photo of Blake Culpepper, but the former CIA agent hadn’t been in the office and nobody there could tell Nix where to reach him.

He caught Briar as she was gathering her things to leave. “Good morning, sunshine.”

She cocked her head slightly. “Have you been awake all night?”

The girl with the X-ray vision, he thought. “A little insomnia. Thought I’d come in early to get a head start on the day. Listen, about your cousin Blake—”

She grimaced. “What about him?”

“Does anyone in your family have a recent photo of him?”

“Maybe his mama. You want me to ask?”

“Well, you might not want to mention it’s the police who need it.”

“If I tell his brother Randy I can probably get him to sneak it out of the house without her knowing. He hates Blake. Always thought their mama liked Blake best, which is kind of true, so I don’t exactly blame Randy for it. Although Randy’s not easy to like himself, come to think of it. But he’ll get you the picture if I ask him to.”

“That would be great,” Nix said, unable to stifle a grin at Briar’s candid appraisal of her family’s foibles. It was one of the things he’d always liked about her—she didn’t hold back what she thought, good or bad.

“Yeah,” Briar said with a sigh, noticing his amusement. “We’re a fine bunch, aren’t we?”

“You are, for sure. Fine as they come.” He touched her cheek with the back of his knuckles. “How you standing on money? Everything still okay?”

She stepped into the circle of his outstretched arm, letting him give her a brotherly hug. “We’re okay. Aunt Jenny refuses to consider taking any money to keep Logan at night—she says he mostly sleeps the whole time and he’s an angel even when he’s awake, which you and I know isn’t true, but she seems to like having him around. And it sure helps me not to have to pay a babysitter.”

“Anything need repairing around the house?”

She shot him a look. “Anything needs repairing around the house, I’ll be able to fix sooner than you would, and you know it.”

He couldn’t argue. Briar was handier than about anyone he knew.

Leaving his arm draped around her, he walked with her out to the employee parking lot, where her old Jeep Wrangler was parked not far from his truck. “You know all you have to do is give me a call, right? I know you’ve got it under control and all, but things happen, and you don’t have to go it alone.”

“I know.” Briar gave him a hug, an impulsive gesture from a woman who was usually inclined to keep her distance from other people. Her late husband, Johnny, had never tried to temper her independent streak.

On the contrary, Nix thought. Johnny had liked not having to put himself out much to care for his wife’s needs. It had left more time for him to indulge his own whims and desires without worrying about Briar.

Too bad those whims and desires had run him up against somebody with a hunting knife and a grudge.

Nix returned the hug, noticing the womanly curves beneath his arms and the sweet, clean smell tickling his nose and wondering, suddenly, why he felt nothing of the fire that swamped his blood when he looked at Dana Massey. Why not Briar? She was as pretty as the hills she loved, as sweet as wild honeysuckle and as tough and resourceful as any pioneer who’d ever trod these mountains.

But she’s not Dana,
his mind taunted him.

Oh, hell, he was in trouble.

Headlights swept across the parking lot, making him squint as he let Briar go and glanced at the newcomer. It was Dana Massey’s Chevy, he realized. He glanced at his watch. Only seven-fifteen.

Maybe she’d had a sleepless night, too.

He said goodbye to Briar and watched her drive away, staying where he was until Dana had parked the Chevy and started walking toward him.

He met her near the door. “You’re early.”

“You, too.” She nodded at the taillights of Briar’s car, still visible in the early-morning gloom. “Briar?”

“Yeah.”

“I guess that was a brotherly hug?” She closed her eyes as soon as the words left her mouth. “Oh, no, that sounded terrible. Forget I said it.”

“Forgotten,” he lied, stifling his pleasure at her flicker of jealousy as they entered the station through the back door.

“Thanks.”

“The file clerk won’t be in before eight,” he warned as they walked down the long corridor to the front desk, where he waited for her to sign in and receive a visitor’s badge from the desk sergeant.

“I’ll mooch some coffee while we wait,” she said, already moving ahead of him down the corridor.

“Briar’s going to get us a photo of Blake Culpepper,” he told her as they stopped in the break room for coffee.

“Do you really think he could be behind what happened to Doyle?”

“It’s as likely as the Sutherlands and Hales being behind it,” he reminded her, watching her produce a large plastic coffee mug from her purse and fill it with coffee.

She stirred in two sweeteners, no cream and took a long swig, grimacing. “This is really terrible coffee.”

“Sorry, should have warned you.” He’d already had his morning coffee at home.

She shrugged. “Never have been to a police station with coffee worth a damn.” She nodded toward the exit. He walked with her to the small communal office the detectives on the force shared. Nix was the only detective in the office, though the new chief of detectives, Antoine Parsons, was somewhere in the building. He’d stuck his head in the office earlier, called Nix a suck-up, then wandered off to do whatever upper management did at seven in the morning.

Dana pulled up the rickety steel-and-vinyl chair that sat in front of Nix’s work space and rested her elbows on the desk. “So, do you think waving around a photo of Blake Culpepper is going to get you anywhere? I mean, he has a lot of family around, doesn’t he?”

“Well, loyalty’s a fickle thing, sometimes,” he said with a shrug. “Blake has both friends and enemies around these parts, some of both in his own family. The secret is finding one of the enemies before the friends start throwing around threats and scaring them off.”

“Is the militia movement a big thing in this area?”

“Yes and no. There are militia groups, but not all of them are really dangerous. Some of them are just guys who take the Second Amendment seriously and meet together to target-shoot, do a few drills and complain about government overreach, and they’re not entirely wrong, sometimes. They’re generally law-abiding and cause us no trouble.”

“That’s not the case with the Blue Ridge Infantry,” she said.

“No, it’s not. They’ve been trouble from the start.”

“And you think they’ve extended their reach down into Tennessee?”

“I don’t know if the Blue Ridge Infantry even exists in its original form anymore.” Nix leaned back in his chair until it creaked. “From everything we’ve been able to learn about Wayne Cortland’s organization, he pretty much co-opted the militia for his own purposes.”

“Along with a couple of anarchist groups and God knows how many hillbilly drug dealers.” Dana rested her chin in her hands and looked across the desk at him. “But how cohesive a group are they now, with Wayne Cortland dead and his son missing?”