THE SECRET OF CHEROKEE COVE (3 page)

“Why don’t we clear out and go somewhere until they can come in and do their work?”

“The burglars might come back.”

“So we’ll wait for the TBI on the front porch and I’ll see what I can do about that bump on your head.”

She gave him a look of frustration that he interpreted as irritation that she hadn’t caught the intruders single-handedly when she had the chance. He stifled a smile and led her out to the front porch, settling her on the steps while he went to his car to retrieve a first aid kit. When he came back, she had unzipped her bag and was trading out her pumps for a pair of tennis shoes. She waved one of the pumps at him, displaying a broken heel, before she shoved it into her bag.

She sighed and turned the back of her head toward him to give him better access. “How bad is it?”

“Not too bad, really,” he said after he’d used some antiseptic to clean the abraded area on the back of her head. “Did they hit you with something?”

She waved her hand toward the porch railing. “They knocked me back into the railing. I hit my head on the bottom rail on the way down. I thought it was just a little bump.”

“It is. It’s just a bloody one.” He applied some antibiotic ointment to the scrape, trying to ignore the way her lightly floral perfume was making his blood run hot. Her hair was thick but soft, sliding over his fingers with the same sensuous texture as warm silk. Her skin was velvety and fragrant, tempting him to bury his face in the curve of her neck and just breathe.

He’d never been a man prone to indulging his every sexual whim, but this particular dose of desire was taking a toll on his legendary self-control, and she wasn’t even showing that much skin or giving him any indication that she found him equally attractive.

He backed away, giving himself room to breathe. “I think the bleeding’s stopped now. But that shirt may be beyond hope.”

She turned on the porch step to face him. “Thanks.”

Something intriguing glittered in her eyes, pale and mysterious in the moonlight trickling through the trees. Nix knew it would be folly to speculate what that intriguing something might be. But he’d never been any good at turning his back on a puzzle. Especially one that smelled like wildflowers.

The TBI van came rumbling down the road and parked behind Dana’s dark green Chevy Malibu. Nix recognized one of the evidence techs as a man he’d known during his time in the marine corps. He dug in his memory and came up with PFC Brady Moreland. He and Moreland had been at Stone Bay, Camp Lejeune, at the same time about eight years earlier. He and the private had played pool together a few times at Maggie’s Drawers, the rec center at Stone Bay.

“Private Moreland,” he said aloud as the younger man approached.

Moreland, to his amusement, came close to snapping to attention before his expression shifted with recognition, and a grin spread over his face. “Sarge!”

They shook hands with pleasure; then Nix got down to business, introducing Dana and letting her explain what she’d walked in on.

“It happened too quickly for me to get much of a look at the intruders,” she said with regret. “I think they were wearing gloves, but I can’t be sure.”

“It’s okay,” the other evidence technician, who introduced himself as Blalock, assured her. “If there’s anything here to find, we’ll find it.”

Dana watched them enter the house, looking as if she wanted to tag along for the search. Nix distracted her by picking up her suitcase, which still lay on its side on the porch.

“I can get that,” Dana said, but Nix waved her off.

“I’ve got it.”

“You seem awfully interested in getting me away from here,” she said in a tone that was just short of suspicious. He supposed he couldn’t blame her for being wary of someone she’d met only a couple of hours earlier under less-than-pleasant circumstances.

“Mostly, I’m interested in getting us both somewhere a little warmer.”

She looked as if she wanted to argue, but headlights appeared in the dark, moving toward them on the narrow, dead-end road. The unmistakable shape of a Ford Mustang finally came into view. Laney Hanvey, Nix thought as the black Mustang squeezed into the narrow space between the TBI van and Nix’s truck.

The lady herself got out of the Mustang and hurried to where he and Dana stood on the porch, her gaze widening as she took in Dana’s bloodied condition. “My God, did they attack you?”

“Not on purpose,” Dana assured her, though Nix thought she was probably glossing over the violence of what had happened to her. “I just got bowled over and hit the porch rail.”

“I should take you to the hospital, get you checked out.”

“No,” Dana said quickly. “I’m fine, really. It looks worse than it is.”

“How’s the chief?” Nix asked.

“Groggy. The doctor wants him to stay a day or two, maybe get some rehab for the leg. You can imagine his delight.” Laney made a face, but Nix could tell that she was relieved that her fiancé was feeling well enough to complain. “The break-in just gave me an excuse to make him obey his doctor’s orders.” She glanced at the front door, which the technicians had finally shut, probably to keep out the cold. “How bad is it?”

“A big mess in some rooms,” Dana answered. “Not so bad in the others.”

“Was anything missing?”

“I’m not sure.” Dana looked apologetic. “You’d probably know better than I would.”

“I think I’ll stick around, then, see what the technicians come up with. Dana, if you’d like to stay at my place tonight, you’re welcome. It’s over in Barrowville, but that’s actually closer to the hospital.”

“I don’t want to put you out—”

“I’ll be going back to the hospital when I’m through here,” Laney said with a shrug. “You’re welcome to my guest room. The bed’s already made up. You can help yourself to anything you can find in the kitchen.”

“My car’s blocked in,” Dana said.

“I’ll drive you,” Nix offered.

Dana looked at him. “Okay. Thanks.”

Nix carried her suitcase to his truck, setting it in the back.

Dana eyed the open truck bed. “Sure it won’t tumble out?”

“That’s part of the adventure,” he murmured in her ear, sneaking a quick whiff of that floral scent that made his gut tighten with desire. He rounded the front of the truck and looked at her across the roof of the cab. “Will it fall out or won’t it?”

Her green eyes glittered with amusement in the moonlight. “Easy for you to say. They’re not your clothes.”

The truck’s heater decided to work when Nix cranked the engine, blowing a blast of cold air into his face. On the passenger side, Dana gasped and reached to close the vents.

“Give it a few minutes and it might blow warm,” Nix said, buckling up.

Dana looked at him as she belted herself in. “How badly do you want to go home in the next little while?”

He arched an eyebrow. “What do you have in mind?”

Her lips curved in a slow smile. “How about we go see a groggy man with a broken leg about a break-in?”

Chapter Three

Dana’s brother was a big guy, tall and well built, as their father had been, but lying in the hospital bed, with his leg propped up and encased in a thick white cast, he seemed shockingly vulnerable and young. His eyes were closed when she and Nix entered his room, but they fluttered open when she pulled up a chair next to his bed.

He smiled a loopy smile and flailed one arm toward her. “Hey there.”

She smiled. “Hey yourself.”

“Is it morning?” He turned his head toward the window. The curtains were closed, blocking his view of the world outside.

“No, it’s just a little after ten. We had to talk our way in past the nurses.”

He rubbed his hand over his eyes as if to clear out the sleep. He peered at Nix, who stood quietly near the end of the bed. He gave a nod. “Nix.”

Nix’s lips hinted at a smile. “Chief.”

Doyle’s brow furrowed suddenly as he turned his groggy gaze back to his sister. “How big a mess did they make at my house?”

“Not too bad,” she told him, purposefully glossing over the truth to keep him from worrying. She had stopped downstairs in the women’s bathroom to change out of her bloodstained shirt into a fresh blouse, but she hadn’t been able to comb all of the blood out of her hair, opting to pull her auburn hair back into a ponytail to hide the worst of it. The tug of the elastic on the grazed skin of her scalp wasn’t exactly pleasant, but she’d live.

“Laney’s there still?”

“Yes. She’s going to stay until the evidence technicians get through with their investigation.”

“You got the TBI out at this time of night?”

Nix’s lips twitched again. “I might have emphasized the fact that you’re the chief of police and that there have been previous attempts on your life.”

“What were they looking for?” Dana asked.

Doyle’s gaze swung back to her. “Certainly not money.”

She smiled. “No, I suppose not.”

“I don’t keep any case files at home,” he added. “Although—”

“Although what?” she prodded when he didn’t continue.

Doyle glanced toward Nix, not answering.

“I have a phone call to make,” Nix murmured, leaving the room almost as quietly as he’d entered it.

Dana pulled her chair a little closer, laying her hand on her brother’s arm. “What didn’t you want Detective Nix to hear?”

“It’s nothing, really. I don’t suppose there was any reason to try to keep it secret from him or anyone. It’s just—I’ve come across some strange information recently, and I’m not sure what to think about it.”

“What kind of strange information?”

Doyle’s focus tightened, and for the first time since Dana had entered the hospital room, he seemed to be fully awake. “Remember a few months ago when I arrested my chief of detectives for kidnapping a local girl?”

“Not exactly the sort of thing I’d be likely to forget,” she said drily.

He smiled weakly. “No, I suppose not. Anyway, during the interrogation, Bolen said something that struck me as odd when he was explaining why they’d kidnapped the girl.”

“I thought you said it was all about putting pressure on the girl’s father to keep the Bitterwood P.D. alive and kicking.”

“It was,” Doyle said with a nod. “But I didn’t tell you the rest of it.”

“There’s more?”

“A little more. See, there was a point, right before Laney and I managed to turn the tables on Bolen and his boss, that I realized they had deliberately set out to get me up there on the mountain with the missing girl.”

Dana hadn’t heard this part of the story before. “I thought you just sort of walked into the whole mess.”

“Not exactly. At the beginning, Craig Bolen had only agreed to go along with his boss’s plan because he thought they could let the girl go free when it was over. But when it became clear that she might have seen or heard too much, they knew they couldn’t let her live. So they needed a scapegoat.”

“You don’t mean
you
were supposed to be the scapegoat.”

Doyle shrugged, grimacing a little, as if the movement pained him. “I was new in town. I had a vested interest in keeping the police department going.”

“That’s ridiculous. Who’s going to buy a story like that?”

“That’s what I asked Bolen.” Doyle covered her hand where it lay on the edge of his bed. “That’s when Bolen said something strange. He told me I was a Cumberland, and everybody in Bitterwood knows the Cumberlands are crooks and swindlers and baby-killers. He said no good ever came from a Cumberland in these parts.”

Dana frowned. “Mom’s maiden name was Cumberland.”

“I know.”

“She never talked much about her past.” Dana looked thoughtfully at her brother. “But we knew she came from somewhere around here, didn’t we? That’s why she and Dad were here when they had their accident.”

“Yes. So I’ve been doing a little asking around. And while I don’t put a whole lot of stock in much of what Craig Bolen has to say these days, he was right about one thing.” Doyle’s brow furrowed as his troubled gaze met hers. “People around here seem ready to believe the Cumberlands are capable of just about anything bad.”

* * *

N
IX
CHECKED
HIS
WATCH
,
wondering how much longer Dana Massey intended to stay in the room with her brother. He’d already worked a full day and his night hadn’t exactly been uneventful. He could use some sleep.

But if he was honest with himself, his growing impatience had less to do with going home and getting some shut-eye and more about getting another eyeful of Dana Massey’s long legs, shapely figure and intelligent green eyes.

She is not the woman for you,
he reminded himself, closing his gritty eyes against the harsh artificial light in the otherwise empty waiting room.
And not just because she’s leaving town in a few days.

He wasn’t sure that such a woman existed, for that matter. He’d gone thirty-six years without finding a woman who would put up with his cynicism or his emotional reserve. It had been easier to live with that knowledge when he was full-time military, because war was hell on marriages. He’d seen the corrosive effects of long tours of duty, the stress on families trying to stoke the home fires when any moment could bring devastating news from a world away.

But he’d been a civilian for five years now without finding a good woman and settling down.

What’s your excuse now, hotshot?

“Falling asleep on me, Detective?”

He opened his eyes at the sound of Dana’s low voice. She stood in front of him, the hint of a smile on her lips. But her amusement didn’t make it all the way to her eyes. Her night had been even worse than his, and it showed in the faint pallor beneath her tan and the dark shadows under her eyes. “You ready to go?”

She nodded, and he pushed to his feet, falling into step with her as they headed for the elevator. She was quiet all the way to the car, buckling in without speaking. But there was an edge to her silence, hints of a gathering storm.

It struck halfway back to Bitterwood.

“What do you know about the Cumberlands?”

His back stiffened for a second at the sound of the name, and he shot Dana a quick look. In the blue glow of the dashboard lights, her strong profile seemed carved in cool marble, both beautiful and unapproachable.

He’d like to paint her like that, too, he thought.

“Why do you ask?” he said.

“Do you know anything about my family background?”

He didn’t like the direction this conversation was going. “No.”

“My mother’s maiden name was Tallie Cumberland. Ever heard of her?”

The stiffness in his back returned, flowing all the way to his hands until they white-knuckled the steering wheel. The dread ran through him like ice in his blood, freezing him as if he were still that little boy from Cherokee Cove who believed every tale his mama told him, especially the scary ones.

“Don’t even look at a Cumberland,” she’d warned him from the time he was old enough to walk around on his own two feet. “They’re cursed, and they’ll spread their sickness on you.”

His father hadn’t been superstitious at all, but even he had spoken of the Cumberlands in hushed tones, dire warnings blazing in his eyes.

“You
have
heard of her,” Dana said.

“I’ve heard of the Cumberlands,” he admitted.

“Doyle says that when he mentioned the name, people reacted as if he’d just said a curse word.”

“Does he know why?”

“Not specifically. The most anyone would tell him is that the Cumberlands are nothing but trouble.”

“Does that sound anything like your mother?” he asked carefully.

“No.”

“Then I wouldn’t worry about it.”

Dana didn’t say anything else until they reached the Bitterwood city limits. Even then, she merely said she’d told Doyle she was going to stay at his house. “He didn’t like it, but I’m older than he is, so I win.”

Nix smiled, thinking of his own younger brother and how often he’d invoked the older-sibling rule when they were growing up. “Are you sure you feel safe there? Someone was able to get into the house pretty easily.”

“I’m armed and I’m too wired to sleep,” she answered, slanting a look of raw determination his way. “Bring it on.”

“I could stick around.”

“And protect the poor, defenseless girl?”

“Not what I said.”

She sighed. “I’m usually not this prickly. It’s been an unsettling night.”

“I’m serious about sticking around. And not because I don’t think you can take care of yourself. But you said there were two intruders. Couldn’t hurt to have an extra set of ears to listen out for danger.”

“And it wouldn’t hurt to have some extra firepower,” she admitted. “But it’s a lot to ask.”

“You didn’t ask. I offered.”

“So you did.” Her lips curved in a smile that softened her features, making her look far more approachable than she had seemed for most of the drive.

Far more dangerous, too,
he reminded himself.

The TBI technicians were still there when they arrived, but they were packing up to leave. Laney was outside with them, talking to Brady Moreland. She squinted at the headlights, smiling when she recognized Nix’s truck.

“Good timing,” she said. “The van will be out of your way in just a minute.”

“Actually, I’m staying here tonight after all,” Dana told her as she slid out of the cab of the truck. “I ran by to see Doyle and told him I’d keep an eye on the place.”

“Oh.” Laney looked surprised. “Okay. I need to run home and get some notes for a court case that starts Monday, but I can be back here in a half hour—”

“You don’t have to stay with me,” Dana said quickly. “Doyle told me you’d probably try but to remind you your big case is important and I’m a deputy U.S. marshal with a big gun.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. Go get some rest so you can kick butt in court Monday.”

After Laney’s taillights disappeared around the bend, Dana turned to look at Nix. “I do appreciate the offer to stay, but—”

“But you’re a deputy U.S. marshal with a big gun?”

She patted her purse. “Glock 17.”

“Nice.” He bent a little closer to her, lowering his voice. “I have a sweet Colt 1911 .45 caliber with a rosewood grip, and if you quit trying to get rid of me, I might let you hold it.”

A dangerous look glittered in her eyes. “You’re trying to tempt me with an offer to handle your weapon?”

He nearly swallowed his tongue.

She smiled the smile of a woman who knew she’d scored a direct hit. “You can stay,” she said almost regally. “We’ll negotiate weapon-handling terms later.”

She headed up the porch steps and entered her brother’s house, leaving Nix to wonder just what he’d gotten himself into.

* * *

D
ANA
GAVE
N
IX
the guest room, taking her brother’s bedroom for herself. As she was trying to figure out what part of the chaos to tackle first, Nix knocked on the door frame. He paused in the doorway, eyeing the mess with a grimace. “Let me help you straighten up.”

“It’s okay. I can get it.”

“You should take a shower and clean the blood out of your hair,” he said firmly. “Go ahead. I’ll see how far I can get by the time you’re done.”

She was too tired and sore to argue. The bruises on her shoulders were beginning to ache, and the blood in her hair was giving off an unpleasant metallic odor she would be happy to get rid of. She took her whole suitcase into the bathroom down the hall, pleased to see that the room conformed to tourist mountain cabin standards by being roomy and, even better, boasting a whirlpool tub with a multisetting handheld showerhead.

She tried to hurry through her bath, but the soothing pulse of the showerhead’s massage setting against her bruised shoulders was seductive, keeping her in the tub longer than she’d intended. She forced herself out of the hot spray finally, gritting her teeth against the faint chill of the bathroom on her wet skin, and hurried through drying off and dressing.

But by the time she reached Doyle’s bedroom, Nix had finished most of the cleanup, changing the bedsheets and returning most of the clothes back to their drawers. “There were a few things smudged with fingerprint powder,” he told her as he wiped down the dresser surface with a damp rag. “I put those and the sheets in the clothes basket in the laundry room.”

“Where’s the laundry room?” she asked, tugging her robe more tightly around her as Nix’s dark-eyed gaze dropped to where the robe lapels gaped open to reveal her thin nightgown.

His gaze snapped back up to meet hers. “Just off the kitchen.”

“Ah.”

“Was the water hot enough?”

She nodded. “Bathroom’s amazing. What is this place, one of those tourist cabins?”

“Actually, I think it may be,” Nix answered, giving the chest of drawers a final swipe of the dust rag. “Back about ten years ago, some guy bought up a lot of this land and built a bunch of cabins, hoping to bring more tourism to this area. But it’s just too far off the beaten path, and Bitterwood doesn’t have enough attractions to compete with places like Gatlinburg, Pigeon Forge or Bryson City. So the guy had to sell off a bunch of these cabins for a song just to keep his real-estate business from going belly-up. Doyle probably got a decent deal on the place. Is he buying or renting, do you know?”