Appalachian Peril

by Debbie Herbert

  That settled the matter. He forked over the cruiser keys. “Call me if you get any leads. After Beth is somewhere safe, I’ll head to Atlanta and pay Lambert a surprise visit.”

  “Sounds like a plan. This situation with the Lambert family needs to be handled quickly before someone is seriously hurt or killed. Be careful.”

  “You, too.” Bad enough he hadn’t protected Beth—he didn’t need an injured partner on his conscience, as well. James Tedder, Charlotte’s husband, was his best friend, and he’d be damned if James’s wife and their future baby suffered because he’d overlooked a hidden danger.

  Chapter Seven

  Beth fought the effects of the prescription painkiller and anti-inflammatory pills the hospital had administered. At least she’d talked them into giving her only a mild dosage. She’d need all her wits for the coming interview. Sammy didn’t know it yet, but she was going to confront Dorsey Lambert. No way she’d miss the opportunity to get answers.

  The rolling hills of North Georgia gave way to the crowded metro Atlanta area with its skyscrapers and traffic. Lots of traffic. Gingerly, she touched the bandage by her temple.

  “Your head starting to hurt?” Sammy asked.

  “No.” She shrugged and relented at his raised brows. “Well, maybe a little. I consider myself lucky not to have a concussion.” She quickly rushed to change the subject. If she wanted to see Dorsey, she couldn’t let Sammy harp on her injuries. He’d use it as an excuse to exclude her access. It’d been hard enough convincing him to let her go with him to Atlanta. “Does the traffic bother you?”

  “It doesn’t thrill me.”

  Sammy wasn’t in the best of moods. En route, he’d contacted the Atlanta PD to provide backup while he questioned the suspect. They’d responded that there were no available officers and wouldn’t be for several hours—if then. Sammy had told her that he’d almost turned around but decided the risk of her getting hurt again was greater than the danger of facing the man alone.

  She covertly studied his profile. Sammy Armstrong was like a bad-luck charm that showed up at some of the worst moments in her life—the teenage arrest, the break-in at her house, and today’s mess. But maybe it was good luck instead of bad, even the arrest. If he and his partner hadn’t broken up the party when they did, the aftermath might have been even worse for her.

  Sammy turned onto I-20, and a couple of miles later, they were driving through East Atlanta Village with its older homes, quirky shops and even an urban llama farm nestled less than a mile from the interstate mayhem. It was unlike the other parts of Atlanta Beth was used to. Their old family home, which Cynthia still occupied, was in Sandy Springs, which sported an old-money vibe with scenic mansions sprawled along single-lane roads. Aiden favored the affluent Buckhead area and lived in a high-rise condo near his law practice. Beth appreciated their different styles, but as for herself, she enjoyed the SoWa section in the South End of Boston, which served as a mecca of the arts.

  Sammy pulled into the driveway of a modest ranch-style home with an old Plymouth Duster parked out front. He shut off the engine and then frowned when he caught her undoing her seat belt. “No way. You stay locked in here. It shouldn’t take me long. Chances are he’s not living here with his mother, anyway. Probably only listed her address to provide an answer on the Corrections release form.”

  “I’m not seeing her alone. I’m with an armed law enforcement officer. I couldn’t possibly be any safer.”

  Lines creased on his forehead. “But—”

  “No buts.” Before he could answer, she hopped out of the car and shut the door. She offered him a breezy smile and sauntered toward the porch walkway.

  Sammy exited the vehicle and let out a sigh that she guessed could be heard all the way down the street. “You let me do all the talking. I’ll explain your presence as a recently hired detective. She’ll assume you’re in training. Agreed?”

  “Of course,” she assured him. Unless I have a burning question for Lambert that you don’t ask him yourself. “Want me to stand at the back door in case he’s home and tries to make a run for it?”

  The look he threw her was so stern she instantly realized her mistake. “Just kidding,” she offered. Quickly, she scooted up the porch steps in case he changed his mind. Sammy moved in front of her and rapped at the door.

  A game show played on the TV until someone inside suddenly muted it. “Who’s there?” called a raspy voice that could have been male or female.

  “Elmore County Sheriff’s Department.”

  Silence.

  The peephole darkened briefly, and then the door flung open. A woman stood before them in a floral muumuu. Unkempt gray hair floated past her shoulders, and she sported the lip wrinkles associated with a long-term cigarette smoker. “You ain’t got no jurisdiction in Fulton County,” she pointed out in a gravelly voice. “What do you want?”

  “Mrs. Rayna Lambert? We’d like a word with you about your son, Dorsey. You told Detective Tedder this morning that he lives with you at this address?”

  “Like I told that woman, he ain’t here,” she offered unhelpfully. “He’s at work down at the Coca Cola plant. Won’t be home for hours.”

  “I’d like his cell phone number. I can meet him at the plant. Won’t take but a few minutes of his time.”

  Rayna spat out a series of numbers that Sammy punched in his own phone. Beth peered past the woman’s bulky frame and into the den, which was surprisingly well furnished and neat. Mrs. Lambert took more care with her housekeeping than she did her personal appearance. From the den, she had a view of the kitchen and a hallway that led to more rooms and a back door. A flash of red hair poked from one of the hallway rooms. The man had a gaunt, pale face with eyes focused on where they stood on the porch. He had the intent furtiveness of a hunted animal assessing danger. He caught her stare, and his eyes widened. Before she could alert Sammy, the man bolted from the room and sprinted to the back door.

  “Hey, he’s here!” she said, tugging on Sammy’s jacket. “He’s making a run for the back!”

  “Halt,” he called out, trying to push past Rayna Lambert’s hulking frame. “We just have a few questions.”

  “Guess he don’t want to talk to you,” she said without a trace of humor in her flat voice.

  Sammy flew down the steps. “Get in the car,” he ordered.

  Like hell. Beth waited until he’d sped past the corner of the house before she ran after him.

  Magnolia trees haphazardly dotted the large backyard, but enough snow lay on the ground to show Lambert’s footprints leading straight to the neighbor’s abutting property. Lambert was thin and lithe and had the adrenaline rush of the hunted as he scaled the privacy fence and disappeared from her sight. Sammy was close behind, and he also quickly climbed over.

  Unlike Aiden, she’d never been the athletic type, preferring the solitary pursuit of painting while he went to ball practice. Scaling a six-foot fence was not in her wheelhouse, especially after being banged up in the car. Instead, she sped to the side of the property, arriving in time to watch as Sammy pursued Lambert down the tree-lined street and then around the bend in the road.

  Should she call 911? She tapped the cell phone in her back pocket but decided Sammy might not appreciate her interference. It might be best to let him either apprehend Dorsey on his own or make arrangements to return later with a police officer. But retreat to the cruiser? Beth slowly turned around, facing Rayna, who stood rooted on the back porch, hands crossed over her chest, watching the drama with a stone-faced expression.

  Dorsey might have given them the slip, but his mother hadn’t. She slowly walked toward her, as though Rayna were a wild animal who’d balk at the slightest provocation and retreat into her lair. But the Lambert matriarch was made of sterner stuff than that. She eyed Beth dead-on and never flinched a muscle, even though her son was running from the law, even though s
he was clad only in a thin housedress in the frigid cold—cold for Atlanta, that was—and even though a stranger approached.

  Beth stopped at the edge of the back porch, staring into the woman’s implacable face. “Why?” she asked simply.

  Rayna pulled a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from the pocket of her dress, expertly cupped her hands over her mouth to shield the flame from the wind, and lit up. She drew heavily and then exhaled a noxious cloud of gray smoke. “Why what?” she asked abruptly.

  “Why is your son out to get me?”

  “First of all, I don’t even know who the hell you are.”

  “Beth Wynngate.”

  “Ah.” The pale eyes flickered. “You must be related to Judge Edward Wynngate.” She spat out the name as though she’d accidentally swallowed a morsel of something putrid.

  Beth squared her shoulders, unashamed to claim the familial connection. “His daughter.”

  Rayna cast disapproving eyes over her from head to toe, and Beth was conscious of how she must appear to the older woman—a tasteful Berber knitted cap with matching scarf, diamond studs discreetly gleaming on her earlobes, a wool coat of the finest quality, tailored trousers and designer boots. And there was also the little matter of the bandage over her right temple.

  “Go on,” Rayna urged. “What’s Dorsey done got himself into?”

  “I’ve been threatened. Several times.” She touched the bandage. “Most recently this morning. Your son seems to hold some kind of grudge against my father—who died seven months ago, by the way.”

  If she’d expected sympathy, she’d have been disappointed. Rayna’s features didn’t soften for an instant.

  “Anyway, a man confronted me this morning, saying I needed to fork over fifty thousand dollars to make all this go away.”

  “But it weren’t Dorsey.”

  “No. But it has to be someone he sent, probably a member of the family, judging by the red hair.”

  “Sounds like a pretty flimsy connection to me.”

  She didn’t want to give away any specific information to this woman, so she merely stated the obvious. “Oh yeah? Then why’d your son run from us?”

  “He’s an ex-convict. Why wouldn’t his first instinct be to run from the cops? He never wants to be behind bars again.” She drew on the cigarette. “I don’t want that for him, either.”

  “Then work with us. If Dorsey isn’t behind this, he can clear his name.”

  “Like you’d believe anything he’d say.”

  “Can you just get him to leave me alone?” she asked, burying her pride. “I haven’t done anything to him. Whatever grudge he had with my father, that’s in the past. The man’s dead, and his sentencing was always fair and within the bounds of the law. This vendetta is ridiculous.”

  “Poor little rich girl. Daddy’s dead, and here you stand, looking like a million bucks. Must have inherited a nice bundle.”

  Beth said nothing. What was the point in denial?

  Rayna tilted her head back and blew out a series of spiral smoke rings. “I’ll tell you this much,” she said at last. “Dorsey may be a lot of things. Bad things. But he ain’t gonna rough up no woman. And he certainly ain’t a killer.”

  Delusional mother. “Maybe you don’t know him as well as you think you do. And what about the rest of the family?”

  Rayna tossed the cigarette in the snow, snuffing it out. “I’ll speak to him.”

  “Thank you.” A modicum of relief swept through her. Even if Sammy couldn’t catch up to Dorsey, perhaps some good had come out of this trip.

  “I ain’t doin’ it for you, missy.” Rayna started to turn away. “Now get the hell off my property.”

  What are you going to do if I refuse, call the cops? But of course, Beth didn’t say it aloud. No point in antagonizing the woman and calling her out over an idle threat. Rayna retreated inside, and the door slammed shut.

  Beth hunched forward, bracing against a chilly gust of wind. Where was Sammy? Was he okay? Dorsey’s small build wouldn’t match up well with Sammy’s fit, muscular body, but a cornered rat might prove dangerous. If she had the cruiser keys, she could search the neighborhood. She was just lucky he’d left it unlocked for her.

  She looked over her shoulder, but there was no sign of either man. Might as well wait in the warm car rather than stand out here in the cold, her very presence ticking off Rayna Lambert, a possible ally. And even if she didn’t want to admit it to Sammy, her head and back ached from the wreck. She’d been lucky the guardrails had held and that her car hadn’t crashed down the mountain. Just imagining being trapped inside the twisted metal heap as it flipped and landed in the hollow below made her knees weak.

  Once in the cruiser, Beth leaned back in the seat and closed her eyes, willing herself to relax and have faith that Sammy knew what he was doing and was in no danger. They’d caught Dorsey unawares, so it was unlikely he had a weapon on him as he’d raced from the house. Actually, he’d been wearing a T-shirt and long johns, and he’d been barefoot. A distinct disadvantage against Sammy. She hoped that helped make up for Sammy’s lack of knowledge about the layout of the neighborhood, but she pictured Dorsey slunk below the foundation of someone’s house, curled into a tight ball like a stray animal hiding.

  The car door suddenly slung open, and she jumped in her seat. Her heart jackhammered against her ribs until she saw it was Sammy.

  Alone.

  “He got away, huh?” she asked. “Figures. He’s like a pesky rodent scurrying out of trouble.”

  “I’d say more than pesky,” he answered, pointing at her injury.

  Sammy started the car, and they rolled away. A slight lift of the curtain at the front of the house told Beth that Dorsey’s mother had been keeping a close watch. Her son would slither back home soon enough.

  “Are you going to contact the Atlanta PD again and update them?”

  “Already did.” His jaw was tight and his hands white-knuckled as they gripped the steering wheel. “I knew I should have waited until they had an officer available.”

  “You couldn’t have known if Dorsey would even be home tonight,” she pointed out. “Are we going to drive around the neighborhood and see if he’s around?”

  “We can. The local cops agreed to put out a BOLO. Maybe they’ll capture him.”

  He circled around the block and then widened the search to another neighborhood in the direction Dorsey had run.

  “Could be he’s got friends or relatives close by that’ve already taken him in. But the good news is that Rayna Lambert agreed to see if she could talk some sense into her son.”

  Sammy snorted. “Don’t count on that happening. Apple doesn’t usually fall far from the tree.”

  Let him be cynical. Beth believed Rayna would try. After all, she was his mother, and it was obvious that if Dorsey didn’t stop pursuing her, this wouldn’t end well for him. “Time will tell,” she said in a you’ll-see tone.

  “This is pointless,” Sammy said at last, running a hand through his dark hair. “Now to figure out what to do with you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re obviously not safe in Blood Mountain. While we’re in Atlanta, maybe you should pay your stepmother a visit. Surely you can stay with her until Lambert is apprehended.”

  The too-casual way Sammy threw out the suggestion didn’t fool her. She had the sneaking suspicion this had been his intent all along in coming to Atlanta—to dump her off on Cynthia. Her stepmother would hate that even more than she would.

  “No way. I’ll take my chances back home.”

  “Home? Meaning...you’re going back to Boston?”

  “Blood Mountain.” Strange that she considered it home rather than her dad’s old house in Sandy Springs or her apartment in Boston.

  He frowned. “Then stay with Aiden.”

  “H
e’s still out of town.”

  Sammy pulled onto the interstate, his fingers tapping out a beat against the dashboard. “There has to be a safe place for you somewhere.” He cleared his throat, as if uncomfortable with what he was about to say. “Would you consider staying with me? I have a guest room.” His voice was no-nonsense, but she detected a note of tension in it, as if afraid of her answer.

  “Nope. That’s not happening. I can’t imagine your boss would cotton to that idea, either.”

  “Harlan’s a friend. Speaking of which, Charlotte mentioned you could stay with Lilah, if being with me bothers you so much.”

  “Lilah’s busy. I wouldn’t feel right imposing. Not when her baby’s due any moment.”

  “Stubborn,” he mumbled, shifting in his seat.

  “I heard that.” She wasn’t offended, though, especially considering that it was the truth. She’d lived too long in places where she wasn’t truly wanted. Once she’d left high school, she’d sworn she’d never again be a millstone around another person’s neck.

  “There’s always Boston.” Her heart wasn’t in the suggestion, though, since it had proven unsafe once before. But it would put distance between her and the Lamberts.

  “That’s no good. You were followed up there.”

  “True. But I think Rayna can put a stop to Dorsey’s stalking.”

  “Don’t kid yourself on that score.” He shot her a hooded glance. “Is the thought of staying with me so disagreeable? Are you worried about what people will say?”

  “It’s not that.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “I won’t put anyone else in danger again.”

  “I can take care of myself while I protect you. For crying out loud, Beth. I’m a cop.”

  “Out of the question,” she insisted.

  Sammy shook his head and mouthed the word stubborn.

  She was refusing for his own good, even if he couldn’t see it. His offer was tempting. But no matter how easily Sammy shrugged off the impropriety, it wouldn’t look good for him professionally to have her, a targeted victim, living in his home. So the problem remained. Where could she stay, besides possibly a string of impersonal hotels, where no Lambert would find her? Someplace where her presence wouldn’t be a danger to her host?