by Karen Harper
And when she’d made her own life, attending college at UK, majoring in biology and then choosing to go to grad school and pursue research of her own in the lab, she had finally found a way to meld her old life with her new. Who would have thought that the ginseng that had supported her mother and Deep Down for years might be able to slow the growth of certain cancer cells?
Still, her adolescent years in two different worlds had been difficult. Was she really Jessie or Jessica, or could she manage to be both? When she had come home to visit, she’d tried not to sound uppity as Vern Tarver had called her once. During her first visits, she’d gone back to talking the talk, but a little voice in her head had often corrected Deep Downers, even her mother. She’d been pulled one way and then the other when she moved between her two worlds.
Just northwest of town, her headlights illuminated the entries of three old logging lanes, now mostly derelict and moss-covered. Such roads ran like veins in this area, which had not been mined and had barely been logged. Could her mother have taken one of those roads back into the forested hills to her counting sites? Why hadn’t someone seen which way she went? Why hadn’t she given Cassie some hint about where she was heading?
Deep Down, Welcome, the town limits sign read.
Despite Jessie’s utter exhaustion, she sat up straighter. The tires of her car made a hollow sound over the Deep Creek Bridge. She’d expected to see lots of people in the short, single street, klieg lights set up, police cars, but that was only her memories of city search scenes on the eleven o’clock news. Still, a light shone from Audrey Doyle’s B and B, where she took in boarders she fed down at her restaurant. Where the few commercial buildings clustered together, lights were out except for the old MacCrimmon house, which her mother had said now housed the sheriff’s office. It was lit up, throwing a big block of yellow light into the dark street where she pulled in.
Emotions overwhelmed her. Tears blinded her eyes as she saw Drew, tall, wide-shouldered and ramrod-straight—no slouch now—come out to greet her. She still had the car door locked when he tried to open it. Every muscle in her body, every buried memory in her brain seemed to scream as she turned off the engine and fumbled to unlock the door.
“No news?” she asked as he opened the door, then reached in to help her out. His hand was warm through the elbow of her shirt, his grip strong.
He shook his head. He wasn’t in uniform, but he wore a utility belt with a flashlight and prominent pistol on one hip. Shadows etched deep into his frown. His body was filled out now, mature, solid. But he was still the Drew she’d carried and buried in her mind and heart.
“The news is you’re here safe,” he said, “and we’ll find her together.”
She had to lock her knees to stand; she was shaking all over. His arm, like an iron band, went around her shoulders as he led her inside.
Chapter 3
3
J essie felt as if she floated; her feet were hardly under her, and her right leg trembled from alternating between the accelerator and brake for hours. No using cruise control in these hills—no control in her life at all right now.
Drew led her past a waist-high divider, through a small reception area with a single desk, then into a separate room with the open door labeled Sheriff. Inside, he sat her in a carved wooden chair near the door, but did not go around the desk to sit in his leather chair. He lowered his muscular frame into the wooden one next to hers.
“Coffee or water, Jess?”
“No, thanks. I’m too full of coffee.”
“The bathroom’s at the back of the hall. Help yourself.”
“Later. No news at all?”
“Nothing.” His face serious, even sad, he bit the corner of his lower lip, then the words tumbled from him as if they’d been dammed up. “We’ve had six different search parties out for two days. I scented three packs of hunt hounds on shoes I took from her place. Hunt hounds aren’t as good as a K-9 crew—they get distracted by game trails. But the state police can’t get one here until day after tomorrow because there’s a couple of Boy Scouts lost in Boone National Forest. Two of the hounds evidently briefly picked up her scent on the old logging trail under Snow Knob but nothing panned out.
“Besides, it rained heavy the first night, enough to wash off her scent. Tomorrow, we’ll start where her trail vanished, but it’s like she vanished. She didn’t take her truck, but she was—is—” he corrected “—such a strong walker we have a big area to cover. I’m hoping you can help me find some of her off-path or secret haunts.”
Haunts. The word snagged in Jessie’s exhausted brain. Haunts, as if Mariah had come back from the dead to walk the woods as they said some spirits had over the years, folks from long-ago pioneer and Indians days who’d gone out hunting game or sang and had never returned…never been found.
“At first light, we’ll start again,” he went on, his deep, resonant voice both reassuring and disturbing. His mere physical presence, handsome yet rugged, unsettled her. His black hair was clipped fairly close, but not a military buzz cut as she’d expected. Under bronze skin, a light beard stubble peppered his square jaw. A small scar she’d never seen slanted into his taut lower lip; his nose still had that slightly crooked look from one of his boyhood fights. Tiny, white crow’s-feet perched at the corner of his eyes fringed with black-as-night lashes, so thick for a man’s. The cleft in his chin and the angular slant of his cheekbones were more pronounced than she recalled, despite the weight and muscle he’d put on over the years.
“We’ll find her,” he was saying, “probably with a broken ankle or some such in one of her sang counting spots, living off late berries and gourmet mushrooms, eating pawpaws for dessert and drinking mountain spring water most folks would pay a bundle for. She’s a survivor, Jess. She could probably outlast a corps of marines on a survival bivouac in those woods.”
Grateful for his trying to comfort her, she gripped the arms of her chair and managed to murmur, “I really appreciate all you’ve done so far.”
“Cassie says you’ve gone sang counting with Mariah the last couple of years. That so?”
“Yes, off and on, but she used landmarks to find some of her sang counting spots. She’s only supposed to count them once a year. She took lots of notes for her annual report, so maybe I can turn up something in the house. I can probably find a few of the places from memory, but I’m not sure about one near Snow Knob. So you’ve called off the mass search?”
“You don’t mind going out just with me, do you?”
Their gazes met and held. She wondered if he was hearing echoes of Vern Tarver and her mother yelling at him that night. She’d tried to explain to them that Drew hadn’t hurt her, that she’d let him hold her and take her, but no one was listening and everyone was blaming him.
“If you think that’s best, that’s fine with me,” she said, trying to keep her eyes from wavering the way her voice did. When this was all over, when they had found her mother, maybe they could talk of that other time. Just to clear the air. What happened had been as much her fault as his. In the meantime, yes, it would be difficult being with Drew. They’d never had a real relationship in the first place, though she’d built one in her mind and heart during the four years leading up to that night. She wondered, after all was said and done back then, if he thought she was cheap or crazy.
“This was Fran MacCrimmon’s home,” she said, glancing around at what had once been his girlfriend’s house.
“Right.” Eyes narrowed, he was studying her intently, even as she had him. But he was a police officer, trained to analyze people. She mustn’t read in more than that. He might be afraid she’d get hysterical. She’d done that the last night they’d been together. Why did that seem as if it was really just last night?
He took a phone call, evidently from Sheriff Akers in Highboro. She strained to listen, at least until it turned out to be just a check on progress. Then her gaze darted around the room.
Drew’s office was spartan, neater
than any place she’d ever seen in Deep Down, as if he could control this eccentric town by being tidy here. A big, old oak desk held stacked metal baskets of papers and supplies; he had a mobile phone, desktop computer and peripherals. Four tall filing cabinets, two on each side of a window, lined the wall behind him. A flag of the commonwealth of Kentucky, a marine flag and an American flag stood against the wall facing his desk. On one side wall, large maps of the local area were marked with colored lines and pins stuck in, but didn’t seem related to this search.
What really captured her attention on the side wall with the other window—both windows were covered by neat, dark-blue vertical blinds—were two chrome-framed photos. One was of Drew with two other marines—oh, his younger brothers, Josh and Gabe—in sharp uniforms under a banner that read Semper Fi. The other picture was of him with Highboro’s longtime sheriff, Akers, pinning a badge on Drew’s chest. In the marine photo he wore a shiny dress sword at his side; in the police one, a sidearm. She tried not to gape, but to see Drew Webb standing so stunningly, stiffly at attention in crisp uniforms—a man who’s family had never heeded rules and regs—shook her to her very core.
Jessie sensed a full blush coming, just the way it had when he’d so much as glanced her way years ago. How foolish, childish and inappropriate, she scolded herself. Despite her exhaustion, she had to get control. She felt she was still rushing forward, in a plane, in a car. She needed a bed and soon, but she dreaded going home without her mother there.
“I will use your facilities,” she told him when he hung up. “I’ve been sleepless since Cincinnati and feel like a zombie. I hope I can sleep tonight without her there.”
She started to stand, but, dizzy, sat back hard. Drew rose and took her hands, pulling her up beside him, almost propping her up. She was five-eight, but she had forgotten he was so tall, maybe six-one or-two. In all those years she’d had her secret crush on him, she’d seldom been this close.
“You’ve got to be exhausted as well as strung out,” he said, keeping his hands under her elbows. “But I can’t let you back in Mariah’s house until we can take a careful survey of her property tomorrow. I used a search warrant to go through briefly today, then crime-taped the place.”
“Crime tape? It’s a crime scene? Is that agent from the big Chinese buyer still coming in here to buy sang at Tarver’s? What about the guys from the pharms and the ginseng-laced power drinks companies? I can’t see anyone around here hurting her, but those outsiders might do something to keep her sang count up so that—”
“Let’s go over all that tomorrow. The crime tape’s just a formality. Now, listen,” he added, his voice darkening as he gave her the slightest shake, as if to force her fears back down. “I’m going to phone Cassie, because I’m sure you can stay there tonight. Then, after we check out the house for any sort of clues—”
“For clues? You do think something awful has happened to her, don’t you?”
“Let’s not assume the worst for a woman who knew the woods so well. I’m sorry I can’t let you go home tonight, but we can keep your car here, and I’ll take you out to Cassie’s, then pick you up just after dawn. I’ll transfer your things to my vehicle now. You want to give me your keys, then I’ll help you to the bathroom before I call her?”
“I’ll be all right. But she has to be all right, too!”
Damn, she was going to cry. Her mother was missing, and she couldn’t go home. But neither could she have a meltdown. She had to focus on finding her mother, and that meant going along with Drew, in more ways than one.
“I’ll be all right,” she repeated, blinking back tears as she pulled away from him and fished her keys out of her purse. When she handed them to him, their fingertips touched; a jolt of lightning might as well have leapt between them. She thought he felt it, too, but his words came calm and steady.
“Stay strong, Jess. We’ll work through this together.”
Not trusting her voice, she nodded and went out of his office and down the hall, with both hands on the walls to stop the place from spinning. Neither of them was saying it, but they knew a lot was at stake in Mariah’s sang count and, therefore, in her disappearance. It was all tied in with mountain pride and worse—big money both here and abroad.
Jessie knew she had to deal with a new Drew, but then, she was a new person, too. One with a missing mother who might be as endangered as wild wood sang.
Drew had to fight the urge to pull Jess against him and hold her. It was an insane thought, considering the last night they’d been together and now this nightmare. Despite her obvious exhaustion and frustration, he was astounded at how beautiful she’d become, delicate and edgy, yet sturdy and strong. Tall, slender with tousled, curly blond hair and blue-gray eyes that bored right into you. Yeah, just as he’d remembered her and yet not the same at all. Filled out, at ease in what had once been a string bean of a body, self-assured despite her dilemma…
“Here, let me open the Jeep door for you,” he said as she stepped outside to join him on the porch.
“It looks more like a truck. Is this Deep Down’s version of a cop car?”
“It’s a Jeep Cherokee with a wired-off backseat in case I have a prisoner to transport. I’ve only got two small holding cells here.”
“A Cherokee? I’ll bet Seth Bearclaws likes that.”
“I tried to give him a lift the other day, but he won’t ride in it. Says it’s just another thing ripping off his people’s heritage.”
He went back to the office, turned out the lights and locked the door before he got in the driver’s side of the front seat. He was proud of this silver, four-wheel SUV he’d been issued when he’d taken the job. It had made his measly salary sound a lot better. It was a sturdy vehicle for the mountain roads. It didn’t have a light bar, just a single red light he put on the roof if he had a pursuit or an emergency. Traffic jams were nonexistent here. He’d been tempted to have Sheriff stenciled on both front doors, but realized it might make some folks in his jurisdiction nervous or even trigger-happy. Still, with some characters in the outlying areas, he felt as if he had a bull’s-eye on his doors and on his back. Could Mariah have run afoul of any of them?
“One of my little causes around here,” he told her, “is reminding people to lock their doors. The times, they are a changin’ ’round here.” She seemed very far away, not just across the console; she looked as if she was glued to the outside door. “Seat belt,” he reminded her, then had to help her click it in the unfamiliar lock.
“Lots of locks. So big-time crime’s coming in here?”
“I wouldn’t go that far. In the four months I’ve been on the job, it’s hardly been cops and robbers,” he admitted, as he turned on the headlights, pulled out and headed toward Cassie’s. “I broke up a fight between the Talbots and the Enloes so that feud wouldn’t restart.”
“As I recall, that feud went back to the Civil War. If the truth were known, probably to the old clan wars of Scotland. So that was a good day’s work. What else?”
He was touched that, despite her own problems, she seemed genuinely interested. About half the local population insisted there was no need for law enforcement here. He almost confessed to her how hard it had been to see the sneers and overhear the snide comments about Drew Webb, of all folks, from all families, coming back to uphold what the government said was right.
“I arrested a guy from Frankfort for letting his six-year-old son chase deer on a noisy ATV. The dad was hopping mad, said he’d sue—he was a lawyer, no less, who should have had some brains. The kid could have been killed with the ridges and rills around here. I deal with a lot of pranks from kids who are just plain bored,” he told her. “I think we can both sympathize with that.”
A moment’s silence stretched between them.
“Yes.”
“I do a lot of knock-and-talks, playing counselor as well as enforcer. The things I thought would cause me the most problems, drinking and policing illegal patches of marijuana, haven’t t
aken much time. Hardly anyone makes their own moonshine anymore, and when I find pot patches, I destroy them. But I don’t make an arrest or apply to have the land legally confiscated if I’m not sure who planted it.”
“Unless you catch them in the act, you’re never sure.”
“Right. Besides, like sang spots, a lot of it is planted far outside of town.”
“I’m sure sang is even harder to police,” she told him, slanting her body slightly in his direction as he turned off onto the side road toward Cassie’s. “I mean,” she went on as they began to bounce down the long, rutted lane, “sang’s more of a heritage here, a God-given medicine and moneymaker.”
“That’s exactly it. Local diggers and foreign buyers alike don’t give a damn what the endangered species laws say.”
“And your knock-and-talks?” she asked. Again, it really got to him that, as whipped and upset as she was, she was focusing on what he’d said. He hadn’t realized he’d been so lonely, coming home to Deep Down.
“I’ve arrested two guys and driven them into jail in Highboro for domestic violence. I owe my mother that much. Above all else, I took this job because I can’t stand guys who rough up their women and kids, and there’s still a lot of it in these patriarchal parts. I—I almost lose control—again—when I see that. Sometimes I think life was easier in sunny Naples, Italy, when I was MP—military police. I was in charge of the brig for drunken sailors and marines. They didn’t expect favors from a one-time bad boy from a hellfire family.”
He realized he sounded angry. He hadn’t really let loose with anyone since he’d been here, not even with Chuck Akers. He’d been walking a fine line between building bridges and enforcing the law.
