“Corey’s been trying to stop the project at Mount Locust from going forward.”
That didn’t sound like much of a friend, but Sam kept his mouth shut.
“Not me, Emma. One of my clients.”
“Is there any difference?” she asked, patting him on the arm.
“Definitely. I don’t enjoy crossing swords with you,” he said. “Since it’s so crowded here, would you two like to join me? I’m almost finished and then you’d have the table to yourselves.”
Emma hesitated and glanced at Sam.
“I see a table in the corner,” he said. “But thanks for your offer. Nice to meet you.”
“Sure.” The attorney pinned him with steely eyes. “I hope you enjoy your meal.”
They moved on to the corner table, and Sam held out the chair that faced away from Corey for Emma. “He likes you.”
“Corey?” She frowned. “He’s a friend, that’s all.”
“I think he’d like it to be more.” He glanced past her to the table where Corey was on his cell phone. Not only had the attorney’s eyes spelled out more than friendship toward Emma, they let Sam know Corey didn’t like him.
“You’re crazy. Corey has never indicated any interest in me at all—not even to grab a cup of coffee with him.” She rubbed her arm. “Thanks. Now I’ll be uncomfortable around him.”
“Maybe it’s just my imagination.” He glanced over the menu as the waitress arrived. Norma Jean was stitched on the pocket over her heart. The name rang a bell, and he studied the woman’s lined face. Unless he was mistaken, Norma Jean was working here the last time he’d visited Jug Head’s, over ten years ago.
“What’ll it be, folks?”
Sam glanced at Emma. “Know what you want?”
“Small catfish filet dinner,” she said.
“And your drink?”
“If your coffee is as good as it used to be, I’ll take that.”
“If you like it strong, we brew some of the best coffee in Natchez,” Norma Jean said and turned to Sam.
“What she’s having sounds good to me.” He handed the waitress the menus back. “But make mine the large-size order of fish.”
The waitress stopped at Corey’s table as he laid his phone down and glanced up at her. Sam couldn’t hear him, but from the way she laughed, he must have said something funny. He did see the wink the attorney gave her. Maybe he was wrong, and Corey wasn’t interested in Emma. Maybe that was just his way.
Sam looked back at Emma. “How’s your hand?”
“Throbbing, but not as bad since I took the Tylenol.” She leaned back as the waitress set two cups of coffee on the table.
“Thank you,” Sam said, then turned his attention back to Emma. “You’re not going to try to work tomorrow, are you?”
“No trying to it. I’ll be there at eight, like always. I want to see what’s buried.”
“And just how do you propose to get there?”
“I’m taking you up on your offer to pick me up,” she said, grinning. “You did offer, didn’t you?”
“So I did.” His heart thudded in his chest when she caught his gaze and held it. A strand of hair had come loose from the ponytail, and he wanted to brush it behind her ear. His thoughts must have shown on his face because she quickly looked away. “There’s something else we need to do,” he said softly.
Wariness crept into her face.
“We’re going to be spending a lot of time together, so we need to talk about the past and deal with it.”
Before she could answer, Corey walked to their table. “Why didn’t you tell me the project was on hold?” he asked. “And that someone took shots at you last night?”
Emma gaped at him. “How did you find out?”
“You know better than to ask me that,” he said, still not smiling. “Is it true?”
Irritation flashed across Emma’s face. “Which part? Oh, never mind. Yes, I was shot at last night, and no, the project isn’t on hold. I’ll still be mapping out everything as soon as we settle the issue of what was buried in the slave cemetery in the last few years.”
“I understand you found a body?”
“Where did you hear that?” Sam asked. The only people who knew something might be buried there knew to keep it under wraps.
“You know Natchez. Word travels pretty quick.”
“There’s been no body found,” Emma said.
“Then what have you discovered?”
“We don’t know,” she said before Sam could intervene. “And if I did, I couldn’t tell you.”
Even though she said the words with a smile, her voice brooked no argument. He should’ve known Emma could handle the attorney.
“But you are digging around in the slave cemetery?”
“Like you can’t tell me who your client is, I can’t talk about this,” Emma said, raising an eyebrow. “I can tell you it’s out of my hands. If you have any questions, ask my district supervisor or Sheriff Rawlings.”
“Really? So, you did find a body.”
“Didn’t say that,” she replied. “The GPR machine didn’t give us an indication of what was in the ground. Could be buried treasure.”
“Don’t even joke about that,” Sam said. He could just see the site being overrun with treasure hunters.
Emma winced. “Sorry.” She turned to Corey. “Please don’t repeat that.”
“Don’t worry. But I would appreciate knowing what you find.”
“Maybe, if you’ll tell me who your client is,” she said.
He gave her a crooked grin. “I’ll be in touch.”
“Why do you suppose the client doesn’t want the project to go forward?” Sam asked when Corey returned to his table. He also noted even though the attorney had told them he was almost finished with his meal, he was in no hurry to leave.
“He won’t say, but I suspect whoever it is fears I’ll disturb the graves. He doesn’t understand the new equipment, and that using the GPR machine will be like taking an X-ray of the ground. I won’t have to dig.”
Just then Norma Jean arrived with their food. “Y’all enjoy,” she said and refreshed Emma’s cup. “How’d you like the coffee?”
“It’s delicious.”
“Told you so.” She laid the bill on the table.
They both reached for it, but Sam beat Emma to it. “My treat,” he said. But his mind was still on Corey’s client. Could that be who attacked Emma last night?
12
It seemed odd to be sitting across from Sam like the last ten years had never happened. Except his remark about dealing with their past had filled her with dread. Emma didn’t want to discuss anything personal with Sam Ryker.
“You never said how we were going to get my truck home from Mount Locust.”
“I didn’t, did I,” Sam said, looking up from his plate of golden fried fish and onion rings. His dark eyes gave nothing away. “Are you going to eat?” he asked and bit into an onion ring.
She picked up her fork with her left hand. This should be interesting.
After Sam took a bite of the fish, his eyes widened. “Wow! I’d forgotten how good their food is.”
Just when she thought he was going to ignore the question about her truck, he said, “I thought we had that settled. You heard the doctor. I’ll get Clayton to help me get it to your apartment tomorrow. Okay?”
“Good.” She gingerly picked up a slice of lemon with her left hand and managed to get it between her finger and thumb. She squeezed it over her fish, shooting juice on Sam’s cheek.
“Oh no!” Emma dropped the wedge on her plate and grabbed a napkin, dabbing at his face. Wrong move, as her heart leapt into her throat. “That didn’t get in your eye, did it?”
“No damage done,” he said softly and took the napkin from her fingers.
Electricity arced between them. Once again it was as though ten years had not passed. Stop it. Her track record with men was terrible. No need to make it worse by even thinking about starting u
p a relationship with Sam again.
“What just happened is a good reason for you not to drive,” he said. “You’re not very handy with your left hand.”
No. Ryan had been the lefty.
“Let’s eat,” he said, “and then we’ll talk.”
“About . . . ?”
“I don’t want to be Captain Obvious here, but I think we have unfinished business, and we might as well address it.”
“Do we have to talk about it now?”
“No, but we need to clear the air so we don’t feel like we’re tiptoeing around our past. How would you like to take a walk downtown after dinner? I don’t think it’ll be too cold.”
“I meant do we have to talk about this at all tonight?” Realizing she had unresolved feelings for Sam scared her.
“Look, we’re going to be thrown together until the case is solved, and that might stir up old feelings. We both know giving in to those feelings would not be a good idea. We have too much baggage, but I would like for us to work together as friends, at least.”
She looked down at her food. His words about baggage stung, but he was right. They would be working together, and it would be better if their past didn’t hang over them. Emma simply didn’t know how to do relationships. Never had, or she wouldn’t have ruined the one between her and Sam.
“Hey. Where’d you go?”
She looked up into his warm brown eyes. “I’m sorry. Got lost there for a minute.”
Maybe it was time to stop wallowing in the angst from her teenage years, especially since Emma couldn’t deny the undercurrent of emotions between them. She brushed the thought away. It wasn’t like Sam would ever trust her with his heart again. Ryan stood between them. “Look—”
“I’m sorry I said anything—this isn’t the time or place,” he said. “I’ll take you home if you’d like.”
She stared at the filets on her plate. He’d paid hard-earned money for their meal, and her conscience wouldn’t let it go to waste. “No, catfish needs to be eaten hot.”
Emma picked at her food, managing the onion rings and hush puppies well enough with her left hand. After forking a piece of catfish and immediately dropping it on the table, she gave up and used her fingers.
The waitress approached to refill their drinks. “You want a to-go box, hon?” she asked, eyeing Emma’s half-eaten food.
She shook her head. As much as she loved fried catfish, she didn’t love it warmed over. But then she remembered the cat at the visitor center. The cat she’d forgotten again. “Oh, wait, I believe I do.”
A few minutes later, Emma stood near the door as Sam waited behind Corey at the cash register, stepping back as a customer entered the restaurant. Trey. Her heart plummeted. Why did she keep running into him?
“Emma,” he said and glanced at her wrist. “What happened to your hand?”
“Sprained it, maybe broke a bone.”
“How?”
“She’s telling everyone it’s my fault,” Sam said as he and Corey joined them.
“I only said that twice,” she said. “And only because I’m tired of everyone telling me how clumsy I am, but blaming it on you wasn’t the answer.” Even if he was partially responsible. If he hadn’t stilled her hands, she wouldn’t have jerked away.
“I hope it heals quickly,” Corey said.
Sam agreed and turned to Trey. “Are you guarding the site at Mount Locust?”
“Till one, then someone else will take over. I stopped by here to get a couple of burgers to-go for later.”
“Good choice.”
“Hey, Trey,” the cashier called. “Your order is ready.”
“Coming. Be sure to add coffee to the order.” He nodded. “Hopefully it’ll be a quiet night, but then I’ll need caffeine to stay awake.”
Sam held the door for her and then silently walked her to the car. When he opened her car door without saying anything, her insecurity kicked in. Either he’d gotten upset about something or she was misreading his body language. When the silence continued as they drove to her apartment, she said, “Cat got your tongue?”
His head jerked toward her. “What?”
“You haven’t said a word since we left the restaurant. Did I do something?”
Confusion crossed his face. “Why would you think that?”
“Forget I said anything.”
“Was that a trick question?” he asked.
Men. Emma couldn’t believe she had to explain it to him, but men just didn’t get it. “You were so quiet I thought you were angry about something.”
“No. Just trying to figure out how to keep you safe when you probably won’t listen to me.”
“I really don’t think I’m in danger,” she said.
“That’s what I mean.”
“I think last night’s shooting was a one-time thing to scare me away so the intruder could finish whatever they came to do.”
“I’d rather you be safe than sorry.” Sam glanced in his rearview mirror, then turned off the main street.
“Where are you going?” she asked. “This isn’t the way to my apartment.”
“I know. Just making sure no one is following us.”
Emma looked over her shoulder. Theirs was the only car on the street, but that didn’t ease the tightness that suddenly gripped her chest. “You really think the man who fired at me might try again, don’t you?”
“It’s entirely possible.”
He was using his keep-your-distance voice again. She sucked in a breath of air. If she had to be around him, and she did until she could drive again, Emma did not want to feel like she was walking a tightrope all the time.
“Maybe we do need to clear the air,” she said when he parked in front of the house. “Want to come up for a cup of coffee? I brew a really good cup of joe, even better than Jug Head’s.”
Emma’s face warmed as Sam’s eyes questioned her. “Are you sure?”
No, she wasn’t sure, but confronting the problem was better than this uneasiness. “Yes.”
“Sorry if I came across wrong, but I’d hoped to get you home earlier. When we came out of Jug Head’s, it hit me how easily someone could attack you again with it being so dark.”
That made her feel slightly better, except for the being attacked part. Sam came around to her side of the car and opened her door. “Thank you,” she said and climbed out of the car, but he didn’t seem to hear her.
A frown creased his brow as he glanced up and down the street.
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know. Something seems off.”
A shiver raced down her spine, and she followed his gaze down the tree-lined avenue. Spanish moss floated like ghosts in the light wind. Her sharpened senses caught the scent of burning wood—probably from the Johnsons’ house. A dog barked two doors down. Normal things. So why was the hair raised on her arms?
With the overhead streetlight out, darkness hid his form as he pressed against the giant oak in the yard. The tree limb forked at just the right height to rest the rifle he’d assembled and afforded him an unobstructed view of Emma’s apartment building at the end of the block.
He’d parked on the next street over and carried his black case to the vacant house with a for-sale sign in the yard. This street dead-ended into the one Emma lived on. Even though there wasn’t much traffic in the area, he’d only ever come here once in the daytime and that was this morning. At night with his dark clothing he could blend with the shadows, and the overgrown shrubs afforded him privacy from any neighbors who might look out their windows.
A light wind brought the scent of burning wood and a memory of being cold and his mother struggling to lift a log his father hadn’t split. His father. His jaw clenched just thinking about him.
The whine of tires jerked his attention back to Emma’s street. Not them. They should have been here by now.
Waiting was always the hard part. While he waited, he pointed the powerful nightscope to a second-floor window. Emma’s
bedroom window. It was up to him to protect her.
Another vehicle approached the apartment building, and his pulse quickened. An SUV with the National Park Service logo on the door pulled to the front of the apartment house, and Sam Ryker climbed out of the driver’s side. Emma waited in the vehicle until he walked around and opened her car door. He held his breath as Ryker made her sit in the car while he scanned the area. Even though his black clothing blended in with the shadows, he couldn’t keep from shrinking back. He lined them up in the crosshairs of the nightscope as they hurried up the steps.
“Let’s get you inside,” Sam said and guided her with his hand on the small of her back.
“I have to get the key out for the front door.” Emma fumbled in her purse and pulled the key out, only to drop it. As they both stooped to retrieve it, she heard a faint pop, and the wood above them splintered.
She froze. It was last night happening all over again. Except this time, she’d put Sam in jeopardy.
“Go!” Sam covered her with his body as he pulled his gun.
There was nowhere to go. The door was locked, and she wasn’t about to rise up and unlock it. Emma crawled to the other side of the porch and held her breath, waiting for another shot to fire. When it didn’t happen, she searched for Sam. He was hunkered down behind the column on the porch with his cell phone in one hand, gun in the other.
“Do you think he’s gone?” she whispered.
“I don’t know. I called 911 and then the sheriff.”
As the adrenaline rush subsided, questions crowded her mind. What was going on? Why was someone trying to kill her?
13
The Natchez police arrived first, followed by Nate, and Sam helped them secure the area.
“Any sign of your attacker?” Nate asked.
“I never saw him. It’s like he was a ghost.” Sam nodded toward the huge live oaks that lined the street. “He could’ve hidden anywhere. The doorframe is so splintered I can’t even tell the direction the bullet came from.”
The dry wood had fragmented into a hundred pieces and would have to be put back together like a jigsaw puzzle. Nate shined a light on the frame, then used his knife to dig the bullet out. He held it up. The bullet had mushroomed on impact.
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