by Connie Mann
But Joellen wouldn’t go. Even after Cat had begged her.
Two days ago, she’d disappeared. And now she was dead.
It was Cat’s fault, and that knowledge made it hard to breathe. She staggered to her feet and swiped at the frustrated tears running down her cheeks. “Why wouldn’t you listen, Joellen?” she whispered. “You crazy girl. You knew he’d never let you go.” She gripped the sink. “Why wouldn’t you let me help you?”
The words hovered in the air as Cat splashed water on her face. She accidentally glanced at the mirror and froze when she saw her reflection. She was a mess—a scrawny, hungover, worthless mess.
Her cell phone buzzed from the other room, and Cat held on to the wall as she made her way to the rickety end table. She scooped up her cheap burner phone as she sank onto the musty sofa. She eyed the empty tequila bottle, and her stomach threatened another revolt.
The text was from Eve. Was this text number forty-two? Or maybe forty-three? If this kept up, she’d have to get another phone. Again.
Please, Cat. Come home. My wedding won’t be right without you there. Will you play your violin? For me? Please? Let me know.
Cat tossed the phone on the sofa and leaned her head back. Something niggled in the corners of her mind as she realized how much sunlight hit the threadbare carpet. She sat up, fought a wave of dizziness, and tried to think. What day was it? There was something she was supposed to do . . .
“Mrs. Fletcher! Oh no.” One look at the clock, and she knew she was really, really late.
She leaped to her feet and staggered to the kitchen alcove where she swallowed several ibuprofen while she heated instant coffee in the microwave and choked down a piece of dry toast.
Ten minutes and one quick shower later, she left her apartment and crossed the hall, the tap of her cowboy boots on the wood floor making her wince. At the last second, she’d stopped to tuck her hair under her blonde wig and pull on her usual jeans, Western shirt, and horn-rimmed glasses. Now was not the time to get sloppy.
“Mrs. Fletcher? It’s Cat.” She knocked on the door and waited, but no sound came from inside. Usually, her elderly neighbor was waiting by the door for her. But usually Cat wasn’t—she checked her phone—three hours late, either. “Mrs. Fletcher?”
Footsteps sounded from inside just before the door was wrenched open. Cat found herself face-to-face with two hundred pounds of annoyed male. “What do you want?”
“Um, hi. I’m Cat. Mrs. Fletcher’s neighbor. Who are you?”
He crossed flabby arms over a sagging gut and regarded her from under a dirty ball cap. “I’m her son.”
Cat narrowed her eyes. “I didn’t know she had any family nearby.”
“I live over near Knoxville. I got called when they took her to the hospital.”
“The hospital?” Cat waited for more, but some deep part of her already knew. “When?”
“This morning. Dang fool old woman tried to go down the stairs by herself and fell. Tripped over her walker and broke her hip.”
Cat gripped the doorframe and swallowed hard. “I’m so sorry. Can you tell me which hospital they took her to?”
“Nashville General. Wait. She said someone was supposed to take her to the doctor this morning. Was that you?”
She felt the color drain from her face. “I have to go. Thank you.”
“It was you! Stay away from my mother, you hear? You’ve done enough.”
After he slammed the door in her face, Cat slumped against the wall. She was a horrible person. Every instinct urged her to return to her apartment, pull the covers over her head, and hide. No matter what she did, she failed the people she cared about. It was hopeless, so why even bother?
But then she remembered Mrs. Fletcher’s kindness and decided she wasn’t that much of a coward. Not yet.
She headed for the hospital and found the birdlike white-haired lady tucked in a curtained alcove in the emergency department. Despite her obvious pain, her eyes lit up when she saw Cat, which stopped Cat in her tracks.
“Oh, Cat. How lovely of you to come to see me. Come here and let me hug you, child.”
Cat carefully leaned down and gave her a gentle hug. Then she pulled a chair over and took the older lady’s hand. “Mrs. Fletcher, I can’t tell you how sorry I am that I wasn’t there this morning. I let you down and now you’re here. I’m so sorry. You should have banged on my door.”
Mrs. Fletcher patted her hand. “I did, my dear, but you didn’t hear me. You were sobbing too loudly to hear anyone. Are you all right?”
Shame flooded Cat’s face. “I should be asking you that, not the other way around. And I should have been there to help you down the stairs and get you to the doctor. This is all my fault.”
Mrs. Fletcher snorted. “Your fault? Not on your life, dear girl. Despite what my son thinks, I’m fully capable of making my own decisions—and taking responsibility for them. I could have cancelled my appointment and gone with you another day, but I didn’t want to. I decided to go alone. That is not your fault—and I won’t let you steal my independence by taking responsibility for it and for me.”
They stared into each other’s eyes until the caring in Mrs. Fletcher’s gaze forced Cat to look away. “Yes, you are fully capable of making your own decisions. But I let you down, and I’ll have to live with that.”
Mrs. Fletcher gripped Cat’s hand, forcing her to look at her again. “Let it go, Cat. This is not your fault.” She paused. “Can you tell me what had you crying your heart out all through the night?”
Cat swallowed, her throat raw. “A friend of mine . . . was killed. She was beaten to death.”
The older woman’s eyes filled with tears. “Oh, that poor girl. How terrible. For her. And for you.”
“She wouldn’t let me help her,” Cat whispered. Her phone chirped, and she glanced at it to see yet another text from Eve.
“Who is looking for you? Are you in trouble?”
If you only knew. Cat met the woman’s kind eyes and decided to tell her, at least a little bit of the truth, which was more than she usually did. “It’s my foster sister Eve. She’s getting married and wants me to come home for the wedding.”
“Then go home, Cat. Maybe it’s time to stop running, to stop hiding who you really are.” Mrs. Fletcher glanced at the blonde wig, and Cat resisted the urge to make sure it was still in place. “Family is what matters.”
The words tempted Cat, like snatches of a melody that drifted on the night breeze. But then reality slapped her, hard. She couldn’t go home. Even if she belonged in Safe Harbor—which she most definitely did not—she couldn’t go back permanently, not without putting those she loved in danger. The idea was crazy.
But maybe, just maybe, she could pop in for the wedding and sneak out again before her uncle or Garcia found her.
Cat stood and kissed the woman’s papery cheek. “I’ll miss you.” She hadn’t realized she’d decided to leave until the words popped out of her mouth. She’d gone home for Mama Rosa’s birthday party several months ago, and nothing bad had happened, so maybe she could do it again. Just in and out. Maybe she could do the right thing for once.
After that, she’d decide where to go next.
“I’ll be praying you find your way home, Cat. Godspeed.”
Cat knew she’d never truly have a home, not the way Mrs. Fletcher meant, because she’d never be able to stop running. But as she climbed into the nondescript little car Walt had loaned her, she pulled out her phone and texted Eve: Stop hounding me. I’ll be there tomorrow.
Several hours later, Cat had collected her last paycheck, apologized to Walt, and thanked him again for the use of his car. One of the waitresses had been happy to move into her apartment. Cat packed her duffel bag and violin and headed south. The day Sal Martinelli had found fourteen-year-old Cat hiding behind the Safe Harbor Marina, the Martinellis had taken her in and made her part of their family. She only hoped she wasn’t bringing danger to their doorstep.
&
nbsp; Two days later, Safe Harbor police officer Nick Stanton pulled up at Sutton Ranch and climbed out of his personal pickup. Every instinct urged him to hightail it out of there. He ran his finger under the collar of his starched white shirt and his brand-new tie and wished he had the courage to walk away. But he couldn’t. He’d given Eve his word. And after the childhood he’d had, and the lies his adoptive parents had told, he’d sworn his word would mean something. But he didn’t want to be there.
No, that wasn’t right. He didn’t know how to be here, surrounded by all the Martinellis. His family, but not really. Not yet. Maybe never. He was still trying to wrap his brain around the fact that he’d been born Tony Martinelli, Sal and Rosa’s biological son. The people he’d thought were his parents, the Stantons, had been friends of the Martinellis and had kidnapped him when he was three and raised him as their own. Who did something like that? His adoptive parents were both dead now, so he couldn’t even question them about it. Everything he’d believed about his childhood had been yanked away when the truth had come out a few months ago, and now he stood at the fringes of the Martinelli clan, awkward and unsure. How were you supposed to act around people you were related to but barely knew?
He approached the ranch house and was intercepted by sixteen-year-old Blaze, the newest Martinelli foster child. Her hair had a green stripe in it for the occasion, and if he was not mistaken, she had her combat boots on under her long dress. She took his arm and glanced at his face as they marched along. “You look like you’re gonna puke, Nick. It’s a wedding, not a firing squad. Sheesh. Besides, you’re not the guy getting hitched.”
That surprised a laugh out of him. “Thank you, Dr. Phil. You’re right.” He patted her hand and followed her into the house. After an awkward almost-hug with his biological father, Sal Martinelli, and a too-tight hug from his mother, Rosa Martinelli, he spotted Eve and some of his trepidation fell away.
Eve leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Thanks for doing this, Nick. Being around us will get less weird over time, I promise.”
“I hope you’re right. You ready?”
When she nodded, they headed toward the barn that had been decked out for the wedding at the groom’s family ranch. Hay bales covered in canvas created rows of seating to one side while a dance floor and long tables lined the other side of the huge building, awaiting the reception. The smooth strains of a violin played as Nick and Sal walked Eve down the makeshift aisle. After they’d handed the bride off to a grinning Cole Sutton, Nick took his seat in the second row, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the woman tucked in the corner playing the violin.
This must be Cat, the Martinelli foster sister he’d never met. She was more than beautiful. Chin-length straight dark hair, porcelain skin, and almond-shaped brown eyes. She was too thin, though, and he wondered about the shadows under her eyes, eyes she mostly kept closed as she played. The music, haunting and beautiful, drew him in like nothing he’d ever heard before. It didn’t sound familiar, and he wondered if she’d written it herself.
As Mama Rosa sniffled into her handkerchief in the row in front of him and the preacher’s words floated over a grinning Eve and Cole, Nick’s gaze kept straying to Cat. Their eyes met for one split second, and a jolt of awareness pricked him like a sharp stick. He glanced away, unsettled by the unexpected connection.
As the preacher droned on, he kept his eyes focused squarely on Eve and Cole. That was why he was here. When he accidently glanced Cat’s way again, he caught her eyeing him, too.
Annoyed with himself, he looked anywhere but where she stood until the ceremony ended. Once he made it outside, he loosened his tie and chatted with the other guests.
He didn’t see her come out of the barn, but then, he reminded himself, he wasn’t looking for her.
Cat knew the minute he walked back into the barn during the reception. Tall and powerfully built, he had that special something people noticed. She certainly did. She might have faltered as she played, but years of practice kept the music flowing effortlessly, despite her hyperawareness of him. She forced herself to focus on the music for several minutes before she allowed herself to look up again. But she knew he’d been watching her the whole time, propped against the wall, his arms folded as if he had nothing more important to do all day than watch her.
She met his gaze, and this time, she did miss a note. She corrected and kept playing, eyes locked with his. Something shimmered in the depths of his brown eyes, a familiar sadness and bone-deep weariness she knew too well. She saw the same thing in the mirror whenever she dared to look. That kinship pulled her in like a powerful piece of music, drawing her ever closer.
Who was he? From his gaze, she knew he felt the same connection, the same recognition of a kindred spirit. Then he smiled, a slow, easy grin, and Cat felt it all the way to her toes. How long had it been since a man had looked at her that way? Had looked at her at all? She couldn’t say, especially since she took great pains to be invisible.
She shifted in the unfamiliar flowing dress, feeling exposed without her usual disguise. In her Western clothes and wig, she knew how to blend in. But here, like this? She felt naked and vulnerable.
She finished the piece and bent to put her violin away. She’d just go get an appetizer, sneak out the back door. The DJ was getting ready to take over the music, anyway. Nobody would miss her.
But as she stood, she turned and almost ran into him. She hadn’t heard him move, and that alarmed her. Staying aware of her surroundings kept her alive.
He reached out a hand to steady her, and Cat jerked at the shock of his touch. How long had it been since a man had touched her?
“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. Just wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed your playing. At the ceremony and just now.”
“Thank you. Now if you’ll—”
“Have you played long?” He had to know she was trying to get away, but his grin said he wasn’t giving up that easily.
Cat shook her head. “All my life, I think. I started when I was three.”
“Seriously? Wow.”
“My parents were musicians. My mother played the violin. My father, the cello.”
“That must have been really cool growing up, all that music in the house.”
His words touched a spot she kept hidden and made her wish she hadn’t said anything. “It might have been, if they had shared it. They died when I was fourteen.”
She turned away, but again, he put a light hand on her arm to stop her. “I’m sorry. That must have been horrible.”
Cat shrugged, uncomfortable with his caring. “You get used to it.”
He met her eyes and shook his head. “You never get used to it. You learn to live around it.”
While Cat tried to figure out what to say, the DJ started a slow ballad. The man held out his hand. “May I have this dance?”
He thought she’d refuse, but she surprised him when she nodded and let him lead her out onto the dance floor. Nick couldn’t remember the last time he’d danced, but right then it didn’t matter. She fit into his arms like she belonged there, though he made sure to keep a nice respectable distance between them. Instinct told him that if he got too close, physically or emotionally, she’d bolt. And right now, he just wanted to hold her in his arms and move with her to the music. He could feel the bones through her skin, and he had the urge to feed her, well and often, to soften those sharp angles. But for now, he simply let himself enjoy the company of a beautiful woman whose eyes told him she had seen too much.
The song ended way too soon, and as they stepped apart, he spotted Sasha heading their way, looking surprisingly feminine in her loose dress, baby bump just barely visible.
When Cat spotted Sasha, he felt her stiffen, so he reached over and took her hand. She slipped hers away and wrapped her arms around her middle instead. He’d heard there was tension between the sisters, but he didn’t know the details. None of his business anyway.
Sasha’s smile was tentative. “I’m so
glad you came, Cat. Your playing was amazing, as always. It meant so much that you were here.”
Cat’s chin came up. “I came for Eve.” She glanced away. “And Mama.”
Sasha nodded. “I know. Thank you.” She turned to include Nick. “I’m so glad you got to meet Nick Stanton, aka Tony Martinelli. He works for the Safe Harbor Police Department.”
Nick saw the color drain from Cat’s face before she narrowed her eyes at him, giving him a quick once-over and obviously finding him sorely lacking.
She eyed his outstretched hand. She shook it briefly, then shot him an annoyed glance when he held on a little too long. He couldn’t seem to help it. He wanted to know why she was suddenly freezing him out.
“Nice to meet you, Nick. Or do you go by Tony?”
“Nick is fine, thanks. So, how long are you in town?”
“Not long. If you’ll excuse me.”
She turned and walked away, leaving him thoroughly at sea. When Sasha looked over at him and shrugged, he said, “I guess she doesn’t like cops.”
“No idea. But we think she’s in some kind of trouble. I’m glad you’re here, Nick.” Sasha patted his arm and walked over to her husband, Jesse. Nick searched the room, but Cat had disappeared. Not surprising, he supposed.
He knew all about secrets. And in her gorgeous dark eyes, he’d seen plenty. He’d also seen the shutters slam shut when Sasha had said he was a cop. That could mean she’d had a bad experience with cops, or that she was hiding something.
As he strolled over to the buffet, he decided he’d best keep an eye on her.
Just in case.
Chapter 3
Cat snuck out the back door and leaned against the barn’s rough siding, trying to slow her galloping heart rate. The man with the gorgeous bod, kind eyes, and gentle touch was a freaking cop. Unbelievable. And worse, he was Pop and Mama Rosa’s biological son, so he was family. Kind of. Well, in the loosest sense of the word, since there was never any official paperwork filed on her, at her request. None on Sasha, Eve, or Blaze, either, as far as she knew. But they were her family, doggone it, and she had to protect them.
