by Julie Miller
She never got a chance to answer.
When his tongue slid into her mouth, hers darted forward to meet his. His hands left her hair to pull her arms around his neck, and then he was sliding his hands down her back, moving closer. He palmed her butt and pulled her onto her toes, bringing her body into the hard heat of his as his mouth opened possessively over hers.
Just as she thought she was getting the hang of all the touches and tastes that triggered that husky growl in his throat, he tore his mouth away and moved his hands to frame her on either side of the doorway. His chest heaved with a mighty breath, rubbing against her breasts, making her whimper as a jolt of electricity shot through the tips and cascaded through her like stars falling straight into the needy heart of her. Tom captured her mouth in one more chaste kiss before pulling her fingers from the collar of his shirt and grasping her hand. “We need to go now, or we never will.”
* * *
MELANIE WAS BREATHLESS by the time they finished the two-step and applauded the band, which was stopping for a short break. After sharing several dances, she was beginning to think of tonight as a real date. Feeling Tom’s body move against hers, knowing how secure the grip of his hand was around her own, hearing him laugh and talk about everything—from how he’d learned line dancing from his grandpa in an attempt to impress a girl in college to speculating about who had given Roy a black eye—made Melanie feel as if they’d known each other much longer than a couple of weeks.
Although she was still anxious to leave the Fiske Farm behind her and do more with her life once the ghost of her father was laid to rest, she was rethinking the idea of independent spinsterhood. She simply hadn’t met the right man until Tom had barged into her life. Tom ‘Duff Maynard’ Watson made her happy. He made her hope. And even if he was just a good guy who lusted after her a little and cared about her like the good friend he’d become, she knew she’d never regret falling in love with him.
Melanie stumbled over her own bare toes as the truth hit her.
Before she could glance up to see if she was broadcasting her feelings with a telltale blush, Tom tugged on her hand, pulling her past the punch bowl where Silas was doctoring his lemonade with a shot from his flask. Tom scooped up a cup of the untainted drink, taking a sip before handing it to her. Silas scowled in their direction, but she realized the condemning look wasn’t aimed at them, but at Abby and Deanna Fiske, who were chatting with the band’s bass player and lead singer. Henry joined them, wrapping an arm around each woman’s waist and saying something that made them all laugh.
My, what a show her aunt and uncle were putting on for the tenants and staff who worked here. Maybe they were eager to take everyone’s minds off the news of the dead body. Maybe they were showing off their wealth and success. Either way, they seemed oblivious to Silas’s grumpy mood and to Roy lurking in the shadows near the door like a dog who’d been banished from the house for the night.
Melanie didn’t have time to ask Tom if he’d observed what she had. Instead, he picked up her flip-flops from beneath their table and pushed them into her hands. He dipped his mouth beside her ear. “Giggle.”
“What?” She held on to his arm for balance as she slipped the sandals onto her feet.
“Laugh like I said something clever and you can’t resist me.”
“Tom...”
“That’ll do.” He grinned a split second before moving his mouth over hers in a quick, hard kiss. “I don’t know why that’s such a turn-on. Time to make our escape.”
“You want me to pretend like I can’t wait to be alone with you?” Catching on to the subterfuge, she did her best imitation of Deanna’s flirtatious giggle.
Tom made a face at the silly, high-pitched sound. “Never do that again.”
Melanie laughed out loud, grabbed her phone off the table and followed him out of the barn.
Tom traded a nod with Roy before taking a circuitous route across the compound to avoid anyone’s notice. Once assured that the main house was empty, she and Tom entered off the back deck and made a beeline for the stairs. He hurried her up to the second floor, keeping watch while she lowered the attic steps. The stuffiness of the room nearly stole the air from her lungs. She pointed to the window in the back wall. “You want me to open that?”
He stopped her hand when she reached for the overhead light. He picked up the two flashlights on the shelf near the top of the steps and handed one to her. “The light and an open window might draw someone’s attention. We can sweat for five minutes. I figure that’s about how long we’ve got before we need to be seen somewhere else. Let’s make this fast.”
Nodding her understanding, Melanie set her phone on the shelf and switched on her flashlight to lead him across the room to the metal shelves. She shined her light on the box of her aunt’s rodeo queen memorabilia and frowned. “Someone else has been up here since my last visit.” Everything had been stacked in neat rows on the shelves again, blocking the wall behind them. “What if they cleared out the room because I was snooping around? I hope I didn’t mess up your investigation.”
He squeezed her shoulder. “We find what we find. But only if we look.”
Melanie nodded. “The door’s behind there.”
Tom lifted the shelves, contents and all, creating a space big enough for him to slide behind. “Light,” he ordered. Hurrying to do his bidding, she joined him and shined her light on the padlock as he knelt in front of it. He had a special tool in his back pocket that made quick work of the lock. He stuffed the padlock and tool into his pocket and opened the door. “Son of a bitch.”
Melanie couldn’t squeeze between the shelves and door fast enough to see inside the room that was no bigger than a walk-in closet. “Oh, my God.”
She swung her light around, counting the heavy black bags stacked two deep against one side of the tiny room. On the wall opposite the door stood a set of shelves that held boxes of ammunition, cell phones still in their packages and what looked like several bundles of cash, stacked and wrapped like cubes in sheets of clear plastic. The last wall had several broken-down shipping boxes labeled with an innocuous Lake Hanover Freight stamp leaning against it.
Tom pulled a rifle from one of the bags. He pointed to the small black ring anchored to the middle of the barrel. A gas block. Just like the one she’d found on her father’s boat. Melanie felt sick to her stomach. This was happening, right here, in the house where she’d grown up. “Children live on this farm. Thousands of innocent people come through here all summer long. How can there be so many guns? How can this be safe?”
“It’s not.”
Leaving Tom to snap pictures as he emptied first one bag, then another, Melanie moved over to the shelves to study the items there. “There must be thousands of dollars here.”
“Tens of thousands. Maybe more.” He opened the next bag and laid the guns on the floor. “I’ll call Benton. I can text him these images from here. Go back to the opening and keep an eye out for visitors. I need to document the serial numbers on these weapons to confirm that they’re stolen or unregistered before they get sanded off. This may take longer than five minutes.”
Her eyes widened when he pulled a roll of adhesive tape out of the pocket of his dark-wash jeans. “You come prepared for anything, don’t you?”
“Borrowed it from Henry’s office.” He tore off a length of tape and pressed it to the trigger assembly of one of the handguns. “I’m no CSI, but if I can pick up any kind of prints—”
“Then you can prove who’s smuggling them.”
“You said you saw Silas wearing black leather gloves the other day?”
“Yeah. Then he had a bandage on his hand this morning.”
Tom snapped a photograph before pulling something from inside the bag of weapons. “Did it look like this?”
He held up a leather glove, shining his light on
it. She knelt beside him, studying it. “That’s blood.”
“The leather’s been sliced through, too.”
“Somebody was using a knife on the August Moon. Cutting ropes to tie up that body? Removing the belt buckle that could identify Richard? You don’t think Silas had something to do with that dead body, do you?”
“I do.” He dropped the glove into a plastic bag and stuffed it into his pocket. She wondered when he’d raided her infirmary for supplies again. But then, she supposed there were some mysteries about this man she would never fully understand. “Whether he was cleaning up someone else’s mess—or he was responsible for the murder itself, I can’t say.”
“Someone else’s mess? Like Roy’s? Do you think he was trying to dispose of the body? Maybe Deanna surprised him before he could get it on or off the boat. He didn’t seem too happy to see her last night.”
“That could explain the black eye. Either he screwed up his job, he wasn’t supposed to find that body, or whoever he reports to—Silas or Henry—punished him for letting Deanna anywhere near it.”
Bracing her hand against Tom’s sturdy thigh, Melanie pushed to her feet. The cubes of money were as fascinating as they were disturbing. On closer inspection, she discovered they, too, had labels printed on them. They each had dates and initials—KC, SL, DC—money from Kansas City? St. Louis? Denver, Colorado? Or being paid out to...whom? Silas Lou Danvers? Deanna Christine Fiske? Could her self-absorbed cousin really be involved in something like this? Her curious thoughts took a sideways turn when she read a label that had no initials. “Isn’t a Gin Rickey a drink?”
“What did you say?”
Surprised to feel Tom’s heat beside her, she pointed to the dusty label on the cube of money. Gin Rickey. She heard an audible gasp as his shoulder sagged against hers. “Tom, what’s wrong? You know what this means, don’t you?”
“It’s the code name for a hired killer.”
“A hired...? Someone here...?”
“My brother Keir—he’s a detective, too—was looking into another case and discovered the code name for a hit man. One of the contact numbers led to this part of the state.” He swiped his palm over his jaw, scratching at the smooth skin as though searching for that perennial beard stubble that was usually there. A fist squeezed around Melanie’s heart. That was pain, not anger, she saw in his expression. “The man who shot my grandfather. The man we could only identify by—”
“A belt buckle like Daryl’s.” She reached up to cup the tight line of Tom’s jaw. “The body in the lake... You think he shot your grandfather. You think someone hired Richard Lloyd to shoot your grandfather.”
“Rickey? Richard?”
Unfortunately, it made sense to her, too. Richard’s disappearance. His hunting expertise. The odd jobs Henry would send him on. All this cash. “This money was used to pay Richard to kill...?”
Tom pressed a kiss into the palm of her hand before going back to work. “We need the crime lab to ID that body. Not that it does me much good. Lloyd had no reason to come after my family. I never met any of you before I came here.”
“It’s not like you can ask who hired him. And why kill him? Who shot Richard? The person who hired him?”
“The best way to cover your tracks is to eliminate them.” Tom shrugged. “Either that, or he screwed up the job. Maybe Grandpa was supposed to die. Or one of us was. Or we all were.”
Melanie’s stomach tightened with fear. “Could someone here know you’re a cop? That you’re from a family of cops?”
Tom went utterly still for a few moments before resuming his work. “I haven’t seen indications that anyone suspects me. Except you. You were the only one curious enough to find out. More likely your uncle or Silas just sold Richard’s services.”
“For all this money.” She shook her head. Tom had once joked that he was looking for some country-bumpkin mafia. Apparently, she was living right in the middle of it. Silas and Roy were relatively new hires. But Richard would have been a child like her fourteen years ago when her father died. How long had these criminal activities been going on at the Fiske Family Farm? Had Leroy uncovered the same secrets she and Tom were discovering now? Had Henry silenced his own brother to protect those secrets?
Melanie was about to share her suspicions with Tom when she heard the smack of the screen door slamming below their feet. Dashing to the top of the steps, she trained her ear to the stomps and mutters she could hear from the first floor. “Someone just came in.”
Tom was right beside her, exchanging his phone for his gun.
She heard another door, followed by the clink of glass against glass. “Whoever it is went into Henry’s office.”
There was a slur of angry words—and then a second clink. Someone was pouring a drink. Or two. “Think you’re too good for me.” That wasn’t her uncle’s voice. A board creaked beneath Melanie’s flip-flop and she froze. “Somebody there?”
Not her uncle. Something much worse.
She turned to Tom, dodging his hands as he tried to pull her away from the opening. “How much longer do you need?”
“No.” He was answering a question she hadn’t asked.
“How long to finish cataloguing all that evidence and get it to your friends?”
Tom was shaking his head, reaching for her as she backed away. “It’s not worth—”
“We might not get a second chance.”
“Doc—”
“Do your job.” She descended the attic steps and pulled on the rope, closing the door into the ceiling. “Do it fast.”
She tiptoed down the stairs.
Chapter Thirteen
Melanie was nearly to the bottom step in the main hallway when Silas lurched out of Henry’s office. He was twisting the lid onto his flask as if he’d just refilled it at her uncle’s liquor cabinet. When his rheumy gaze landed on her, she offered him a polite smile and hurried past him to the front door.
He grabbed her arm, stopping an easy escape. “What are you doing here, girl?” He stuffed the flask into his hip pocket and eyed her like a tipsy vulture. “Sergeant Loser dump you?”
She couldn’t help but glance up the stairs, relieved to see no sign of Tom. He’d face much worse than the lecture she’d received if he was caught in the attic. Quickly averting her gaze, she tugged against Silas’s grip. “No, I was just—”
“Headin’ back for the comfort of your old room? Need a shoulder to cry on?” Silas’s fingers tightened painfully around her upper arm and he pulled her to him. She thrust her hand against the center of his chest to wedge some space between them. But even half-toasted, his strength easily overpowered hers. She squeezed her eyes and mouth shut as he pushed her face into his shoulder. “I knew there was something wrong about that guy. He ain’t one of us.”
She didn’t want to be one of them, either. And she certainly didn’t want or need any comfort from this bully. Melanie mentally ran through all of the release moves Tom had shown her at their morning defense lessons to end this embrace. Going limp and bending her knees, she sank out of Silas’s arms before he could tighten his grip. But, again, her freedom was short-lived. He clutched her by both arms this time.
Her attempt to stomp on his instep merely tripped him and they crashed into the wall together. Maybe she could talk her way out of this. “Would you still like to dance with me tonight? I hear the music starting up again at the barn. We should go.”
“I’m tired of dancin’ to your tune, Deanna, darlin’.” His breath reeked as he nuzzled the side of her neck. The hand at her waist slid over her hip to pull up the hem of her dress. “Leadin’ me on like a trained dog.”
Melanie slapped his hand away and twisted out of his grasp. “You’re drunk. I’m not Deanna.”
Clarity didn’t help. He slammed his hand against the wall, blocking her path.
“Maybe taming you would make things interesting, after all. Where is that boyfriend of yours, anyway? Couldn’t he get the job done?”
“Silas...” The fear that colored her voice at his crude suggestion morphed into a whole different type of fear when she heard a scraping sound two floors above them. Silas tilted his face up the stairs. He’d heard it, too. She needed to cover for Tom. She’d promised to have his back. He needed to be safe. Swallowing her disgust, Melanie touched Silas’s cheek and turned his bald head her direction again. Run, Tom. “Um... Maybe I do need a shoulder to cry on. Could you just hold me?”
“Sure thing.” He forgot the noise with a lascivious grin. Instead of a hug, Silas grabbed her and pushed her against the wall. Melanie knew she was in trouble when she couldn’t get the behemoth to budge. “You got that sensible underwear on tonight, Mel?” Bile churned in her stomach as Silas’s hands ran over her. She couldn’t find any comfort in knowing he was no longer confusing her with another woman. “Doesn’t matter. Naked’s the way I like my women. I’ll make you forget all about him.”
Melanie panicked at the assault, blanking on every trick Tom had taught her. She was helpless to do more than scream in her mouth as Silas ground his lips over hers, filling her mouth with the taste of stale whiskey. He thrust other parts of his body against places she’d never wanted him to touch.
For a brief moment, she knew that if she mentioned Tom was in the house, she could get away. Silas would leave her to confront the intruder. She could save herself if she sacrificed Tom. But she’d seen all those guns upstairs. She’d seen Roy’s black eye. She’d seen a decomposing body. If Silas found out Tom was a cop and he’d found evidence to link him to those crimes, she’d be finding Tom’s body floating in the lake with a bullet hole in his chest.
That couldn’t happen. She couldn’t let the man she loved be hurt by these people.
