by Paula Graves
“Who’s doing the shooting?” she asked in a low tone as she let go of his hand.
“You know him as Agent X.”
A rattling noise in the dry grass nearby startled Dallas into a crouch. He grabbed the pistol from the holster at his back, looking for the source of the sound. Suddenly John Bartholomew’s head rose over the top of the grass, his gaze meeting Dallas’s.
“More men coming. I’m going to lead them away. Get them out of here. Use the truck. Don’t wait for me.”
There was something odd about the way John was holding himself, as if one half of his torso was sagging lower than the other, but Dallas didn’t have time to make out any more details before John turned and scurried toward the woods on the other side of the house.
Dallas heard gunfire erupt on that side of the house and realized he had to be on the move.
Now.
He grabbed Nicki’s elbow and pushed her toward the woods in the opposite direction, away from where John seemed to be leading their pursuers.
Ahead of them, Lynette was running with more speed than he’d expected a thin, fragile-looking woman her size would be able to muster up, especially burdened with a child on her hip. Dallas glanced at Nicki as they started to race after her. “Watch our backs,” he said, picking up speed to catch up with Lynette.
“Always,” Nicki called softly after him, her words carried on the cool night breeze.
“Follow me,” Dallas murmured to Lynette as he passed her, leading the way through the woods to where John had parked the truck. He knew there would be no time, no chance to wait for John to reach them. He’d told them not to wait, and as much as it went against Dallas’s instincts to leave the man behind, he knew he had no choice.
The truck was where they’d left it, just far enough off the shoulder to be hidden from easy view from the road. Dallas unlocked the back door of the extended cab and helped Lynette onto the narrow bench seat. “Buckle him in and try to stay low,” he told her as he unlocked the door for Nicki.
By the time he’d reached the driver’s door, Nicki had already unlocked it for him, holding out her hand to help him climb in. Not bothering with seat belts for the moment, he started the truck and pulled out onto the empty road, bracing for the worst.
But no gunfire followed them. No armed trucks pulled out in pursuit to run them off the road the way Dallas had been run off the road the last time he’d met up with the BRI.
In fact, for four or five miles, they saw no sign of any other vehicles at all. The emptiness of the road ahead, illuminated by the truck’s headlights, evoked an eerie feeling of isolation in the pit of Dallas’s stomach, as if the four of them had escaped an apocalyptic disaster only to find themselves the last people left on a desolated earth.
When he first heard the engine noise, it was almost a relief. Until he realized it was moving closer—and louder—at an impossible rate of speed. As it neared, the sound became more distinct, the heavy whump-whump of spinning rotor blades unmistakable.
The noise became deafening and then the helicopter came into view, impossibly close to the ground, and settled about three hundred yards down the highway in front of them.
Dallas just had time to bring the truck to a stop short of the whipping rotors. He turned to look at Nicki. She met his gaze, her eyes wide and afraid.
The sudden appearance of the helicopter had at least stunned the crying child into silence, Dallas thought as he glanced back to see both mother and child staring at the spectacle through the windshield with slack mouths and startled eyes.
Movement in the periphery of his vision caught his attention, and he peered through the windshield to see a man illuminated in the truck’s headlights. He was bent low, beneath the downdraft of the spinning helicopter rotors, but Dallas could make out a head full of sandy brown hair and the faint shadow of a goatee covering the man’s chin.
Beside him, Nicki started to laugh. He looked at her, wondering if the stress of the day had finally gotten to her.
She grinned at him, nodding toward the man approaching the truck.
“That,” she said, “is how Alexander Quinn makes an entrance.”
Epilogue
“We haven’t located John Bartholomew yet.”
Nicki opened her gritty eyes and saw Alexander Quinn standing in front of her, holding out a steaming cup of coffee.
“Which means you haven’t found his body, either,” she said, wishing she felt as optimistic as her words would suggest. But she’d seen enough battles in the war between the Blue Ridge Infantry and their enemies to know that the lack of a body didn’t always mean a death hadn’t occurred.
“If he’s alive, he’ll find a way to get in touch.” Quinn sat on the edge of his desk in front of her, nodding toward the door to the hallway. “I think they’re nearly done with Cole.”
“They” were a small group of US congressmen who’d agreed to meet with Dallas on neutral ground, which was how Quinn described the conference room at The Gates. The security firm’s offices were located in a slightly shabby old Victorian house in the heart of Purgatory, Tennessee, as unlikely a setting for a high-powered security firm as Nicki could imagine.
Nicki herself had undergone questioning by the FBI soon after she arrived in Purgatory, but somehow Quinn had managed to keep the feds away from Dallas until he could set up the meeting with the congressmen who were looking into the troubling suicide of an FBI assistant director named Philip Crandall.
“They’re not sure it’s suicide,” Quinn had confided to Nicki when he told her about Crandall’s death.
“What do you think?”
He’d shrugged. “It could go either way.”
She pushed up from the chair, stretching her legs. She slept the past two nights at the office, in one of the six dormitory rooms housed in what used to be the mansion’s basement. She had no idea where Dallas had spent those nights, as Quinn had separated them the minute the helicopter touched down on the helipad they’d constructed atop the hardware store down the street, much to the chagrin of Nicki’s cousin Anson and his wife Ginny, who lived in the loft apartment just below the new helipad.
Anson and Ginny had greeted her warmly, reminding her that no matter how alone she sometimes felt, she wasn’t without people who cared about her. She had Anson and Ginny.
She hoped she had Dallas as well, but it would be nice to finally get to talk to him.
“I know you can’t tell me where Lynette and Jason are, but have you heard anything from them? Is Jason okay?”
Quinn’s features softened, just a notch. “They’re both fine. The doctors treating Jason believe he will respond well to regular treatment, and they’re making sure Lynette knows how to help provide it.”
“And Trevor can’t get to them?”
A strange look came over Quinn’s face.
“What is it?” Nicki asked.
“Trevor is dead.”
Nicki sat again, the news catching her by surprise. “How?”
“The investigators believe Del McClintock shot him, then fled.”
She pressed her hand to her lips, remembering the man she’d worked with for a couple of months. The man whose secret life had caught her completely flat-footed.
“Does Lynette know?”
“Yes.”
The door to the office opened. Nicki looked up and saw Dallas standing in the doorway, looking thinner than she remembered. Older.
But alive. Gloriously alive and gazing back at her with fire in his dark eyes.
“I’ll go speak with the congressmen,” Quinn said as Nicki rose to her feet, her gaze following Dallas all the way in as he crossed to where they stood. Quinn nodded and left his office, closing the door behind him.
For a moment, Dallas just looked at her, his gaze seeming to drink her in.
She let her own gaze roam over him, taking stock of the small changes their brief time apart had wrought. He hadn’t shaved, his beard dark on his jaw and chin. Her first assessment was right—he looked thinner, giving his features a lean, almost feral appearance.
But his eyes were clear and bright, full of an emotion she was afraid to believe. “Are you okay?” he asked.
She almost laughed. “I’m fine. How are you?”
“Tired,” he admitted. “Wrung out.”
She couldn’t stop herself from reaching out to touch him, her fingers rasping on his beard stubble and settling against the side of his neck. “What happens next?” At his slightly puzzled look, she added, “With the congressmen. Do you have to deal with the FBI next?”
“No,” he answered quickly. “The FBI is satisfied with my story. Apparently your boss has a great deal of influence within certain agencies of the government. But I’m not going to be able to resume my job with the Bureau.”
She hadn’t thought he would. “So you’re a free agent, then.”
“An unemployed free agent.”
“Quinn’s always looking for smart people. You’re smart.”
“I’m a graphic designer.”
“Who was studying to be a cybersecurity expert.”
“Who wasn’t finished studying yet.”
“We can work on that,” she said firmly, stroking his collarbone with her thumb.
His lips curved in a smile. “We?”
She took a step closer, shivering a little when his hands settled over the curve of her hips. “I thought we made a pretty good team. Didn’t you?”
He lowered his head until his forehead touched hers. “I did, actually.”
“You don’t just break up a good team if you don’t have to.”
He nuzzled his nose against hers, sparking another delicious shiver down her spine. “No, you really don’t.”
“So we’re agreed?”
He drew his head back, looking down at her through slightly narrowed eyes. “Agreed?”
A flutter of alarm darted through her belly. “That we’re a team.”
“Depends.”
“Depends?”
He bent closer again, his lips brushing against the curve of her earlobe. “Do teammates get to kiss?” he whispered.
She turned her head to whisper back. “Among other things.”
He pulled back just enough to grin at her. “Never let it be said I’m not a team player.” Then he bent and pressed his lips to hers.
She tugged him closer, relishing the feel of his heartbeat thudding a lively cadence against her breast as his kiss deepened, his tongue sliding over hers, claiming her. Cherishing her.
Damned if she didn’t suddenly feel like a princess.
Rainbow wings and all.
* * * * *
Don’t miss the final installment of
Paula Graves’s miniseries
THE GATES: MOST WANTED
when STRANGER IN COLD CREEK goes on sale
next month. Look for it wherever
Harlequin Intrigue books and ebooks are sold!
Keep reading for an excerpt from SCENE OF THE CRIME: WHO KILLED SHELLY SINCLAIR? by Carla Cassidy.
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Scene of the Crime: Who Killed Shelly Sinclair?
by Carla Cassidy
Chapter One
Daniel Carson sat at the small desk in the Lost Lagoon sheriff station. The blinds at the windows were pulled shut, giving the office complete privacy. Outside the small glass-enclosed room, the sound of the other men in the squad room created a low buzz of constant conversation.
They would all be discussing the arrival of the new sheriff, one appointed by the state attorney to take over and root out any corruption in the department until new elections could be held in the small town.
It had been almost a month since the former sheriff, Trey Walker, and Mayor Jim Burns had been arrested for drug trafficking and attempted murder. They had been moving their product from the swamp lagoon through underground tunnels to Trey’s house where it was trucked out of the state. The scandal had rocked the tiny Mississippi swamp town.
As deputy sheriff, Daniel had stepped into the position of interim acting sheriff, a job he’d never wanted and couldn’t wait to end.
She should be arriving at any moment. Sheriff Olivia Bradford, sent here from Natchez. Daniel knew nothing about her, but he expected a pit bull, a woman who not only had the ability to fire anyone at will, but who also had the power of the bigwigs of the state behind her.
It was no wonder the men were anxious to meet their new boss—anxious and more than a little bit apprehensive. Heads would roll if she found anything or anyone she didn’t deem appropriate for the department. Everyone was concerned about their jobs.
Daniel checked his watch. Ten minutes after ten. He’d been told she would arrive around ten. He was probably the only one in the building who couldn’t wait for her to arrive.
He leaned forward in the chair, unfastened the sheriff badge from his shirt and placed it on the top of the desk. He whirled it like a top. The spinning motion mirrored the dizzying chaos the drug scandal and the near murder of Savannah Sinclair and Daniel’s best friend, Deputy Josh Griffin, had unleashed inside his head for the past month.
The newly discovered tunnels that ran beneath the entire town were still being mapped and explored by a team of volunteers under the supervision of Frank Kean, a former mayor who had stepped back into the official position when Jim Burns had been arrested. Eventually a special election would vote in a new mayor and sheriff, but not until Sheriff Olivia Bradford conducted a full investigation.
Daniel stared down at the sheriff badge. He’d be glad to give up his position of authority and return to the squad room as just another deputy. He much preferred being in the field rather than stuck behind a desk.
He became aware of the absence of conversation through the closed office door. The men in the squad room had apparently fallen silent and that could only mean one thing. Sheriff Olivia Bradford had arrived.
A firm knock fell on the office door and then it opened and she stepped in. His mind refused to work properly as he got his first look at the woman.
Lily. His head exploded with memories of a woman he’d met five years ago at a crime conference in New Orleans, a woman he’d wound up in bed with for a single night of explosive sex.
Her dark chocolate eyes widened as she gazed at him. She froze, as still as a sleeping gator on a log. It was obvious she recognized him, too.
She cleared her throat, turned and closed the door behind her and when she faced him again, her pretty features were schooled in a business-like coolness. “Sheriff Daniel Carson?” she asked.
“Former sheriff now that you’ve arrived,” he replied and got up from the desk. Okay, so they were going to pretend that they didn’t know each other. They were going to act as if that night five years ago hadn’t happened.
“I’m Sheriff Olivia Bradford,” she replied, a statement that was unnecessary.
“And you’re here to take over for me.” He pointed to the badge on the desk. He walked around the desk and
she made her way behind it and sank down.
She hadn’t changed much in the time since he’d last seen her. Her dark brown eyes were still pools of mystery and her long black hair was caught in a low ponytail at the nape of her neck.
That night it had been loose and silky in his fingers and her eyes had glowed with desire. The khaki uniform she wore couldn’t hide the thrust of her breasts, her slender waist or her long shapely legs.
Tangled sheets, soft skin against his and low, husky moans, the memories tumbled over themselves in his brain and he desperately tried to shove them away.
She sat down and motioned him into one of the two straight-backed chairs in front of the desk. As he sat, she grabbed the badge from the top of the desk and pinned it onto her breast pocket.
When she looked at him once again her eyes were flat and cool. She appeared the consummate professional. “I’ve been filled in about the issues with the former sheriff and mayor. I’m sure you have heard that my job here is to clean up any further corruption that might linger in the department. I also would like to go through any crime records for the past five years or so, since Trey Walker was sheriff.”
“I’ll see to it that you get whatever you need,” he replied. It was as if he was having a little bit of an out-of-body experience as he tried to process the woman he’d known intimately and briefly before and the woman who now sat across from him.
“I hope my taking over doesn’t stir up any resentment with you.”
He laughed drily. “Trust me, I couldn’t wait to get rid of this position. I never had any desire to be sheriff. It was just something that got thrust on me due to unforeseen circumstances.”
“Good, although my job here isn’t to make friends with anyone.” She spoke the words with a slight upthrust of her chin. “I don’t know how long I’ll be here, but my basic job is an internal investigation into both the way crimes were handled under Sheriff Walker and to look at the current employees and see if there are more bad players in the department.”
