by Rita Herron
Her nerves on edge, Lisa nearly chopped off the tip of her thumb with the knife as she began slicing the homemade bread. She hadn’t realized she’d shrieked out loud until Brad appeared beside her. Blood trickled from her thumb, and he grabbed a napkin and wrapped it around the wound.
“Are you okay?” His eyes searched hers, deep, probing, silently referring to the emotional state, not just the cut.
She nodded. “It’s not that deep.”
Not like William’s bruises.
The tension rattled between them, the sweltering heat making it worse.
“You’d better clean that cut,” Brad said in a husky voice.
She nodded, lifted the napkin, turned on the faucet and ran cold water over her finger.
“Where are your Band-Aids?” Brad asked.
She gestured toward a small cabinet above the stove, and he opened the door, retrieved the box, then ripped one open with his teeth. Her body tingled as he gently took her hand in his, wrapped the bandage around the tip of her finger and secured it.
“Thank you.” She couldn’t drag her gaze from his wide, blunt fingers. Fingers that could pull a trigger and end a life, but which had been so gentle she imagined them running across her face. Then to her cheeks, her neck, and lower, down to her breasts…
He was standing so close to her she inhaled his scent again, felt his breath on her hand as he checked the bandage. “You’re welcome.”
Heat climbed her neck, then he swallowed, and released her finger.
“Dinner’s ready.” A sudden breeze rattled the windows, mimicking the roaring of her heartbeat as she backed away. How was she going to feel when he left tonight? Bereft? Lonely?
“It smells delicious,” Brad said, filling the awkward silence. “I can’t tell you how long it’s been since I’ve eaten a home-cooked meal.”
Lisa smiled, although it took every ounce of effort she could muster to make it look natural. “I hope you like it.”
“Spaghetti’s my favorite dinner.”
She’d remembered that but refrained from comment. “I…there’s wine if you’d like a glass.”
“One glass,” he said with a shrug, then uncorked a bottle and poured them each some merlot.
She ran her finger along the stem of the goblet to calm herself, while he tore into the food as if he needed to occupy his hands. Or maybe he hadn’t eaten in days.
“Did you find out anything when you were on the phone?”
He shook his head no, then paused and sipped the wine. “You said Hanks disappeared a few months after you met White. According to the college, he dropped out then. There’s no sign of him returning to school or transferring to another university.” Brad finished by relaying what little he’d learned from his partner and Rosberg.
“Where did you learn to cook?” he asked suddenly.
Lisa paused with her fork in midair, grateful he’d changed the subject. And what a relief to have a normal conversation.
“From my nana.” She smiled at the memory. “She was my father’s mother, a short, wiry lady with soft gray hair and big green eyes. She stayed with us for a while after my mom died, when I was four.” She scooped up a bite of spaghetti and chewed it thoughtfully. “My father was working all the time, building his practice, was on call. But Nana loved to try new recipes, so I spent hours in the kitchen with her.” She sipped her wine, lost in the memory. “One year we made ten different kinds of Christmas cookies for a cookie swap. I’ve never eaten so many chocolate chips in all my life.”
A slow smile spread across his face. “You sound very fond of her.”
Her smile slipped slightly, and she swirled the wine in her glass, looking pensive. “I was, but she died a few years back. I still miss her, although it’s been a long time.”
He dropped his gaze back to his food and tore off another hunk of bread. “It must have been hard losing her.”
She shrugged. “It was. But I have good memories of her. They’ll last a lifetime.”
His gaze swung upward, and she read something in his eyes. An apology for making her relive the bad ones earlier.
She sighed tiredly. All they’d ever done was talk about her. “What about you? Where’s your family?”
“I don’t have any,” he said simply.
Lisa swallowed. “I’m sorry. What happened?”
He dug his fork around his plate, swirling spaghetti between his spoon and fork. “My mother gave me up when I was little.” He shrugged as if the admission didn’t bother him, although the flicker of unease in his eyes warned her that he didn’t intend to continue the discussion.
“Why didn’t she keep you?” Lisa pressed.
“Her boyfriend hated having a kid around. He talked with his fists. She did what he wanted.”
Lisa swallowed, horrified at the thought. “Then who raised you?”
“Foster homes,” he said in a clipped voice.
“I…hope they were good to you.” Sensing deep pain hidden inside, Lisa ached to reach out and touch his hand.
But Brad turned close-lipped, wolfed down the rest of his dinner with a vengeance, then rose and cleared his plate without speaking again. “Thank you, that was great.”
She’d managed to eat most of her food, she realized as she carried her own plate to the sink.
“There’s apple pie.” She gestured toward the counter.
“God, Lisa,” he said in a husky voice, “you’ll spoil me.”
She wouldn’t mind that, she thought. After all, he looked lost, like a little boy who’d never been spoiled or loved. How could a mother just abandon a child like that? And what about his real father?
She refrained from asking, though. She hadn’t gotten involved with anyone since William, and she couldn’t start now. Not with someone as hard and cut off as Brad.
Especially when he was in love with another woman.
* * *
BRAD HAD NO IDEA why he’d confided that tidbit about his past, but now that Lisa knew he’d grown up in the system, he couldn’t quite look at her. He’d see pity, questions, maybe even disdain, just as he had when he was a kid at school and the others had called him a bastard, a homeless child.
Just as he had when his mother’s boyfriend had beaten him senseless and called him a bad seed. Brad had grown up determined to show them just how bad he could be. And he had been for a while….
“I’ll clean these up, then we can talk,” Lisa said. “But I’m warning you, Brad, I still don’t remember much about the place William kept me.”
He nodded, hating to press the topic but it was necessary. Manners insisted he offer to help with the dishes, too, but sharing domestic chores with Lisa gave him an odd feeling. His foster mother had yelled at him when he didn’t do things her way, so he’d learned to hang back, stay out of the way, do what he did best.
Cause trouble back then.
Now, it was work.
So he hit the research again while she cleaned up, biding his time until she was ready to talk.
He skimmed his list, a total of five criminals who might hold a grudge against him, then analyzed and sorted the data. That was his trademark—compartmentalize. Concentrate on the things he could control. Focus on the case.
The first three names he checked confirmed that the perps were still in jail. The last two proved to be more worrisome, although he finally discovered that Wendel Mendez had been extradited to Brazil, then sentenced to life in prison.
Mendez was not the Grave Digger.
The last name on his list took him longer to locate, but he finally tracked Vrenny Lopez down and learned he had been released on parole four months ago. But he’d been picked up ten days before on a parole violation and was now in jail in Denver pending new charges of robbery.
Next, Brad punched in the name Aiden Henderson. He checked the DMV records, police database, and learned the man had been a religion major at Georgia, had taught high school in Cartersville and had no prior records. Nothing to be alarmed about.
Nothing that stuck out.
The clang of pots and pans being stored jerked him from his reverie, then Lisa slid down beside him at the table.
“Any luck?”
“No. All the criminals on my list who might want revenge against me are accounted for.” He relayed the information about Aiden Henderson.
Lisa chewed her bottom lip, looking slightly relieved. “I’ve been trying to think about the place William held me, Brad.” She twined her hands together on the table, then stared at them. Her nails had been manicured, painted a pale pink. So feminine and soft. Just like Lisa.
But the frown on her face tightened with the ugly memories.
“It’s just like I told you before,” she said in an oddly disconnected voice, as if she was talking about something that had happened to a stranger. “I was unconscious a lot of the time. When I did wake up, it was dark. A small cramped room with a cement floor, like a basement.”
“No windows?”
“No.”
“Did you smell anything unusual?”
“Just mold and…blood. Urine.”
From his prior victims. “What about sounds? Did you ever hear anything?”
“Besides his mindless ranting?” Lisa asked, then recoiled as if she shouldn’t have let the bitterness seep out.
“Maybe cars as if you were near a highway? Horns from an eighteen-wheeler? A boat from a lake, or a train maybe?”
A startled expression flashed in Lisa’s eyes. “A train?” She pressed her fingers into her temples. “I’m not sure. Maybe. If so, it was far away, but there might have been a whistle. I only heard it once or twice. In fact, I’d forgotten about it. I guess I thought I’d imagined it, that it was just the ringing in my ears from when he’d hit me.”
Brad grimaced. Those bruises on her face and body had driven him to nearly take White’s life.
They were also the reason he’d almost gotten suspended afterward.
This case was his chance to save his career—the only thing he had to live for.
He checked his watch with another grimace. If the killer kept to his schedule, Mindy had less than twenty-four hours to live.
He couldn’t let her die or survive with her death on his conscience.
CHAPTER SIX
LISA WATCHED OVER BRAD’S shoulder as he retrieved a map on his laptop outlining the area surrounding “Death Valley.” He entered data requesting a scan for any towns or communities within a hundred mile radius, zoning in on those with railroad crossings or train stations, and waited for the computer program to feed him the information.
A few seconds later, he’d pinpointed five different places north of Atlanta and had alerted the locals to search the locations.
“They’ll find something, Brad,” Lisa said. “Maybe tonight.”
God, he hoped so. “The problem is manpower,” he said. “Some of the locals in those small towns only have a sheriff, and maybe a deputy at best.”
“At least they know where to look in their hometowns,” she said.
She massaged her temple again, and Brad frowned. “Headache?”
“Just tired.” From all the stress. Of thinking about William. Of seeing Brad again. Of knowing he saw her as a victim, not a woman.
It was time for him to leave….
“I know you’re eager to get back to Atlanta,” Lisa said. “Do you want me to make some coffee for the road?”
An odd flicker glimmered in his eyes, then his jaw tightened perceptibly. What else did he want to ask her?
“I’m not going anywhere tonight, Lisa.”
Her breath caught. “What do you mean?”
“I’m not leaving you alone,” he said in a husky voice. “If I drive back to Atlanta, you go with me.”
She gaped at him, too stunned to reply. If Brad wasn’t going back tonight, did he intend to stay here with her?
* * *
IT WAS GOING TO BE a sleepless night.
Brad had braced himself for an argument from Lisa, and when she had argued, he hadn’t known quite what to say, so he’d resorted to his brusque manner, which he realized had appeared as pure insolence and male highhandedness. That attitude had driven her to her bedroom for the night. Alone. Which was exactly what he wanted.
The fact that she’d closed the door told him she’d accepted the circumstances. But she didn’t like him invading her cabin, much less her peace of mind.
Still, she’d conjured up enough strength to answer his questions, to revisit a path riddled with ghosts, a path no woman should have to travel the first time, much less the second or third.
But he had promised her father he’d protect her, and more importantly he’d promised himself. And he would do so with his life.
He scrolled through the computer database, searching for information on similar crimes, researching two other men who had grudges against him, then scanned for more information on White and anyone he’d associated with in college or his past life.
Mindy. The images bled into his concentration. Her locked in a wooden box fighting for her life. Had the killer decided to bury her tonight in the middle of the drought, where the heat was suffocating and the bugs would feast on her? If so, how much air would she have? Would she be conscious when he put her in the ground?
Brad dropped his head forward, battling the horrific thoughts and images. He had to or they would paralyze him. Body tight with tension, he rose and paced to the kitchen window and stared outside. A dozen apple trees filled the backyard, the lush green hills illuminated by streaks of a gray sky that promised rain but hadn’t delivered. In the fall, the fruit would weigh down the branches of the trees, the overripe ones falling to the ground. That is, unless the drought killed the crops.
And if they survived, the apple houses would be loaded with MacIntosh and Granny Smith apples, red and golden delicious ones along with other products—smoked trout and apple butter, apple bread, apple fritters and fresh cold apple cider. He imaged Lisa picking a basketful, peeling and slicing them, then coating them with sugar and baking them into pies, just like the one that sat on the counter.
He’d never in his life had someone bake him a damn pie.
The mere thought unearthed a strange surge of emotion inside him.
He forced it at bay, calling on the anger, the isolation, the cool detachment that he thrived upon to block out the ridiculous thoughts. When this case ended and Lisa was safe, he’d go back to the streets of Atlanta, back to hunting down crazed killers and lunatics. And Lisa would be left safe at home with those pies.
There was no place in her life for a man like him.
Knowing he might receive a call any minute, a lead, he forced himself to lie down on the sofa, although his broad body hung off the side and his feet dangled over the end. Any rest he could get would be welcome tomorrow, he told himself.
Then, hopefully, he’d find her and put this second Grave Digger in jail. Then Lisa could return to her haven here in the mountains, and he could resume his own life.
But sleep never came; instead, images of Lisa in bed alone aroused him. And when he banished those, an image of Mindy clawing at the ground from her burial spot tormented him the rest of the night.
* * *
LISA STUMBLED TOWARD the bathroom the next morning, her white cotton gown clinging to her legs in the morning heat. Still blurry-eyed, she bumped into a solid wall of chest. “Oops.”
Two strong hands caught her in the bathroom doorway, the fingers gently gripping her bare arms. She inhaled, instantly aware Brad was half-naked. He wore only a towel knotted around his waist. His chest still gleamed with moisture from his shower, and the terry cloth did nothing to hide the morning erection that strained against the fabric.
“Sorry. I hope you don’t mind that I went first,” he said in a thick voice.
She sucked in a sharp breath, then glanced up at the water droplets clinging to his black hair. His eyes were a smoky hue this morning, and they skated over her with an intensity that made her stomac
h quiver. The rest of her body tingled in response, her gown unable to conceal the hardening of her nipples.
He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, then cleared his throat. “How did you sleep, Lisa?”
Sleep. Who had slept? “Fine. You?”
He shrugged, heightening her awareness of the massive width of his shoulders. She’d never seen Brad in anything but a suit, and the sight of him so…nearly naked completely stole her speech as well as her rational mind. His chest was bronzed, sprinkled with dark hair, his nipples a dark brownish color, his arms muscled and tanned. The five-o’clock shadow had disappeared with his shave, and the scent of a menthol aftershave invaded her senses.
“I…um, need to go to the bathroom,” she muttered, then felt herself blush at the statement. “I mean shower.”
A lopsided smile tilted the corner of his mouth. “Okay, I’ll start some coffee.”
“Thanks.” Remembering his impudence the night before, she suddenly felt ridiculous for indulging herself in a moment’s fantasy. She was making a fool of herself over a federal agent who only saw her as part of an ugly investigation. “Brad…did you hear anything last night?”
Any sexual friction that she might have imagined disappeared immediately. “No.”
She gave him an apologetic look, then nodded and dashed into the shower to escape his probing eyes. All night she’d tossed and turned, her sleep encumbered by nightmares of William and the ordeal he’d forced her to go through. Occasionally, she’d jerk awake and try to concentrate on positive thoughts.
But the bedclothes sliding against her sweat-soaked skin made her think of Brad, and she’d imagined his hands and lips replacing the sheets, gliding over her bare arms and legs in a sensual journey that stirred a restless, unsated need within her. Heat rippled through her in waves, the thirst for his touch palpable.
